“Got you. Take the left staircase, follow it around to the left and past the pianos. That’s where the source of the sound is.”
“Affirmative,” answer Fernanda.
With a signal to fan out the Marines moved down the staircase and spread out along the base, each of them scanning the wide open lobby for signs of movement. Though some of the lights lit the corners there were still sections that were too dark to make out. A sound came from below, as though somebody had kicked a box or crate over. The Sergeant clenched her fist and raised it up, the rest of the Marines halted and dropped to the ground, expecting trouble.
“Hey, Sarge,” whispered Private Hopkins, “take a look at this.”
The Marine was pointing across the lobby to a flickering light. Fernanda crept over to him whilst the rest of them held steady. She looked carefully, her eyes adjusting to the lighting in the room. She reached down to her pocket and pulled out a small military issue camera and held it up to her eye. It was a combined low light and thermal imaging camera. In the screen the area of the flickering light was showing as extremely hot. She panned the camera, examining the rest of the lobby until she spotted movement. She panned back and spotted more of the hot areas.
There was a flash from the end of the lobby and a series of flames licked up towards the other side of the staircase. Another dull rumble echoed through the ship.
“Fuck, sounds like something serious is going on down there,” said Weston, the squad’s M249 machine gunner, as he pointed at the floor.
The ground shuddered from what felt like several blasts, possibly explosions. Sergeant Fernanda lost her foot and stumbled, managing to catch one of the columns at the last moment. She called on her radio.
“Captain, I’ve got people down here, a group of about a dozen are hiding inside one of the small function rooms. It also looks like we have a series of fires here. At least two in the lobby and the entire floor is showing as warming on my camera,” she said.
She looked around the lobby, noting the flames that seemed to be growing fast. On her camera the heat seemed to be spreading through more sections of the ship. Her headset crackled.
“Good work. Be careful, Sergeant, if they’re hiding it’s for a reason. According to our data the refrigeration section is burning and burning hot. At this rate the vessel is going to start taking on water in the lower section of the hull sometime in the next three hours. You don’t want to be there for too long. This is a death ship in more ways than one.”
“Understood, heading to them now,” she replied.
She moved off the staircase and around the columns in the direction of the small function rooms that ran along the one wall of the lobby. She signalled to the men to spread out into two groups, one each side of the area. As they moved a series of loud noises came from the function room.
Fernanda moved up to the door and placed her hand on the centre, it was cool to the touch. She turned back to ensure the rest of the Marines were with her before pushing it open and moving inside. On the floor there were pieces of splintered wood and a large wooden unit was pushed aside. Fernanda new instantly what had happened there, the survivors had nailed the door shut and then moved these items up against it to stop the creatures from getting inside.
She stepped to the right and in a matter of seconds the first six Marines were inside and pointing their weapons at the sight ahead of them. The room was packed with dozens of the undead and they were all hammering at a series of obstructions that were obviously an attempt at some kind of fortification. In the corner of the room the glint of an axe or something similar caught her attention. She turned to her squad.
“Watch for friendlies, clear the room!” she shouted.
Armstrong opened up first, quickly followed by a series of rifles. The streaks from the weapons blasted across the room, ripping into the undead throwing blood and guts on the walls. As soon as the weapons started another door opened to the side revealing another large horde of the creatures. The first three were close to the squad’s machine gunner who cut them down with a long burst from his M249. The box magazine provided him with a hundred rounds of 5.56mm bullets and this firepower decimated the ambush.
Private Hopkins rushed forwards to the survivors and shouted over to them.
“Keep your heads down, we’re here to help you!” he cried.
He pulled at the barricade, trying to reach them before another group of zombies moved from behind the debris against the wall. The first grabbed his leg whilst another pushed into his stomach, forcing him to the floor. A third dropped down to bite him only to be stopped by the muzzle of Fernanda’s M4 carbine. A short burst sent the zombie’s skull and brain up against the wall. Kowalski ran over and grabbed the second zombie off him and smashed his weapon into its face. He followed his attack up with another two rounds, one to the head and another to the torso. The rest of the unit spread out firing into the horde and cutting them down in just ten seconds of shooting.
Once the firing stopped Fernanda stepped up to the barricade, looking for the survivors.
“I am Sergeant Fernanda of the United States Marine Corps. You’re safe now,” she said.
From behind the barricade a young man stood up, quickly followed by more people. The man wore a torn and battered official uniform, presumably one of the crew. He climbed over the debris and down to the Marines. More followed, helped by the Marines.
“Can you help us with the wounded?” asked the man.
Fernanda signalled to her men who moved over to assist.
“How many of you are there?” she asked.
“Seven crew including me plus a dozen passengers,” he replied.
“That’s it, from the entire ship?”
He stepped up to the Sergeant.
“Yes,” he replied, looking a little confused before holding out his hand.
“I’m sorry. I’m Carter, Sam Carter. I’m Head of Security here. We’re all that’s left, thank God you came!” he said in a relieved tone.
As he moved forward a rumble came from deep in the ship followed by a series of low thumps underfoot. One of the paintings tipped and then fell from the wall, whilst chunks of plaster cracked and dropped from the ceiling.
“How long has it been like this?” asked Fernanda.
“For the last two days. We’ve been on the run since they overran the ship. There were over a hundred of us on the deck waiting for the boats when they hit us. A rescue unit was trying to hold them back when they triggered some explosions near the engine room,” he said.
He turned and helped one of the children over the debris and into the open before continuing.
“We’ve been barricaded in here ever since and the fires have been spreading. We kept holding the creatures back, but we lost people every time. I don’t think we could have managed more than a few days more.”
Fernanda’s radio crackled into life.
“Sergeant, we’ve got a big problem here. Get your people off the ship and fast,” ordered Captain Black.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Two things. Problem number one is your firefight has drawn attention. We’re picking up movement on seven decks heading your way. They’re in their hundreds, maybe thousands.”
“Fuck! And the second?” she asked.
“The fires are spreading through the hull so fast we calculate the entire length of the ship will be burning in less than fifteen minutes. If you don’t get topside fast you could be trapped.”
“Understood, we’re out of here,” she answered quickly before turning to her unit.
“Marines, we need to go, come on!” she shouted as she left the room, closely followed by the mixture of survivors and soldiers.
* * *
Captain Black stared at the computer screen intently, watching the return route of Fernanda’s unit. Half of the cameras were now down due to the electrical damage caused by the fires. Dr Garcia was typing away on one of the computers, whilst issuing orders to her own staf
f on the ship.
“Doctor, do you have what you need?” he asked.
“We’ve managed to collect medical supplies, fuel and some food from the lower storage areas and crew compartments. My people are loading everything onto the LCAC, they will be finished in about ten minutes,” she answered.
Some quiet gunshots came from within the ship. Captain Black looked down at the screen, spotting movement the floor below where the Marines had set up the defensive position. The monitor flashed each time a weapon was discharged.
“Sir, we’ve got company here. Multiple targets, shit, Sir!” came the voice on the radio.
A dull thump indicated the use of a grenade followed by more rapid fire, presumably that of automatic weapons and machine-guns. Captain Black turned to Dr Garcia only to find her and her two guards already packing up her gear. He spoke into his microphone.
“Hold steady, son, we’re coming for you,” he said.
He grabbed his carbine and moved for the door. Dr Garcia reached out, trying to stop him.
“We need to get the rest of the supplies off the ship!” she ordered.
“No, you need to. My men will be on the forecastle in five minutes. Be there or get left behind,” he barked and he stormed out.
In the distance the gunfire was louder and the sound of machine-gun fire increased. Dr Garcia looked at her two guards, one of them shrugged then cocked his weapon.
“Come on, follow him,” she said.
* * *
Inside the ship Fernanda’s group made their way towards the front of the vessel. Having moved out from the Grand Lobby they had already passed through the planetarium and were almost halfway back when they found the container. It was about fifteen feet long and big enough to park a medium sized truck inside.
Armstrong moved to the back of the container, noticing one part was open. He looked inside, moving his torch first one way then back again.
“Uh, Sarge, you need to take a look at this!” he shouted.
Fernanda moved towards him, but signalled for the rest of the group to keep moving. Once she reached the container she peered around the corner to look at whatever Armstrong had found. Inside were several shelves, each with a series of metallic cases, one portable computer and lots of blood.
“Holy shit. What is this?” she said.
“No idea, I bet the doc would want some of it though,” he replied.
“Yeah, good idea. Bag what you can then follow us. We need to keep moving.”
An explosion rocked the ship, sending some of the Marines hard against the walls of the corridor. Kowalski hit a pillar hard, stunning him and knocking him to the ground. One of the doors twisted and then fell down sending a fireball streaming to the group. Two of the Marines took the full force of the blast, their clothing and equipment catching alight and sending them screaming to the ground. Another blast shook ahead as part of the ceiling collapsed, blocking their route.
Fernanda lifted herself up, wiping the dust from her face as she surveyed the scene. The two Marines were down, their smouldering bodies needed no checking. The rest of the unit was coming back to their senses when she spotted movement off into the distance, it was the horde.
“Come on, we need to take the staircase, follow me!” she shouted.
She turned back towards the container and tore open the doorway that led to the staircase. Apart from the smoke and dust it appeared clear. She moved inside first and started making her way up the stairs, the rest of the group staggered behind her.
“Captain Black, are you receiving, over,” she called on the radio.
A voice came back but it was hard to hear, it sounded like a broken voice, punctuated by noise. It went silent then the voice came back.
“Sergeant, good to hear your voice. We’re under attack near the bridge!” he shouted.
The audio crackled from the sound of small arms fire in the background. There was shouting and screams before the calmer voice of the Captain came back.
“We’re evacuating the area, falling back to the forecastle. Can you make it there?” he asked.
Three zombies appeared on the staircase, staggering towards her. She lifted her carbine and pulled the trigger. The weapon clicked but jammed. Without hesitating she withdrew her Beretta M9 9mm pistol and emptied six rounds into them. The first two were knocked down but the third kept on coming. Armstrong pushed past her and emptied a dozen rounds from head to toe into the last zombie. The rest of the group chased behind, desperate to reach the higher decks.
Another blast came from much closer, followed by the entire ceiling collapsing just twenty feet away.
“Move it!” shouted Fernanda as she pushed the Marines on past her.
As they went past another door a chink of light appeared, presumably from one of the upper decks.
One of the Marines booted it open, letting in fresh air and bright light. They staggered into the open as more blasts shook the vessel.
* * *
Captain Black and his surviving three Marines worked their way aft, on their way to Fernanda. Dr Garcia was close behind, flanked by her two guards. Her personal communication system beeped, informing her that the rest of her staff had evacuated the forecastle. About twenty feet behind them a massive horde gave chase, held back only by their slow movement.
“Black here, what is your status?” he called on his radio.
“We’re topside and heading to you,” Fernanda replied.
“Evac is on the way, meet at the landing pad forward of the first funnel,” said Captain Black.
More creatures appeared in front of them, blocking their route to the top deck. Black lifted his carbine and emptied an entire magazine into the beasts. More zombies clambered over the bodies, making their way towards them. A series of blasts shook the corridor as the Marines attempted to hold back the horde.
Part of the false wall to the side of Garcia ripped apart and two zombies fell out, one knocking her to the floor.
“Fuck!” she shouted as she hit the ground.
“Doctor!” shouted one of the guards and he rushed forwards to help, followed by the second guard.
More fire poured from the Marines who did their best to stem the tide. Dr Garcia lifted her Heckler & Koch MP7 from her thigh holster and shredded the first zombie with a long burst of automatic fire. One of her guards slammed his armoured fist into the second whilst another zombie climbed out and bit down into his shoulder. Luckily the reinforced armour protected him from the strong bite long enough for his comrade to empty several rounds into the creature’s face.
Sergeant Black helped her up and they kept moving forwards, firing at the following undead. He kicked open the door leading to the upper deck and led the survivors out into the open. He ran down the staircase leading to the port side landing pad. It took almost a full minute for them all to reach it. As they stepped down onto the ship’s main deck they spotted Fernanda’s group heading right towards them. A dark crowd of the undead was behind them. The pad was only fifty feet away.
Off to his right Captain Black spotted the LCAC drifting away from the ship, it looked loaded down with crates, supplies and people. From its loading bay tracer arced, they were presumably fighting off their own problems.
“Captain Mathius, where is that evac?” he called into his radio.
With a deafening roar two Bell UH-1Y Venom Super Huey’s swept past the ship, heavy weapons’ fire coming from their door mounted machineguns.
“Holy shit, that’s good timing,” said one of the Doctor’s guards.
“Come on!” shouted Black, as he moved to the landing pad.
From the lower deck doors more zombies staggered out, all of them heading for the noise of the first helicopter as it descended to the pad. With the pads so low on the vessel they were only just big enough for one aircraft at a time. As Captain Black arrived at the edge of the pad he spotted the rescued civilians packing into the helicopter, Fernanda had beaten them to it. Lifting his weapon he fired another dozen roun
ds at the zombies. Turning back he helped Dr Garcia and the rest of his people whilst one of the Marines provided covering fire.
Sergeant Fernanda rushed over, tapping him on the shoulder. Before she could speak, the first Huey lifted off, making space for the second aircraft.
“You made it!” she shouted.
“You bet!” he replied. “Can we all fit on the next chopper?” he asked.
She turned back, counting the number of people in her head.
“No way, three of us are going to have to stay behind!”
As the second Super Huey landed he started to strip off his body armour and gear.
“How did your water training go, Sergeant?” he asked with a grin.
Fernanda grinned as she pulled at the Velcro straps on her webbing.
Armstrong appeared, helping Dr Garcia to the aircraft whilst the rest of the unit piled into the helicopter.
“Come on you two, we need to go!” said the Captain.
Armstrong turned back and was helped into the overcrowded aircraft. Captain Black waved them off, shouting into his headset to go. The zombies were now at the pad and lifting themselves up. The Captain pulled out his handgun and emptied the weapon at the first to climb the ledge.
The pilot, obviously shaken by the appearance of the zombies applied power and the aircraft started to lift off, leaving Captain Black, Fernanda and Kowalski. More of the zombies climbed onto the pad and started moving towards their little group.
“Time to go!” laughed Fernanda as she ran for the edge and leapt off the vessel and towards the deep ocean.
CHAPTER FOUR
ENGLAND
Dave was peering out of the window as the Land Rover chugged on down the wet and muddy country road. He was armoured up in an assortment of anything that would provide protection. A battered old biker’s jacket was the base layer on his body, with a custom built armoured vest on top. The last year had taught him that he didn’t have to just protect himself from the zombies, but hostile humans too. This metal plate lined armour provided sturdy protection from a shotgun shell or hand-to-hand weapon. Around his legs he wore thick leather armour, re-enforced with metal splints.
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