There was nothing. No one.
Howard turned again to face the occupants of the diner. “Please. Call nine-one-one. There’s been an accident on the beach.” Taking a few steps forward, he raised his hands, entreating them for help.
Another woman screamed. Mothers and fathers throughout the room covered their children’s eyes. The diner seemed to shrink away from him, as a whole, shying from his oncoming form. Howard was bewildered. Why would they reel from him? He wasn’t one of those things. He was alive! He was trying to warn them!
“Sir?” a man to his right asked.
Howard swivelled his head to the question, narrowing his eyes in utter confusion.
The man smirked and pointed at Howard. “You can’t come in here like that.”
A little girl giggled, and inside her tittering laughter, Howard realized his mistake.
In all of his struggle to survive, in his race for his very life, he didn’t have time to stop and dress. He hadn’t even thought about it. So there he was, standing bare-ass naked in a diner filled with fully dressed folks. And he also realized that he just didn’t care. All at once, his fear of being nude, of seeing others nude, of nudity itself, seemed silly. Meaningless. Stupid. In the face of this real threat, this terrible ungodly happening, being naked ranked very low on his list of concerns.
At the top of that list was getting out of this alive.
As for everything else, as far as he was concerned, clothing was optional.
THE END
UNDEAD SIDE OF THE MOON
By
Lyle Perez-Tinics
To Whom It May Concern:
My name is Elroy Collins and I am sitting in a prison cell awaiting punishment for a crime I did not commit. The trial is over and I have been convicted of the murder of my team and every resident at the Moonlit Resort. The only thing left for me to do is to write down my side of the story, so I am writing this as a true and honest account of those events. Perhaps someday, this letter will help prove that the Zilith Corporation covered up the truth.
We needed to learn to take care of planet Earth before we headed off into outer space. I was against opening the Moonlit Resort for business so soon, but the Zilith Corporation wouldn’t listen. Why would they listen to a roughneck like me? I was just head of their covert search and rescue team; no one important.
In 2036, the Zilith Corporation was responsible for the Apophis asteroid impact. By this time, NASA had lost all funding due to the rise of privately funded space exploration. After it disbanded, the Zilith Corporation released suspect evidence, stating that NASA had made a catastrophic error and that the asteroid was on a collision course with Earth. The United States Government authorised Zilith to shift the asteroid’s orbit in order to ensure that the near Earth object struck the Moon, instead of Earth. The mission was a success and the entire world watched as Apophis collided with the Moon.
I had been only fifteen years old, but I remember it as clear as if it were yesterday. In fact, watching that event changed my life. It was then that I fell in love with space travel and dreamt of becoming a Space Marshal. The impact threw a great cloud into the atmosphere that gave the viewing billions on Earth a glimpse of a stunning light show.
The Zilith Corporation was hailed for saving the world and the people rejoiced. Then, as is the way, the people went back to their lives. Like the Moon landings in 1969 and the Space Race between the United States and the Soviet Union, the people lost interest.
Five years after the Apophis collision, the Zilith Corporation revealed their plan to build a multi-trillion dollar resort on the surface of the Moon. The dust storms had still not settled from the impact, but advances in nano-technology and an abundance of raw materials made the audacious plan more viable than ever. A sustainable air supply was still a major issue, Zilith’s bioengineering labs were working on an artificial lung mechanism, and they were just a step away from surgically implanting their invention into a handful of human test subjects. I’m no scientist, so I can’t go into any detail. To this day, I am still unaware of any successes.
Despite the atmospheric problems the Apophis collision had caused, Zilith Corporation managed to fully erect the first lunar hotel in only seven years. A team of international scientists chose the site, and, by 2048, the hotel was completed. As with the Apophis collision, the world was glued to their E-vision sets as Zilith streamed live video and photos during the final stages of construction.
I had been working security for Zilith for two years by the time construction was completed. Zilith was not the kind of company that advertised openly for recruits; if they were impressed with your achievements, they would find you. I was stunned when a recruiter visited me at my graduation. I finished first in my Space Marshal training class and went straight to work for Zilith, with my own team to oversee.
Officially, they claimed that no lives had been lost in the construction, but I know the truth. Zilith has a PR machine second to none, with politicians, media magnets and officials in its pockets. I personally lost two friends to the project. Their excavator hit a gas pocket and they were blown into space. Their supervisor told me the truth before he died from a heart attack.
The Moonlit Resort remained closed for the next five years, while it underwent stringent safety and stress testing. When the doors finally opened in 2053, the rooms were fully booked for the first four years. A one night stay was a flat rate of one-million per head, plus an additional fifty-grand for the lunar shuttle ride each way. Needless to say, the only people able to afford the trip were the extremely wealthy.
Everything ran like clockwork, until we suddenly lost communication with them only a few weeks ago. What follows is my firsthand account …
We lost communication with the Moonlit Resort on December 28, 2059. The next departing shuttle was put on hold until we could regain contact and work out what the problem was.
For a week, engineers tried to restore the link, but without success. The Zilith Corporation maintained a total media blackout throughout. With communications still down, my team was despatched to find out what had happened. I didn’t understand at the time. What reason could there be to send an armed response team? There was already a significant security presence at the hotel and no distress call had been sent. I was certain that it would just be an antenna malfunction, so surely it was just an engineering issue. We expected a simple antenna failure, but our training insisted that we planned for the worst.
“Space Marshal Collins,” I heard someone say as I packed my kit bag. I turned to Sam Wallace. He was my direct line manager to the big wigs at Zilith Corp.
“Sir?” I looked into his dark eyes. His white hair was unkempt and he looked like he hadn’t slept for several days.
“I have a message for you from upstairs.” He retrieved a digitally sealed memo and handed it to me, saying, “Good luck.”
“Thanks, Sam,” I said as we shook hands.
He walked out of the room without another word.
Frowning, I opened the note, which read,
Space Marshal Collins
This investigation is highly confidential. Neither you nor your team may not have any contact with family or friends until fully debriefed at the end of the mission. You will be in direct violation of your contract if you disobey this directive and will be subject to severe penalties. We expect you to report in within four days. Thank you for your loyalty to the company. Be Safe.
Zilith Corporation
I could understand their need for secrecy, given the circumstances, so I thought nothing more of it and stowed the note in my back pocket. After finishing packing, I flung the sack over my shoulder and headed towards the staging room.
“Space Marshal. Ten-hut!” Mick barked. The four other men in the room instantly stood to attention.
“At ease,” I replied. I had never quite gotten used to men snapping to attention like that in my presence. Besides, these men were not just my team, they were my trusted friends. “Are you g
uys ready?” I asked, looking around the room.
Patrick Swan, our pilot, stood wringing his hands together. Next to him, was Mick Greenwell, my second in command and the deadliest sharpshooter I had ever seen with an S-801 rifle. He was a big man with long black hair tied in a ponytail.
John Megs was our communications specialist. I was expecting John to have the hardest job of the lot of us. He had tagged along with us on several previous missions to Moonlit Resort and he had gradually become part of the team, even though, officially, he was only a technical liaison.
Still packing, were the two brothers, Orlando and Austin Flint. Their job was straightforward firepower.
Staring at the brothers, I said, “We’re on the move in five mikes. John, start your final checks and get us ready for flight.”
The men nodded and began filing out of the room.
Space flight had moved on pre-2020. Shuttles resembled inflated airliners and our jump ship was not much larger than an F-16 fighter jet. It took the Apollo missions three days to reach the Moon. Our ship would reach it in approximately twenty two hours.
Orlando, Austin and I walked into the spacecraft. John and Mick were already strapped in. Patrick was at the control console, prepping for takeoff. I took a seat next to him, while Orlando and Austin stowed our packs and weapons in the storage containers.
Our weapons weren’t that different to the ones used on Earth. Bullets must be exploded out of their casing, but in order for it to fire, there needs to be oxygen present, which is a major issue in space. The casings we use are slightly bigger in order to entrap more oxidizer to propel the bullet. One noticeable difference is that rate of fire and accuracy are both considerably increased in space due to reduced atmospheric pressure.
“Control, this is Shadow Three, copy?” Patrick was saying. “We are go for launch. Please confirm for Runway Alpha. Over.”
After a pause, the response was, “Copy, Shadow Three, I have you as an unscheduled departure, but I have no record of authorisation. Please confirm. Over.”
Patrick looked questioningly at me. Switching to external comms, I said, “Control, this is Shadow One, copy? This is black ops authorised. Contact Wallace for confirmation. Over.”
After another lengthy pause, Control replied, “Shadow One, you’re clear for takeoff in t-minus five for Runway Alpha. Over.”
“Thank you, Control. Shadow One over and out.” I said then returned external comms to Patrick.
I glanced back at my team, who were holding on to their seats. Take off and landing was always a tense time. They were outwardly relaxed, but I knew their muscles would be like coiled springs, awaiting that final lurch into outer space.
Patrick began the countdown. “Powering up in three, two, one,” he said as he turned on the first thruster. The aircraft began to move forward slowly. “Firing thruster two in three, two, one.” He flipped the switch for thruster two. The ship jolted forward and rushed along the runway at over a hundred miles an hour.
“Ah shit, here we go!” someone in the back yelled.
I gripped my seat as Patrick said, “Firing thruster three in, three, two, one … Hold on to your hats!” He pushed the third thruster.
The ship surged up to three hundred miles an hour. Patrick pulled back on the steering column and the ship lurched into the air.
As the ship gradually increased altitude, Patrick said, “Turbo in three, two, one.” He pushed the red button. The spacecraft rocketed towards the upper atmosphere at over 25,000 miles an hour.
“I love this shit!” Patrick yelled.
“Knock it off,” I managed to say.
Patrick levelled out and punched the destination into the nav-com. When the target location was locked, Patrick released the controls and sat back. The ship blasted through Earth's atmosphere in seconds and the shuddering began to subside.
The rest of the team were already applying the masks. Patrick was quick to follow suit. I was the only one who would rather wait twenty-two hours than be knocked out. As they drifted off, I stared out of the portal into the blackness of space.
I had travelled into space more than a dozen times before, but I never tired of the view.
I awoke with a start from a natural, not induced sleep. Twenty-one hours had passed. As the others slowly began to stir, I began preparations for the arrival.
As Patrick regained control from the nav-com, the rest of the team did an equipment and weapons check.
“You know the drill,” I said. “We check the communications array first. If we get green lights, we move on to the Moonlit Resort. We proceed with caution every step of the way.” The thrusters shut down and we began descending.
I caught a glimpse of the communications tower. Outwardly, the structure appeared undamaged. “Set us down as near to the tower as you can. We’ll head to the hotel complex on foot from there.”
The ship dropped vertically and landed with a jolt. The craft groaned as it settled onto the lunar soil. A clear liquid released from several vents underneath the ship and sprayed the landing zone. The Moon’s dust was prone to clogging thrusters and filters, so the purge prevented that from happening.
“Grab your gear,” I said as everyone unbuckled.
Our respirators resembled ski masks with a small canister strapped to our belts no larger than a can of hairspray. The oxygen in those containers would last twenty-four hours. The respirators were also equipped with com-sets.
“Let’s move out,” I said.
The door hissed and dropped open, exposing the rocky surface of the moon. John, jumped out first, followed by the rest of the team. After forming up, we half-walked, half-jumped toward the towering steel communications array.
The service hatch was unlocked, so we cautiously entered. I located the light switch and vanquished the gloom. With the airlock resealed, John took off his mask and began examining the gauges. The room was cylindrical with a computer console in the centre. At the far end was a stairwell that led to the top of the tower.
“Marshal,” John called out to me. “There’s something here you should see.”
I walked over to John as he pointed toward the wall. A dark smear ran along it at shoulder level, heading towards the stairwell.
“Two line formation,” I ordered. Orlando and Austin took point as Mick and Patrick fell in behind them. They slowly began to ascend the stairs when we heard it. A loud and sluggish moan drifted down from above us.
“What the fuck was that?” Mick said, craning his neck.
“Sounds like someone in distress,” Orlando suggested.
We heard steps beginning to descend down the staircase. Gradually, the figure shuffled into view. The image of that man still haunts me to this day. His skin was pale with a greenish hue. Part of its right cheek was missing, revealing teeth and jaw. The man’s nose had been caved into his face, leaving a piece of smeared bone jutting through its parchment skin. Most of its hair had been ripped out of its scalp, leaving gory scabs. The monster continued shuffling down towards us as we gaped in shock.
Breaking the spell, I snapped, “Fall back!”
The creature tripped over its feet and tumbled down the remaining steps. It landed face first on the ground with a sickening thud, only a foot away from Orlando. We stared at it for a moment, weapons trained on it, as it remained motionless. One of its arms appeared eaten away, bone clearly visible beneath rotting flesh.
“What … is it?” Patrick uttered.
“I … don’t know,” I answered. Nothing could walk around with all those wounds.
As I spoke, the creature suddenly spasmed and wrapped its hands around Orlando’s shin. It yanked the man’s leg towards itself and sank its teeth into his calf, ripping a chunk of cloth and flesh off. He screamed out as Austin rushed to his aid.
Austin dragged the creature from his brother and shoved him away, kicking it across the face. Orlando fell back as blood gushed out of his wound, splashing onto the concrete floor.
Its sudden speed h
ad shocked us all, but now I yelled, “Patrick, take Orlando to the entrance and dress the wound. Everyone else fall back. Nobody get anywhere near that thing.”
The creature began to rise to its feet. It chewed on the hunk of flesh from Orlando. Blood spilled out of its mouth and dribbled down his overalls as it chewed.
As Patrick dragged Orlando to the door, and the rest of us backed up, the creature shambled toward us, emitting that same haunting moan.
I raised my rifle and pulled the trigger. A three round burst tore open the creature’s chest and splattered black gore against the stairwell. Despite intestines spilling onto the floor, it continued walking toward us.
“Fire at will!” I gasped, blinking in disbelief. Nobody needed telling twice. Bullets ripped into the creature’s body. Flesh and black bile splattered in all directions. It fell backwards and thrashed on the ground.
“The bastard’s still alive!” Austin said as it struggled back to its feet.
Mick took careful aim and fired a round through its forehead, blowing brain matter out the back of its head and spraying it across the wall. The creature dropped to the ground, still.
Austin turned to assist Patrick with his older brother while the rest of us stood staring at what was left of the creature.
Pulling myself together, I walked over to Orlando. He was deathly pale, but Patrick had managed to stem the bleeding with a field dressing.
“That’s about as much as I can do,” Patrick said. “He’s lost a lot of blood. He needs a medical team.”
Orlando suddenly contorted and burst into a rattling cough that brought up the same black liquid from the monster that bit into him. He curled over onto his side and repeatedly vomited. The black bile was spewing out of his mouth, nose and even his eyes.
Holiday of the Dead Page 17
