They wanted to crush him to pulp under their shoes.
They reacted as though all human life was their enemy, and Coleman represented all human life.
In their frenzy to reach him they began tripping each other. The passengers that tripped just disappeared under the mob.
There are hundreds, realized Coleman. They just keep coming.
He heard Erin yelling at the healthy passengers to hurry. His plan suddenly felt inadequate.
Too late now.
He was committed.
Slowing them even a few seconds would save lives.
Coleman opened the orange box. The instructions had seemed simple. The most important instruction was printed in block letters:
‘REMOVE FROM CHEST BEFORE ACTIVATING!’
I don’t have time for that.
With the horde just ten feet away, Coleman yanked the cord marked ‘INFLATE’.
Rubber and vinyl exploded from the chest.
Coleman witnessed a colorful blur.
Compressed gas inflated the emergency life raft instantly. The inflating raft crammed itself into the corridor. Part of the raft inflated where Coleman was kneeling.
He had no chance to retreat.
The impact knocked him flying backward.
A moment after he landed, Coleman learned why the raft should never be inflated inside its storage chest.
The heavy chest rocketed down the corridor like a square missile.
Coleman ducked from its flight path.
The chest smashed through the ship’s outer railing. Glass and wood showered out over the ocean. A long section of handrail tore from the deck and disappeared over the side.
I hope that doesn’t hit anyone swimming for the lifeboats, Coleman thought.
He turned and watched the inflated raft nervously.
The raft had jammed itself into the corridor.
The horde hit the raft like a bunch of kids running headlong into a bouncing castle.
The raft warped and stretched, but stayed wedged in place, completely blocking the hallway.
It worked, thought Coleman.
Not exactly as he’d imagined, but close enough.
Scooping up his rifle, he dashed back to Erin.
‘What did you do?’ she asked, looking wide-eyed at the gaping hole in the ship’s railing.
‘I didn’t follow the instructions,’ he replied. ‘But I’ve only slowed them down.’
Erin had nearly cleared the deck of passengers, but the stairwell was packed wall-to-wall with people struggling to reach the lower decks.
They weren’t moving fast enough.
The last man on the stairs looked completely disoriented. He looked up the stairs at Coleman. Like half the ship, the man still wore his pajamas.
Blood covered his face and chest from a deep gash that began above his left eye and cut up into his scalp. His eyes looked stark white against the dark blood. He clutched his wounded left hand.
‘Don’t look back,’ Coleman shouted at the man. ‘Get down the stairs and swim to the lifeboats. I’ll hold them as long as I can. Don’t look back!’
The man looked like he wanted to say something, but he nodded and obeyed Coleman’s instructions.
Coleman looked over the railing.
He was rewarded with the sight of people in yellow life jackets leaping into the water two decks down. More were climbing over the railing in their place.
There they are. They’re doing it!
They were following Erin’s instructions.
‘They’re swimming for the lifeboats,’ said Coleman.
Erin’s radio crackled loudly. ‘Erin! Can you hear me? Erin?’
‘I hear you,’ Erin replied.
‘Listen to me,’ radioed Bryant. ‘The pack has split up. You only stopped half of them. The rest are circling around behind you!’
Erin spun.
Behind her, Coleman saw a mass of sick passengers erupt onto the deck thirty feet away.
Myers heard the crowd charging toward the atrium.
Christ - how many are there?
The sound of feet grew louder and louder.
Myers never felt so alert in his life. He felt like half his blood had turned to adrenalin.
He reloaded his XREP.
The weapon held six rounds.
How can we hold this atrium against an army of these lunatics?
‘How are you for ammo?’ asked Craigson.
‘Half out,’ replied Myers. ‘You?’
‘Same.’
‘If this goes pear-shaped,’ began Myers, ‘we’ll break off and withdraw to the bridge. Like the Captain said.’
Craigson nodded.
Myers lifted his rifle. Passengers surged into view.
In the first few moments, he couldn’t tell healthy from hostile.
One thing was certain.
There were lots of them.
People poured into the atrium.
‘They’re healthy!’ yelled Craigson.
Myers saw it too.
He saw fear on their faces.
These people were running for their lives.
Both Marines lowered their weapons, stepped aside and began waving the healthy passengers between them and toward the lifeboats.
‘This way!’ yelled Craigson. ‘Keep going! Come on, hurry!’
A flood of people surged past them.
Myers counted at least fifty people.
He keyed his radio. ‘Captain. We’re sending more than fifty healthy passengers your way. Are the lifeboats clear?’
After a pause, Myers prepared to repeat the message.
‘Send them to the portside lifeboats!’ Coleman radioed back. ‘The starboard boats are all gone. Anyone on the starboard side needs to jump and swim to safety!’
The Captain sounded desperate.
‘Head to the portside lifeboats,’ Myers yelled over the crowd. ‘The starboard boats are gone!’
‘Don’t push!’ yelled Craigson.
The crowd began pushing and screaming from the back.
Myers realized why.
‘Hostiles!’
‘Where?’ Craigson yelled.
Myers glimpsed them through the crowd, but couldn’t get a clear shot. He moved for a better angle.
Then he saw.
A large group of hostile passengers were chasing the healthy ones.
In fact, the chase was over. The two groups overlapped. Sick passengers began tearing healthy passengers from the back of the group.
Pure chaos erupted.
Myers aimed, but in the confusion couldn’t tell the healthy from the hostile.
Then he saw the difference.
He knew how to tell them apart.
‘Life vests!’ Myers radioed at Craigson. ‘The hostiles aren’t wearing life vests!’
Myers felt stupid for not noticing this earlier. Only healthy passengers would have donned their life vests when the alarm sounded.
Myers opened fire.
He began dropping hostiles. A moment later he heard the - crack...crack...crack - of Craigson’s weapon discharging.
Working from either side, the Marines managed to clear a space between the healthy and hostile passengers.
As Myers reloaded, he saw the last three healthy passengers flee down the hallway toward the lifeboats.
He and Craigson had given the large group a fighting chance.
Three more sickies charged into the atrium.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
When Craigson’s rounds hit the hostiles, it knocked them clean off their feet. As those three targets fell, six more rounded the corner in their place.
Behind them came another six.
And then another six.
Myers couldn’t see where the group of hostiles ended.
It’s an army of the crazy bastards!
‘Let’s move!’ yelled Craigson.
Myers completely agreed. If we don’t withdraw we’ll be overrun.
They couldn’
t hold the atrium any longer. At best they could stage a staggered retreat through the corridors to slow down the hostiles.
Both Marines backed from the hostiles.
‘Save your ammo for the corridors,’ yelled Craigson.
Myers nodded, but suddenly caught movement in his peripheral vision.
Oh, no. Not now.
He and Craigson weren’t the only healthy people in the atrium.
A woman in a wheelchair and a teenage boy entered the atrium.
Myers saw their predicament instantly.
The woman couldn’t travel with the large group of panicking passengers. If she fell from her chair, she’d be trampled.
Instead, these two were using stealth.
Seeing the atrium momentarily clear, they were cutting across.
From their angle, they couldn’t see the hostiles running into the atrium beyond the service counters.
Had they timed it ten seconds earlier, they might have made it, thought Myers.
Now they stood no chance.
They wouldn’t reach halfway across the atrium before the hostiles rolled over them.
Myers had no sense of making a decision.
One moment he was preparing to withdraw, and the next he was charging back into the atrium.
‘Get back!’ Myers hollered at the woman and the boy. ‘They’re coming.’
The pair reacted instantly.
The woman aborted her attempt to cross the atrium. She changed directions in a heartbeat. She swung sharply toward a different corridor.
They weren’t heading toward the lifeboats anymore, but they weren’t charging into certain death now either.
The boy looked about fourteen or fifteen years old.
He peered over the marble service counters. He spotted the approaching hostiles. His eyes opened wide in shock.
‘Go, Mom!’ he shouted. ‘GO!’
The boy grabbed the handles of his mother’s wheelchair and pushed for extra speed.
Myers halted.
They needed a head start.
Every extra second he could give them would improve their chances of survival.
‘Crack - crack - crack!’
Christ!
The close, unexpected gunfire came from directly behind Myers.
Myers spun in surprise.
Craigson stood right behind him.
He hadn’t withdrawn.
Myers felt guilty and relieved. Relieved because he wasn’t alone, but guilty because he might be getting them both killed.
‘What are we doing?’ yelled Craigson.
The hostile pack began swarming around the service counters.
They’re splitting up, thought Myers.
Half charged after the healthy passengers racing for the lifeboats. The others swarmed over the service counters toward Myers and Craigson.
They resembled a nest of disturbed ants.
Myers felt a shudder run down his spine as a woman in her seventies leaped over the service counter as sure-footed as a street urchin.
The old people moved as quickly as the rest.
Myers had seconds before the swarm of corrupted humans reached the boy pushing his mother’s wheelchair.
He found the white canister strapped to his body armor.
Printed on the canister, large black writing warned:
FOR TEST PURPOSES ONLY
DEPLOY ONLY ACCORDING TO REGULATION 223B
This was a less-lethal weapon.
Sort of.
The Mobility Denial Device wasn’t really a weapon in the traditional sense.
Myers wasn’t sure what regulation 223B said about being overwhelmed by a bloodthirsty mob of deranged cruise passengers, but he was out of options.
He pulled free the arming pin and slid the canister across the tiles.
The canister slid right among their feet...
...and detonated.
The canister became a spinning blur.
Liquid sprayed everywhere.
Someone had turned on a supercharged garden sprinkler.
Developed by the Southwest Research Institute for the U.S. Marine Corps, the canister contained a super-slippery gel. Once activated, the spinning canister coated every surface within thirty feet.
Every surface became three times as slippery as wet ice.
Myers watched the entire front row of hostiles drop.
More piled in from behind.
They slipped and hit the deck just as quickly.
In seconds, the hostile onslaught became a squirming, thrashing mass on the atrium floor.
None could get up.
The harder they struggled, the worse it got.
They just keep coming, thought Myers.
More hostiles sprinted into the chaos. They dropped and slid into the crippling substance, colliding with other hostiles.
A giant wrestling match broke out.
‘Holy crap,’ swore Craigson quietly. ‘Look at them.’
They thrashed like fish out of water. None stopped their wild gyrations for even a second. They convulsed so violently they injured each other.
‘They’re completely psycho,’ said Craigson. ‘What happened to these people? What the hell is happening on this ship?’
Myers couldn’t think about it.
Not now.
He needed to focus on survival. If he started seeing these people as anything other than hostiles, he might end up like Easterbrook.
‘Myers!’ pointed Craigson.
Not all the hostiles had charged into the gel slick. A dozen had missed the area.
Both Marines lifted their weapons and fired.
With conventional weapons, the Marines would have dropped the charging hostiles in seconds.
But they didn’t have conventional weapons.
Myers’ weapon only held five rounds.
At this range, all five shots found their targets before Myers rushed to reload.
Craigson’s weapon held more ammunition, but sometimes took two shots to drop an attacker.
But Craigson’s weapon wasn’t firing. He began walking backward and cursing.
‘I’ve got a jam!’ he yelled. ‘I can’t clear it!’
Myers heard panic in Craigson’s voice.
Seven hostiles still charged toward them.
Myers glanced over his shoulder. A florist’s shop blocked their retreat. A padlock secured the tall glass double doors. There was nowhere further for the Marines to retreat.
Myers had a desperate idea.
‘Follow me!’ he shouted.
Please let this work, he prayed.
Lowering his helmet, he turned and charged the glass doors. Two steps before he reached the glass, he fired his weapon. He wanted his shot to smash the door into a thousand tiny pieces.
That didn’t happen.
His projectile punched a fist-sized hole through the glass, but the door remained standing.
Oh, shit.
Myers was fully committed. He raised his rifle to cover his face and launched himself at the glass.
He’d either smash through or bounce off.
Breaking his neck also seemed possible.
He leaped just before the impact, angling his body to protect all his vulnerable parts and hit the glass with all his armored parts.
He struck the glass with his armored knee, his shoulder, and his weapon at the same time.
SMAAAASH!
His body crashed through the door and careened through a flower display.
Miraculously, even with his eyes shut, he kept his footing.
He waited for the pain, praying he wasn’t cut too deeply.
His prayers seemed answered. He felt stinging cuts on his face and neck, but no blood was spurting. No glass was in his eyes.
He spun as Craigson jumped through the door’s empty aluminum frame and into the store.
‘Holy shit, Myers!’ said Craigson. ‘Are you crazy?’
‘We needed time,’ replied Myers, scanning the flower shop.
‘We can bottleneck them through the door. Clear your weapon!’
Myers could smell the fresh flowers. Orchids and roses and carnations and lilies were all packed together in vases. Refrigerators lined one wall. Beside the service counter on one side stood a tall perfume display cabinet. On the other side stood two greeting card stands.
Craigson wrenched the magazine from his weapon. He struggled to clear the jam with his fingers.
One weapon won’t hold these crazies back long, realized Myers.
He needed to buy Craigson time.
‘Just clear the jam!’ Myers yelled as two crazies leaped into the florist shop.
A man landed first. A crewman wearing a steward’s uniform.
A woman landed behind him. She looked about thirty, and probably quite beautiful had she not been a raving lunatic. She had Barbie-straight hair, tanned skin and a black slinky dress. She landed barefoot on the broken glass.
A normal person would collapse as glass shards sliced into their feet, but not this woman. She just ran straight through the broken glass.
Both crazies charged.
Myers fired twice.
Bang...shuck-shuck...Bang!
Both hostiles went down in convulsions.
Before they landed, two more came leaping through the doorway. Two women this time.
The bottleneck was working.
I can hold them, Myers reassured himself. As long as I don’t miss a single shot.
The women landed side by side.
Myers had to stop them reaching Craigson.
He fired as quickly as he dared.
His first shot hit a woman dressed entirely in denim. Gold rings covered her fingers. Messy red hair concealed her face. His electro-bolt struck her thigh. The charge disabled her legs and then her entire body.
The second woman was shorter and broader.
Myers’ second shot missed.
It flew under her armpit, grazing her long, blue sweater. This woman looked like somebody’s cuddly aunt taking a well-earned holiday.
But she didn’t want a cuddle now. She wanted to use Myers’ head as a soccer ball.
Oh, shit. I missed. Now more can get through!
An older man wearing a tennis outfit jumped through the doorframe.
Myers’ tactical advantage was slipping.
And just then, as Myers realized he was failing to hold them back, things got much worse.
SMAAAAASH!
The flower shop’s second glass door exploded.
HAYWIRE: A Pandemic Thriller (The F.A.S.T. Series Book 2) Page 9
