by SD Tanner
Angrily, the man asked, “What the fuck happened?”
While looking in surprise at the boys, the woman replied tartly, “How the hell would I know? One minute the corridor was fine and the next minute it was crawling with hunters.”
Finally the man noticed them. “Hey, I’m Joey. This is Hils. Thanks for opening the door.”
Not knowing what to say, he looked back at the man and woman dumbly. It was a fluke he’d opened to door at that moment, but he didn’t want to tell them they’d just gotten lucky. Joey strode across the small cabin and bent down to peer out of the port window.
“Damn. We’ve docked. All hell’s breaking loose out there.”
Hils elbowed Joey out of the way and peered out of the small window. “Shit. We can’t do anything from down here. We have to get to the deck.”
“What about the kids?”
Turning to face him, Hils asked, “What’s your names?”
He flicked his head towards Jon. “I’m Luke and this is Jon,”
Hils nodded and with a stressed smile, she said, “Okay boys, the ship’s been infected with hunters and we’re going to have to get to the deck. If we get separated and it isn’t safe, then jump overboard.”
Sounding worried, Jon said, “But I can’t swim.”
Giving him a grim look, Joey said, “Trust me. If you have to choose, then jump off the ship. It’s better that way.”
Hils frowned at Joey, then gave him sympathetic look. “Look, kid, they’ll be expecting people to jump overboard, so they’ll have boats ready to get people out of the water. Deal with one problem at a time, so if you have to choose, then jump ship.”
Grabbing Jon by the arm, he said, “Don’t worry. I can swim real good. We’ll stick together.”
“That’s the spirit,” Hils said with a grin.
Joey and Hils went to the cabin door. She opened the door and Joey stepped out with his gun ready to fire. “All clear.”
She pushed them both out of the door, and still holding Jon’s arm, he dragged him along as Joey quickly moved down the corridor. The corridor was filled with small bags of luggage, bundles of clothes, and there was blood smeared on the walls and pooling on the floor. As he stepped over another bundle of clothes, he realized the clothes were the body of a person who was so badly torn and clawed, they barely looked human. Gulping, he felt Hils hand on his back and she firmly pushed him past the bodies and blood.
“Don’t look. Keep moving.”
He didn’t want to think about what he was seeing. It reminded him of the bus trip from the school and out of the town. That trip was something else he never thought about. Focusing straight ahead, he blanked his mind to the sights around him and did as Hils ordered. They made their way up the narrow flights of stairs, and even trying not to look, he vaguely acknowledged blood was dripping through the metal grilled floors. There were half-eaten bodies still moving, but lying in their path, and the stench of gunpowder and blood hung heavily in the already claustrophobic corridors. Echoing through the decks, he could still hear the sounds of screams and sporadic gunfire. The closer to the top deck they got, the louder the sound of gunfire grew from outside, and it began to drown out the noises coming from the lower decks. It sounded like a full-scale battle was taking place and he wasn’t sure it was any safer up top than it was below.
Still climbing the stairs, a newly born hunter dressed in jeans and a sweater, launched itself at Joey and he opened fire. While Joey fired repeatedly at its head, it jerked back until the top of its head was gone, and now blinded, it became confused. Joey shouldered his weapon, and grabbing the hunter firmly by the shoulders, spun it around and then pushed and booted it back down the corridor. Being blind and having only its lower jaw left, the hunter stumbled, finally falling to the floor and continuing to flail. Another hunter appeared from behind them, and Hils turned and fired repeatedly at its head until it too was bleeding and blinded.
“Gotta move faster!” Hils shouted. “The place is crawling with ‘em.”
Moving swiftly, they reached the door to the deck and he saw it was closed. Joey peered through the small porthole only to pull back sharply when a body slammed into the door. There was only a ten foot distance between the door and the railing around the ship.
Joey turned and said, “You can’t stay here and you can’t stay on the deck. You’re gonna have to jump overboard.”
“Nooo,” Jon wailed. “I can’t swim!”
“Open the door, Joey!” Hils shouted. “We gotta go now!”
Flicking a glance in Hils direction, he immediately saw why. At least fifty or more bleeding and torn newly born hunters were surging down the corridor and heading toward the narrow stairwell. Hils opened fire at the crowd of hunters, but there was no way she could stop them all and he thought, that’s a waste of ammo.
Joey shouted, “Kids! I’m gonna open the door and give you cover, so run for the railing and jump. No choice. Just do it.”
Yanking the door open, he briefly looked over his shoulder and saw Hils disappear under the arms and bodies of the invading hunters. She didn’t scream and she didn’t stop firing her weapon until she completely disappeared under their bodies. The hunters were momentarily distracted, and he felt the rough grasp of Joey’s hand as he was heaved out of the door into the mass of people and hunters on the deck. He hadn’t let go of Jon’s arm the whole time and he didn’t now. Being shorter than the people on the deck, he crouched even lower and kept pulling Jon along with him, trying to reach the railing. He couldn’t tell who was human and who was hunter, but he pushed his way through, hoping neither would notice him. Finally he felt the low wall of the railing, and while still holding onto Jon, he prepared to slide between the two rails. With one leg through the bottom rail, he finally looked to his left to tell Jon to do the same, when he came face-to-face with him. Jon’s eyes had turned a bright blue and he was snarling and preparing to lunge.
“No…’ he croaked, and then he felt Jon being yanked from his hand.
Looking up, he saw a pale skinny man wearing wire-rimmed glasses, and he grabbed Jon by the head with both hands. “Go, boy! I must have redemption!” The man lifted Jon by his head and heaved him overboard while he continued to snarl and snap at him.
With a mad, wild look in his eye, the man shrieked, “I said, go, boy! This is my punishment for siding with the Devil and saving you is my redemption.”
Without a word, he let himself drop down the side of the boat and into the water. As if in slow motion, he felt the hard impact of the water, followed by the sudden release as he sunk deeply into the sea. All the air seemed to be knocked from his lungs and the freezing water made him inhale sharply, but all he breathed in was water. He tried to move his arms and his legs, but his body wasn’t listening to him. He opened his eyes, saw a murky darkness and his world was utterly silent. For the first time in a year, he wanted his mother and an image of her smiling face sharpened in his mind. He thought she might be smiling back at her, but he wasn’t sure, and then he broke the surface of the water. He felt his body being roughly dragged over something that hurt his stomach and he coughed. Water exploded from his mouth and his nose and he began to wretch violently. Strong hands were firmly pulling at him and he found himself lying on his back. Putting a shaking hand up to his face, he hit himself in the mouth with something metal. Opening his eyes, he saw he was still wearing the ring that had belonged to Jon’s grandfather. Letting his arm flop back down to his side, he looked up at the blue sky and thought, I’m alive.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Doctor Death (Farrington)
He felt funny and he had a headache that made him think rats were running laps around his brain. The image of rats running around his head made him snigger, but then he thought that wasn’t funny and he stopped. He hadn’t felt right since he’d walked into the Major’s room and run into two people he hadn’t recognized, but the second level of the CDC was a secured area and he thought he should know everyone. Rubbing his aching forehead, he tr
ied to remember what happened to the two people, but couldn’t, and tiredly running his hand down his face, he noticed it felt slightly damp. Looking at his palm, he saw it was lightly smeared with blood and wondered why his face was bleeding. Deciding he needed to lie down, he began to walk back to his room.
Walking through the shared kitchen and lounge area, Terry saw him. “Farrington!”
The sound of Terry’s voice cut through his head like a jagged, blunt knife sawing through raw meat and his mind formed an image of raw flesh dripping with fresh blood and he sniggered again.
Trying to clear his mind of the image, he shook his head slightly. “What? What do you want? Why are you shouting?”
Terry replied apologetically, “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was being so loud.” With a concerned expression, he asked, “Are you okay?”
Waving his hand brusquely, he said irritably, “I have a headache. What do you want?”
“It’s not urgent. I was just wanting to talk to you about the new designer virus. We’re infecting the people tomorrow and I want to make sure I’m using the latest one.”
He searched through his addled mind and vaguely remembered something about a designer virus. Strands of math models and chemical compositions drifted through his thoughts, but he couldn’t concentrate long enough to make any sense of them. He knew what they meant, but he didn’t understand how to use the knowledge. Unable to focus for longer than a few seconds, his minded drifted again and he tried to remember where he was.
Terry touched his arm and he flinched at the physical contact. It seemed to be more than a simple touch, and looking at Terry, he sensed the man was worried. “What do you want? What’s wrong with you?”
“Maybe you should lie down. You don’t seem at all well.”
He didn’t feel well. The rats were running around in his head again, eating his brain and fighting with one another. This time the image didn’t make him snigger. “Yes, yes, yes. I know. I heard you.”
Walking out of the kitchen, he headed down the hallway to the small room he’d been sleeping in since the world ended. It was a tidy room. Everything had its place and he always made sure everything was in its place. Many years before, he’d been told he suffered from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and it annoyed him to think being meticulously neat was considered a problem. He’d shouted at the psychologist and called him an idiot. After that episode, they’d added Generalized Anxiety Disorder to his diagnosis, and warned him he also suffered from poor impulse control, but none of his so-called disorders had mattered when he was awarded his PHD in Neuroscience. It was then he decided his disorders were what made him successful. Pulling his chair out from his desk, he sat down on the well-worn padding and put his head in his hands. He really didn’t feel right, but he didn’t know why.
You worry too much, a voice said in his head, no wonder they thought you were crazy. You kind of are.
As that thought travelled through his mind, he jerked his hands from his face and looking wildly around the room. “Who said that?”
There was no one else in the small room, but just to be sure, he stood up and opened his closet and rummaged through the neatly hung shirts, trousers and lab coats. It was a tiny cupboard and there wasn’t really enough room to hide a person, but he reached in and touched the back of the cupboard. Disgruntled, he carefully rearranged the hanging clothes until they again hung perfectly straight and were evenly distributed on the rail. Closing the door to the cupboard, he shook his head and then pushed the chair back under the table and sat down on his bed feeling deeply tired.
I’m not tired, the voice said jovially, we have to go anyway. Can’t sit around this shithole all day.
Once again, he looked up sharply and tried to understand where the voice was coming from. It seemed to be inside his own head, but that wasn’t right. He might have been told he had a collection of psychological disorders, but he’d never heard voices before.
“Where are you?” He was surprised by the sound of his own voice that seemed to echo inside his head.
Here I am, mate, the voice replied amiably.
No, no, no, he thought, I didn’t think that.
Sure ya did, the voice said confidently.
I’m going crazy.
Then the voice begin to sing inside his head. He didn’t recognize the song, but the words were clear enough. It was something about being crazy. He batted his head with his hands. “Stop it. Stop it now!”
The voice stopped singing and said, spoilsport, tell ya what, matey, if you get off your ass and go to the base, I’ll stop pissing you off.
Feeling horrified at how his mind was behaving, he asked, “Who are you?”
You know, for a guy with a PHD, you’re really fuckin’ stupid, the voice remarked rudely.
Now he was deeply worried he might actually be going insane. “What?”
Do you want me to shut up, the voice asked?
“Yes, I want you to go away.”
Can’t do that, little buddy, the voice said sagely, but if you go to the base, I promise to be quiet.
“Which base?”
The main base, the voice replied firmly.
Massaging his forehead, he decided that if going to the base would stop the voice in his head then that’s where he would go. Standing up, he smoothed the creases from his lab coat, picked up his sunglasses and walked out to find the helicopter that was permanently assigned to the CDC. It acted as an air ambulance and was constantly ferrying people between the CDC and the bases. If it wasn’t at the there now, it would be soon enough, and he thought he might as well sit outside and wait for it. Leaving the building, he put on his sunglasses. The rats were still scurrying around his head, eating holes in his brain tissue, but luckily the helicopter was waiting outside the building and the pilot was sitting on the platform with his legs hanging over the edge.
“I…I need to go to the base.”
The pilot was eating something from a plastic box and he snapped the lid back on the box while still chewing. “Okey dokey. Which base do you want? Marine, Naval or Sub.”
It wasn’t his idea to go the base and he didn’t know which one the voice wanted. Shaking his head, he frowned and the voice said, the main base.
“Umm…the main base.”
“There is no main base, do you mean the ship? ‘Cos that’s the closest thing we’ve got to a HQ.”
Where do they keep the babies, the voice asked?
Sounding as confused as he felt, he asked, “The babies? Where are the babies?”
Now the pilot stared back at him, looking equally confused. “Everywhere. There’s babies on the islands, on the ship and some are on the transports ships headed for the UK. Why do you need to find babies? Is there a problem?”
Well, of course there’s a problem, he thought irritably. Almost against his own will, he asked, “Where would you keep a very important baby? One you needed to keep safe.”
“That’s a strange question, sir,” the pilot replied cagily. “Why do you want to know that?”
Good question, he thought, I don’t even like babies. He shook his head to clear the thought. “It’s a…medical problem. I need to umm…examine the babies.”
With a worried expression, the pilot asked, “What’s the problem? I mean, the kids are important to all of us. What’s going on?”
Nothing, he thought, nothing at all. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he said, “It’s nothing. I just have to check something.” With another wave of his hand, he added reassuringly, “It’s a comparison thing. The children are fine.”
With a relieved look, the pilot said, “Maybe I should take you to the Marine supply base. Ted’s in the UK and Cutter is in command. You can talk to him.”
He climbed on board the helicopter and the pilot went to the cockpit. A part of him was familiar with everything about the Black Hawk and another part of him didn’t know where he was. Before taking his seat, the pilot looked back at him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
A rat chewed through more of his brain, leaving a deep jagged hole and he snapped, “I’m fine! You do your job and I’ll do mine.”
The pilot gave him a worried look. “I really think you’d better talk to Cutter.”
The helicopter flew over the land and he sat hunched in his small seat, trying to unlock the mass of thoughts tumbling around his head. He felt like his brain was being eaten, but if it was, then there should be nothing left of it by now. How can a brain be eaten, he wondered? Answering his own question, he began to mentally list the many varieties of flesh-eating bacteria he’d studied over the decades. All he’d ever been was a scientist, and desperately trying to restore order in his mind, he went back to his first memory as a baby. He was sitting in a high chair being fed something mushy and sweet, and he remembered he liked it not too hot and not too cold. The memory dissolved and another image formed. He was six and walking home from school being followed by bullies. They neither upset him nor pleased him. For as long as all they did was follow him and shout insults, he didn’t pay them much attention. At school he was the nervous kid in class who spent his lunch breaks hunched over a book in the library. Later in life women called him cold and men dealt with him respectfully. He learned little in life touched him and he continued to strictly control what he paid attention to. People had the least effect on his emotions and he found a greater joy in unravelling the marvels of science.
Interrupting his thoughts, the voice said petulantly, I’m bored.
He vaguely acknowledged the passing landscape and thought, no, I’m not bored. Someone else is bored and I’m not alone. The rats have a face. With this sudden insight, in his mind, he asked, who are you?
Gleeful laughter echoed around his head, and the voice said with no small delight, oh my, you are a smart one.
Yes, I am, he thought, who are you? Are you a part of my mind or are you a hitchhiker?
The voice chuckled happily and said, I'm a little bit of both, my friend. I need you find someone for me and once you do, I’ll leave.
