A colourful sign at the central junction pointed towards the ship’s attractions. A large Plexiglas deck plan, depicting a side view of the Nautica, hung just off to the side. Parts of the plan had been covered with duct tape, different colours indicating the change in deck designations from cruise ship to processing centre and refugee camp. From what he could see, the quarantine zone had been established in three layers towards the stern, each contained within itself, virtually cut off from any connections to other areas.
Curiously their new numbering, though, was in the exact opposite order as the decks’ original sequence.
‘Some people will always try to fix that which isn’t broken.’ Amadou thought to himself as he inspected the plan, following the various passageways on it with his index finger.
Confusingly enough, going by the schematic, he would need to go up one level in order to descend back down to the newly labelled deck 4. Trying to memorize the plan as best as he could, he proceeded to the central junction, before taking a left turn towards the elevators. This one, too, appeared devoid of any passengers or crew. Approaching the stairway leading to the next level, though, he suddenly halted. He was not alone. He had heard the noise a million times before. The metallic rattle of a carbine making contact with a hard surface. A bored guard leaning back against a wall. The noise got more pronounced, the closer he crept towards the edge of the corner.
Getting down to floor level Amadou sneaked a peek. There, less than 15 feet away, one of the operators sat on a black crate, guarding the central access point to the other decks. A headphone plugged into one ear, he rocked back and forth in tune with whatever was playing. Amadou rounded the corner with lightning speed. Delivering a hard kick to the pelican case, he sent the man to the floor. Flailing and cursing, the operator tried to regain balance, but Amadou’s follow-through was flawless.
With a hard punch to the temple, he swung around and, like a human tick, attached himself to the operator in a chokehold. The man struggled, but it was no use. Eyes rolling back in his skull, his body went limp, but Amadou held on. He twisted the operator’s head until the neck responded with a loud crunch. There was little point in risking the man waking up in the middle of their getaway. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead as he pushed the body aside.
Still a little shaky from the struggle, Amadou took great care as he silently ascended the stairway to the next deck. The weight of the salvaged M4 in his hands felt comfortably familiar, as did the pistol tucked into his pants in the small of his back.
Once at the top, the next level revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Passageways led off into all directions, and signage once again indicated the deck’s attractions and room designations. The noise of people chatting and plates clinking faintly drifted over from the open area forward of what the plan had identified as ocean view staterooms. The passengers here were clearly oblivious to what was going on below, enjoying each other’s company in the safety of their virus-free surrounds.
‘Either that, or it’s the crew relaxing after a day’s work,’ Amadou thought to himself.
Whoever it was, things were Ok as long as they stayed where they were. He followed a smaller passageway towards aft until he reached a plain hatch without any signage whatsoever. Much to his surprise, the central lever turned with little effort, its four locking points releasing in a synchronized clank. Stepping through it, he brought up his weapon, but contrary to expectations, the airlock was deserted. No guard. No alarm. Nothing.
The airlock exit hatch was much like the previous one, except for a large orange sticker with the number ‘2’. This again seemed odd. According to the schematic, he was now on deck 4.
Unlike what he had expected, the level consisted of mainly open space, with a large meeting area complete with desks, workstations, a projector and screen at the centre. Off to the side were a number of large white units that looked like walk-in fridges, each with a small window and its own supply of services. Further aft a number of glass-partitioned spaces with leather furnishings and individual bathrooms gave the impression of executive suites.
‘Nice digs.’ Amadou smiled to himself as he stealthily moved through the area, careful to scan each corner before proceeding. There was much riding on him getting this right and some bumbling civilian raising the alarm on him, or worse, getting shot up by another operator, was simply not an option at this stage of the game.
It didn’t take long to find the ladder leading down to their level, where a large dark orange sticker with the number ‘3’ had been slapped onto the access hatch. Fully prepared to face the guard they had observed several times from the other side, Amadou turned the lock and yanked it open in one quick action.
Pushing the hatch with all his might, he raised the barrel and got low as he stepped into the airlock. The nauseating crunch of the heavy door connecting with a human skull instantly told him he needn’t have worried. The body of a Hazmat suit-clad guard, crushed between the hatch and the bulkhead, sank lifelessly to the floor, his limbs coming to rest at awkward angles.
Within seconds Amadou had relieved him of his weapon and finally opened the airlock, where a hero’s welcome awaited him on the other side.
“Well done, my friend.” Tom inspected the M4, and they all patted Amadou’s back.
“Now, how do we get to the lifeboats?” Tom was as eager to get off the ship as the rest of the group.
“I can’t quite understand it,” Amadou scratched his head. “Technically, the nearest boats are one deck beneath us, and yet their new numbering is in reverse.”
“What do you mean, in reverse?” Tom wasn’t following.
In response, Amadou flung back the second hatch revealing the sign. “See? They slapped new numbers on the crew decks.”
“You mean to say the confined decks all have these stickers?” Tom’s frowned.
“Pretty much, only they seem to have different colours.” Amadou raised his eyebrows, unsure what the fuss was about.
“And you say the numbers go up as you go down?” Tom probed with unsettling urgency.
“Yeah, what I’ve seen is also on the deck plan.”
“Shit!” Tom cussed, banging his fist against the metal.
“What is it now?” Nadia sighed impatiently.
“These aren’t deck designations. They are biohazard levels.” Tom hung his head. “Which means that if we have to go down one level to get to the nearest lifeboat, we’ll need to go through level 4. Anybody want to guess what that is?”
The silence was deafening as his words sank in.
“But we don’t have any suits. Or masks, for that matter.” It was Mama Samaki who finally stated the obvious. “And there is no guarantee that everything down there is contained, is it?”
“Nothing for it,” Tom grunted. They had no choice, and he didn’t like it one bit.
“Amadou, lead the way.”
A few moments later, they reached a tent-like anteroom, complete with its own HVAC unit, changing facilities, and showers. The level 4 labelled hatch on the other side prominently displayed several other warnings.
“Here we go.” Tom turned away his head as he opened the lock, and a rush of air brushed past them on its way into the decontamination chamber.
The survivors bunched together in the claustrophobic space, and Amadou closed the entry hatch behind them, a green light on the opposite side confirming the Level 4 unlock.
“Looks like this wasn’t intended as a refugee ship at all?” Nadia wondered out loud.
“Darn right it wasn’t,” Tom snarled as another piece of the puzzle fell into place.
The next chamber was encased in glass, with a giant ceiling-mounted exchange providing independent air supply. Neatly arranged hoses and connectors for biosafety suits hung from wall mounts inside the room, allowing for personnel to hook up and work with relative freedom. A similar arrangement was installed at the other side of the deck, where in the gloom a sole red light glowed dutifully just above the exit hatch. On ei
ther side of the long dark chamber were individual rooms, eerily reminiscent of what Tom had seen back at the facility in the Congo. His heart began to pound as he contemplated what might reside within them.
“So, what do we do now?” Nadia asked, inspecting the ventilation system.
“Only one way through this…”, Tom nodded towards the other end.
There was no sign of disturbance anywhere. Things seemed very much in order. Unless one of the technicians had been careless, any viruses present should be contained to their sub-zero storage units.
“Ladies first?”
Nadia managed a wry smile but stayed put. Instead, it was Amadou who took the lead. He pressed the release button and, with a slight click from the maglock, stepped into the open space. He took a few steps and then exhaled and chuckled, realizing he had been holding his breath. ‘
As if that’s going to do anything.’ Amadou smiled to himself.
The first two rooms on either side were empty, with only a few refrigeration units against the glass walls humming away, contents glowing softly in their neon-lit displays. Amadou took another step forward and froze. He felt goosebumps creeping across his forearms. In the last row, a discarded Hazmat suit lay on the floor next to a small puddle of coagulated blood. Quickly pressing himself against the cool glass of the second anteroom, his eyes darted back and forth, searching for the presence he couldn’t help but feel. His eyes bulged as they tried to penetrate the virtual darkness at this end of the level.
“What is he doing?” Mama Samaki whispered.
Eyes probing the space, anxiously awaiting Amadou’s ‘all clear,’ the rest of the group pressed against the glass. The deck was now completely silent but for the low hum of the refrigeration units. Virtually motionless but for the heaving of his chest, Amadou stood at the ready waiting for a sound, a motion, a sign that what he thought he felt was, in fact, real. Precious minutes passed. Behind the glass, Tom gritted his teeth. The operators’ work far below, presumably near the vessel’s fuel tanks, was likely almost done. Crossing their paths would spell disaster, as would staying on board once they had left. Amadou bit his lip. Right now, time was their biggest enemy. Struggling to fight his instincts to the contrary, he finally gave a tense thumbs-up before pressing the release button unlocking the anteroom. The maglock responded with another click.
“About time,” Nadia grumbled impatiently, but Tom hesitated.
By now, he had learned to read the Congolese’s body language better than anyone, and right now, the man’s gesture didn’t match the message.
“Keep your eyes peeled.”
He took Anna by the hand, keeping her close enough to feel her press against his leg, and stepped through the glass door.
“I need you to stay close to me, sweetheart. And from here out, do exactly as I do.”
He felt her grip tighten as she nodded up at him, her eyes reflecting the neon glow of the green lock indicator above. He crouched slightly, keeping his centre of gravity low and steady as he and Anna stealthily moved across the deck. Counting down the meters in his head, his head darting back and forth between the rooms to his left and right, they quickly joined Amadou in the anteroom on the other side.
“Can’t open the hatch until everyone is in here,” Amadou anticipated Tom’s question.
Just like on the other side, the anteroom would have to be sealed before the hatch lock could release. Covering the rest of the group’s transit, Tom indicated for Amadou to stand by. Wedging open the heavy glass door with his body, he nodded back at Nadia and Mama Samaki, but Nadia had already stepped through and into the gloom. Tom cringed. Her rapid steps on the metal floor echoed like thunder through the lab. She dashed across and, with Mama Samaki barely having entered the space, likewise reached the other side. Alone in the dark now, Mama S seemed to slow down even more as she hesitatingly tip-toed along the central passageway past the closest set of rooms.
At first, Tom thought the noise had come from Amadou’s weapon connecting with the outer hatch. He turned, only to see Amadou’s surprised face. Another clank, followed by a scraping sound. Mama Samaki stopped dead in her tracks. Tom’s blood turned to ice.
The noise had come from inside the lab. Struggling with the urge to yell, he grimaced and waved for her to hurry. Clank. There was no question now. Something was moving around in the dark. Paralyzed by fear, Mama Samaki whimpered. Barely noticeable, a low shadow crept across the glass partition behind her. She turned around. Tom moved to run to her, but Amadou held him back. As if feeding off the dark itself, a figure slowly rose before her, agonizing as it struggled to stand until its glowing dead eyes met hers. A mournful wail escaped its mouth, drowning our Mama Samaki’s scream and vibrating the glass partitions.
“For God’s sake!” Tom tore himself free, pushed through the gap, and back into the room.
Half running, half stumbling, he brought up the butt of his rifle. No matter how good the insulation, the sound of an M4 would surely travel and draw much-unwanted attention. Mama Samaki raised her arms and stepped back. For a split second, the faint glow of a nearby fridge illuminated the corpse’s features. It slightly slumped sideways as the shaft of a scalpel protruding from its shoulder scraped across the partition, then it lunged forward. Its teeth connected with Mama Samaki’s forearm just as Tom’s rifle smashed in the top of its skull. Mama Samaki yelped. Tom felt the wind knocked out of him as the limp corpse collapsed forward, sending both the big woman and him to the floor in a heap. Black tissue oozed from a gaping wound in its head where the butt of Tom’s rifle had made contact. Its eyes slightly rolled back into the deep recesses of their sockets, gazed vacantly towards the ceiling. It was hungry no more. Mama Samaki’s arms jerked around, flailing helplessly as she gasped for air, desperately trying to dislodge the vicelike grip of the creature’s pestilent jaws. Tom twisted and squirmed beneath her weight, finally pulling himself free as she rolled to the side.
A slow wet crunch made his stomach turn as the creature’s incisors twisted clear of their festering foundations, instead remaining firmly embedded in Mama Samaki’s forearm. Rapidly approaching steps behind them and a second later, Amadou’s was by their side. Pulling Tom away and back towards the anteroom, he began checking his friend over for injuries, before moving on to Mama S, who sat crying against the glass wall, the corpse’s head bizarrely cradled in her lap, moving back and forth with her every heaving breath.
Amadou carefully held her arm and inspected the teeth absurdly protruding from her flesh. Mama Samaki nodded and closed her eyes. Using a piece of cloth from his pocket, Amadou yanked out the incisors in one motion and tossed them across the passageway in disgust. Tears streamed down Mama Samaki’s face and her lifeblood seemed to drain from her very soul.
Amadou didn’t know what to say. Death had been his daily companion for most of his life, but it had seldom been so personal. He was about to lose another one of the people he had come to know as family. He shook his head, swallowing the lump of raw emotion gathering in his throat.
“Let’s go, Mama S. It’s not over yet.”
The air outside the hatch carried the ocean’s rich essence from the open port and permeated the passageways. Mama S struggled to walk, her will to live ebbing away, each beat of her pulse pushing the virus further into her system, where it would soon take hold and begin its diabolical work, eventually transforming her into that which she had fought so hard to escape. Amadou supported her as best as he could, and the group carefully edged on towards the portside promenade, away from where without a doubt the operators would soon reappear, ready to board their boat and gain some distance before detonating the charges.
“There!” Tom pointed at a row of davit-mounted lifeboats, suspended just above the railing.
Careful to avoid detection by other passengers, the majority of which still appeared to be gathered on the upper decks, Tom motioned for the others to stay behind. Creeping across the deck, he ducked under the arm of the davit and inspected the first b
oat.
His heart sunk. Like a peppering of buckshot, bullet holes riddled its fibre reinforced plastic hull. And to finish the job, someone had punched a hole right through its bow. Increasingly nervous, he ducked back down and shuffled over to the second boat. More bullet holes. Another gaping hole, this time punched in its stern. Tom cast a worried look back at the group, who were waiting in anxious anticipation. The last boat hadn’t fared any better. Whoever had assigned the ship to its present purpose had made sure nobody would leave, or at least not leave on their own accord. Laughter drifted across the decks and through the corridors. Passengers up above were still blissfully oblivious to what was going on below. Tom returned to the others and conveyed the news with furrowed brow.
“So, you are saying we are out of options?” Nadia’s calmness belied the panic within her.
“Not exactly.” The plan forming in Tom’s head was as rough as it was dangerous. “If we hurry, we might beat the soldiers to their transport. But we have to be quick.”
“What about the other passengers?” Amadou looked up as another wave of laughter drifted across from the upper decks and across the promenades.
“What choice do we have?” Tom hated to be the voice of cold pragmatism, but they were running out of time. “Even if we were to alert them to what is going on, what then? There would be panic and still no way off this ship.”
“What about…” Amadou nodded towards Tom’s carbine.
“What? Try to overcome a team of highly trained, fully kitted operators with one rifle, a couple of pistols, and less than 50 rounds between them? Not sure about you, but I’d rather take my chances jumping overboard.”
As much as he disliked it, Amadou knew Tom was right. Any attempt at rescuing the passengers would have to involve taking on the soldiers in what was not only an uneven but virtually unwinnable fight. Not to mention the fact that the operators could still trigger the charges at any time, even in the unlikely event of defeat. He had done his share of killing. Killed the guilty along with the innocent during the rebels’ raids on villages, too many to recount. Under the gun of his commander and high on whatever was available, killing once had come as naturally as breathing. But times had changed. He had changed. Amadou felt the evils of his past pulling at his conscience.
The Virophage Chronicles (Book 2): Dead Hemisphere [Keres Rising] Page 32
