by SD Tanner
He heard the door close softly and the container became dark again. The shadow of her body moved past him and a bed squeaked when she sat opposite him. Leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, Tess asked with genuine concern, “How’re you doing?”
“Not well,” he replied unhappily. “I’m no good at this and I’m gonna put the team at risk.”
Tess reached across and patted his arm. “We’re all just doing the best we can, Nathan. None of us expected to be doing this in our lifetime. All we can is do is try and hope it works out, and even if it doesn’t, at least we had a chance.”
Despite the pain in his head, he asked plaintively, “How can you be okay with this?”
“I lost everything when the virus happened. I had a husband and two children, parents, in-laws, friends and more, but they’re all gone. Now, I have you and the team and everyone else on the bases. I’m not worried about dying. It’ll happen eventually, but in the meantime I could do with a few good fights. I’m kinda pissed off with life, and I’ll happily kick some ass before I kick the bucket.”
Despite himself, he chuckled. “I guess that’s why you’re our team leader.”
Before Tess could answer, the strange scratching and growling noise started again, and he twisted his head to see if he could find the source of the sound.
“What’s that noise?” Tess asked.
“I dunno. It started just before you came in.”
“Cover your eyes. I’m gonna open the window.”
Pulling a pillow over his eyes, he heard Tess tugging the window open and sounding confused, Tess said, “There’s nothing out there…or in here that could be making that noise.”
The growling and scratching was growing louder, and it sounded as if there was something in the wall, but he knew that wasn’t possible. The containers were made of metal with only insulation between the two thin, but solid walls. Sitting up, he looked at Tess through narrowed eyes, and they both listened intently to the sound that seemed to be coming from the top of his bunk bed. Suddenly a deep chuckle filled the room and his heart froze.
At the top of the bunk bed, voices began to whisper, and turning to Tess, he asked frantically, “What the fuck is going on?”
Tess was looking around the room. “I don’t know, but we gotta get outta here right now. Something’s wrong.”
Without waiting to hear more, they both fled from the container.
***
Izzie (Naval submarine base)
“What do you mean the shipment is delayed?”
The wiry man standing in front of her said irritably, “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. It’s not my fault, Izzie. All I know is the trucks broke down.”
“What? All of them?”
“Apparently. They were lucky another truck was passing and one of them was able to hitch a ride to the base.”
They were more than lucky to get a ride to the Navy submarine base. It wasn’t on the way to anywhere, and to save fuel, once a day a small transport ship sailed to the Naval base ferrying both supplies and people. The only time they travelled by road was to move supplies to Wolfie’s base or the CDC, but now the CDC was gone, there were less trucks on the roads.
She shook her head in confusion. “I don’t understand how four vehicles could fail at the same time. Where’s the messenger?”
The man looked at her doubtfully. “Why? Do you wanna shoot him?”
“Don’t be a smartass.”
She found the messenger standing by a truck talking to several engineers, and walking over to him, she said abruptly, “Hi, I’m Izzie and I’m the base leader. What the hell happened to the trucks?”
The man looked a little taken aback at her directness. “I dunno. They just stopped working. When we popped the hood, the engines were covered in ice.”
“How’s that possible? The engines would’ve been hot.”
The man shrugged. “I dunno.”
One of the engineers standing with them said, “It’s not possible for an engine to freeze like that unless it’s exposed to a serious drop in temperature, and I mean serious. The engine would’ve been running hot, so for it to freeze it would have to be less than minus three hundred degrees to compete with the heat of the running engine.”
“That’s not possible,” she replied pragmatically.
As she spoke, she felt a sharp pain in her right side and gasped as she immediately clutching at her waist. Her hand became damp, and pulling it away, she saw it was covered in blood.
Jumping back in shock, the engineer shouted, “Holy shit, Izzie! What the fuck just happened?”
Before she could answer, she felt a stinging sensation across her neck and she grabbed at her throat. Blood was coursing through her fingers and she struggled to breathe. Looking around wildly, she tried to understand what was attacking her, but the men were still standing several feet away looking at her in horror. Without warning, she felt an agonizing burning sensation tear through her left calf, and her leg instantly lost strength. Buckling, she dropped to her knees and gulped air as her heart continued to beat rapidly in her chest.
Through gritted teeth, she hissed, “Stop it.”
For a brief moment, a face appeared in front of hers, its eyes glowed red and when it smiled it had sharpened teeth like a super hunter. Sniggering, it winked at her and vanished. Blood was still running through her fingers and she felt lightheaded. Voices were calling for a medic, and as she lost consciousness, she knew hell was on earth and nowhere was safe.
***
John (The ship)
“I’m telling you there’s something funny going on,” he said, as he shoveled another spoonful of food into his mouth.
The woman opposite him said, “It’s true. You can’t walk the corridors at night anymore. There’s weird shadows everywhere.”
He’d never believed in ghosts, but there was something very wrong with the ship. Walking along the corridors, he’d noticed certain areas seemed colder than others, and he’d heard voices and seen weird shadows. Just the night before, he’d put his glasses down on the table, only to find when he reached for them again, they’d moved to the chair. Before the outbreak, he’d worked as a computer technician, and being firmly wedded to all things being logical, he didn’t believe in the paranormal.
“That’s bullshit,” a man said adamantly. “You’re just imagining stuff ‘cos of all the people who died here.”
An older woman nodded. “Even if the people who died on the ship are haunting us, do you really think they’d wish us any harm? They were our friends.”
The cafeteria on the cruise ship was only half-full of people having a late lunch. After they lost the people on the ship, Pop led a team to clean up the mess and repair the damage. If you looked closely, under the fresh paint and woodwork, you could still see the scars of the battle that had taken place months earlier. Over six hundred people died that day, and they were still struggling to find the spirit of hope the ship once represented. It didn’t help that Gears and his brothers hardly ever lived on the ship anymore. He supposed they were busy, but without their steadying influence it didn’t have the same sense of optimism and hope.
While the people around him chattered on about the possible hauntings, he remembered the day they lost the ship. He’d been aboard working with Gerry in the communications room when the Captain radioed them from the bridge to tell them the ship was compromised. He’d set the klaxons off to warn everyone to abandon ship, and he, Gerry and the rest of the team ran to the top deck to board lifeboats. Pax always insisted on regular drills, and although he’d resented the interruption to his routine, that day he was grateful everyone knew what to do. It was those drills that saved the lives of over half the people on the ship. While their lifeboat was lowered into the water, he’d watched in shock at the fight for survival taking place on the decks. The gunfire, screaming, blood and violence was engraved in his memory, and every night he went to sleep reliving the moment. No one forced him to return to the ship, bu
t out of respect for the fallen, he wanted to be part of making it a safe haven again. He didn’t want Ruler to win and this was his way of fighting back.
Putting his spoon down, he sat back in his seat, letting the voices of his companions wash over him, and he shuddered involuntarily when a tingling sensation ran up his spine. Looking around to see what made him shiver, he was stunned when all the empty chairs in the cafeteria suddenly floated up into the air.
“What the fuck…?”
The woman next to him grabbed his arm. “John, what’s going on?”
While continuing to watch the chairs slowly and jerkily float above him, he silently shook his head. Chairs scraped against the floor as people stood up and began to move towards the exit. In a single fluid movement, the floating chairs flipped over, and were placed neatly in rows against the ceiling. The table he was seated at suddenly began to float, and as it slowly tipped, all the crockery and cutlery crashed to floor. The noise penetrated his shocked mind, and standing abruptly, he began backing towards the doors. All the tables in the cafeteria lifted into the air and flipped, until they were also placed upside down against the ceiling. Still walking backwards towards the exit, all the furniture in the room was being reassembled upside down against the ceiling, in the exact formation it had sat on the floor. With his mouth hanging open, he stood in the doorway to the cafeteria, and others jostled behind him trying to get a glimpse into the room. Without warning, all the furniture crashed back to floor with a loud whump.
Voices began to erupt and ask what was going on, but he ignored their questions. He was more concerned about the dark shape that appeared to be standing in the middle of the room looking at him. It had no face and no eyes, but he knew it was looking at him.
***
Jack (The main island)
They’d received a shipment of fertilizer from the mainland yesterday and were unloading the bags next to the field. The seedlings were grown in a small greenhouse near the barns until they were ready for replanting into the rich fertile earth. With the frequency of their crops, he knew they were exhausting the land. Being an island in the Caribbean it wasn’t the best land for growing crops, and they used fertilizers to improve the yield. Before the outbreak he would never have called himself a farmer, but his father always grew some vegetables in a small plot at the end of their garden, and although he didn’t remember paying much attention at the time, he’d learned more than he realized. Since coming to the main island, he worked like a farmer by caring for the animals, planting and reaping crops, and generally trying to help. Many of the people living on the island were very young or very old, and only being in his early thirties even with only one working arm and leg, he was still considered an asset.
Despite being injured by an IED, he still thought of himself as a soldier and he preferred to fight. He’d argued with Pax that he could help train the troops, but he’d insisted he didn’t want the islands left undefended. After losing half of their people on the smaller island, he understood Pax’s concern, but it still annoyed him. Grunting with the exertion of heaving a sack of fertilizer onto his good shoulder, he stamped heavily to the edge of the field and dropped it to the ground with a loud thud. Glancing sourly at the panoramic view, he supposed the island was idyllic, but nothing much ever happened. Sure, some people died, but they were ill, old or vulnerable, and he guessed that’s what annoyed him the most. He didn’t want to be viewed as vulnerable just because he was injured. In his mind he was as able today as he’d ever been, and he’d worked hard to learn how to use his artificial limbs. Although it was painful whenever he lifted anything heavy, he was determined to live his life as he always had.
A panicked voice shouted at him from the barn where they kept the pigs. “Jack! Jack! You need to come quick!”
Turning on his good leg, a young teenager running toward him across the dirt and gravel road that led to the large barn, and with a slightly awkward gait, he began to walk down the road towards the boy.
Once the boy was closer, he said sternly, “Calm down. What’s the problem?”
Wild-eyed and panic-stricken, the boy stammered anxiously, “It’s the pigs…they’re all dead!”
They kept nearly twenty pigs inside the barn attached to a muddy pen. He’d learned pigs bred quickly, grew fast and ate anything. Although they cared for the pigs, no one on the island got to eat them, and the fatty pork meat was saved for the combat shooters and scavengers. Once the pigs grew to full size, they would be slaughtered, cured, and the meat would be shipped to the Marine supply base for distribution. People on the islands mostly ate fish and chicken, and with the oceans now replenished, he’d never eaten so well in his life. Frowning at the boy, he continued walking towards the barn and wondered how all the pigs could have died at once. They were meticulous about caring for the livestock and he’d no idea what could have killed them.
Entering the barn, he was overwhelmed by the stench of blood and the sound of buzzing flies. The pigs weren’t just dead, they’d been torn apart and lumps of pig flesh were strewn across the floor. Blood splashed six feet high on the barn walls, and as his foot slipped awkwardly, he looked down and saw he was walking through thick, slimy blood.
Shaking his head in surprise. “What the fuck…?”
“I know!” The boy said excitedly. “We came in to let them out into the pen and they were all mashed up.”
“Open the barn doors.”
The boy and his fellow young farmhands immediately dragged the huge double doors open, and sunlight flooded into the barn. It was then he saw a sight he never expected to see. Along the back wall of the barn, about fifteen feet up, was a row of pigs heads, and each was nailed to the wall of the barn by flaps of skin hanging from their severed heads. Piled under the twelve heads that stared at him with glassy eyes, was a large mound of pulverized flesh. Flies were buzzing angrily over the already decaying flesh, and the barn stank of their brutal deaths. Turning to look outside the barn, the island was tranquil, and the contradiction between that view and the horror inside the barn was startling. For a moment, his mind was thrown back to the memory of looking down at his own injuries. The ragged torn flesh, blood and pain, plus the instant awareness his life could never be the same again, flashed through his mind. Running his hand over his face, he remembered his good buddy Paul assuring him that he was more than the sum of his body parts. Paul died in a similar incident less than two months later, and it was his death that gave him the determination to live his own life to the fullest.
Sounding frightened, one of the boys asked, “What do you think happened?”
Shaking his head to clear it of old memories, he replied, “I don’t know, but I need to talk to the mainland.”
***
Steve (Wolfie’s base)
Wiping his hands on a greasy rag, he sat back and studied his Harley Davidson Fat Boy. Before the outbreak of the virus, he’d never wanted to rack up miles on his much-loved motorcycle, but since then he’d put another thirty thousand miles on the odometer. He might have been a postal worker before the outbreak, but his personal identity was that of a biker. Every month he’d faithfully attended the club meetings, ridden out with his group, and participated in every toy run and charity ride. He hadn’t really known Wolfie before the outbreak and he wasn’t sure he did now either. Every club has those shadowy people who hang around in the background, always ready to help, but saying little. He was that guy, and even now, he rarely spoke and kept his head down. Spotting a smudgy streak on the gas tank of his motorcycle, he shuffled forward on his rear, and finding a slightly less greasy spot on the rag, began to polish it away.
It was a mild and dry day outside the shed he was working in, and people were calling to one another and laughing. The end of civilization hadn’t meant much to him. Without a wife or a girlfriend, he had no family to speak of and no one to worry about. He wasn’t the sort of guy who got close to people, preferring his own company and counsel. All the end of the world meant was he didn�
��t have to deliver the mail anymore. Chuckling quietly to himself, he remembered those long boring days, and other than the tragedy of losing so many lives, the end of civilization mostly meant the end of junk mail. While he polished away the smudge, he heard a crackling noise, and his rag seemed stuck to the motorcycle while a coldness seeped into his hand.
Pulling his hand back in surprise, the rag stayed attached to the gas tank, and his motorcycle was now covered in what looked like a fine white crystal with a smoky vapor forming around it. Puzzled, he tentatively touched the motorcycle, and instantly pulled his fingers away in pain. The skin covering the very tips of his fingers was ripped away and they were red and raw. Feeling a tingling pain as blood rushed to the wounds, he curled his mouth in disgust. Tiny patches of his already darkening skin was still stuck to the motorcycle where his fingers had been.
A man called Doug walked into the shed. “Whassup, Steve?”
Climbing to his feet, he shook his head. “Dunno.”
“It’s fuckin’ cold in here and what the hell is goin’ on with your motorcycle?”
Without thinking, he walked to the back of the shed, and picking up a large sledgehammer, he returned to the motorcycle still covered in the white misty frost. He lifted the sledgehammer high above his head, and slammed it down, instantly shattering his motorcycle into thousands of tiny glass-like shards that rattled noisily as they scattered across the floor.
***
Maureen (New York)
“Maureen, what are you doing?”
Her husband’s irritation annoyed her and she snapped, “Nothing! Go back to sleep.”
Leaving her husband to sleep, she shuffled into the lounge of their apartment and headed to the kitchen. Her cat, Mickey, followed her and began to whine loudly, clearly hoping to be fed. Leaning down, she lifted him under one arm and began to look through the cupboards for some dried cat food. Finding what she was looking for, she shook a small portion into his bowl on the counter and put him down to eat. In typical fashion, Mickey lost interest in her and began to crunch noisily as he enthusiastically ate from his bowl. Walking to the front door, she pulled on her outdoor boots and climbed the steps to the roof of the apartment block. Dawn was breaking as she walked between the rows of plants, with tomatoes and beans weakly growing in large pots. The first thing she checked were the buckets of water, only to find not much water was caught overnight. Deciding there was enough for the plants and their needs, she was satisfied with the haul. At this time of the morning, the city was quiet, and she sat on the edge of the flat roof and enjoyed a moment of peace.
