by Mark Wandrey
“When was the last time you ate?” Edith asked.
“I don’t remember,” she admitted.
“I heard one of the guys caught a tuna earlier and they’re making sushi,” Edith said.
“That sounds…really good,” Lisha said and got ponderously back to her feet. Not for the first time she wished she had more time to work out and lose that extra fifty pounds she was carrying around. Too many in her field tended towards portly. She was afraid she’d passed that behind and was chugging towards chunky. Rubenesque was how she tried to think of herself.
Edith glanced back from her computer. “I’ll call if that cell growth test finishes.”
“I’m going to grab a couple hours sleep, too.” Lisha glanced at her watch and was shocked to see it was 8pm. “If I don’t call by midnight, come get me?” The other girl said she would and Lisha headed out into the hall.
The converted oil rig was much less crowded now after so many were no longer with them. Lisha passed one person going the other way. “You have some sushi?” she asked the man, a maintenance technician if she remembered correctly.
“The cook was still getting it ready,” the man said, “I was going to grab a shower and then head back.”
“You sure it’ll still be there?”
“Someone hooked a seventy-pound tuna, I think it’ll last!”
“Excellent,” Lisha said and continued onward.
Down a metal stairway and across the hall she heard the buzz of conversation even before she opened the doorway. To her surprise it was rather upbeat and boisterous. It was the first time she’d heard laughter since the incident.
Inside, a dozen or more of the survivors were at two of the big long tables. Someone had brought in a board game and was playing with another person while several observed and offered their strategic advice. At the counter she could see the cooks, all three of them, working. Lisha strolled over to see they were delicately filleting a huge tuna steak. She felt her mouth watering and another cook was laying out seaweed sheets and covering them with rice.
“Evening doctor,” the cook said, glancing up from his knife work.
“Christopher,” she nodded.
“Still need another fifteen minutes or so,” he told her. Lisha made a face, then shrugged. “But you can have some crab rolls if you want.” She used her knife to point, a drop of tuna blood dripping from the tip. “It’s canned crab, I’m sorry to say.”
“That’s fine,” Lisha said and looked over the tray. It was already half empty so she took a metal serving plate and grabbed a dozen slices. She could see cucumber and maybe cream cheese inside as well. She added a swirl of soy sauce.
“Save room for this,” one of the other cooks said and popped a chunk of tuna in her mouth. She rolled her eyes and chewed with a smile. “Ish weal good,” she said around the meat.
“Savage,” the cook joked and mock threatened her with his knife. They both laughed as they went back to preparing more rolls.
Lisha tossed a chunk into her mouth as she walked to a table. As she chewed and swallowed, she was surprised to realize just how hungry she was. The pile of crab rolls she’d taken quickly diminished.
“You’re eating more than you’re cooking!” the cook laughed at his assistant.
“She was practically eating it as I took the hook out,” a man called from across the room. Lisha took note of him, another mechanical worker. She wanted to thank him for catching the fish. It was having a profound effect on moral.
The cutting and shaping done, the head cook was busily rolling and beginning to cut the sushi pieces. Lisha’s plate was empty and she was weighing her options, wondering if having a few more of the crab would that mean she wouldn’t have room for tuna. She’d gone as far as walking back to the serving table when she noticed the assistant who couldn’t stop sampling the fish. She was standing a few feet away from the preparation table, staring off into space with a confused look in her eye.
“Are you okay?” Lisha asked. The assistant cook’s head jerked around at Lisha’s voice, her eyes going wide as she looked at her. “Hello?”
“I uh…” the cook said then shook her head violently. “It hurts,” she said and bent over slightly, grabbing her head with both hands. “I can’t think… voices…”
The room was gradually falling silent as people noticed the strange behavior. Lisha put her plate down and moved to go around the serving table, meaning to check on the woman when she suddenly screamed, bringing Lisha’s plan to an abrupt halt, and the room into shuddering silence. The scream went on and on, then morphed into a howl of rage.
“Oh no,” Lisha moaned, “please not again?” She heard that kind of howl only days ago. The man who’d done it was locked up in a cage several decks below them, missing a substantial chunk of his brain, and still quite dangerous.
“I… aghhhh! Raaaahr!” She turned and locked her eyes on Lisha with deadly intensity.
Having survived this once before, Lisha didn’t hesitate. She threw her plate at the cook’s face as hard as she could. She’d played a lot of Frisbee as a teenager. Both Frisbee golf and distance competition. It was one of the few athletic things she did, if you could call it that. The plane flew straight and true, hitting the former cook right between the eyes on the bridge of her nose. The metal rang like a gong and rebounded away, a substantial dent in one edge.
The woman screamed as blood blossomed from her nose, it sounded more in rage than in pain, but Lisha didn’t wait to see what effect her attack had. She turned and rather unathletically vaulted the sushi bar, scattering food in all directions and almost tackling several people who’d been waiting behind her. “She’s turned!” Lisha screamed.
“What?” asked a man, his plate full of sushi and one piece halfway to his mouth.
Lisha turned and pointed at the wild eyed and bleeding cook. Blood was running down the woman’s face in streams, the bridge of her nose laid open to the bone and her gaze was locked squarely on her attacker. “Like earlier,” Lisha barked. “She’s a…” A what, Lisha thought. “She’s a fucking zombie!”
The room exploded into pandemonium. Half the people just got up and bolted for the exit. The remaining half was about evenly split three ways. The first were those that stayed seated, uncertain or not believing what was happening. The second hunched down or in some cases dived under their tables. It was the duck and cover instinct, and Lisha doubted it would help in a zombie attack. The last third were the few who were useful. About four people moved to intercept the now insane cook.
The man the cook was next to shook his head in surprise as Lisha backpedaled away. He caught a vicious forearm to the face and went sprawling, sushi and all. Another man came at her, part of the reactive group but with poor planning.
“Now calm down,” he said and raised a hand. The girl grabbed the hand, pulled it in and bit him. He screamed and tried to pull the hand away. She only bit down harder. Even as Lisha reached the door she could hear bones crunching. His screams became visceral. Luckily one of the other men who’d reacted had scooped up on of the metal-framed plastic cafeteria chairs and he’d maneuvered sideways.
The man who’d been bitten punched the cook in the shoulder with his off hand while jerking his injured hand back with more screaming. It finally came out of her mouth, minus two fingers. Blood pumped as the man cradled the ravaged stump in numb surprise. The zombie cook spotted Lisha by the door and backhanded the injured man out of her way, then sprinted towards the doctor.
The second man with the chair tried to respond to her sudden burst of speed by upping his planned attack. He swung at the back of her head with all his might. Unfortunately, she’d accelerated far faster than he’d been prepared for. Another man had seen his move and decided it was a good one, he’d been approaching from the other side. When the woman suddenly sped up his attempted tackle found only empty space, and a chair to the face. The plastic exploded into fragments and the steel bars crunched bone. His head rocked from the impact, ey
es wide in surprise. His legs gave out and he folded like a bad poker hand.
Lisha did all she could think to do, she turned and ran. Dimly she was aware of the alarm klaxon blaring, though she couldn’t think of why. They only used that during fire drills, right? She sprinted for the next door down the hall. One of the workers’ bunk rooms, she thought. The girl was in hot pursuit and obviously in better shape. Lisha only managed a half dozen uncoordinated steps before she felt her long braided hair grabbed from behind and pulled with maniacal force.
“Oooouch!” Lisha cried out as she was pulled off her feet to land with an “Ooomf!” on her bottom. Her pursuer appeared to be caught off guard with how quickly Lisha went down because she flew over Lisha’s shoulder. Teeth snapped bare inches from her ear.
Lisha dared hope for a second that her attacker would somehow crash hard enough to hurt herself, but the young, fit woman hit and rolled like a gymnast, coming up in a crouch a bare dozen feet away. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lisha moaned, and struggled to her feet. The girl would be on her in an instant. There would be no time to turn and run. Besides, she had to admit that Rubenesque did not lend itself to defending against a zombie attack.
The girl snarled and prepared to leap and Lisha found herself thinking of some stupid Woody Harrelson movie and the word cardio. It was such a ridiculous thing to think of at that moment that she laughed. Being attacked by a bloodthirsty zombie in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, and she fucking laughed!
The girl cocked her head at Lisha’s sputtered laugh, either confused by her prey’s unusual reaction or just not sure how to proceed. Lisha used the instant to look around for something, anything with which to protect herself. Behind her people were pouring out of the cafeteria and going the other way. She looked to her right and there was an old rusty metal cabinet with a glass face. Behind glass marked ‘Break in case of fire’ was an equally rusty fire extinguisher.
She didn’t hesitate. Lisha threw an elbow into the glass, feeling it crunch under the blow and the icy cold feeling of multiple cuts through her lab coat. Ignoring the pain, she snatched the surprisingly heavy bottle out just as the cook pounced. She didn’t have time to swing, so she just brought it up, bottom first, and thrust it out. The bottle connecting with the woman’s face with a hollow ‘clang!’ The blow knocked her aside and to the floor. She knelt there, shaking her head.
“Hit her again!” a man’s voice said behind her.
Lisha didn’t know who it was, but the advice seemed sound. She took a step forward, the woman looking up at her and growling like a feral dog. She swung the extinguisher as hard as she could against the side of the woman’s head. It connected soundly, slamming her to the side where her head rebounded off the wall with a sickening smacking sound. The zombie landed in a heap on the floor, out like a light.
From down the hall where the stairs entered that level a pair of men came running in holding shotguns. They raised them and pointed at her. Lisha squealed and held out her hands. “It’s me, Dr. Breda!”
“Why do you have blood all over you?” one of them asked. Lisha looked own and saw her hands were splattered with blood and more was on her white lab coat. It must have come from hitting the woman with the fire extinguisher. She just pointed at the unconscious cook, or zombie, or whatever she was.
“She’s fine,” the man said from behind as he approached. “Did she bite you?”
What difference does that matter? Lisha thought, then took stock of her condition. “No,” she said. Another man arrived and unceremoniously dumped a bottle of water over her head. “What the?!” she spluttered, then he did it again. “Why are you doing that?” she demanded, pushing him back and thinking about using the fire extinguisher she still clutched in her right hand on him.
“Zombie blood all over you,” he said and pointed at the unconscious woman. Without being prompted the two men with shotguns had slung their guns, donned those super thick plastic gloves they had boxes full of from the days when this was an oil rig, and then produced zip ties. They quickly had the woman’s hands zip tied behind her back, did the same with her ankles, and then hooked the ankles and hands together. Creative, she thought.
“Zombie?” she asked. “Why are you calling them that?”
“You called her a zombie when she attacked,” the man said, and nodded to the two guys who’d finished securing the woman. “Zeke is bitten,” he told them and gestured to the cafeteria. A medical team was just showing up and Lisha could just hear the piteous moaning of injured from the direction of the cafeteria.
She guessed she’d been resisting thinking of this that way, but what else would you call it. The people were obviously out of their mind, attacking normal people, trying to eat them. On the ground a few feet away were a couple of chewed fingers. “Oh my god.”
“We’ve been getting ready,” the man said. “We put together a zombie response squad.”
“Who came up with that idea?”
“I did,” he admitted. She looked at him. “Robert,” he said and held out a hand, “Robert Boyer. I’m a diesel mechanic and electrical repairman.”
“This isn’t some zombie apocalypse, Robert,” she said, shaking her head.
He gave her a rather patronizing look and she tried to suppress how insulted she felt. “With all due respect, Ma’am, I know you’re some kind of doctor but you don’t know a darn thing about zombie apocalypses.”
There was an argument going on in the cafeteria and she moved to see what was happening. The medics were trying to treat the man with whose hand had been bitten but the…zombie response team were also trying to zip tie his hands behind his back. “What are you doing?” she yelled from the doorway.
“He’s been bitten,” Robert said behind her, “he’s going to turn. We might have been able to cut his arm off if we’d had time.” He seemed to think for a moment. “Hey Oz, see if we have any machetes for the team?”
“Sure thing boss,” one of the men trying to restrain the victim said.
“Oz? What the hell?” Lisha said, feeling overwhelmed.
“Oh, his name is Jon Osborne, Osborne, you know, Oz?” the man chuckled at his own wit. “So we just call him Oz.”
“The great and powerful Oz,” his friend reminded him. Lisha glanced again. He didn’t seem terribly great or powerful to her. They all seemed batshit crazy.
“Look, Robert, you are completely over reacting. And where did you get the guns?”
“We had them stashed away. A bunch of us go duck hunting and in between seasons we shoot clays sometimes. The company made us keep them in storage. We couldn’t get to them during the first outbreak. So after the Coast Guard showed up, we sneaked down there and got our shit together. We’re ready for the fuckers this time, right boys!”
“Oooh-rah!” they all chanted.
“I’m in a fucking John Wayne movie,” Lisha moaned. “This man needs medical attention,” she told…Oz?
“He’s just gonna turn and bite someone,” Robert said.
“Fuckin A,” the last man said.
“That’s Joseph,” Robert said, “He likes to hit people.”
“That’s good to know.” Lisha considered disarming them and having the crazy group locked up, then reconsidered. Some dark portion of her mind was whispering things she didn’t want to be fully cognizant of. “Okay, look, go with the medics while they take Zeke there up for treatment. They need to get that bleeding under control. We don’t want him infecting everyone, right?” She tried to play to their paranoid urges.
“We should just dump him overboard to the sharks,” Joseph said.
“Hey!” the injured man whined.
One of the medical people was kneeling on the floor examining the unconscious man Robert had pulverized with the chair. Robert took no notice of him.
“We’re not dumping anyone in the water. Take him to medical along with the… zombie… out in the hall. I want to examine her, and they can treat Zeke and keep him under observation.”
“Yeah, that’s the ticket,” she said and turned with a sigh. A few feet away lay the sad remains of a huge spread of sushi. She sighed, at least she’d gotten some. The head cook looked a little shell-shocked and was seeing if he could salvage any of the tuna. The tuna. Lisha walked over to him. “Did you say your assistant had been eating tuna all morning?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. We still have about fifty pounds of it in storage. She couldn’t keep her hands off of it.”
Lisha nodded. “So what about you?”
“Can’t stand the stuff raw,” he admitted. I was planning to grill a big steak for myself tonight.”
“Who else ate some?”
He tapped his chin and thought. “The guy from stores who caught it, I think. That’s all that I know of.”
“What’s his name?”
“Ricardo.”
Lisha nodded. “Look, I believe that fish is tainted.”
“What?” the cook demanded.
“The fish is what did that to your assistant,” she said and hooked a thumb back towards the hallway. “I don’t know how,” she said, more to herself, “but I intend to find out.”
“That fish was perfectly healthy, I’m the one that dressed it out.”
“You didn’t cut yourself, did you?”
He looked down at his hands. “Ma’am, I’ve been handling knives since it was 5. I haven’t cut myself in decades.”
“Good to hear. Just keep it locked up for now,” she said and pointed at the cuts of tuna all over the floor. “I’m going to send a biohazard team down to clean this up.”
“Biohazard,” he repeated, then looked down at his hands stained with tuna blood. The knife fell from his hand with a clatter. He instantly went to the sink and began washing furiously.
“On second thought,” she turned to Robert. “Evacuate the entire floor,” she said, “I want it all flushed down with bleach and checked by the biohazard team.”
Her assistant, Edith, stuck her head into the cafeteria and cried out at the scene of carnage. There was blood and overturned furniture everywhere. Lisha gestured for her to come over. It took almost a full minute as the young woman managed through careful maneuvering to avoid stepping in even a drop of blood. “Do you have any of the sample dye wash on you?”
