Chapter Seven
Coleman had given the fleeing passengers an extra minute by plugging a corridor with the inflatable life raft, but now the plan was backfiring.
Half of the horde had simply circled around the obstacle. They came pouring onto the outer deck, just beyond the stairwell.
They spotted Coleman and Erin alone on the deck.
Ben Bryant’s voice spoke urgently over Erin’s radio.
‘They’re smashing through your barricade. They’re cutting you off in both directions.’
Coleman and Erin could jump and swim to the lifeboats, but that meant abandoning the healthy passengers still in the stairwell.
I can’t let the hostiles reach the stairwell.
‘We need to jump!’ cried Erin.
‘Not yet.’ Coleman wrenched open a wall panel. ‘Help me with this.’
Coleman yanked the heavy nozzle from the wall cavity.
‘Turn it on!’ he yelled.
Erin threw herself at the large valve, twisting the lever 180 degrees.
Coleman braced himself.
Water exploded from the heavy nozzle.
The recoil felt more powerful than any weapon he’d ever discharged. The nozzle had two large metal handles. The fire hose was designed for two people to operate.
His boots began sliding on the deck.
‘Help me!’ shouted Coleman, but at that instant he felt Erin brace her shoulder against his back and grab the hose behind him.
His boots stopped sliding.
He directed the full force of the fire hose straight into the charging horde.
Coleman had no idea a fire hose had so much power.
The first jet of water knocked the front line of hostiles off their feet and into the crazed mob behind them.
‘Hit the chairs!’ yelled Erin.
From the way Erin braced herself against Coleman’s back, she’d obviously been trained with the fire hose. Coleman swung the water jet toward the deck chairs. The chairs rocketed into the pack.
A dozen crazy attackers fell entangled in the flying wood and canvas.
Coleman sprayed the crowd again.
Wherever the water struck, people went down. If he hit their legs, they tripped. If he hit their upper body, they tumbled backward.
Every sweep of the jet dropped another line of hostiles.
Before any could regain their footing he blasted them back into the crowd, taking down twice as many targets with each sweep of the hose.
It was working. He was holding them back.
He was pushing them back!
The pack wasn’t retreating, but half weren’t standing either.
‘Coleman - behind us!’
Coleman glanced over his shoulder.
The inflatable raft had been overrun.
Dozens and dozens of hostile passengers erupted onto the deck behind them.
Coleman checked the stairwell.
It’s almost empty.
The healthy passengers had reached the lower decks. Now they could jump and swim to safety.
Coleman sprayed the water jet across the first group of attackers. He wanted to buy time, not push them back.
He aimed at their heads, spraying the powerful jet into their faces and eyes, trying to blind them.
‘Coleman!’ Erin warned. ‘Behind us!’
‘I know!’ he shouted over the roaring hose. ‘Help me turn!’
Coleman pivoted in a half circle. Erin braced him all the way.
The maneuver worked.
They fired into the crowd that had torn through the life raft.
At least twenty hostiles spilled onto the deck.
More shoved from behind.
Coleman saw an opportunity.
The second hostile group was close.
The jet hit them harder. It pushed them further.
They were emerging right where the handrail had been destroyed when Coleman inflated the life raft.
With one well-aimed sweep, Coleman sent four hostiles tumbling through the gap in the hand railing.
With his second sweep, he washed three more off the ship.
The hostiles didn’t learn.
As they rushed from the corridor, Coleman swept them straight over the side of the ship.
In seconds Coleman pushed dozens of sliding, tumbling hostiles plunging down into the ocean.
‘The others are coming!’ Erin warned.
Coleman couldn’t maneuver the hose fast enough to stop both groups.
At best he could slow them down.
‘Climb over the railing!’ he shouted.
Erin released the hose and climbed the railing.
Coleman struggled with the nozzle.
‘Are we going to jump?’ Erin yelled.
Bracing the hose under his arm, Coleman scrambled over the railing.
The hostiles were recovering their footing.
Coleman twisted the hose so the water jetted straight downward.
On both sides of the nozzle protruded metal handles.
‘Grab that handle!’ yelled Coleman. ‘We’re going down.’
Coleman knew Erin wouldn’t hesitate.
She grabbed the other side of the nozzle and nodded.
The hostiles were just feet away.
‘Now!’ yelled Coleman.
He and Erin let go of the railing.
The powerful water jet and the friction from the unspooling hose combined to carry Coleman and Erin down the side of the ship like two rappellers sharing the same rope.
The next railing raced up at them.
‘Grab it!’ yelled Coleman.
He snatched the railing with one hand and Erin with the other. He needn’t have bothered. Erin had caught the railing with both hands. They climbed over. Coleman’s boots landed back on deck a moment after Erin’s.
She seemed unfazed by their wild ride down the outside of the ship.
Clank - clank - clank!
The sound of steel striking steel assaulted their ears.
‘What’s that noise?’ Erin asked.
Coleman pointed over the railing. ‘The hose.’
Momentum had dragged the hose lower.
Without anyone to brace the nozzle, the powerful jet of water whipped the hose around like a giant angry snake.
Clank!
The metal nozzle thumped into the ship again, spraying wildly in all directions.
‘Look!’ Erin pointed.
Coleman saw hundreds of people in yellow life vests reaching the lifeboats. Some of the boats were maneuvering closer to pick up the injured and the elderly.
Erin pointed upward. ‘The hostiles aren’t chasing them. Maybe they’re scared of water.’
Coleman looked at the people being saved. ‘They’re making it. Look at them.’
‘I hope Ben can see this,’ said Erin, clutching her radio.
Coleman nodded.
Bryant had provided an early warning about the large pack of hostiles. He’d kept Coleman and Erin up-to-date with every move the pack made.
Ben Bryant’s knowledge of the ship and his surveillance cameras had just saved hundreds of people’s lives.
SMAAAAASH!
Craigson heard the florist’s second glass door explode.
Stupid, fucking, jammed rifle!
He looked up.
The impact sounded like a motorcycle ramming the door. Glass exploded into the shop. Something dark catapulted into the store.
It wasn’t a motorcycle.
It was a person.
A large, crazy person who couldn’t wait to reach the Marines.
He’d charged through the glass like Myers.
Unlike Myers, the man wasn’t wearing a helmet, body armor, or gloves to protect himself.
Apparently he didn’t need them.
He tumbled into the shop on a wave of broken glass. He leaped to his feet as though he’d been rolling through feathers.
He ran at Craigson.
Craigson had never witnessed
a more hideous sight in his life.
The man wore tight black jeans, a black shirt, black shoes and a black hoodie. A mini ponytail held back his blond hair.
None of this bothered Craigson.
It was the spurting blood.
It jetted sideways from the man’s neck as he ran.
With every step, wounds gaped open. Every limb had glass hanging from it.
And still he charged.
The man should be in agony, but he ran as though any sense of pain or survival was wiped from his DNA.
Craigson roared and charged.
He tucked his chin down and led with his shoulder, meeting the man’s charge head on.
SLAAAM!
Their bodies collided like football front liners.
Their heads connected.
Craigson felt his helmet strike the man’s face.
The impact stunned Craigson.
The crazy man in black stumbled back a few paces, shaking his head like a stubborn bull.
Craigson swung his rifle two-handed like a baseball bat.
CRACK!
He hit the man right in the forehead. This second blow sent the man reeling backward.
Craigson saw an opportunity.
He acted instantly.
He dashed forward and kicked the man in the stomach.
SMAAAASH!
The man crashed straight into the glass perfume cabinet. Craigson expected him to crash through the back of the cabinet, but that didn’t happen. The entire cabinet tipped backward like a giant coffin. Craigson watched it teeter with the man wedged inside and then...
...CRASH!
The falling cabinet struck the floor and disintegrated.
Any perfume bottles that survived the man’s initial impact didn’t survive the fall.
Neither did the man.
Everyone needs blood, thought Craigson. And that guy has lost gallons.
The eye-watering smell from hundreds of broken perfume bottles hit Craigson. He blinked away the burning sensation and checked his weapon.
The jam is gone. Hitting that guy with my rifle cleared the jam!
Craigson groped for a fresh magazine and looked across the shop.
Myers needed help.
Two crazies were attacking him.
A woman in a blue sweater rushed him from the front while a gray-haired man wearing tennis gear swung a flower vase at Myers’ head from behind.
Crash!
The flower vase smashed against Myers’ helmet.
Myers folded under the impact.
Before Myers even hit the floor, the elderly tennis player charged at Craigson.
Craigson was a good shot.
A hunter since childhood, he knew at this range he could take down both crazies in the next few seconds.
But which one first?
The woman scrambled over Myers’ prone body. She had another vase. The seventy-year-old tennis player still had to cross the store to reach Craigson.
Craigson’s choice proved easy.
He needed to save Myers.
I can still take them both down, Craigson calculated. I have time.
He lifted his weapon, stepped forward to aim and...
...his boot slipped out from under him.
Slippery day-old flower clippings had spilled all over the floor. Craigson’s boot heel had no traction.
He was aiming one moment, falling the next.
He clenched his hand, trying not to lose his rifle, and accidentally pulled the trigger.
Crack!
His rifle discharged.
The polymer slug fired completely off target.
On the service counter, red and white striped boxes were stacked into a neat pyramid. Craigson’s slug slammed into those boxes. The fragile boxes exploded.
As Craigson fell, everything in the store turned pink.
What the hell!
Butterflies filled the entire shop. Millions of them, fluttering everywhere, filling every space and corner.
They’re not butterflies, Craigson realized. They’re rose petals. The boxes were full of rose petals.
Without rising, Craigson swung his rifle back on target, aiming through the falling rose petals at the demented woman about to crack open Myers’ head.
Crack!
The slug struck the woman’s temple.
She toppled.
Craigson fired again instantly.
The tennis player took the slug squarely in the chest. The impact lifted the man off his tennis shoes and spun him backward. He landed so hard that Craigson felt the vibrations through the floor.
He’s not getting up from that, thought Craigson.
Nevertheless, Craigson kept him covered as he scrambled over to Myers.
Myers was breathing, but disoriented.
Craigson sat him up.
‘What happened?’ groaned Myers.
‘Can you stand?’
Myers slowly stood up, but stared at the woman in the blue sweater. ‘Did one hit me from behind?’
Craigson nodded. ‘Can you walk?’
‘I’m okay. What’s that smell?’
‘About two hundred broken perfume bottles.’
Myers scanned the shop.
‘What is it?’ asked Craigson. ‘Are you dizzy?’
Myers counted the crazies out loud. ‘We took down six.’
Craigson nodded.
‘But I counted seven,’ insisted Myers. ‘Where’s the big one?’
Craigson waved his rifle toward the tall man in the smashed perfume cabinet.
‘You mean him?’
Myers’ eyes widened.
He pointed at the door.
‘No - I mean her!’
Craigson spun.
Is that one person or two?
She lumbered into the light.
It was one.
A very big one.
The largest person Craigson had ever seen who could still move by themselves. And she was tall. Taller than both Marines. But her girth shocked Craigson most.
She wore an orange floral dress that probably took a small village a month to sew together.
She lumbered toward them.
Craigson retreated behind the service counter. He shoved the counter to check it was securely attached to the floor.
‘Get back!’ Craigson warned Myers.
Myers lifted his XREP, preparing to drop the woman with an electro-bolt.
At that moment, the woman broke all the laws of physics that Craigson knew about. She launched herself at Myers like an Olympic sprinter thrusting off the blocks.
Her speed was stunning.
She accelerated like a high-octane vehicle.
Her intent was obvious. She planned to crush Myers against the counter.
Myers spun and dove over the service counter head first.
As he hit the floor, the woman slammed into the service counter. The entire counter threatened to tear from the floor, but held.
We should have fired the moment we saw her, thought Craigson. Why didn’t we?
He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
The woman staggered back.
Craigson fired a liquid rubber slug right into her chest. She staggered back another two steps.
She didn’t fall.
Holy crap, thought Craigson. She took it.
Myers stood, pumped his weapon and fired. The electro-bolt embedded in the woman’s stomach, releasing its incapacitating charge.
The woman braced herself as though she had a stomach cramp.
‘Holy crap,’ said Craigson. ‘Hit her again!’
Both Marines fired.
They both hit.
The woman collapsed back into the pool of perfume.
‘Jesus,’ said Myers. ‘I didn’t think she was going down.’
‘Me either,’ admitted Craigson. ‘Go check her.’
‘You check her!’ countered Myers. ‘She almost crushed me!’
Craigson knelt over the crewman they’d ta
ken down. He unclipped the swipe card from the man’s belt.
We need this.
He scanned the store’s rear wall, spotting a door with a swipe card reader.
‘Look. That’s how the staff move around.’
‘Look out!’ yelled Myers.
Craigson saw a giant hand plant itself on the service counter. The huge woman hauled herself back to her feet. They had shot her four times and she still wasn’t staying down.
‘Come on,’ yelled Myers. ‘Out the front!’
‘No,’ countered Craigson. ‘This way. I found a swipe card.’
Myers didn’t waste time arguing. He ran back as Craigson reached the swipe reader.
I hope this isn’t a storeroom, thought Craigson.
The swipe reader had a red light.
Craigson swiped the card.
The red light flashed. Myers tried the door handle.
‘Try again,’ urged Myers. ‘Hurry!’
Craigson glanced back at the woman as he flipped the card over. She stared back at him. He swiped the card again.
Come on, come on.
Red light.
‘You’re doing it wrong,’ yelled Myers. ‘Give it to me!’
Myers snatched the card and rubbed it on his fatigues, cleaning the magnetic strip.
Craigson raised his weapon as the woman came around the counter. Perfume had soaked her dress.
She looked furious.
She lumbered toward them. Craigson knew she could launch herself at breath-taking speed any moment.
Myers swiped again.
Red light.
‘Shoot her,’ Myers yelled over his shoulder. ‘Shoot her again!’
‘Get it open!’ yelled Craigson.
‘It won’t open!’
Craigson remembered something. Whenever his card didn’t work at his local supermarket, the register operators had a special technique.
‘Swipe upwards!’ instructed Craigson.
‘What?’
‘Swipe the card from the bottom to the top!’
Myers swiped the card upward through the reader.
Green light.
Click.
Craigson heard the door unlock.
At the same time, he felt the floor vibrating under his boots.
‘She’s coming!’ he yelled.
Myers hauled open the door.
Craigson glanced back.
The woman rammed through everything in her path. She collided with two greeting card stands. Hundreds of cards flew off the falling racks.
Craigson couldn’t take his eyes off her.
She looked like a human wrecking ball.
HAYWIRE: A Pandemic Thriller (The F.A.S.T. Series Book 2) Page 10
