Satan's Gate

by Walt Browning

  Lazzaro had to move. He’d given himself another round of lidocaine injections after noticing that the pain was returning to his leg. He refilled two more syringes and stuffed them into his pocket.

  He called the primary flight deck one more time. No answer.

  “No time like the present,” he said to the empty room.

  Lazzaro moved to the passageway door and listened. After a minute of silence, he slowly opened the door and moved outside. He crept forward, following the mental path he’d memorized to move up and out of the ship.

  He came to a ladder and quietly ascended. He spun the handle on the hatch and pushed it open. This second deck was littered with bodies, its bulkhead sprayed with human and Variant blood.

  He secured the hatch behind him, dogging the door so he didn’t have to worry about something following him.

  He picked his way around several dead Variants and found a Marine who had been nearly decapitated. Lazzaro picked through the corpse and retrieved any clean item he could use.

  An M4 lay on the deck and, with several other corpses nearby, he kitted himself out.

  His prized find was several flash-bang grenades. They’d been effective back at the Forum, disorienting the Variants and pushing them back.

  With a squad headset, full loadout of ammunition, weapons, and full body armor, he was ready to roll. He pulled back on his rifle’s charging handle, ensuring there was a loaded round. Then he moved.

  As he made his way through the ship, he realized he had found the QRF the primary flight deck had called for. Over a hundred Marines and many more Variants were lying dead, their bodies riddled with bullets or their corpses eviscerated.

  Twice, the sound of Variants slurping and grunting as they fed drifted down the passageway, warning him to change course well before he could stumble on them. But he was becoming disoriented. He’d memorized the way with specific instructions. Once he varied from that path, it became a crapshoot. Several placards seemed to give him some direction, but after two more hallways and another ladder and hatch, he knew he was lost.

  Lazzaro found himself moving down a passageway when he heard the clicking and popping of dozens of Variants moving toward him.

  He had to find a place to hide. He tried several doors but found them locked.

  “Damn it!” he said in a low voice as he heard the creatures just around the next bend. He brought his rifle up and stared down its red dot optics.

  “Fuck!” he said to himself.

  The door next to him opened, revealing a dark room beyond. A frightened sailor stood back as Lazzaro rushed the door. He closed it and within seconds, the sound of a pack of Variants rumbled past.

  After the last of the creatures had moved on, Lazzaro finally turned around and looked at his savior. It was a young female sailor, barely a teenager by her looks.

  “Thanks,” he whispered.

  She just nodded, a fearful look on her face.

  Lazzaro took off the helmet he’d recovered and put out his hand. She held her arm back, refusing to shake his hand.

  “Corporal Antonio Lazzaro. United States Marines.”

  “Are you here to rescue us?” she asked hopefully.

  “Afraid not. I was in sick bay when it all went down. I’m just trying to get out of here.”

  The young girl assessed him for a moment then finally replied. “Seaman Janet Gruber. Communications technician.”

  “How long have you been in here?” Lazzaro asked.

  The E-3 turned away and refused his stare. “A while,” she cryptically replied.

  “A while?” Lazzaro replied. “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing!” She had started to yell before catching herself so she didn’t alert the creatures outside. “Just a while,” she whispered.

  Something wasn’t right. She seemed to shrink into the corner of the room.

  “Hey. It’s all right. I can get us out of here.”

  “That’s okay. I’m fine here.”

  “You’re what?” Lazzaro replied. “You do know what’s going on out there, don’t you?”

  “Sure. That’s why I have the door locked.”

  “You can’t survive in this room for long. You’ll die of thirst or worse.”

  “No. I’ll be all right. If you want to go, I’m good with that.”

  Lazzaro was dumbfounded. The frail sailor stood in the far corner, holding her left arm over her right.

  “Well, I’m lost. I’ll need your help to get to the flight deck.”

  “I can tell you how.”

  “Why don’t you show me? We can go together.”

  “No,” she quietly replied. “But here’s how to get up there.”

  She gave him instructions. It wasn’t far.

  He was confused at her reluctance to move. He understood her fear of leaving the safety of the room, but she’d be dead in a few days. Dying of thirst was a horrible way to go.

  He approached her slowly.

  “Hey. I know it’s scary. But we have to do this. No one’s coming for us.”

  She looked back at him with terrified eyes, shaking her head side to side.

  “No. No, I can’t,” she sobbed.

  Lazzaro tried to take her hand to console her, but she twisted away from him. Her left arm came down, exposing a wound on her right hand.

  “Let me see that!” Lazzaro commanded.

  After a momentary struggle, the girl relented.

  Lazzaro examined the bite mark. Black lines were already spreading up her arm. She’d been bitten by a Variant.

  She sobbed as he traced the infection up the limb and onto her neck where he noticed that her jugular vein was beginning to distend and turn dark. She didn’t have long.

  “Please, just leave.”

  Lazzaro stood quietly. They both knew what was coming.

  “Hey,” he said with a smile. “I can fix that!”

  The girl stopped crying and gave him a doubtful stare. “How?”

  “I have medicine. Here. Let me show you.”

  Lazzaro pulled out one of his syringes and held it up for her to see.

  “It’s from sick bay. They found a cure.”

  The girl continued to look doubtful.

  “Seriously,” Lazzaro said. “Look. I had a wound, and it fixed me.”

  He pointed to his sutured pants where Shader’s knife had cut through the fabric to access the shrapnel wound that he’d received at the Forum.

  “I can pull down my pants if you don’t believe me,” Lazzaro joked as the girl continued to assess him.

  “No,” she finally replied. “I believe you.”

  “Let me give it to you. Sit down over there.”

  The sailor seemed to relax. She moved to a chair and sat down.

  Lazzaro grabbed a large towel from a nearby bench and handed it to her.

  “This is going to hurt. I know, because I got one. You need to cover your face and bite on this, so you don’t yell. We don’t want to die because the Variants heard you scream.”

  She smiled and nodded, covering her face with the folded, thick towel.

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  The gunshot from Lazzaro’s M9, muffled by the thick cotton-blended towel, barely echoed in the small room. The sailor fell back to the floor. The towel dropped to the side, revealing the young girl’s face. She was grinning, a bright smile of hope frozen on her face.

  Lazzaro squatted down next to the girl and brushed back some hair that had fallen over her cheeks. She looked so young. So innocent.

  Lazzaro wiped a tear from his eye and took a deep breath. He’d given her a good death. In this new world, that was all any of them could ask for.

  Shader

  Over the Pacific Ocean

  The noise inside the Osprey limited conversation. The four survivors, Potoski, and Shader moved to the rear of the craft, putting as much space between them and the dead Variant as they could.

  Shader approached the four they had rescued, who had set
tled into bulkhead seats. Two of them stared at the bulkhead, lost in thought. The other two, a soldier and woman, sat next to each other. They were holding hands.

  Shader bent over and yelled to the couple. “My name’s Shader,” he yelled.

  “Jacobs!” the man yelled back. “Master-at-arms.”

  “My name’s Jennifer,” the woman answered loudly. “I’m his fiancé.”

  “That’s Gardner, and the other guy is Polodare,” Jacobs shouted. “They’re also B640.”

  Shader nodded. At least these guys had some training with a rifle. Not many sailors spent time behind a trigger.

  Shader went back and sat down by Potoski. “Shore Patrol,” he told the big Pole.

  “Hrrumph,” he said. “Never liked those assholes.”

  Shader smiled. He was sure the Marine had been rung up more than once by the Navy’s police.

  Potoski continued to have a sour look on his face as Shader closed his eyes to wait out the short trip to the T.R. His rest didn’t last long.

  “Attention. This is Lieutenant Donaldson. We’ve been tasked to check on the Boxer. They were fighting an infection, but fleet lost contact with the ship a few minutes ago. We’ll be over her in about five minutes. All crew members, weapons hot.”

  Shader gave Potoski a tired look. They both sighed, got up from their bulkhead seats, and stood at the ramp. They had closed it after the rescue. Potoski hit a switch, and it began to open once again.

  Potoski flipped open the top of the SAW and verified that a round was waiting. The open-bolt weapon was ready, the first bullet in the string sitting next to the chamber and firing pin retracted. A full belt of .556 rounds snaked back into the attached box. If need be, they had plenty of lead to share with the Variants.

  Jacobs moved to ramp and leaned over next to Shader’s ear. “Do you need another rifle?”

  Shader looked at the young man. He was half his age. He even had a few small pimples showing from under his helmet. He was just a kid.

  “Don’t know!” he screamed back over the howling wind and engines. “We’re doing recon on the Boxer. They lost contact with the ship, and we’re going to find out why.”

  Jacobs gave him a knowing look. He checked his M4 and verified that a round was chambered. He made sure it was on safe and nodded to Shader.

  “We can probably handle this,” Shader said to the kid. “Why don’t you take a seat.”

  “I’ll stay.”

  “Why?” Shader yelled back.

  He looked back at his fiancé. “I have a lot to protect.”

  Shader understood. A man had to do what he could to keep the ones he loved safe. For some, it was as instinctive as breathing.

  “Keep to my left and try not to spray us with your brass.”

  “I’ll do my best!” Jacobs replied with a smile.

  There were no promises in war. Shader grunted his approval.

  The Osprey began to slow down. Soon, Shader could see the deck of the amphibious assault ship pass below them. Donaldson was slowly moving a few hundred feet over the craft as they searched back and forth, looking for survivors.

  She ran the length of the ship, the deck peppered with abandoned machinery and a few corpses. She made a wide turn over the ocean, preparing for a second run. This gave Shader a view of the entire craft. He gasped when he saw the island covered by Variants. The infected creatures were scurrying up and down the ship’s superstructure. The windows of the multi-level bridge had been broken open, with infected sailors scurrying in and out like an ant infestation. No matter how secure the hatches, the bridge had been doomed. That explained the loss in communications.

  “One more pass,” Donaldson said over the craft’s internal radio.

  Shader sighed. It was another failed mission.

  As they glided down the flight deck on a final run, Potoski slapped Shader on the shoulder and pointed to the ship.

  “There!” he yelled. “I see something.”

  Shader looked where the Marine was pointing and saw a single soldier sprinting across the deck. Behind him were dozens of Variants leaping after him.

  “We have someone,” Shader said to Donaldson.

  A moment later, the craft slowed down and began to settle on the deck. As they descended, Potoski opened up with his machine gun while Shader and Jacobs fired their M4s. They took down the leading edge of the Variants, before they descended too low to shoot above the running soldier.

  The man was churning his legs and arms, but he seemed to be running with a slight limp. A couple of the Variants were beginning to catch up. One, in particular, was practically flying up the deck. Shader estimated the distances between the survivor and the Variant. The man wasn’t going to make it.

  Shader started to move out of the craft but was shoved aside by Jacobs. He ran out onto the deck and moved slightly to his left, creating a clear lane of fire. He took three shots, the last one punching through the advancing creature’s neck. The wound sent it tumbling to the deck.

  The survivor and Jacobs sprinted onto the Osprey.

  “GO! GO! GO!” Shader yelled into the boom mic.

  Donaldson pushed the throttle and lifted the bird into the air. They were over the water in moments as hundreds of Variants swarmed the spot they’d just left.

  Shader turned to see who they’d taken on. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

  “Hey! PORKY!” Lazzaro said.

  Shader was stunned. He didn’t even want to think about the odds of finding the stupid Marine alive, let alone running across the deck of a doomed ship.

  Shader went over to Lazzaro and gave him a hug. They took a seat on the bulkhead while Potoski raised the ramp. Within a minute, the V-22 was buttoned up and shooting toward the Roosevelt. Shader was satisfied. It had turned out to be a successful night, after all.

  — 33 —

  U.S.S. Theodore Roosevelt

  Galley

  “If you believe you can accomplish everything by ‘cramming’ at the eleventh hour, by all means, don’t lift a finger now. But you may think twice about beginning to build your ark once it has already started raining.”

  MAX BROOKS

  The Zombie Survival Guide

  The survivors and their saviors, minus the pilots, gathered in the ship’s galley as they had planned. Lazzaro’s reunion with Keele and Gonzalez was nothing short of epic. The three men hugged and then wrestled each other until one of them grabbed Lazzaro’s injured leg. The transformation from alpha males to mother hens was sudden and comical. Keele picked Lazzaro up off the ground and deposited him in a chair, while Gonzalez grabbed Lazzaro’s pants and pulled them down to the knees, exposing the wound.

  Shader didn’t want to admit it, but he looked closely at the Marine’s thigh above the dressing. He was relieved that Lazzaro’s wound wasn’t sprouting black veins. It would have sucked to have to put him down after such and ordeal.

  “Dude. How come you aren’t limping?” Keele asked.

  Shader had thought the same thing, but it went to the backburner. The Osprey was far too loud to have a conversation and, besides, Lazzaro needed to rest. They all did.

  Lazzaro reached into his BDU pants and pulled out a syringe.

  “Novocaine!” he said proudly.

  “You gave yourself a shot?” Gonzalez said almost reverently.

  “You do what you gotta do,” Lazzaro stated confidently.

  “You’re not such a pussy after all,” Shader said. “I seem to remember a certain Marine puking his guts out because of some bad smells.”

  “It toughened me up,” Lazzaro replied. Then he lost his smile, got quiet, and looked away.

  Shader recognized the man’s mental situation. He’d seen some really bad shit that night but wasn’t ready to talk about it.

  “It can wait,” Shader assured him. “Why don’t we rest on it and pick it up again tomorrow?”

  Lazzaro continued to tap his finger. He put his other hand under the table and gripped his injured leg, which was b
ouncing up and down along with the tapping.

  “I’m worried,” he finally said. He looked around at the large eating area. Over half the tables were full of sailors and quite a few of the rescued from Coronado. “I saw how it started. I’m afraid it may happen here too.”

  They all stared at the injured Marine, their eyes begging for more.

  Lazzaro told his story. He described the infected Marine, his conversations with Lieutenant Raymond and the poor sailor he had to kill.

  “It’s fucking quick,” he concluded. “That Marine turned in late morning, just a few hours from when he was infected. The ship was lost three hours later. The whole damn ship!”

  The Boxer was nearly as large as the Roosevelt. For something that size to fall in such a short period of time gave them all pause.

  The mood suddenly changed. It seemed their refuge wasn’t so safe anymore.

  “What do we do?” Jennifer asked.

  Potoski folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair. “It’s not like we can swim ashore. We’re thirty miles out.”

  The group became somber, each person trying to assimilate the new situation. After a couple minutes of silence, Shader stood and addressed the small group. “Tell you what, why don’t you all get some sleep. Potoski and I have someone we need to see.”

  Potoski frowned. “We do?”

  Without replying to the Marine’s question, Shader turned and strode toward the exit. Potoski stood with a sigh and followed the SEAL.

  Garrett watched the two men leave then stood, addressing the others. “I’m going to the armory. We need to top off our magazines.”

  “You think they’ll let us do that?” Gonzalez said. “They find out we have our rifles, and they’ll make us turn them in.”

  Garrett was stumped. Gonzalez was correct. They’d snuck the M4s onto the ship by separating the upper receiver from the lower. Then Potoski used a ruck he’d brought on board the Osprey to store them under Donaldson’s bunk.

  With so many extra people on board, there was no privacy. There were only so many beds and they were all hot bunking. Stacked three high, they had no privacy in their sleeping quarters. Further, their assigned lockers were shared as well. The only people with their own rooms were the officers. When Garrett asked Potoski if Donaldson approved of the subterfuge, he just shrugged his shoulders. Donaldson had no clue.