Planet of the Dead (Book 3): Escape From The Planet of The Dead

by Flowers, Thomas S.

  No.

  No.

  No.

  Just as the bubonic plague they’d read about in school, when over half the world’s population was culled like wheat on the threshing floor, this was no sprint; this was a marathon, a long-distance game of survival one had to play carefully.

  Yet how long can anyone endure the pangs of hunger in the sight of something so tempting? It seemed to Elias that this ship was a ripe fruit ready to be plundered. Hell, if the conditions inside were better than he hoped, this could be a home, a refuge, an escape from this planet gone awry.

  “If you have a better idea...?” Elias prodded.

  Hadden grumbled.

  Elias grinned, knowing he had won.

  Glancing sideways at his friend, Hadden said, “Any sign of trouble and we’re out—deal?”

  Crossing a hand over his chest, Elias promised, “Deal.” Gesturing with a nod, he asked for the binoculars back. He gazed across at the ship, tracing the thick, ice-coated tethering lines that kept the four-deck cruise ship anchored to the dock. They would need to cut those somehow, assuming things were safe inside. No sense staying docked. Why not set sail for warmer waters—if such a place existed?

  “Come on, lets get a closer look,” Elias said, patting Hadden on the shoulder.

  The large Swede grumbled, pushing himself up from his prone position. Pulling his knitted hat tighter onto his head, he gave one last precarious look at the ship swaying gently in the frigid waters. Slinging his RK 62 assault rifle over his shoulder, he followed Elias down the maintenance ladder on the side of the building.

  Below, Elias covered the alleyway as his large friend made his way down.

  “Paska!” Hadden cussed, slipping on an icy rung.

  Elias glanced up, laughing.

  Hadden shook his head. Rolling his eyes at Elias as he finally reached the ground. He unslung his rifle, resting the butt stock in the pocket of his shoulder. Back in their army days, they had called this position “low and at the ready.” Neither of them had seen combat. Those two years in National Defense were spent training out in the forests of Helvetinjärvi and drinking in pubs. In fact, until this crisis, he had never even fired a weapon—not at anything alive at least. Of course, were these nasties really alive? Did shooting walking corpses count as kills?

  Elias couldn’t keep the smile from his face. It felt good having a plan and getting to tease his friend. It was important, he thought, to keep the good times in the midst of such horror.

  Ignoring him, Hadden led the way down the alley. Inside several buildings they could hear the dead thrashing about. He stopped at the edge, signaling with his hand for Elias to halt behind him as he scanned the streets. Abandoned cars filled the roads. Waste bins knocked over spilling empty wrappers and other discarded trash. A cold wind blew newspapers. One slapped against the windshield of a car. Printed on the front was the headline, “The Dead Walk!”

  “All clear?” Elias asked, feeling slightly inpatient. He danced on the balls of his feet, eager to get to his prize.

  “Seems so,” said Hadden, keeping his voice low.

  Elias pushed past his friend, taking charge crossing the road toward the dock and the waiting Viking cruise ship. “Viking Sea” was stenciled on the side. At approximately 745 feet in length with what he assumed to be around seven or eight decks; the space was massive. And the closer they got, the larger it seemed. He wondered if the ship was even mechanically able to move. How could they physically operate it with only the pair of them?

  “Elias!” Hadden hissed in a whisper.

  Shaking away his thoughts, Elias glanced back at Hadden.

  Hadden pointed down one of the streets.

  Elias turned and watched a group of the dead, maybe twenty in number, about three hundred meters out, shuffling in their direction. Their moans drifted on the otherwise silent wind.

  “They’re moving faster, now,” Hadden observed, glancing around to see if there were any more lurking about.

  Elias squinted against the harsh wind that further reddened his cheeks. “One good thing about these negative temps,” he said, “turns those nasties into deadcicles.” He laughed at his own joke, coughing up clouds of fog.

  “Well, I don’t want to be around when they get here,” Hadden grumbled.

  “Agreed. Let’s keep going.”

  “And box ourselves in? What if the ship is—”

  “We gotta eat, Hadden. Enough pussy-footing.”

  Elias didn’t wait for his friend’s reply. He started for the dock.

  Hadden followed without a word.

  Taking the wooden steps two at a time, Elias gazed up at the massive ship. His head spun from the height. “Wow,” he said, “They look bigger, up close.”

  Hadden bumped past him. “Come on if we’re going to do this.” He led the way toward the floating rampart connected to the ship’s loading platform. When the world was normal, this would be where passengers were welcomed onboard by the ship’s Captain. Now, the climb felt ominous.

  Cresting the top, Hadden slowed, bringing his rifle up as he scanned the deck. Elias followed, aiming and clearing visible corners.

  Lowering his rifle, he smiled at his friend. “See, what did I tell you.”

  “This is just deck one, we haven’t been inside yet,” Hadden said, matter-of-factly.

  Rolling his eyes, Elias inspected where the ramp was connected. Ice had formed over the locking mechanism that safely secured the system to the ship. Using the butt of his rifle, he began chiseling the ice.

  “What are you doing?” Hadden asked.

  Gesturing to the dock entrance, Elias said, “We don’t want them following us into the ship, do we?”

  Hadden turned and watched as the horde of living dead from the street stumbled down the wooden dock steps. Several of them fell sideways into the dark, murky water. No bubbles. No wild splashing. No calls for help. They simply sunk straight to the bottom. More had made it to the gangway, their cold milky gaze set upon the Viking cruise ship.

  “Paska!” he groaned and started helping knock away the ice from the locking mechanism.

  With a final hit with the butt of his rifle, Elias knocked the last chunk of ice away and unlocked the latch. And the two men used their boots to knock the ramp off the hinges. They stood gazing down as the rampart splashed into the dark water, soon followed by the group of living dead.

  “Look at them—they’re just walking right off,” Elias whispered, more to himself than Hadden. “Don’t they know what they’re doing?”

  Hadden hocked and spit a wad of snot into the water. “Good riddance.”

  Padding him on his shoulder, Elias said, “Let’s get inside.”

  Exhaling loudly, Hadden followed his friend to a set of large, sliding glass doors. The ship was obviously without power, but fortunately it took little effort to pry the doors open. Inside, the air was stale but absent of the usual stink of decay. Lit dimly yellow from emergency lights and what little sunlight there was, the pair slowly walked into what looked like a large living room, filled with couches and chairs. What appeared to be a small bar stood to the side, and further down the hall, what looked like shops and other ventures. A sign hung on the wall to their left, indicating an Italian restaurant called Manfredi’s. Despite all this, the ship felt empty and dark.

  “What did I tell you!” Elias said, smiling.

  “We need to search the ship to be sure—floor by floor,” Hadden said, his tone serious—with a faint hint of hope.

  “Fine. Fine, and room by room, eventually. Lets get a feel for the place first,” Elias agreed.

  “Ending with the bridge—see if there is any chance of power. A hot shower would be wonderful,” Hadden added.

  “Now you’re talking!” Elias led the way, first checking the restaurant doors, and then working toward the other end of the ship. Finding nothing but an empty fitness center and spa, they started up the stairs to the second deck. Here, they found a theater and more shop
s. Discarded popcorn bags littered the floor, but nothing else. On the other side of the deck was a large restaurant with fancy white tablecloths and wine glasses coated with a thin layer of dust. Much like the first deck, the second deck felt like an empty tomb.

  They pressed upward, quickly checking decks three through six, noting that they would have to check each stateroom later—just to make sure.

  On the seventh level they found an empty café with turned-over chairs and the stink of expired milk. Carefully, they scanned the café with their rifles but found nothing living nor dead. Further down the deck they walked past a pool, the water looked green with slime, algae no doubt from nearly a year of being stagnant.

  “Want to take a dip in that?” Elias teased.

  Hadden grimaced at the sight. “No thanks.”

  Passing a garden, they spotted penthouse rooms—the doors closed. Pressing his ear against one, Hadden listened for any movement or sound inside.

  He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Further along, they walked through what a sign called the “Explorers’ Lounge,” a living room style sitting area with fancy comfortable looking furniture set around a large glass window overlooking the front of the ship.

  Elias walked toward the glass window. Exhaling, he gazed out toward open sea.

  “Elias,” Hadden called.

  Elias turned as Hadden gestured at a sign mounted on the wall that read, “Bridge.” Nodding, he followed his friend through a set of glass doors to an outside stairwell. A frigid breeze tousled his dark blonde hair, sending a shiver down his spine. Below he could see the street and the abandoned cars. The dead walked the roads but didn’t seem to pay any mind to the boat.

  Reaching the top of the winding staircase, Elias glanced behind him. He nodded silently to his friend who returned the gesture. Slowly, he tested the door handle. The metallic latch clicked harmlessly. Taking a breath, he entered, rifle at the ready.

  Inside, Elias froze. He stared down the barrel of a gun.

  “Howdy,” came a voice who spoke in a somewhat drawn English accent.

  As his eyes focused, Elias gazed into the pale and dirty face of a smiling man with red hair.

  Hadden grumbled something that sounded threatening. Elias couldn’t tell. He was singularly focused on the man with the gun in his face.

  “Can you speak English?” asked another voice. Elias didn’t dare move his attention away from the man with the gun.

  Nodding slightly, Elias confirmed, “Yes.”

  “Great,” said the other voice, who sounded firm, with an air of authority. “Then would you be so kind as to state your purpose, here?”

  Elias frowned. “Purpose?”

  “Why are you here?” said the man with the gun. He pressed the barrel into Elias’s forehead.

  Hadden took a step forward, aiming his rifle.

  “Tell your buddy there to ease up,” said the authoritative voice, his tone calm but firm.

  Elias gestured with his hand for Hadden to back off.

  With a grumbled protest, Hadden lowered his rifle.

  And after a moment, the red-haired man stepped back and lowered his pistol.

  Exhaling, Elias glanced around the bridge. There were three of them. All wearing some kind of military uniform. Worn from use. The man in front of his wore the nametag “Martin,” the other—the authoritative voice’s nametag said “Quinata.” The other he wasn’t sure; his uniform was different from the others. But he was a large man, tall with wide shoulders. His beard looked scraggly, and his eyes were a cold steel blue.

  “You Americans?” Elias asked, though he guessed as much.

  “Born and bred, you?” said Quinata.

  “We’re from Sweden. I’m Elias, and this is Hadden.” Elias gestured to his. Upon introduction, Hadden stepped further into the bridge, closing the door. Without the steady wind, the room was eerily quiet.

  “Good to meet you. This is Martin, you can call me Quinata, and the big guy over there,” he gestured to the strangely uniformed man, “that’s Cosmonaut Vladimir Ryazanskiy—but we just call him Vlad for short,” Quinata said, smiling.

  “Cosmonaut?” Elias said, his brain working double time. Were they serious or fucking with him?

  Quinata grinned. “A story for another day. Back to the subject at hand—what is your purpose here on this boat?”

  Elias hesitated. The three men stared at him, waiting for his reply. He didn’t sense any malicious intent in the American’s tone, but he did get the impression that if he did not answer honestly, things would get ugly. And besides, they were probably here for the same reason.

  “Same as you. Food. Shelter. A safe place to get some sleep,” Elias said.

  There was silence for a while.

  Elias swallowed. His lips felt dry. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe they were here for something else. But what other reason could there be—most people were just trying to survive.

  A radio squawked, breaking the silence with a shrill cry.

  “Go ahead, Romero—what’s the scoop?” Quinata lifted his radio from a clip on his tactical vest.

  Crackling. And then a voice came through the radio. “You’re not going to believe this, but this tub is fully fueled. Eighty-thousand gallons of diesel, according to the meter gauge. Over.”

  Smiling, Quinata pressed on the mike. “Roger that, Romero.” Glancing over at Martin, “Should be enough,” he said.

  “Good news, for once,” Martin replied quietly.

  “Enough for what?” Elias asked.

  Quinata gazed at him, as if selecting the right words to say. “Well, Elias. Looks like you’ve got two options. You can deboard my boat—”

  “Your boat? I don’t—” Elias started to interrupt.

  Quinata held his hand up, as if motioning for silence. “Or—seeing how we’re all kinda looking for the same thing, you can help us sail this tub.”

  Hadden coughed.

  Elias looked back at him.

  In their native language, Hadden said, “We should leave.”

  Elias motioned with his hand for him to wait. He turned back to the Americans. “And where exactly are we setting sail for?”

  Quinata simply grinned.

  Elias laughed. “America?”

  “You catch on quick, Swede.”

  Hadden again pressed, “We should leave, Elias.”

  “Wait,” Elias said, turning to his friend, speaking in Swedish. “Let’s think this through first.”

  Hadden glared at him. “We don’t know these people. They could be killers. Looters. Stealing whatever isn’t nailed down.”

  “And what are we?” Elias asked. “We’re no better.”

  “We can survive on our own.”

  “And for how long? This is a good bet. The infected can’t swim!”

  “Unless they’re already onboard.”

  “We didn’t see any on our way to the bridge. And we can easily search the rooms.”

  “I don’t know,” Hadden grumbled, looking away.

  “Come on, Hadden. You know this is a good thing,” Elias implored. “And besides, didn’t you say you always wanted to visit America?”

  “Fine. But when we find ourselves in the middle of the Atlantic and they toss us overboard, don’t think I won’t tell you I told you so,” Hadden whispered, still speaking in Swedish.

  Turning back to the Americans, Elias nodded. “We’ll stay.”

  Quinata stepped forward, glancing at Martin. The red-haired soldier simply nodded. He turned back to Elias. “Sounds good to me, we could use the extra hands to help run this floating hotel. But lets get one thing straight. If you two stay, you’ll be taking orders from me. This isn’t no free enterprise. Now I run a fair team, everyone gets a say, but the final say is mine. We clear?” He offered his hand to Elias.

  Hesitating for only a moment, Elias took the offered hand and shook it. “Crystal,” he said.

  Polk

  Part 1

  Baton Rouge,
r />   Louisiana

  They couldn’t avoid taking I-10 through the State Capital. According to the map, which Collins kept insisting was crap, there were few and far between bridges listed that would get them across the Mississippi River. Jelks pulled them to a stop just shy of Horace Wilkinson Bridge, gazing through the muddy windshield of the Ford F-350 they had found idling driverless just before leaving Abbeville. Polk stared at the mass of vehicles blocking the roadway. Most of the cars were parked haphazardly. Doors wide open. In their haste to escape, the previous owners left behind luggage, boxes of supplies, and other more personal effects. Sitting in the back windshield of a Ford Escape, an abandoned teddy bear stared longingly back at her.

  “Well...what now?” Collins asked from the backseat. Doctor Ahuja sat next to him, wrapped in two blankets.

  “We’re high enough on these redneck tires—we could monster truck our way through,” Jelks offered as he leaned back in the driver’s seat.

  Polk stared at the teddy bear that looked like so many others, even her own when she was younger, back before all this. “What about moving the cars?” she asked, nearly whispering, as if mulling the idea to herself.

  “In this weather? Even if the cars have fuel, I guarantee the batteries are all dead. Looks like they’ve been sitting here a while.” Jelks rubbed his hands together. They had the heat on low, but the with near-negative temps outside, it was still cold inside the cab.

  “No other bridge?” Polk asked.

  “Nothing that wouldn’t take most of the day getting to. And personally, I’d rather not spend the night driving around—not near a city this big,” Collins said.

  Polk hesitated and then said, “Looks like we don’t have much of a choice.” She pulled the hoodie on her thick parka jacket and started opening her door on the passenger side.

  “Whoa—what are you doing?” Jelks asked.

  “I’m going to move the cars while you follow close behind me,” she replied. Her tone was calm and neutral. She knew Jelks was worried. Collins too, for his own reasons. They had made plans before meeting up with her. And now they were following her lead. But where she was leading them too, she didn’t know exactly. It was simply a gut feeling, though perhaps more than instinct. Safety. Refuge. The future they each longed for was east. Polk was as certain about that as she was uncertain.