by S. A. Lusher
“Um...yes, yes it's possible. Probable, even. Whatever these things are, I imagine they would screw with the sensors.”
“Yeah. At least we have an idea of what happened to the crew...and this does play into my human experimentation theory...look, Mark, I need you to finish raising that lockdown.”
“Jennifer, I don't think I can. If there's more of these things out there-”
“Mark. You have to, okay?” She sighed. “Listen, you can still do this. You killed one of them. That's good. That's great. You had your life threatened and you dealt with it. It sucks. I know it sucks. I don't want to leave this room, but I have to. And you have to leave that storage room. We both have jobs to do.”
Mark was quiet for a long time. “Okay,” he said finally.
“Thank you. Keep in touch with me. Let me know as soon as you've got it lifted, okay? I'm not too far from the survivors.”
“All right. I'll let you know.”
He sounded like he wanted to say more, but didn't. Jennifer felt a little guilty for making him do this, but she knew her words were true: this had to be done. There was no other way around it. If they were going to make significant progress anywhere on the ship, namely the bridge and, if they needed access to them, the engines or the oxygen plant or something else important, then they had to lift this lockdown. Jennifer took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
She stood up and hefted her wrench.
It was time to take some of her own advice and get to work.
* * * * *
Mark stared at the closed door.
The fear he was feeling seemed all-consuming. Fucking zombies. There were actual, real undead people onboard this ship with him. And he was very likely trapped here. How the hell could he deal with this?
It didn't matter, he had to.
Besides, he told himself, the primary security center was just down the corridor. If he opened the door and looked out to the right at this moment, he could actually see the door. In his head, he visualized it. Yes, all he had to do was walk like ten feet. But...there was always that but, wasn't there? But what if there were more zombies out there now? But what if the door was locked? But what if there were zombies in the office?
Mark shook his head slowly.
He'd never find out if he just kept hanging out in this storage room. Besides, Jennifer was relying on him. If he was alone, he was absolutely certain that he could easily convince himself not to leave this room. But someone was relying on him. Possibly other people, too. They needed his help, presumably.
And that just sucked.
He hated disappointing people.
Mark took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He looked down at the hammer in his hand. It was now stained with black gore. He could do this. He'd done it once before already and if he had to, he could kill again. Gathering up whatever courage he could muster, Mark walked up to the door, hit the open button and waited.
The door slid open.
Nothing came for him.
Cautiously, he looked out. The corridor remained empty. Just the lonely corpse he'd produced that hadn't moved an inch. Okay, good, perfect. Yes, he could do this. He could, in fact, see the door that led to the security office. His destination. Mark took a step out into the corridor. Nothing changed. Feeling his courage swell a bit, he took several more steps, quickly crossing the distance between where he was now and the door he needed to get to.
He was there.
Mark took another quick look around, confirming that he remained alone, and hit the access button. The door slid open, revealing the interior. It was larger than the first security center he and Jennifer had dropped into. This room operated as sort of a command center for the medical deck. Every deck had one of these.
There were large workstations to the left and right, supporting imposing banks of monitors that showed a variety of scenes. Along the back wall were a cluster of gun lockers and a pair of workbenches for on-the-fly gun repair or augmentation, he imagined. It was a mini-armory. As Mark closed and locked the door behind him, the first thing he did was eye those gun lockers. They were all open, and they looked empty.
When the zombie apocalypse had hit the Cimmerian, apparently the first thing to go was all the guns and ammo.
Mark sighed and then double-checked the door and the window, which had also been opaqued by whoever had been here before him. How long had this room gone untouched? What had happened over those two weeks? That's what he was hoping to find out. Also, to find a way off this ship. They needed help, they needed rescue, but those things seemed very distant. Mark decided to check the gun lockers anyway and crossed the room.
As he did, he spied something on the floor, beneath one of the workbenches. It wasn't a gun, but it did have a particular shape. The specifics of it were lost in the shadows but Mark thought he knew what it was, and he wanted it. He hurried over to the workbench and crouched, carefully reaching into the shadows and retrieving the object in question. It was, in fact, what he thought it had been: a security vest.
Bulletproof, largely flame and chemical proof, supposedly able to stop a knife. It wouldn't make him invincible but it would put him a step above where he was at now. He straightened up and pulled the vest on over his head. He could feel it gently conforming to his size. One size really did fit all in this day and age. Feeling a bit better, he began to turn around for the nearest workstation, to lift the lockout, but something else was nagging him. He knew that if he didn't search those gun lockers and benches more thoroughly, it would bug him.
So he did.
And it was a good thing, too.
Hidden at the back of one of the lockers, beneath a discarded jumpsuit, was a pistol. It was a basic security model, twelve shots, sturdy frame, low recoil, decent stopping power. He'd trained with them before signing on, (Jennifer was right, they made everyone go through a week-long training course, given where they were living). It was fully loaded and even stuffed into a hip holster. As an added bonus, there were two magazines and a combat knife in the security jumpsuit bunched on top of it. Mark took a moment to fix the holster onto his belt securely, then he pocketed the spare magazines and the knife in an easy-to-reach place and took out the pistol.
It felt vaguely familiar, at least. Although the training had only been a week, he'd spent hours upon hours banging away at a shooting range with this model. If it broke, he couldn't fix it, (well, he might be able to but he didn't already possess the knowledge), but he could operate it and shoot it decently. He practiced aiming for a moment, then replaced it in the holster with the safety off. Might as well, given the circumstances.
Feeling somewhat less petrified about his predicament now, (though not by much), Mark turned his attention the nearest workstation, walked over to it and sat down. It was still functional. He took a moment to study the few screens that were still intact, hooked up to various cameras. One showed a bloody stretch of lonely corridor. Another showed a waiting room. Two more showed infirmaries that each held at least half a dozen bodies, some of which weren't actually immobile. On four of the six functional screens, zombies were milling about.
Zombies...
How could there be zombies?
Mark was somewhat intrigued by how quickly his brain had accepted this fact. Of course, it was difficult to stubbornly declare that zombies aren't real, they're only the product of hack writer's imaginations nowadays since they'd apparently been so overdone, when one was coming right for you with murderous intent.
Still...
It was pretty out there. Maybe there had been some kind of virus they'd picked up from the one of planets they'd stopped at? Maybe that's why they were attacked. Or hell, what if there was no attack? What if the corporation saw a great opportunity to do some experimentation and decided they had a good stock of test subjects right here? Well, whatever had happened, whoever had done it, obviously it had blown up in their face.
Turning away from that thought, Mark began the process of lifting the lockdown.
Technically, he wasn't supposed to know how to do this, but, well...you tended to learn a lot when you were a jack-of-all-trades technician. He wasn't just a mechanical specialist or an engineer or computer tech, he was a bit of all of it, so they sent him all over the ship. And he was good at his job, really good at it, honestly, so everyone just kind of got used to seeing him.
And lifting an emergency, heavy-duty lockdown like this one was just one of the things he'd picked up along the way.
It took about twenty minutes, but finally, he had it.
Mark activated his earpiece. “Jennifer, I did it. Lockdown's raised.”
There was a pause. “Excellent.”
“Have you found the survivors? Can I come up now?”
“Yes and no. Yes, I found the survivors, but no, you can't come up yet. There's something else we need you to take care of.”
Mark sighed and sat back in the chair.
* * * * *
Provided they hadn't relocated, the survivors should be right up ahead.
Jennifer was walking slowly down a length of corridor, wrench in hand, inspecting every alcove, every doorway, every shadow. So far, she hadn't encountered any more zombies, at least, no more living ones. There was evidence of recent struggles and skirmishes, further lending credence to the notion that there were functional people up here, in roughly the same predicament as she and Mark. Hopefully they knew more, at least.
She was out of the housing area, now entering the sector that contained the mess halls and storage rooms and a small, emergency infirmary, in case someone was either too damaged to safely get to the deck below in time and needed to be stabilized or the injury was so minor it didn't warrant a trip to the medical deck.
This was where the survivors had been marked as gathering by the BioScan.
Jennifer approached the door, wondering about how she should do this. If they were like her, they'd be a bit jumpy perhaps. Was just straight up knocking on the door the best solution? Jennifer looked around as, distantly, something loosed a roar. Well, she couldn't stand around here waiting forever. Putting away the wrench for the moment, she knocked on the door, clear and loud and firm. At first, there was nothing. The walls were good at soundproofing so she couldn't even tell if someone was moving around inside.
Suddenly, the door slid open.
Jennifer found herself staring down the barrel of a shotgun.
“Who are you!?” someone demanded.
“My name is Jennifer North,” she replied as calmly as she could, remaining frozen, her eyes fixed solely on the black hole of imminent death directly in front of her face.
There was a pause, then the gun barrel lowered. On the other side of it was an immense bear of a man, an intense but controlled look in his eyes. Jennifer sized him up. Black, tall, beefy with a shaved head. He had to be at least six foot four, maybe more. He was built like a linebacker. He wore a black jumpsuit. She didn't recognize him. Behind him, in the infirmary, she could see three other people moving around.
“Get in here,” he said, stepping back out of the way and then poking his head out the door when she came inside.
Seemingly satisfied, he closed and locked the door behind her.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I told you, Jennifer North. I'm with security.”
“Frost,” the big man replied. “Same.”
Jennifer canvased the room, taking in the others. One of them, a smiling Japanese man of perhaps five and a half feet and slimly built, approached her. “Hideo Ishi,” he said, taking and shaking her hand. He seemed very in control of himself. “Perhaps it's best to begin with introductions. I'm a medical technician.”
Jennifer once more introduced herself to the trio, identifying herself as a security shift leader for the cargo deck.
Next in line was a short, compact woman with pale skin, black hair cut very short and fierce blue eyes. She looked like she was ready for a fight. “Megan Bannister,” she said. She looked like someone with a grudge. “I'm a medic.”
Finally, a tall, handsome man whose slight accent placed him as Cuban, (Jennifer had served with a lot of different people and had picked up an ear for accents). He was well-built, young and had glowing silver eyes. Cybernetic implants with a bit of a stylistic touch. “Ernesto Duarte,” he said, shaking her hand as well. “I was with security.”
For a moment, the insanity of the situation struck Jennifer. Zombies were everywhere and here she was, shaking hands like she was at a meet and greet.
“What happened?” she asked.
“We were hoping you could tell us,” Frost replied.
“What?” She looked at them, slightly bewildered. “We just woke up.”
“We?” Ishi asked.
“Me and another guy, a technician. He's back down below us, on the medical deck. He's lifting the lockout,” she replied.
“He is? That's great!” Megan said, stepping forward. “See,” she said, whirling on Ishi and Frost, “I told you! Fucking told you we shouldn't be sitting around here on our fucking hands.”
“We don't yet have all the appropriate knowledge,” Ishi replied.
“So what, we should just fucking stay here and-”
Jennifer realized that maybe this was why they hadn't gotten very far along the logical course of action. “Shut up!” she said, garnering everyone's attention. “Please,” she added. “Just...tell me. How did you all get here?”
They told her their tale but it didn't fill in many gaps, honestly. Apparently, they had all been in pods as well, down on the medical deck. Frost had been by himself, in a storage room apparently, and the other three had been in one of the larger rooms. Ishi had awoken first due to, like Mark, a malfunction in his pod. He had found the other two and they had run into Frost on their way to the bridge. When they arrived on this deck, they'd run into some zombies and ended up holing up here, trying to figure out what to do next, largely stymied by the lockdown. Jennifer considered this all for a moment.
“We were getting ready to go to a terminal,” Ishi said. “There's a command terminal not far from here that we should be able to use. It will tell us the state of the ship...or, at least, it should. Now that you're here, you can help us.”
“Fine,” Jennifer said. “But I'll need a gun.”
They all looked at each other. Neither Ishi nor Megan were armed. Ernesto had a pistol. They all looked at Frost, who had a shotgun and a pistol strapped to his hip. He looked back at them, then heaved a sigh.
“Fine,” he said, handing over his pistol, holster and a spare magazine.
“Thanks,” she said, taking it and affixing the holster to her belt. “Who's going with me?”
“I'll go,” Ernesto replied.
“Don't linger,” Megan said as he moved to join her.
“Yeah, let me tell you, I was looking forward to roaming the halls,” Ernesto replied.
Megan opened her mouth but Ishi cleared his throat. “We should work on inventorying our supplies,” he said.
“Lock this door behind us,” Jennifer said as she and Ernesto headed back outside.
“Got it,” Frost said tightly.
Jennifer had her pistol out. It felt immensely comfortable in her hands. She didn't let it comfort her too much, however. Being at ease in a warzone was never a good idea. And now she knew for a fact this was a battlefield, one unlike any she had ever faced before. She finished scoping the corridor before stepping out of the way and letting Ernesto out as well. Behind them, the door was shut and locked firmly.
“So, which way?” she asked.
“Here, it's not far,” Ernesto replied.
“If it's so close, why haven't you gone there already?” Jennifer asked as they began navigating the corridors.
“We aren't the most...cohesive, of groups. Megan kind of has a temper and I'm not really a leader type. Ishi leads well, but I don't think Megan really likes that. Apparently they worked together before all this and he was her boss. She used to argue with him a lot.”<
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“And Frost? What's his story? I don't remember seeing him around.”
“Me neither, but there's a thousand people onboard.”
“Yeah, I guess so...”
“Anyway, we've been setting up a bit of an outpost, you know? That was my idea. Given that it's so dangerous, I thought it would be a good idea to have a kind of forward operating base. We're set up in that infirmary, which is right next to a mess hall, so we've got medical supplies and food and water down. I know there's an armory on this floor, and Megan and I were actually going to stop by it, but when we got close...” he hesitated.
“What?” Jennifer asked.
“We heard something. Something near it. Something big.”
Jennifer wasn't sure what to say to that. Which was just as well, because they turned another corner and arrived at the command console. It was set apart from the other general access consoles and terminals in that it would give more direct access to the various features and functions of the ship. Being as high ranked as she was, she would have access to it. Why hadn't she remembered this before? Probably an effect of being in stasis for two weeks. While Ernesto watched her back, Jennifer accessed the console.
It took a minute to get in, then another two minutes to have it run a scan of the ship. This seemed to be the most basic and important question of all: were they on a path to destruction and, if so, how long would it take?
“Shit,” Jennifer whispered.
“What?” Ernesto asked.
“We've got problems. Besides about a thousand little things, we've got four main issues. One of which is more pressing than all the others: the engines are shutting down, which means we'll lose power to the ship, which will kill us all. The other thing is that we're losing oxygen. It must be a hole in the hull that, for whatever reason, was never properly sealed. On top of that, the bridge is locked down beyond even the current lockdown and the communications are shot...fuck. Come on, we need to get back to the others and figure out what to do.”
As she said this and they began making their way back to the forward operating base, Jennifer's earpiece crackled.
