Christov just needed the acid drive.
The only remaining copy of Elizabeth’s research was stored on that drive.
Christov had the tool for recovering the data from the drive strapped to his chest. Once he had the data, he could return to Pharmafirst’s remote laboratories and reinstate the stolen information.
But first he needed that drive.
‘Christov, I’ve found them,’ came a voice over his radio. ‘The woman in the wheelchair and the Marine captain. They’re not far from you.’
Christov tore his gaze from the tall sea sponge and growled into his radio.
‘Where are they?’
Bolton didn’t need the map to find the main hydraulic pressure chamber.
The HP chamber always lay toward the rear of a ship and deep below the waterline.
Compared to the noisy engine room, the HP chamber was practically silent. All Bolton heard were his men’s boots descending the metal stairs behind him into the huge chamber.
‘Stay down here,’ he ordered.
A metal ladder led up to the HP maintenance platform.
The hydraulic pressure equipment raised and lowered the bulkheads that partitioned the ship during a hull breach. Without hydraulic power, the bulkheads were just tons and tons of dead weight.
After the explosions, Bolton needed the floodwater to fill the ship as quickly as possible. Water preferred an obstacle-free path.
Bolton was providing that path.
Before him, a metal railing prevented maintenance staff from falling. It also prevented Bolton from reaching the equipment properly.
He lowered his mask.
His plasma lance flared to life obediently.
He didn’t need to warn his men this time. He heard them dashing to safety as he sliced away the hand rail. The metal fell away and landed noisily. Now he could reach the main regulation valve.
He paused and lowered his lance, remembering the dead man they had left near the electrical switchboard.
Don’t get yourself killed by making a stupid mistake.
Bolton studied the heavy metal valve.
It should be empty of hydraulic fluid.
What if it’s already primed? Already filled with fluid?
If he severed a pressurized valve, he’d be sprayed with liquid metal and boiling hydraulic fluid. Leaping into boiling lava would be a much quicker and less painful way to die.
He slipped a hammer from his vest and struck the pipe.
DOOOONG!
It sounded like a hollow church bell, not a solid engine block.
It’s empty.
The ship’s maintenance engineers were competent. Bolton liked that. It made his job easier.
He raised his plasma lance and sliced clean through the solid metal valve.
The steel offered almost no resistance. He moved along and cut the heavy pipe that served the valve.
The pipe, with half the valve still attached, crashed down to the floor, scattering his men like terrified cockroaches.
Bolton laughed at the men trying to dodge the red hot liquid metal dripping from his work.
He studied his work.
Now if the ship tried to lower her bulkheads, this chamber would simply fill with hydraulic fluid.
The bulkheads wouldn’t move an inch.
Bolton smiled as he climbed down the ladder.
He was really enjoying this.
Justin ran for his life.
The crazies were right behind him.
Dozens of them.
He couldn’t lose them.
He couldn’t hide from them.
All he could do was run, but with every step they closed the distance.
I need to get my hands free.
Justin could run fast. Very fast. And he had good endurance. But he couldn’t run properly with his hands tied behind his back. He needed to cut the cable binding his hands.
He’d spotted sharp objects on the floor, but he couldn’t slow down to grab them. If he stopped running for even a second the crazies would tackle him.
He looked ahead desperately. The corridor led to a four way intersection.
Which way? Where the hell am I going?
He reached the intersection and barely had enough time to read the sign:
Food Court
True Love Wedding Chapel
Persian Indulgence Spa
Casino
Justin ran through the intersection toward the food court.
He knew that place.
The other options sounded like death traps. The food court on this level had two long self-serve buffets surrounded by tables and chairs.
I can use the tables and chairs as obstacles to slow them down. Maybe I can lose them after all.
He reached the food court.
He charged through the entrance.
The food court was full of crazies.
They were tearing the place apart, smashing the furniture and covering the floor in food.
They’re everywhere. I have to get out of here!
Across the food court he spotted the exit.
Between himself and the exit were about thirty enraged passengers. They all spun to lock their hateful glare on Justin.
He couldn’t get around them.
He couldn’t go back.
Oh, hell, no, thought Justin in despair. I’m trapped!
Chapter Sixteen
Ben strained at the cables binding his wrists to the chair.
It was no use.
He couldn’t break them.
He twisted to check the gunmen.
Two stood studying the surveillance monitors, speaking rapidly into their radios. The helicopter pilot stood behind them, watching the screens.
It sounded like Christov wasn’t having as easy a time with the Marines as he’d anticipated.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
Ben twisted as far as he could when someone began banging on the bridge door.
The person outside began shrieking.
‘Let me in. Hurry. Let me in. They’re right behind me!’
It’s one of Christov’s men, realized Ben.
‘Open the door,’ ordered the pilot.
‘Don’t open that door,’ warned Ben. ‘If you open it, we’re all dead.’
The gunmen hesitated.
The yelling and banging on the door became frantic.
‘Christov needs his path to the helicopter kept clear,’ said the pilot. ‘Get out of the way.’
The pilot wrenched open the door.
The man banging on the door stumbled inside. He looked like all the devils from hell pursued him.
‘Shut it!’ he shrieked. ‘They’re right behind me!’
The man held a flamethrower, but still seemed terrified.
The pilot glanced back through the door.
His eyes opened wide.
He threw his full weight against the door.
It wasn’t enough.
The crazies hit the door at full running speed. The impact knocked the pilot flying backward.
Insane passengers flooded onto the bridge.
Ben wrenched desperately at his restraints. He used every ounce of strength in his body.
I need to get free right now!
The restraints didn’t budge.
The two gunmen who had been monitoring the cameras opened fire. They sprayed bullets into the horde of sick people charging through the door.
Bodies crumpled under the withering gunfire, but bullets couldn’t stop a flood.
The crazies surged onto the bridge.
The terrified gunman dropped his flamethrower and ran for the helicopter.
He reached the ladder, but no further. A woman in a bloody tracksuit jumped and stabbed him in the back with a pair of scissors.
Ben watched the man fall, and then the woman begin thumping the scissors into him again and again.
The pilot tried to regain his feet, but never stood a chance. A man smashed a golf club into the back of
the pilot’s head.
The two gunmen still standing kept firing, but Ben heard the desperation in their voices.
They couldn’t keep the crazies back.
The gunman closest to Ben went down with a long shard of broken glass jutting from his throat. As the dying man fell, he kept firing his gun. Bullets sprayed around the bridge. Several rounds slammed into Ben’s chair.
The bullets tore right through the chair and into Ben.
Pain flared in Ben’s side, his arm, and his wrist.
I’m shot. I’ve been shot!
He didn’t cry out. The chair still mostly concealed him from the crazies. He clamped his mouth shut, neither moving nor making a sound as the last gunman kept firing.
Ben heard him reach the doorway.
The corridor must be clear, thought Ben. He’s trying to get away.
He was.
Ben heard the firing stop as the gunman sprinted from the bridge.
The crazies pursued him, leaving Ben sitting alone in the bridge surrounded by dead bodies.
Now Ben dared to move.
He checked his bullet wounds.
I wasn’t shot three times. I was shot once.
The bullet’s trajectory had torn flesh from his ribs, his bicep and his wrist. None of the wounds looked life-threatening if he could treat them.
But how can I do that when I’m stuck in this chair!
Ben stared at the blood welling from his wrist. He could barely believe his eyes.
Look what it did!
The bullet hadn’t just torn his flesh. It had nearly severed the cable binding his right arm.
Ben bit back against the pain and twisted his wrist.
Snap!
The binding broke free.
He looked around desperately for something to cut the other cable.
Not far away he spotted the scissors sticking straight up from the pilot’s back.
Myers and Craigson crouched behind the large bins and studied the crazies in the bowling alley.
Myers pushed away the horrible memory of the clown.
Craigson probably felt the same way about the monkey.
‘How’s your face?’ Myers asked over his shoulder.
‘Feels like a monkey tried to tear it off,’ replied Craigson.
Myers knew that Craigson had saved them both. He’d done his best to dress Craigson’s wounds, but they were in awkward spots.
‘Where did you learn to throw a javelin like that?’ he asked.
‘I’ve never thrown one before,’ replied Craigson.
Myers turned around. ‘But you speared him right through the head.’
‘Beginners luck,’ admitted Craigson. ‘You ready?’
Myers looked back at the bowling alley. Crazies filled the place.
‘What are they all doing in there?’
‘Searching,’ answered Craigson. ‘They’re forming groups and searching everywhere.’
Myers had a terrible thought. ‘Justin wouldn’t hide in the bowling alley, would he?’
Craigson shook his head. ‘No. He’s searching for his mother. He’ll keep moving. We can’t stop either. You ready?’
Myers detected something odd.
‘Wait, can you smell that?’
‘It’s these bins,’ said Craigson.
‘Not that smell. I can smell something else.’
Craigson inhaled. ‘Perfume?’
Myers nodded. He recalled the broken perfume bottles in the duty free shop. That was the smell. Like someone who had rolled around in all that perfume.
Off to Myers’ right, a small arcade completely dedicated to table tennis had been torn apart by the crazies.
Even the lights were smashed.
Craigson squinted into the darkness. ‘I see movement. Three of them.’
‘That’s not three,’ said Myers, recognizing the silhouette. ‘That’s just one.’
The gigantic woman who had attacked the Marines in the Duty Free Shop reeked of perfume.
‘It’s Big Momma.’
The mountain of a woman came charging from the darkness. She lowered her head and charged like a bull wearing a floral dress.
Both Marines dove aside, barely avoiding her rushing bulk.
Big Momma crashed into the bins.
If the bins were bolted down, they weren’t bolted down well enough. The two bins she hit crashed sideways and sprayed out trash.
Big Momma’s momentum carried her flailing over the bins and rolling through the trash.
The sound of the crashing bins echoed through the entire Sports Zone.
‘Holy shit,’ yelled Craigson, pointing at the bowling alley. ‘Here they come!’
Crazies surged from the bowling alley like ants from a disturbed nest. Big Momma climbed to her feet.
‘Run!’ hollered Myers, taking off across the arcade. The crazies veered to intercept the Marines.
Myers looked forward. They hadn’t searched the entire Sports Zone yet. He had no idea what they were running into.
It was a dead end.
The arcade ended at a large indoor basketball court.
‘This way!’ yelled Craigson, peeling off to the left.
Myers followed.
He saw Craigson’s plan.
An indoor rock-climbing wall led to the deck above through a large hole in the ceiling. Ropes and harnesses lay ready to be used, but the Marines sprinted right past them.
‘Climb as fast as you can!’ Craigson yelled.
The Marines hit the wall climbing.
The crazies hit the wall three seconds later. The pack slammed into the wall so hard that Myers felt the wall shake.
Hands reached up for them.
Fingers grazed their boots.
One woman jumped and grabbed Myers’ boot, but he kicked her hand away.
Below them, the crazies climbed on top of each other to reach the wall. They pulled each other down in their frenzy to reach the Marines.
‘Hurry!’ shouted Craigson.
Myers did. The woman had slowed him down. He climbed as fast as he dared. Below his feet he saw the crazies climbing.
Oh, my God. Look at them. They haven’t forgotten how to climb.
They were racing up the wall like spiders. With absolutely no fear of falling, they leaped from handhold to handhold with unbelievable speed and agility. Myers saw one slip and fall back down onto the crowd.
But the rest were catching up.
Just keep climbing and don’t look down.
Craigson reached the top.
Myers was close.
Craigson yanked free his ice hockey stick.
‘Hurry,’ Craigson yelled. ‘They’re catching you!’
Myers reached the top and began to haul himself over the ledge. A hand grabbed his boot. Another grabbed his leg.
Shit! They’ve got me!
One of the crazies had him. A woman wearing a bright yellow jumpsuit began climbing up Myers like a ladder. Her weight dragged him away from the ledge.
He had nothing to grab.
The surface beyond the ledge was flat.
He scrambled with his hands for purchase, but his fingers just slid toward him.
One hand slipped off.
This is it, Myers realized. This is really happening. I’m going to fall down right into them.
Myers watched his left hand slide toward the edge....
Stomp.
Craigson stomped on Myers’ hand, pinning him in place.
Whack!
At the same time, Craigson swung his ice hockey stick. He hit the crazy woman in the yellow jumpsuit climbing over Myers. She flew backward, flipping through the air until she smashed into the crowd below.
Craigson jerked Myers back into the wall, not releasing Myers’ vest until he was safely over the top.
Myers scrambled from the ledge, amazed to be alive. He stood and pulled out his baseball bat as two more crazies reached the top.
‘Don’t let them grab you,’ warned Craigson.
‘They’ll pull you right over the edge.’
Then the real fighting began.
Myers attacked any crazy who reached the top. As their heads appeared, he smashed down with the baseball bat. Craigson did the same with his hockey stick, over and over again, sending dozens and dozens of crazies tumbling and spinning backward off the climbing wall. They could barely keep up. The entire wall was covered with insane passengers, all trying to reach the Marines.
Suddenly they had a reprieve.
Two falling crazies started a cascade of falling bodies that stripped the top half of the wall free of hostile climbers.
‘Let’s go,’ yelled Myers. ‘This is our chance!’
From the top of the wall, a single corridor led to a locked door with a sign: ‘Training Room’.
Craigson swiped open the heavy door.
It slammed shut automatically behind them, obviously designed to prevent passengers accidentally reaching the dangerous climbing ledge.
Seconds after the door slammed shut, crazies slammed into it from the other side. They beat upon the door and hurled their bodies against it.
‘They won’t get through,’ said Myers. ‘That door weighs a ton.’
Together they dashed around the piles of rappelling equipment, looking for the exit. They found the exit, but Myers snatched Craigson’s arm and pointed.
‘Look!’
The training room had two glass walls. One overlooked the climbing wall. The other overlooked the food court.
‘Holy crap,’ said Craigson, looking at the crowd of crazies rampaging in the food court. ‘There’s Justin.’
Craigson and Myers rushed into the food court.
At least fifty crazies occupied the area, but none noticed the Marines.
They all chased Justin.
How Justin had survived this long was a miracle. The boy had his hands bound behind his back. Somehow he’d climbed onto a food buffet and was running along the stainless steel top. More food covered the floor all around the buffet, causing the crazies to slip and slide as they charged after Justin. The crazies trying to climb up were struggling to grip the smooth stainless steel with their slippery hands.
Justin ran backward and forward, kicking down any who managed to start climbing. He couldn’t keep up. Craigson spotted two crazies clamber onto the buffet at either end. Justin couldn’t kick both of them down in time.
HAYWIRE: A Pandemic Thriller (The F.A.S.T. Series Book 2) Page 23
