The Gristle & Bone Series (Book 1): The Flayed & The Dying

by Roach, Aaron

  “Whoa,” Sophia gasped at the vast number of people already hosted within the encampment. “There are thousands of them!”

  “When we get down there, keep close to me, okay?” Kat replied. “That’s a lot of people to get lost in.”

  As the helicopter began its descent, Don watched the incoming earth and his heart fluttered with the promise of what was offered below. Down there was weakness and disorder to exploit, and in that, opportunities to discover his new self. He felt himself harden at the thought of a new Delilah as a brunette, or a redhead, before casting his eyes over at the brat and her friend.

  I’ll make Delilahs of them too.

  When the helicopter’s skids touched down on the grass, the passengers were met by a group of armed men and a woman with a clipboard; all of them adorned in Federation uniforms. Two of the soldiers helped hustle the passengers safely from the aircraft while the rest stood a safe distance back with their rifles held at the half-ready, watching. Once everyone was offloaded and at a safe distance, Sue nodded to them from the pilot’s seat before flying off to another portion of the camp.

  The woman with the clipboard approached Ward and Litz first, who stood to attention and greeted her with a smart salute. “You were in the city?” she asked incredulously after they explained how they ended up in a chopper full of fleeing refugees.

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “And the rest of your unit?” she asked.

  “Dead, ma’am. Massacred.”

  The woman ducked her chin, and then looked up at the buzzing helicopters flitting across the sky. “That’s what they’re reporting, about all the units sent in…thousands of troopers, just…gone. By all accounts, you’re the first soldiers we’ve seen who made it out of the city alive.” She cleared her throat, “Anyways, you made it and you ain’t done yet. There’s no going home from here boys, we might as well be on deployment on the Frontier. Lowell, take these two to the command building for debriefing.”

  With that, one of the armed soldiers stepped forward and escorted Ward and Litz away, leaving the clipboard-woman with the rest of the group. “Right,” she said, turning to the civilians. “Welcome to Safety Zone Three.”

  -46-

  Thaniel assaulted the back of the metal door with curse words and hammer fists until he was exhausted. He crumpled into a low squat and pressed his eyes heavily against the meat of his palms until they saw colors. There, he cursed himself for being a fool. “Take him to the mess decks,” he muttered sarcastically to himself.

  Hyres had walked Thaniel all the way to the door of his cell in the brig before he realized anything was amiss. “This isn’t the mess decks,” was all he could think to say as the door slammed shut in his face.

  Idiot.

  He really needed a cigarette.

  “Thaniel? Are you done shouting at the door?” came a muffled voice through the bulkhead, barely audible over the low rumbling and humming of the ship. It took him a moment to recognize the voice as Kim’s.

  “Kim?” he said to the empty room. “Where are you?”

  “Sounds like you’re in the cell right next to us. Speak up, so we can hear you!”

  Before Thaniel could answer, Jason’s voice came through the bulkhead too. “Hey Thaniel, did you convince them to let us go?” he asked jokingly.

  “Still working on it, pal.”

  “So, what’d they say when they heard the tape?”

  “I got the impression they believe we’re innocent, but I don’t think they cared.”

  “Hey Thaniel, Eric here. What do you mean you don’t think they cared?”

  Thaniel leaned the back of his head against the door and closed his eyes to the buzzing fluorescent bulb that lit up his tiny white cell. “I mean I think they have too much on their plate right now to have to figure out what to do with us.” He used the long moment of silence that followed to move from the floor to the solitary bunk. He leaned his ear close to the bulkhead and spoke again, “The way I see it, they have two options. They could let us go because they have bigger problems to deal with, or they’ll forget all about us and leave us to rot down here in these cells.”

  Another pause.

  “So, if you were a gambling man, Thaniel, would you put your money on us being let go, or the whole rotting away thing?”

  “I’m not a gambling man, Jason.” It was all he could think to say.

  More quiet, then Kim: “My son’s on one of these things, you know. A Federation ship, I mean…” She was interrupted by the distinct rolling thud of a heavy door sliding open. Then there was a jangle of keys. The intrusion had Thaniel up and running to peer through the tiny portal in his cell door. In the peripherals of the window, just beyond the frame, he saw glimpses of a uniformed man moving about in the space beyond. The man came and stood in front of the neighboring doorway, in front of the cell where his friends were detained. Thaniel could see half the man’s profile, from his ear backwards, as he jangled more keys.

  “Hey! Sir!” Thaniel rapped on the glass with his knuckles. “Sir, may I please speak to Captain Harig?” The sailor leaned back and looked at him, giving Thaniel a full view of a face that he did not recognize. The man stared at him for a heavy moment, and then cast his eyes down, shaking his head.

  There was a clinking of keys followed by a loud clack as the door to his friends’ cell opened. Through the bulkhead, Thaniel could hear the low muffled beginnings of a conversation then somebody, Kim maybe, screamed.

  Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

  The sounds of gunfire were unmistakable and continued until the shouting and screaming died down to nothing.

  The silence that followed had Thaniel backing up across the cell in terror. His rear thumped hard against the farthest bulkhead, and he scrambled like a cornered animal. There was nowhere else to go.

  He froze at the sound of keys.

  Thaniel looked up to see the gunman’s face now at his door. The man didn’t meet Thaniel’s eyes this time. Instead, he kept his gaze cast downward as he twisted open the lock and pulled the door back until it was fully ajar. Thaniel stammered something incoherent, useless words that went unheeded as the sailor raised a pistol.

  “I’m sorry,” the regretful assassin said. “Orders, you know?”

  Thaniel raised his hands to his face, his mind hovering on the brink, and so he did not see the gunman get tackled to the steel deck from behind. The man’s screaming brought Thaniel back to horrifying reality, and he refocused. There, on the floor in front of him, the gunman screamed as two people clawed and ate at him. He thrashed, trying to get away, but the feasting things held fast.

  “Holy sh –” Thaniel sputtered.

  The closer of the two eaters jerked its head up to stare at him and Thaniel recognized the same shark-eyed stare that had graced the Brienna-thing’s face. It lurched open-mouthed at Thaniel’s legs and he yelped, tripping over his feet as he sidestepped and tumbled across the bunk to get away. Both corpses scrambled after him, snapping their teeth at his ankles as he skidded out of his cell. He grabbed the open door and slammed it hard against their gnashing faces, closing them inside. He sat there for a few moments, his back braced against the thumping cell door as the two angry corpses on the other side threw themselves against it. Minutes went by until the thumping finally ceased and was replaced by the sounds of wet eating. Only then did he feel safe enough to gingerly back away.

  He stopped when his foot slipped on something wet.

  A crimson pool was slowly growing from beneath the half-open cell next to his. Against his better judgment, Thaniel peered inside and saw his friends lying in unmoving heaps on the floor. Between them, puddles of blood converged over strewn portraits of kids and the black-and-white photograph of Jason and his wife picnicking on a grassy lawn.

  Thaniel turned away and vomited.

  When his heaving ceased, he choked down a sob and reminded himself of the urgency of his situation.

  This was an execution.

  I need to get
off this ship.

  He moved quickly past his cell, ignoring the feasting dead things trapped inside, to an ovular door in the bulkhead. He peered out into the passageway beyond. No one was there. He gritted his teeth and stepped out into the empty space, swiveling his head, unsure of where to go. He turned right, deciding to return in the direction from which he had come with Hyres. He thought maybe he would recognize enough of the route to find his way back to Harig’s office and hopefully, from there, outside onto the flight deck.

  Then what?

  He had no idea.

  As he made his way down the empty passageway, Thaniel wondered why he hadn’t run into anyone yet. It was odd. When he had followed Hyres through here, he distinctly remembered passing several dozen sailors going about their duties. Where were they all now?

  Then, behind the never-ending thrum of the ship, he heard it. A faint groaning that echoed up through other spaces, somewhere below or perhaps farther down the passageway on which he was walking. He recognized it as the same groaning calls that had chased him up the stairs of the office building. This time, though, the sounds came in the hundreds, calling up through the deck beneath his feet – yearning and hungry.

  Thaniel picked up his pace, and as he came up to an intersection with another passageway, he ran headfirst into a wild-eyed sailor skidding around a corner.

  “Run!” the man managed to squeak out before flying past.

  “Wait!” Thaniel called, chasing after him, but the sailor didn’t slow. As they came upon a steep ladderwell, Thaniel risked a glance over his shoulder to where the terrified man had been fleeing.

  Oh shit.

  A wall of corpses came shambling from beyond the corner where they had just been, so densely packed that they filled the entire width of passageway. They shuffled towards them, hands raised and hungry.

  The sailor threw himself up the ladder, his heels narrowly missing Thaniel’s face coming up behind. As Thaniel ascended to the next deck, the man disappeared into a small throng of uniformed men and women going about their duties. As the terrified sailor shouted warnings a few of his shipmates stopped and stared at him, then back at Thaniel, their eyes questioning. Thaniel stared back, unsure of what to say or do. He became distinctly aware that he had no uniform, badge, or I.D. to mark him as anything but a visitor, possibly an unwelcome one, aboard their ship. Before they could accost him for his information however, an alarm sounded off above their heads.

  -47-

  In the darkness, Sharpe dreamed. He dreamed of retirement, his ex-wife, and his dog. He dreamed of dry California sunshine and endless beaches that turned into deserts. That’s where he buried his men, in three shallow pits in the middle of a barren plain, where wind kicked up grains of sand that stung the eyes and clung to his skin. Overhead, dark clouds crackled into a low rumble and Sharpe felt the vibrations through the dead soil at his feet. Every few moments the world around him would flash bright as lightning rolled in, keeping pace with the amassing, threatening clouds.

  The clouds exploded into showers and Sharpe grew soaked. Around him, the parched earth came to life as wildflowers erupted from the dirt. They grew everywhere, into endless fields that covered everything except the dry dark spaces of his men’s graves at his feet. Sharpe knelt down and spoke to the stirred earth there.

  Wake up!

  And his men did. They rose amongst the flowers into a sitting position, shaking the soil from their faces and shoulders before turning to stare at Sharpe with unfocused eyes. One by one, their jaws unhinged, their mouths cracked agape, and they screamed. They screamed so unnaturally loud that Sharpe collapsed to the ground holding his hands over his ears. He tried to shield himself from the noise, but it grew louder and angrier until it seeped through the cracks between his fingers and filled his skull like boiling water. He tore at himself to get it out. He ripped away his ears, and his hair, and his eyes, and then, in the midst of his self-torture, a thought bubbled by, one that he latched on to as he fought his way out of the deep nightmare. He held onto it like a rising balloon lifting his heavy mind from sleep.

  When his eyes opened, the thought was still there.

  I brought the infection back to the ship.

  It took Sharpe a heartbeat longer to recognize the general quarters alarm that was blaring loudly and the sounds of running in the passageway outside. He was up immediately, fighting through the grogginess and kicking off his sheets to stand in the small room reserved for operator teams. A quick glimpse at his watch showed that he had only been asleep for twenty-seven minutes. Around him, he heard his men rousing from their bunks and felt the sudden tension in the room as they realized the commotion was not a drill.

  “Get your gear,” Sharpe said, and his men moved. They jumped from their bunks and into boots, grabbing their kits along the way. In a matter of seconds, they were battle-ready – almost. They were without their assault rifles and body armor, which they had checked into the ship’s armory upon their return to the ship. Instead, they had only their personal firearms, pistols holstered at hips or thighs. These they had been allowed to keep, a special privilege reserved only for the operator class, so that they could adhere to their creed to never go unarmed. Sharpe wasn’t too worried about the limited firepower, though. The handguns would be just as lethal in the cramped spaces of the ship’s interior.

  Sharpe cracked the door open and peered into the passageway outside. In the seconds since waking up, the space had already emptied, but it was far from silent. He could hear screaming and gunfire down the passageway, and through the decks and bulkheads. The loud echoes made it hard to pinpoint exactly where the noises were coming from.

  He heard his men gathering behind him. “Sounds like hostiles are on the ship. Be on the lookout for the dead, we may have brought the infection aboard with Grim, Merrill, and Salim.” A scream echoed up through the passageway, interrupting him. He peered outside again, but the hall remained empty. “We stick together. We head to the armory and get our weapons back. Stay close. Stay alive. Let’s move.”

  Sharpe stepped out into the corridor and began making his way towards the stern area of the ship, sticking close to the bulkhead and moving at a half-jog. He heard his men falling in behind him. Nearby, from a fan room, a sailor tumbled into view, fighting off a comrade with snapping teeth. Sharpe put a bullet in the back of the thing’s skull as he ran by without slowing. The sailor heaved the limp corpse off him and scrambled to his feet. He saw the look of grim determination on the operators’ faces and made a quick decision to fall in line behind them.

  At one point, they came upon a desperate group of sailors fighting savagely with makeshift weapons against a swarm of the dead that reached and grabbed, coming up from the deck below. Sharpe and his men quickly pressed on without stopping to help.

  As they neared the armory, the smattering of gunfire grew louder until a round ricocheted off the bulkhead above Sharpe’s head. They took cover behind a corner, staying low, and Sharpe shouted out, “Friendly fire! Friendly fire!” His voice carried and someone on the other side shouted a command to cease shooting.

  “Come out!” the voice called.

  Sharpe rose to his feet and peered around the edge of the bulkhead. Just down the corridor, around another corner, a group of sailors peered back at him, with rifles cautiously held at the ready. When they saw who he was, and the kraken pinned to his chest marking him as an operator, they stepped out into the open and waved safe passage.

  Sharpe and his men trotted up to the group. As they drew closer, he noticed that the sailors were soaking wet and shivering, their colorful jerseys marking them as flight deck crew. He assumed that they had been out in the rain when the ship’s battle alarms sounded. Now they stood there, water dripping from their hair and clothes and clumsily holding semi-automatic weapons. They looked completely out of their element and gaped at him as if he was their savior. He shrugged away the awkwardness he felt at their stares and directed his question at the senior-most ranking member
in the group, a Petty Officer Ryan, as indicated by the nametag on his breast.

  “What’s the situation, Ryan?”

  The soaking Ryan’s teeth chattered when he spoke. “The lower decks are completely overrun, sir, though we’re managing to hold them off at this level. Most of the weapons in the armory have been distributed, with teams setting up at the ladders. The dead can’t seem to get up the steps too well, but when they do, they are greeted with a faceful of gunshot and put back down. The rest of us have set up firing points along the passageways to take care of anything that makes it past. The problem is, sir, we are too thinly spread and running low on ammunition. The dead don’t die too easily, and it takes a lot of firepower to put one down.”

  “Any word from the captain?” Sharpe asked when Ryan finished.

  “I don’t know, sir,” he answered, motioning with the rifle in his hands, “I was just given this and ordered to hold the passageway with these guys.”

  Sharpe nodded and looked over the small crowd of frightened, shivering sailors. “You’ve all done a fine job,” he said, “but the plan has now changed. Two of you are to remain here to defend this passageway. The rest are to come with me and my team to the armory.”

  Sharpe led the sailors down the passageway, his small army growing larger as they made their way past fire-point after fire-point, collecting men and firearms along the way. At each point, they left two-man teams behind to hold their allotted sections of corridor.