Zombie-dem

by James J. Stubbs

  Chapter 19

  Sailing for Russia

  Neither of them liked the idea of leaving all of those people behind. But at the same time, neither of them had any choice at all. Lizzie, the girl so human and so compassionate even at the end of all things, had protested something terrible as Logan announced they were leaving. It pulled so hard at the buried strings of his heart.

  The engine room of the boat was filled with smell of burning fuel and the infectious scent of warm oil. He liked it there. He liked sleeping there too. It was so overcrowded that anyone working on the engine had to. Lizzie had taken a bunk upstairs with a small family from Scotland.

  Everyone had to have a job. That was the rule of the boat, the boat they had been so lucky to be allowed onto when they finally reached the port of the town they were in. Everyone worked. Logan was allowed on because he knew his way around a spanner and a toolkit. Lizzie was allowed on because she could hit a moving target from space. It was a shame, but that meant they had to part ways for the length of the working day. They still hooked up at the end of a rotated shift though.

  She wanted to save them. She argued herself hoarse saying that the youngest of them might not capitulate to the disease for months, even years, if they had only eaten such a small amount of the infected meat. Logan had said himself that the shaking disease, which was connected to the consumption of human meat, sometimes took a full year to incubate. If that took a year, then in some cases the zombie infection might not take hold for much longer after that. She was right too. It might have been that long.

  The engineer chief in charge of the engine room had let Logan sleep for a full day. And he needed it too. He recognized him. Just like the people in the town had. Logan had reviled him with the story of how he came back to England's shores over a beer that first night. So he took pity on him, gave him a hammock of his own, and just let him sleep as the others went to work. Logan would make up for it later ten fold.

  It broke his heart, but he listened to every word that she said. He listened when she told him that he had promised they would help everyone they could, and boldly accused him of breaking his promises to her. He listened to the cries of the people when Morgan was forced to break the news to them. He watched the unknowing eyes of the children fill with tears when they were told, to save their innocence, that there was just no more food to go around and that the carnival was over.

  The engine had been running too rich. Something was stopping the air and fuel mix from running at it's most efficient. Scot, the engine room leader, had been puzzling over it for weeks. It was burning far too much fuel. Logan was working hard on it with him. They couldn't shut it down for long. The boat was too over laden with survivors that it needed to stay moving to stay afloat. Especially in the choppy waters of the English Channel. He pulled at levers and twisted bolts to tighten this and loosen that. They removed parts and cleaned them to the point they looked new.

  It hurt when she slapped him. Even though she had apologized for it so many times he was sick of the word. Some of them refused to stop eating the infected meat, and said a life prolonged was better than one interrupted. Others refused and broke away in anger to go their separate ways. Still Lizzie couldn't be at peace. So he showed her the family that he had saved that night at the fair. He gave the youngest child a bread roll he had taken from the fair ground and watched as she tore into it, starved and hungry.

  Their parents cried, glancing at Logan in such a pleading way, as if he were a God that refused to save them when he could have. And he asked Lizzie the question she just couldn't face for herself. "Can you stand here and watch them die?" Of course she couldn't. And she cried herself to sleep over his shoulder because he was right. He was right, and it killed both of them inside.

  'I don't have a lot of experience with boats...' Logan started to moan. He got on well with Scot for a reason that was lost to both of them. It was a kind of friendship that was instant. They were just on the same wavelength as it were. They timed around each other well, handed one another the right spanners after only glancing at the size of the bolt. Just that kind of thing, that unspoken bond between people that just didn't need words.

  'You being in the air force and all?' Scot had a humor to him. But he was as British as they came. Dry and sarcastic in wit. Logan just raised an eyebrow after refitting the part they had been working on. He held out his hand, and Scot passed a wrench to him without having to look. The light in the engine room was far from adequate. It was dim at best, with only the faintest hint of natural light swimming in through the portholes when they were occasionally above sea level.

  'Something like that.' He sniggered and twisted at the wrench with all of the strength he had. They needed to start the engines up as soon as they could. They were out in the water, quite literally, with no movement possible. The boat was full to bursting already and they just needed to get back on the move. 'But I think this part was, I guess, some kind of automatic carburetor. Hooked up to that chip, which seems to control the fuel mix. I think it just keeps getting knocked into safe mode. Like a car when the engine timing goes wrong... get's into a sort of limp home mode. Won't rev beyond a safe limit to stop anything from braking inside.' Logan battled his words out through fits of effort from twisting the wrench.

  'So we've cleared the valves out, lucky we had a spare belt to hook up to the timing mechanism.' He counted their jobs on his fingers as he thought of them. 'Replaced the valve timer with a new part we salvaged from the crank case and put the last of the flushing oil in there too.' He scratched his sweaty bald head with his dirty and grimy fingernails. 'No new filter, so we cleaned that out too. Captain probably not too happy we used the last of his vodka to do it mind...' Logan chuckled remembering the conversation.

  The Captain of the ship was a nice enough bloke. Took no crap from anyone. Not even Logan. He reminded him of an old Merchant Navy Captain. Probably fancied himself as one for that matter. Huge white beard and a bit too much fat around his waist than is fashionable at the end of the world too. Couldn't quite put a finger on his age. Maybe late fifties.

  'So...' Logan twisted the last bolt shut with a groan of muscle strain, and threw the wrench back to his new friend. 'If it doesn't start and run like new, that's the two of us getting tossed overboard.' Logan was trying to be funny. But truth be told, he wasn't that far from the truth. No one was allowed on this ship without giving something to the commune aboard. It was nice in a way. That everyone had to pull their weight, if not a little cruel to those who just couldn't. It wasn't the best way to live indefinitely, but it would do for a little pleasure cruise to Russia, while they worked to pay their way.

  Scot was stood down a level to Logan, who had climbed a few metal ladders and walkways to the very top of the engine. The ship was gargantuan in size. An old containership ready for scrap when the Captain rescued it, brought it back to life, and started picking up survivors. By all the stories, this crew had sailed the British Isles twice around already, just picking up people who made it to the coast. It didn't take Logan much to persuade them to reroute to Russia just for one small trip.

  'Ready to start?' He shouted back to Logan after wiping away a bead of sweat with a filthy rag.

  'No, try that crank and listen for any noises first.' He pointed to a large lever. There was a huge wheel and manual crank to test the timing of all of the bolts and belts before introducing any power to the system. Scot started rolling it with as much force as he could manage. It was smooth and seemed well oiled. It was hard to deny that both of them were pretty nervous when it came down to it. It was a pet project to some extent, but their lives, and a whole lot more lives, rested on how well it went.

  'Okay!' Logan shouted over the distance and smooth running of the rollers. 'Try it?' Scot jammed his fist onto a red button underneath a glass protective cover. The engine fired up first time without any hesitation. Good thing the battery was full of charge and the starter mechanism had been cleaned out so thoroughly. Without
any effort, the engine blasted to life, and sounded a whole lot healthier than ever before too. Scot was overjoyed and just started clapping his hands and patting Logan on the back as he climbed down. He was damn happy too. A good job was a good job.

  Scot reached for the phone mounted to a steel column at his side. He picked it up and just said, 'Engine is back up and running, Captain.' But found it impossible to hide his happiness. The muffled voice on the other end of the receiver mirrored the enthusiasm but Scot's face suddenly turned very serious. He hung up the phone and turned to Logan.

  'They want you on the Bridge.' That was the command center of the ship. 'Wouldn't say why.' He looked worried, but for no real reason. Probably just didn't like the secrecy.

  'Don't worry, it won't be anything serious.' Logan dabbed away some thick oil that had stained his face mostly black, rubbed his hands vigorously on his orange overalls and made his way for the engine room exit which was up a short flight of steel stairs and through a heavy blast door. He had been sad to throw away his trusted desert patterned combat trousers and leather jacket. But they had seen a lot of dirt and a lot of blood. Besides, he kind of liked the humble mechanic look. A simple life, after all, was all he had been searching for all of that time.

  It was all he could think about on the way to the bridge. The engine was running as sooth as any engine ever had, and everyone he passed seemed to be talking about how nice the ride seemed to have become after his tinkering. It made him proud in a nice way that seemed so primal and deep. It was just simple hard work, which has so much more ethic to it than anything else he had really ever done. It was hard to say no when the thought of staying occurred to him. He still had a responsibility to everyone on the planet, to try and help fix the zombie outbreak. And for that, Russia was calling.

  The walk was brisk and peaceful as the world slowly turned into winter. Those long summer nights at the Lakes Country were a distant memory by this point. The nights drew in, the sky got darker, and the world slowly got colder as heavy rains preceded icy showers. The cold wind was bracing after the warmth of the engine room, but he was at least grateful for the fresh air. Breathing in burning oil all day and all night too for that matter can't have been good for anyone.

  Lizzie was waiting in the Bridge by the Captain as he approached from the Starboard side. He had taken the external route to try and avoid as much congestion as possible. There were so many families packed into the ship that they seemed to have taken to sleeping in corners and under pipes. The inside was frankly a pain to even try to navigate.

  The fact it was an old shipping container came in handy. Out on the primary deck, a veritable shanty town had grow up amongst the containers. Their contents had been emptied of anything deemed useless. Containers had then been placed side by side, holes cut into them if needed, and in cases, the ship bound populace of constantly migrating sea dogs had constructed mini apartments. Not that the conditions were anything short of miserable. But the un-killable British spirit they often talked about seemed to carry them onwards.

  'I was about to say "What is it?" but now I see there's no need.' Logan took his place next to Lizzie and joined her in staring blankly out of the window. The ship was actually in full reverse. 'How far away are we?' The Captain had altered course on Logan's request. They were sailing for the Western most, and in fact most Western in culture too, city of Russia: St Petersburg.

  They could sail right in. It was a port city. But it meant navigating a maze of islands in the Scandinavian Archipelago in a huge ship. Chances were, they would have to swap modes of transport. The container ship might be far too large to make it safely, and there was no chance Logan would let anyone risk all of those lives for his, or anyone else's sake.

  'This might be the end of the line.' The Captain replied. He was dry all of the time. Some might mistake it for a sort of low level hostility, but he had a kind heart deep down. Two half sunken ships were blocking the way, one wedged between one small Island, and the other against another island. They were sunk in at the bow, obviously after a high speed crash. They had long since burned out.

  'Might be able to scout for supplies and sink them to clear a path.' Logan offered a solution but the Captain just nodded his head, half in agreement. Clearly he approved. Lizzie looked visibly worried, her arms crossed around her chest. She was looking so much the better though. Her womanly and seductive curves had come back to life with a few meals in her stomach. She had lost so much weight in the time at DC, and the following months of subsistence living in England.

  'I'm grateful you fixed the engine... but I have a favor to ask.' If there was even a shred of emotion on him he didn't show it. He just looked on blankly. Logan didn't reply, just waited for the inevitable question.

  'This tub is running on empty ever since the problem with the engine. Since it was running so rich, its sucked almost a third more fuel from the tanks than usual.'

  'You want me to go and see if there is any spare on those crashed ships?' He was somewhat excited about the prospect, but at the same time, didn't like being taken for granted. 'Where are we anyway?' He asked and took a look at some of the charts on the center console. Not that he had much of a clue on how to interpret them. 'It's hard to tell day from night down there, never mind figuring out how far we've come.' He was talking about the engine room of course.

  Lizzie piped up. She missed him, and the way they departed the fair and left those people to die in a mess of their own making, had changed their relationship a little bit. The distance didn't help. They might have talked it through if they had the chance, but never did. There was just a little bit of awkwardness in the conversation that neither of them liked. 'We're not far from St Petersburg.' She spoke sweetly, and calculated her every decibel to the N'th degree so not to cause any possible offence.

  'You can make it on a lifeboat.' That was the Captain. Lizzie resented the interference. She was just dying to talk to him. To settle things and maybe try to hit the reset button on their relationship. He handed Logan a looking glass to spy the ships ahead.

  They were some kind of military vessels. He wasn't up on their design or really bothered about what they could do or even how they were armed. He was just looking for a clear way in, a clear way out, and scanning for any movement. Either living or dead. The ships were pretty much crushed together at the bow. He could probably hop from one to the other should he need to. If things got tight.

  But a plan was forming in his head. No matter how much he tried to run, no matter how much he might have wanted to just be a humble mechanic working on the ship, that military, calculating tacticians mind of his just wouldn't have it.

  Grey in color and bulky looking things with cannons mounted on top of them, was about all he could make out just by looking at them.

  'I'll row out there on a lifeboat from your ship. I'll tow a rope as I do, but doubled over , so I need enough rope to make the distance twice. That means, when I get there, I'll fasten it to the hull of one of those ships. I'll tie it so you can use it a pulley. If there are any barrels of crude oil, I'll tie them to the rope and you can pull them along, save them from sinking. Lizzie can stay here as my fire support. If there are any of them on those ships, I'll try to draw them out. That way, she can pick them off one by one. Assuming there is any crude on there and it works... I'll then scuttle the ships. Then I can make it to Russia by rowing... best go before the weather turns.'

  'I can't go?' Lizzie was so hurt, desperate and lacked any calm in her voice as a result. She was devastated by the things he had said so coldly.

  'I need you here kid.' He hadn't called her that in such a long time. She didn't know if that was a step forward in their relationship or one backwards. But he sounded happy enough and there was just a hint of love in the way that he said it. 'You can hit a zombie in the eyeball from space. I don't need you on the ship where it will be cramped and hard to move around to get a good target. I need fire support.' That wasn't what had hurt her. When he talked about ge
tting to Russia, he had said "I" and not "they" could row to the shoreline. Her crushed expression left nothing to guesswork.

  'What's wrong?' He asked, stumbling, almost the way couples do after a fight when no one meant for anyone to get hurt.

  'You don't want me to come to Russia with you?' She still sounded so hurt. No way did she want to be left behind, and she was admittedly feeling a little bit sensitive if she had to admit it. Losing Jace, losing Jack, and having to deal with her seemingly conflicting feelings for both of them was starting to get on top of her. But the last thing that she wanted was to lose Logan too.

  'Of course you have to come to Russia.' He forced a smile. They did have to move on, there was some awkwardness and that was hung in between them like an unwanted third wheel. But there was nothing like surviving the end of the world together that can force people into a closeness that the odd hiccup was going to get in the way of. 'I mean I can use you to barter with some thugs or something if we get in a tight spot... might even be able to trade you for a car.'

  He was forcing a laugh into the back of his throat, while pretending to keep looking through his spy glass. 'Hell... I'd even take a horse or maybe a camel.' He finally let the corner of his mouth twitch to give away his joke. He couldn't just tell her. It wasn't in him. He couldn't tell her that he needed her. That she was his conscience. The one person that could keep him from slipping into the darkness inside of himself, let the monster inside of him win. She would just have to put up with it, so punched him softly in the gut instead.