Mine (Book 2): Sister Mine, Zombie

by Peter Trevorah

  ‘There is a time in the tide of the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, can lead to…’ saith the bard.

  In other words, now was the perfect time to hit the benumbed Captain and crew with my hastily revised plans – I’d now had some time to consider what I wanted to say.

  The galley (which adjoined Deb’s and my cabin) was rigged up with a P.A. system which could be heard around the entire ship. Why did the galley staff ever need to address the whole ship? Dunno. Maybe to announce the ‘Soupe du Jour’? In any event, this strange facility was now to prove very handy.

  I had no other means of directly addressing Blunt and the surviving five crew members. As mentioned, Deb and I had been shut (and barricaded) in with Dan and his two victims. I switched on the P.A. which gave the customary, high-pitched squeal as it powered up:

  “Blunt! You’re a stupid man! A very stupid man! Your stupidity has cost the lives of two of your crew members…” I commenced.

  An attention-grabbing start, I thought. This was, as I’ve already conceded, not entirely fair to Blunt but I was not about being fair – I was about securing Deb’s and my safe passage.

  In any event, Blunt was no longer able to interrupt me or to shout me down – as he had done earlier that evening. Nor was he able even to contradict me. The P.A. had a harsh, metallic tone to it – like you might have heard in old naval movies from World War II. I think the system was then called ‘The Tannoy’. In any event, it was now serving my purpose. I continued:

  “…I warned you that your crewman, Dan, was going to turn into a murderous zombie, didn’t I? And what did you do? Eh? What did you do? Why don’t you tell your men yourself?! You ordered me from your cabin and told me to mind my own business…”

  Indistinct muttering could be heard outside as I paused. Questions were being asked of Blunt, probably very pointed questions.

  “I begged you to physically restrain the sick man. You refused. You refused point blank! Now, two more of your men lie dead inside here with me and my sister. But that’s not the worst of it, Captain – not the worst by a long chalk. The two slain crew members are, as I speak, returning from the dead. The warning signs, the ones you ignored in Dan, are there for anyone to see. So, within half an hour, there will be three murderous zombies trapped in here – trapped inside with all the ship’s provisions and with all the water.”

  I had, of course, omitted to mention that one of the three zombies with me would actually be my own dear sister – and that the ship’s chef was not coming back as anything at all. Such small details might have served to muddy the clarity of my intended message. I continued:

  “And there you are, you and the remaining crew, trapped outside on the deck – with no access to food, shelter or water. So, what are you going to do now, Captain Blunt? Speak up, Captain. Don’t be shy – we all know that you’re ‘Blunt by name and blunt by nature’! Tell us what your plan is now.”

  I switched the P.A. system off completely for some minutes – to let my message sink in. To let dissension grow among the weary and the distressed. I could hear the raised voices of the surviving crewmen. They were arguing and Blunt was trying vainly to defend himself against their (now-undisguised) abuse and accusations.

  Cruel and unfair as it was, my revised plan seemed to be working

  During this period of waiting, I observed the first twitches in the body of crewman Dan’s second, less damaged, victim. I had anticipated this. Soon, he would be up and about again. I needed to move fast. I turned the squealing P.A. back on.

  “Well, Blunt, I was right: I am now surrounded by three zombies – your crewmen have all completed their ‘returns’ and are among us once again. So, how about this: you un-barricade the doors and let us all come out to be with you? That would be fair, wouldn’t it – after all, I don’t wish to monopolise their company? Hmm? And so, how would that work out? Three frenzied and murderous zombies, completely uncaring as to their own safety, pitted against your five remaining crewmen – hand-to-hand combat and no firearms.”

  I paused briefly again – to allow that image to congeal in the minds of the terrified crewmen. I could not, however, pause for as long as I wished - Dan’s second victim was now trying to regain his feet.

  I flicked the P.A. back on:

  “Not keen, eh? No, I don’t blame you, Blunt. Your men would not stand a chance – they would all be dead within minutes – torn to shreds - and you along with them. Zombies do kill very swiftly and efficiently – and then they recruit! How do you fancy being a zombie, Captain? A zombie Captain for an entire zombie crew? Or maybe you would prefer just to be a meal? There is a choice of fates, I understand.”

  I turned off the P.A. again – and swallowed hard. I was actually surprising myself with my own ruthless cruelty - but I needed to listen hard, to confirm that panic and dissension was reigning supreme on the dimly-lit deck outside the ship’s living quarters.

  It was. There was no doubt about it.

  I could hear now-shrill abuse being directed at the captain by his terrified crewmen. If I hadn’t completely unfolded my plan to them immediately, they might well have tossed the Captain overboard before I had the chance. (I wondered idly if ‘walking the gangplank’ was about to make a comeback.) In any event, I switched the P.A. back on and continued:

  “But there’s one question on your mind, isn’t there, Blunt?...”

  (Or, at least, I had, charitably, assumed there was.)

  “…How is it that I haven’t been attacked yet? How come I’m not lying, dead and partly dismembered, alongside your crewmen? Well, Captain Blunt, you are not only the stupidest man in the world but you are the luckiest one as well. You see, the reason I am alive and talking to you is that I am the only man I know who survived the first wave of the zombie apocalypse, ten years ago, whilst actually living among the zombies.

  “I was never attacked, Captain. Never! For some inexplicable reason, Zombies don’t bother themselves with me…”

  (Actually, the reason I was never attacked was very well known to me – but I’ll come to that, once again, shortly.)

  “… And that is precisely the reason why I could ask you, without fear, to drop me off in the Port of Rabaul, on an island still inhabited entirely by zombies. Rabaul, for me, is quite simply the safest place in the world.

  “So, here’s why you are the luckiest man in the world. Here’s the way to salvation for you and your remaining crew – though you don’t actually deserve it: you take us to Rabaul, as planned. By my calculations, we are no more than 18 hours sailing away now. When we drop anchor, you drop the ship’s tender alongside, ready for me to take it onshore, and then barricade yourselves inside the bridge.

  “I’ll take the zombies with me on the tender to Rabaul – that shouldn’t be too hard for me - and I’ll release them there to roam free. You and your men can then sail, in complete safety, onto Hong Kong. Oh, and by the way, Blunt, you can forget about getting the rest of your money – just be grateful that I will have saved your wretched life!”

  Soon after, Captain Blunt made his way to the bridge and, very tremulously, announced over the P.A. that he entirely accepted my clever plan and would proceed with all haste to the Rabaul drop-off point.

  (Of course, he had no alternative.)

  So, that had gone well, hadn’t it?

  Well, my public exposition of the theory had sounded good but there was still the small problem of not getting eaten before we arrived at Rabaul. I had told Blunt that zombies never attacked me. This was not entirely true. ‘The three sisters’ had very nearly killed me before Deb had (apparently) stepped in. Moreover, the reason that I had survived the first wave of the zombie apocalypse was that my identical twin brother, David, had always been there to fight off the zombie attacks as if they were attacks upon himself (which, in a strict biological or genetic sense, they were).

  It wasn’t as if the male zombies had simply failed to attack me, as I had told Blunt.

  David was not now
by my side – so it was time to call on the aid of the still-torpid Deb to ensure my immediate survival.

  Chapter 25

  “Deb-deb, I need you. Now!”

  As expected, the second crew-member victim turned his attention upon me as soon as he was up and about. And, when I say he ‘turned his attention upon me’, I mean that he immediately started stalking me as a predator does its prey.

  Deb and Dan were still lying on their bunks, bellies full of human flesh and now ‘sleeping it off’ – it was a nice existence for some.

  As the newborn, red-eyed zombie started lumbering towards me, groaning and slavering, I pointed hopefully to the chef’s remains which were still lying on the ground and said:

  “Here, boy! Try him – he’s much more tasty than I am. Num! Num! Num!”

  Apparently, the newborn begged to differ with my culinary assessment – he liked his meat not only rare but still living.

  I backed out of the corridor, through the door and into the cabin, keeping my eyes on the advancing predator. Soon I found myself standing beside Deb’s bunk. Without averting my glance, I reached down and shook Deb’s shoulder.

  “Snarrk!” she snorted.

  Apparently, she didn’t want to be aroused. This was, apparently, an inconvenient time to disturb her slumbers. Was she dreaming? If so, what does a girl zombie dream about? Perhaps it’s better that I not know.

  “Deb-deb,” I hissed. “I need you. Now!”

  She rolled away from my still-searching hand: “Nurgle,” she said, before adding “Snurrf.”

  Neither of these was the response I was seeking – they were unhelpful.

  The predator lurched forward in a large step and roared loudly. Then, he clicked his teeth loudly and repeatedly at me. I did not need this message to be sent in triplicate – once was quite enough.

  At the new zombie’s roar, Deb had rolled back towards my groping hand and ceased being quite so torpid.

  (I hadn’t actually soiled myself – yet.)

  Deb huffed and puffed loudly. She arose grumpily from her bunk and met my would-be Pete-consumer face to snarling face.

  “Gray-gray bad boy!” she growled firmly – but not all that loudly – whilst maintaining steady eye contact with it. “Bad boy! Very bad boy!”

  “Gray-gray”’s real name was apparently Graeme – how on Earth had Deb known? Even though almost entirely ‘confined to quarters’ and kept at a distance from all crew-members, she had been paying more attention than I had thought – obviously.

  The Graeme-zombie did not like Deb’s reproof at all. He put his face close to hers and roared in a rage. This was his clear challenge to Deb: “Back off, sister!”

  Deb did not flinch nor even take a backward step. She took his hand firmly and confidently – just as I had taken hers on several recent occasions – and smacked it quite hard, making a clear, meaty sound that echoed against the metal walls.

  I confess that I closed my eyes at this point – I didn’t think that ‘Gray-gray’ was going to take very kindly to being treated like a naughty infant.

  But I was wrong.

  Graeme withdrew his hand swiftly and whimpered audibly. But Deb was not yet finished. She shook her index finger in his face and eyeballed him:

  “Gray-gray not eat brother. Deb-deb angry with Gray-gray. Deb-deb very angry indeed!”

  Leaving aside the positively surreal nature of this encounter, there was something else that struck me: Was it just my imagination or were Deb’s language skills suddenly improving? This didn’t sound like the speech of any two-year-old I knew.

  In any event, the Graeme-zombie turned away unhappily and slunk off into the corridor, still cradling its smacked hand as if it had been dreadfully wounded. His murderous attack had been snuffed out by Deb just as quickly as it had begun.

  I turned to Deb and threw my arms about her. Without thinking, I kissed her firmly on the lips. They were ice-cold – and still smeared in the chef’s congealed blood – but I simply didn’t care: I loved my sister-saviour, Deb.

  I did not expect that she would return my grateful embrace – and she didn’t – and yet, I fancied there was something indefinable now stirring in her.

  Chapter 26

  Embarkation – Why Rabaul?

  It was mid-morning when The Southern Princess dropped anchor in Simpson Harbour at Rabaul.

  Rabaul was then – and had been for a long time – a prized deepwater port of large proportions. The Japanese Imperial Navy had used it as a major operational hub during World War II. There had been a great deal of fierce fighting in and around the harbour – and many Allied and Japanese lives had been lost there. Conspicuous physical evidence of those battles was to be found both in and around the harbour.

  Scuba divers still taste the pleasures of diving on coral-encrusted WWII-era ships and landing craft – and the most keen-eyed of them will even spot a stray battle tank or two at the bottom of the harbour.

  Simpson Harbour, however, sits within the caldera of a large volcano – a large, active volcano. It is mere chance that the caldera is presently open to the sea.

  When The Southern Princess arrived, however, all was quiet – no sulphurous fountains of grey ash spewing into the sky at all. In fact, at first glance, the whole scene was quite idyllic, a perfect tropical paradise. On the other hand, when one took a second look around, particularly at the nearby City of Rabaul, the place was a ruin, a ghost-town.

  Actually, that’s not entirely accurate – it was not so much a ghost-town as a zombie-town. Here and there, could be seen the outlines of groups of zombies shambling aimlessly about the streets of deserted and wrecked buildings. Apparently, no effort had yet been made to reclaim either the magnificent harbour or this modest, low-rise city since the ravages of the first wave of the zombie apocalypse, some ten years previously.

  Why? I cannot exactly say – though, at that time, it did seem a little neglectful.

  o0o

  So, Deb and I had arrived at our destination after an unexpectedly eventful journey.

  I had blithely promised Captain Blunt to take three zombies off his hands – though he hadn’t appreciated that one of the three was actually Deb herself (nor was he aware that I would still be leaving him to deal with the mostly-eaten corpse of his kindly Filipino chef).

  Resisting a zombie attack was one thing (and a difficult thing at that) but getting one (or more) to comply with my orders was quite another. How was I to herd these zombies off the freighter, down a ship’s ladder and onto a small inflatable dinghy?

  I hadn’t actually thought that one through yet. When I had first put my proposal to Blunt, as you may recall, I was somewhat preoccupied with the pressing matter of avoiding being eaten. So, it had definitely been a case of “promise first, work out delivery later”.

  In any event, while I thinking about the ‘delivery’ (of my part of the bargain), I was also trying to encourage Deb to put the wretched burqa back on.

  “Deb-deb hate burk! Hate burk! Hate burk!” she screamed, absolutely on the verge of an unwanted tantrum – and I really did know what an uncontrolled tantrum might lead to. She pushed the garment away – and then snatched it from me. She started to tear at the tough fabric before hurling it to the floor.

  “Hate burk! Hate Burk! Hate burk!” she screamed again.

  Hmm. Her message was clear. I decided to let it go. After all, who cared now if Captain Blunt and his crew realised that Deb had been a zombie all along?

  I thought, however, I might yet use the wearing of the wearing of the burqa as a bargaining chip in securing Deb’s help with herding the other zombies off the boat.

  “Okay,” I commenced, retrieving the damaged burqa from the metal floor, “Deb-deb not wear burk. Deb-deb not wear burk - if Deb-deb helps Pete.”

  I brushed some sticky red debris from the burqa and folded it. I placed it neatly on one of the bunks. Deb watched this process intently.

  She calmed a little and seemed prepared now to listen
to my proposal - Deb’s reduced mental capacity apparently still encompassed the concept of a deal.

  Surprisingly, the deal was then done with Deb in very short order. (I was impressed.)

  The deal: No burqa, help Pete with the others.

  In no time flat, under the watchful gaze of Captain Blunt (barricaded securely in the wheelhouse with the other survivors), Deb was leading the Dan and Graeme-zombies out of the recently un-barricaded crew’s quarters, down the side of the ship (via the ladder fixed to its side) and onto the waiting zodiac inflatable.

  Piece of cake!