Tales of the Decay

by James Barton

  Kevin reached into his pocket and held out a silver package marked Toastie Pops. “Don’t worry, I’m good.”

  “That prepackaged food is terrible for you, you know?”

  “How else will I get my daily dose of … xanthan gum?” he replied while reading the back of the package.

  After Dee left, Kevin returned his attention to the bald man. The man placed the plate on the floor next to him and cuddled up next to a water pipe. His head slumped over and soon he looked as though he had dozed off. Kevin tried to watch him, but after an hour of watching someone else sleep, he struggled to stay awake. Soon after, he finally drifted off to dreamland.

  Kevin woke up abruptly to the sound of a crash in the hallway. As he rubbed his eyes, he could see personal items rolling around with a blanket lumped on the floor. The blanket began to rise and Kevin could make out a slight humanoid shape underneath it. Kevin recognized some of the items on the floor to be his own. The wobbling blanket, coming from crew quarters, revealed skinny arms that could only be attached to Cal.

  “Cal, you alright?” Kevin called out.

  Cal swatted his arms about, attempting to remove the blanket, but with no success. There was a low groan followed by a drowned roar of vomit. Dark liquid permeated the white blanket and puddled on the cold, steel floor. There was another fit of arm flailing and the blanket cascaded off him. Cal stood upright, wearing only a green pair of boxer briefs one size too small. The briefs were soaked from front to back with excrement. It had run down his pale legs leaving little greenish brown stains on his skin. Cal must have fallen from the top bunk, blanket and all, because his face had taken quite a blow. Something had struck his face and his left eye socket was nearly caved in from the side. Torn skin dangled from the rotten socket.

  Kevin stood dumbfounded. He felt that the normal procedure would be to ask if he was okay, but … the answer was obvious. Kevin had seen enough movies to know that whatever his roommate had become, he didn’t want any part of it.

  There was a slamming sound behind Kevin that made him spin around. The bulkhead door had been slammed shut and a small bald head smiled from the circular window. Only this time the smile didn’t look fake, it looked excited.

  “Open up!” he screamed.

  The man pointed over Kevin’s shoulder and tapped the glass. He titled his head slightly and waited for Kevin’s next move.

  Kevin turned around and was met by Cal lunging face-first toward him. Kevin ducked and was pushed against the hatch by Cal’s midsection. Before Cal could grab him, Kevin pushed at his stomach with all his might, even using one foot to push off the door. The touch of his skin was waxy and cold and gave way to an almost empty stomach. Cal sprawled backward and seemed to make no attempt to regain his balance as he toppled onto his back.

  The tight corridor left him very little options. Cal attempted to stand back up, but was pushed down hard by Kevin’s work boot. Kevin knew that for this brief moment he had the advantage, one he wouldn’t let pass him by. He first held down Cal’s head by putting his boot on his neck. Cal flailed and groped for something before finally grasping at Kevin’s jeans. His grip was strong and sent a painful pinch, even through the old denim.

  “I guess I’m turning down your offer,” Kevin said before stomping Cal’s head into the floor. Despite the damage to Cal’s head after that first stomp, the man continued to squirm beneath him as if he had never been touched. He brought down his boot many more times; eight to be precise, and Kevin’s leg had a raging cramp by the end of it.

  Kevin rubbed his sore leg and looked down the corridor. On the left was the galley, and to the right, farther down, was his sleeping quarters. He looked down at his old roommate and pondered for a second. That sickness; he could only hope he hadn’t already caught it from their tussle. He limped along slowly and neared the galley. He couldn’t help but imagine all the worst outcomes.

  He took a deep breath and moved into the galley entrance. His eyes darted across the room. There were no signs of struggle or walls caked in blood. Despite the current situation, it looked rather clean. He took one step inside and turned his head to the left. The counter was clean, but behind it, shards of broken glass littered the floor.

  It came out without thought, “Dee?” There was a sudden jerk of movement from behind the counter and the sound of glass clinked against the steel floor. Kevin could make out a shoe on its side. The shoe slid out of view and the figure of a man stood up from behind the counter. The thing that had once been Dee turned his head toward Kevin. Clinging to his chin and part of his cheek was the yellow side of a rodent glue-trap. Near his mouth was a portion, only half maybe, of a rat that had once been stuck to the trap. Wildly, Kevin thought, now I really don’t want to piss off the cook. As if in answer, Dee lunged forward into the counter and hollow metal echoed loudly in the small room. He stumbled backward and slowly scanned the floor, perhaps for a path to exit his small kitchen area.

  “Oh, hell no,” Kevin said aloud. He kicked a folding chair out of the way that had been propping the door open. It banged to the floor and he pulled the door shut. Like many of the ship’s doors, this one was a watertight door, heavy and solid, made to withstand the massive pressure of water in a catastrophic situation. He turned the wheel in the door’s center to dog it into place. Kevin slid down the opposing wall onto his butt. He was already exhausted, both mentally and physically. It didn’t take too long before Dee’s face filled the porthole of the door. His eyes were wild with excitement, jittering back and forth at an inhuman pace.

  “How the hell did this happen?” Kevin thought to himself.

  “C’mon Kevin think,” he said to himself. “If Dee touched the man’s hand, just like Cal, then that could be how it spread. That man could be, what the hell is it called? A courier? A carrier? I touched Cal during the fight, does that count?”

  Kevin extended his arms and began to pinch and poke at the skin. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for, but he figured he’d know if he saw it. After a thorough exam, he could not find any signs of an infection. It didn’t ease his mind much, because he knew these things could take time to manifest.

  The ship had very little time until it was expected into port. Kevin knew that he had to simply survive until then. As huge as the vessel was, its inner decks housed narrow passageways and mostly small compartments. As in Dee’s case, many of the bulkhead doors could be used to keep the infected back. As the minutes went by, Dee never attempted to open the door and instead invested his time biting at the glass. Dee snapped hard at the glass and his gluey chinstrap caught a part of the window and ripped a swathe of his skin off. Dee continued to nip at the window as a dangling piece of flesh clung to the bright yellow glue. Kevin looked away and put his hand over his mouth and fought the urge to vomit.

  Kevin stood up and took a few steps down the hallway. The door at the far left, nearly thirty steps away, burst open with enough power to rattle the whole hallway as it struck the wall. Standing in the doorway was a man drenched in blood. In his grip was a fire axe. The head of the axe rested on the floor below. Fargus stood there with small pieces of gore stuck in his beard. His face had lines of blood that almost resembled ancient war paint. There was fire in those eyes, unlike anything Kevin had ever seen. There was a snort of air that escaped his nostrils and he brought the axe into both hands. There was one lumbering step into the passageway and Kevin could only stare in fright.

  His steps were labored and slow and his gaze never left Kevin. Kevin, who had previously been frozen in fear, suddenly activated his fight or flight instinct. He skittered to his feet and staggered to the opposite end of the passageway. Kevin banged on the door and yanked on the handle with no success.

  “Boy?” a voice behind him asked.

  Kevin spun around, planting his back firmly against the locked exit.

  Fargus stopped walking and spoke again. “Boy, is that you?”

  “Fargus? Don’t eat me.”

  “Oh, my lord,
yeer not one uh them!” He cried out. His axe dropped to the floor and he moved forward with his arms extended. Fargus was bringing something more terrifying than a monster’s bite … a Scottish hug.

  “Fargus, please don’t,” he said while staring at the Scotsman in panic.

  The Scot stopped and looked down at his blood-drenched clothing. “Aye, lad, I see what you mean.”

  “An’ that’s how I fought off the lot o’ them,” Fargus finished his story. “I just can’t fer the life of me figure out where they came from.”

  “The bald man,” Kevin said flatly.

  “How?”

  “I’m just guessing, but I think its skin to skin contact. He touched Cal and then Dee when he was brought food.”

  “So just by doing that …” Fargus began.

  “Somehow Dee must have gotten it into the food. Everyone that ate lunch today is infected.”

  “Shite, I’ve never been so happy to miss a meal. So, who does that leave?”

  “Well that man is skulking about; he locked me in here when Cal attacked. I guess that only leaves, you, me, and …” he said before the ship made an almost unnoticeable increase in speed.

  “Tha captain?” Fargus said. “I saw him eating lunch when I went past his cabin.”

  “His meals are made and packaged in advance, so he can just grab them when he is ready. Maybe he isn’t infected,”

  “Shite, why are we speeding up. We can’t actually bring this to land.”

  “Well, we have to get off this ship.”

  “Lad, you can’t be serious, this is one of them times you need those haz suit guys here. We can’t just dock her.”

  “I’m not waiting on this death ship an extra second, plus you’re telling the wrong guy. I’m not the one driving,” Kevin responded.

  “Gimmee yer radio,” Fargus said and snatched it when Kevin held it out.

  “Captain c’min, this is Fargus.”

  There was a long pause. While waiting, Kevin kept going over what Fargus had said. He wanted to, what, be the hero? Stop the ship miles from the shore and call who … the FBI or CDC? Those weren’t alternatives that filled Kevin with confidence. Screw that, he was getting off this ship, even if he had to swim to shore.

  Kevin was still trying to wrap his head around the method the infection used to spread. If Dee touched the food and it spread, there was a possibility that by touching Cal he was already … Kevin shook his head. “I’m going home,” Kevin thought to himself.

  “Go, Fargus,” the radio responded. The voice sounded almost annoyed.

  “Captain, what are you doing? We have an emergency and we can’t dock.”

  “Aye, I’ve seen it. Got a couple of those bastards right outside the door as we speak.”

  “We can’t seriously bring this to another country. It has already infected almost the whole crew.”

  “I see that, Fargus. I haven’t had contact with the port since yesterday afternoon. We might not be the only ones with this problem. We can sort it out when we’re safe. I’m pushing her hard, we’ll be there soon.”

  “Captain, it’s your duty to contain this, you know that.”

  “I’m pushing her hard, we can have this conversation shore-side. Captain, out.”

  There was a static click and Fargus struggled to get back into contact with him. After a few minutes of cussing, he handed the radio over, quite defeated.

  Fargus looked over at Kevin with a face like a child who was told they couldn’t have ice cream. Kevin tried to read him, but wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Then a small smile began to form under his beard.

  “Oh no, what?” Kevin asked.

  “C’mon, we’re going to the engine room,” he said gripping the axe tightly in both hands.

  The trip through the bowels of the ship couldn’t be described as uneventful, as they had run into nearly a half-dozen infected crew members along the way. Despite the danger they posed, it almost began to feel trivial toward the end. With the narrow passageways limiting any surprises, Fargus made quick work of them with the fire ax. After each kill, Fargus would mutter an apology attached to a name. These creatures might have worn the faces of people Fargus had known for years, but now they were complete strangers. After trudging through the cream-colored passageways for what seemed like hours, they finally turned the corner to the engine bay.

  Kevin stood at the bend, his view obstructed by 250 pounds of muscle and pissed off Scotsman. To his side was a narrow ladder well that climbed to a weathertight door to the outer deck. It had begun to storm and small splashes of water dotted the porthole on the door.

  “You bastard,” Fargus said aloud.

  Kevin peeked around him. At the end of the hallway stood the bald man. He was in the open doorway that led down into a darkened hum of machinery. Doors dotted the sides of the hallway, each labeled “Storage.” The bald man had lost his glasses and he looked … different. Kevin couldn’t help but to think about a Halloween costume. He wore the skin of a man, but something underneath was anything but human. The bald man scared him worse than the zombies. That thing had beady eyes that seemed to pierce right through him; they surveyed for weaknesses. Did it know they were going to the engine room, and if so, why did it care? It couldn’t be consciously trying to get to land … could it?

  “You did this. Why?” Fargus yelled down the passageway. His voice echoed back in what almost seemed to be a response.

  The bald man said nothing and instead reached into his baggy pockets. Kevin eyed his movements with a sense of wonder. The man pulled out a handful of bronze colored objects. It was hard to make them out until he let them fall to the floor in a dreadful bang. They were padlocks, like the ones that had secured the containers that housed dozens, if not hundreds, of stowaways. In retrospect, Kevin had to admit that he might have been the worst security guard ever.

  “I’m done with the games,” Fargus said as he began to march forward.

  The bald man never budged an inch. Kevin followed timidly behind. Right before Fargus could get close enough to reach the man, a group of zombies hurtled out of the room on the right. One lunged onto Fargus’s arm and he sidestepped into the left closet. As he attempted to throw the first one off, two more flung themselves onto him. In the tussle, the fire ax dropped to the floor and Fargus found himself being dogpiled in the storage room. Kevin struggled to break free of his own fear, standing there dumbfounded as the sound of fighting drifted out of the room.

  The bald man stepped toward the room. He leaned in and pulled the door shut, ignoring the sounds of combat. With one, almost graceful motion, he pulled a padlock out of his pocket and snapped it closed on the door’s latch. Kevin looked down at the man’s feet where the fire axe lay. He knew the actions a hero would take, grab the axe, kill the monster, save his friend, stop the engines, and save the day. Only, this was real life, and Kevin was no hero.

  “To anyone listening, we are only a few minutes out,” the radio blared with a message from the bridge. “Still no word from the port and I can’t reach anyone. There are more of those things outside my door, if anyone on the ship can hear this, come help me. Otherwise, brace yourselves and pray.”

  The bald man smiled and kicked the fire axe over to Kevin. He stood motionless, his smile never changing. Kevin scurried to pick up the axe and paused for a moment, with his eyes still fixated on the strange man. The bald man began banging a lock against the metal railing. It echoed loudly through the narrow corridor. Even as his fingers closed around the axe handle, a conga-line of zombies shuffled up from the engine room. Kevin backpedaled as they flowed around the man who calmly stood there like a stone in the middle of a slow-flowing river.

  As the zombie flood swept slowly past the storage room, the door suddenly shook against the padlocked clasp. There was the sound of muffled fury from inside. Fargus was alive, something that failed to put Kevin’s mind at ease as he turned and ran up the ladder well. He could try to rewrite his truth later, tell himself that there
was nothing he could have done. He could try to tell himself that Fargus would have left him too, even though he knew that was a lie.

  Kevin was going to survive and Fargus’s plan to kill the engines just got in the way. The captain would bring them to port and the government, the people in suits, would erase the creatures. But none of that would matter if he couldn’t escape the mob of undead between him and safety. His goal was just to survive this, at any cost.

  Kevin stumbled up the stairs and struggled to turn the wheel on the outer door. Rain streaked across the glass of the porthole. “C’mon, please,” Kevin whispered under his breath as he gave the wheel one strong turn. The wheel spun free and let out a loud creak. Kevin bolted onto the deck with the hollow sound of footsteps closing in from behind him. On the deck, a few of the storage containers had their doors swinging gently to the rocking of the ship. A woman was hunched over a body, her hands moving like a child digging at the beach.

  Kevin threw his bodyweight into the door and attempted to close it behind him, but an arm and part of a shoulder squeezed through before he could close it. He dug his heels in, but they slipped against the wet deck. The door pulsated as more and more zombies slammed against themselves. The ladder well had become an infected artery simply waiting to burst. The noise of the door rattling and the excited moans coming from within seemed to stir the woman. She turned around to reveal a face smeared with blood. She stood and began to walk toward Kevin, while the body she had been feasting upon jerked and flopped like a freshly landed swordfish on the rainswept deck behind her.

  Around the corner of another container, two more of Cal’s “tourists” stumbled into view. No wounds on them, no bites nor even blood on them. Kevin didn’t have time to speculate on how the bald man infected them all.

  Kevin released his grip on the door wheel and ran forward a few steps. The ship began to vomit the putrid passengers onto the deck. From around what seemed like every corner, more and more infected began to show themselves. He backed away from them, slowly moving toward the captain’s bridge. Dozens, maybe even a hundred people, or ex-people, started to close in. “How many tourists did Cal sneak on?” he asked himself aloud.