by Mark Tufo
“Sorry,” Stenzel said as I landed hard on the catwalk. Never really felt it, although the four-foot drop felt like it had taken a day and a half to make. I would have sworn I was in a weightless environment. “Do not go anywhere.” Stenzel was directly in my face. She slapped my hand away as I reached up to touch her head; I could not figure out why a toaster was talking to me. As for going anywhere, it was unlikely I could even roll on my own. It was a couple of hours later, I was crashing hard as I came down. Instead of feeling light as a feather, I now felt leaden. Everything weighed double what it should.
“How we doing?” I asked without moving.
“I’m doing fine, how are you doing?” Stenzel was keeping an eye out on the deck.
“Ever go on a three-week bender?” She looked down at me. “Just me, then? Anyway, I feel like the day after that. Zombies?” I sat up, or attempted a reasonable facsimile. My head wanted to pull me down where I could curl up into a ball and lament the day I’d ever been born.
Stenzel helped me get my back against the ship. She’d applied a field dressing to the wound, my leg itched worse than a bad case of poison ivy.
“They seem to be minding their own business, over by the tower. I can’t tell for sure, but they seem to be moving slow.”
“Dying, you think?”
“I hope so. I’m starving.”
“Any sign of Bags?”
She shook her head quickly, her lips pressed tightly together. I could only hope he had holed himself up somewhere safe; odds weren’t great, but he was a Navy SEAL. Not too many others on the planet more capable of coming through the other side.
“No reavers?” I don’t know why I was asking. We were still alive, so the question was self-answering. “Could you help me stand?”
“Are you sure you want to? You’re barely sitting.”
“I feel like I should get some blood pumping.”
She grunted as I used much more of her assistance than I thought I needed.
“I feel like shit,” I told her. I had my ass against the ship, my hands on my knees and my head hanging down. “Any more birds?”
“I shot a few that came close and the rest got the message.”
“You shot flying birds with a handgun? Forget it, I’ve seen you shoot.” I…no, we needed water and food, but it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. I walked up and down that catwalk the better part of the morning and afternoon. It was murder on my back; I stayed hunched over, making sure my head didn’t show to any that might look our way. It was a toss-up whether I was doing myself any good. My head definitely improved, but if it meant I was forever going to walk around like I belonged in a bell tower in Notre Dame, it was a hell of a trade-off. By the time the sun was heading down, I was nearly human. I’d just got into position to sit next to Stenzel when we heard the gunfire. She stood up quickly; it was about all I could do to force my leg and back muscles to loosen up enough to allow me to poke my head far enough out that I could see onto the deck.
“Son of a bitch,” was all I could say as we both saw Baggelli busting ass in our direction, followed closely by a small horde following him. He would occasionally turn and drop a few before resuming his run.
“We need to help,” Stenzel said.
“Of course we do.” I put my rifle up on the deck, as did Stenzel. He was some hundred yards from us when we started shooting. His head whipped in our direction. Clearly he was surprised to see us and pleased, no doubt. We were doing our best to keep any zombies from dragging him down. At fifty yards, he began to slow up, limping slightly.
“What’s he doing?” Stenzel asked without ever pausing her shooting.
I could see his face pretty clearly, and I knew exactly what he was doing. He’d let his rifle drop on its harness as he grabbed a small object, roughly the size of a baseball.
“Oh no,” was all I could manage.
“What? What’s going on?”
I pulled Stenzel down as the zombies reached Baggelli. There was a deafening explosion, and then we heard the increasingly familiar tones of body parts raining down upon the deck. I held onto Stenzel’s shoulder to keep her from getting up.
“What did he do!?” she cried out.
“He saved us.”
“He could have got here! We could have gone back into the ship. He—he didn’t need to do that!” Stenzel was as inconsolable as I’d ever seen her.
“He was sick, Harley. Zombie bit or Ebola, but he was definitely sick.”
“Fuck,” she hissed.
I waited until I figured even the smallest particulates had come back to the ground before I stood to survey the damage and see if we had any enemies left to deal with. The deck where Baggelli had been was scorched earth. Most of the zombies had been obliterated, but there were a few in various states of disrepair, still moving in whatever locomotion they had available to them. The action had pulled some zombies from the tower to check out what had happened. The sun was nearly down by the time they wrapped up their investigation. I stood vigil the entire night. When the morning came and the view did not improve, I sat back down. The zombies that had legs blown off or damaged spines had squirmed into position along with their brethren by the tower. We were out of immediate danger, but there was still the ever-present insidious dehydration, slowly and methodically doing its work. The sky was blue for as far as the eye could see; how many times had I sang the song, Rain rain go away, come back another day? Now I was wondering if there was an equally as effective opposite to that chant. Not that it ever worked, but I was desperate.
I slumped down, Stenzel said nothing as I smacked into her. “Sorry,” I mumbled. She seemed despondent and did not reply. We spent the remainder of the day like that. Didn’t say so much as two words to each other, and the night was no better. The next morning my head was an anvil and a very large hammer was beating the shit out of it. As much as the hunger pangs were making my stomach clench, they had nothing on the slamming inside my dried out skull. No matter how hard I tried, I could not stop the sun from shining in my eyes and burning my brain. Then all the light was blocked out.
“Mr. T, Stenzel, good to see you.” I turned to look up at a smiling Tommy. He was handing us liquid gold in the form of two large water bottles.
“Oh, god.” Stenzel puked from drinking too quickly. When she was done, she again drank as fast as gravity would allow, this time with better results. Tommy stayed where he was; he handed each of us an MRE, which we heartily ate while he stood guard. I nearly ate the plastic wrapper, I wolfed through that thing so quickly.
“Not worried about getting infected?” I asked when I was done. He had been pacing about the front of the ship.
“Do either of you have symptoms?”
“No.”
“All the zombies on the deck are dead, the UV rays from the sun will have killed anything topside. I’m going to stay with you through the rest of the day. Before nightfall you can come back to the tower—the bottommost part, but you’ll both be able to get some sleep without having to worry about zombies.”
Thirst slaked, hunger abated and a decent night of sleep…that was a trio of good things I could get behind.
“Do we know anything about what’s going on inside the ship?” I was getting up on the deck.
“No reason to think the same thing isn’t happening down there. No new zombies have come up to replace the fallen, but down there, without the sun to destroy the virus, it’s going to be a few more days until it’s safe. Eastman is sending some men tomorrow.”
“Nice of him. Send in the troops when the difficult part is done. How’s everyone on the bridge?”
“Walde and Reed are understandably upset.”
I ate two more MREs sitting on that deck. Felt like a bowling ball when I was done. By twilight, I was in a condition where I could walk, although I might have had a slight waddle. I’d like to say I got a good night’s sleep, but that would be something difficult to come by for possibly the rest of my unnaturally long life. Wh
en I’m awake, I can more or less control what I see, no such limiter on dreams. I was sick of watching those I loved die repeatedly. Only so many times you can watch your father heroically succumb to the effects of a hand grenade before staying awake seems the better option. Tommy came down in the morning to let us know Eastman and his men were on the way. They must have been busy; I could see the four zodiac boats full of bright, white-clad soldiers speeding toward us. If they’d had that many hazmat suits on hand before we departed on this mission, there was a good possibility I would start punching the shit out of my senior commanders.
After Walde opened the hatch back up, the teams entered the ship the same way we had. I kept expecting to hear gunfire, explosions, screaming…when Eastman came up onto the deck an hour later without so much as a hangnail, I had to figure the zombies had been destroyed.
“Great job, Captain,” he said from a distance of ten feet. “I’ve got a boat waiting to bring you and the rest back to land.”
“We’re not contagious?”
“Fast-acting, fast die off by design. Doesn’t do any good if you can’t claim the territory you just wiped the enemy from.”
I hated biological warfare; it didn’t seem right. If you had an enemy you wished to kill, they, at the minimum, deserved to see your face when you did it. Spreading deadly chemicals was like shooting someone in the back while they were sleeping; in this case, shooting an entire population in the back, indiscriminately. In terms of killing the zombies, I didn’t give a shit how they died, but I guarantee the Ebola weapon had been worked on long before they had come into the picture.
“And it’s safe? To go back into the ship?”
“It is. I’ll walk you down when the rest of your team gets here.” He took off his helmet.
Relief flooded through me when I saw them come out of the tower. BT gave me a hug. He looked as drawn out as I felt.
“Haven’t slept the entire time you were out there.” He was spent. I could see tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. Kirby, on the contrary, looked worlds better, I mean, why not, he’d been sleeping for the last few days. Reed and Grimm were next, both were going to be out of the fighting while they healed. Reed was angry about it, Grimm in too much pain to care.
“I’m sorry about Bags,” I said as I walked over to Reed and Walde.
“Thank you, sir,” Walde replied. Reed only nodded; he had those same tears threatening to betray him as well. I’m sure he’d shed more than a few when he was alone. I knew I would, and not just for him. Gary wept openly and didn’t give a shit and honestly, no one should. It’s not unmanly to cry, it’s inhuman not to.
“I was pretty worried, baby brother.” He hugged me tightly.
“We had to physically restrain him at one point from opening the door and heading out,” Rose said.
“Wouldn’t think anyone that wears m&m’s pajamas would be so fucking strong.” BT smiled as he wiped the corner of his eye.
“Everyone ready? I would really like to get off this ship,” I said. Not one dissenting vote—not that I expected any. Like any great battle won, we were proud to be victorious and distraught at the losses suffered. We’d won the ship but lost a lot of brave soldiers, and the high of the victory would wear off but the sting of loss never would. There would always be more battles to fight but never another Overland or Baggelli. What I could possibly say to Mrs. Baggelli was beyond me. Once she realized the men in her life weren’t coming home, it wasn’t like she would hear anything else from me.
“Stay with me. As long as we stay away from any liquids, there is no chance of exposure,” Eastman told us as he gathered a team to escort us out. Nothing was spoken as we headed down and out, the only sounds were those of our equipment and boots striking deck plating. We got in the boats. I turned and flipped the ship off; was not at all surprised when the rest of the group joined in the gesture.
11
Deneaux
“Found them!” Sergeant Crawford had come into Deneaux’s office.
“You ever barge in here again without knocking, I’m going to put my cigarette out in your eye.” Vivian was angry. Her transition to power had been anything but smooth. Bennington had betrayed her, the ever-dangerous Michael was apparently in the wind, and she still had a small country’s worth of zombies parked on her doorstep to deal with. It did not help at all that the civilians left behind were more of the “let them eat cake” peasants looking to revolt-type.
Crawford gulped. This was no idle threat. Deneaux had already had two people placed against a wall and shot for inciting a riot. “We found them!” He hoped his repeated words would deflect her ire.
“Michael? You found Michael?”
Crawford was confused about why she was so interested in finding that one person. For a moment as she stood, she looked like a forlorn mother who has just discovered her missing child was found alive and well in the woods. The smile that revealed her tobacco-stained teeth bordered on relief.
“We found their camp.”
“Michael’s camp?”
Crawford was nervous and hesitated as he spoke.
“Spit it out, boy, you jabbering fool. Your lips are flapping like a second-rate porn star warming up for the oral finale.”
“It’s the camp of the deserters.”
“You’re sure?”
“Satellite imagery is good; it’s military and it’s new.”
“That’s not iron-clad evidence. Show me the pictures.” She had her hand out.
“I’ll…I’ll have to go and get them.”
“I’ll, I’ll,” Deneaux mocked. “Must have double dosed on your pinhead pills today. I’m surrounded by dolts. Go!” She waved her arms. “What are you waiting for? Get the damned pictures!”
“Yes, ma’am.” Crawford scurried off.
Deneaux studied the photos for long minutes, trying to discern individuals, but it was like looking down on ants. “I know the satellite has better resolution than this.”
“Bennington was in the process of slowly sabotaging the satellite; we’re lucky we have this,” Crawford told her.
“Where’s the plane?”
“Excuse me?”
“The fucking plane, Sergeant. Large machine with wings? Flies through the air defying gravity? Where the fuck is it?”
“We…we weren’t looking for that.”
“Then, my simpleton sergeant, how can I be certain these are the deserters? I don’t want to start a war with someone on an assumption. What if this group could help us with our current predicament? You ever think of that? Doubtful. I’m sure you’re too busy with your masturbation fantasies revolving around tentacle porn.”
“Ma’am?”
“Find. The. Plane. You and your little circle jerk of techno nerds are not to leave this facility until that has happened.”
“Ma’am, my…my shift is over.”
“I don’t think you heard me correctly.” She opened her desk drawer, pulled out a Colt 45 revolver, and pulled the hammer back with a distinctive clicking sound. “Hear that?” she asked, smiling.
“I did, ma’am, loud and clear.”
“Go.” She shooed him away. There was a brief moment where Deneaux regretted culling out the best of them, but anyone with power was a threat to her, and she could not have that. She’d wielded thicker clubs than the ones she was using now, and had come out on top. She saw no reason to believe the same wouldn’t happen now. “Where are you, Michael? I have a nice little sidewinder with your name on it, maybe something with a little more oomph.” She studied the photograph under a handheld magnifying glass, fully expecting to see Michael’s upturned face flipping off the camera. “That would be just like you,” she said fondly as a genuine smile ratcheted her cheek muscles up. There was a creaking sound as the muscles were stretched into an unfamiliar position.
12
Iggy
Iggy sat in the pipe and watched the food cross the river. He then quickly traveled down the length of the outlet and into
the abandoned building. He picked up the faint scent of other animals, the kind that had spent time with him in the lab. He signed the words, dog and cat. He would eat them if he came across either, but he was much more interested in the sweet stink of Man. And they were close. He forced his way through the opening and scoped out the ruins of the building. He could smell prey scent all around but as of yet, he had not detected anything he could sink his fangs into. After an hour, the weather cleared and he left the building. He did not mind the rain, but given the opportunity, he would rather be dry. He was loping on all fours, looking for food, when he saw a small light within a window, high up in an old building. He knew light meant people; they were afraid of things in the night, and they should be. They’d done wrong to so many creatures; it was only right if one struck back when they were most vulnerable.
Iggy quietly entered the building and climbed the steps to the top floor. He peeked into a room where a broken door sat crookedly on a hinge. He could see two people rutting upon a blanket. His nose wrinkled at the sour stench of whiskey and weed, but the ambrosia of the flesh mixed with sweat and sex more than made up for it. He made his way over quietly, though, with as loudly as the male and female had been copulating, he could have been playing his favorite toy bongo and they wouldn’t have heard.
He got to within ten feet and sat down, tilting his head back and forth as he watched the rhythmic movements. He knew what copulation was, but he’d never experienced it. His mother had been murdered and he’d been taken when he was still clinging to her teat. For the first year of his life, he’d been the pet of a drug dealer who had treated him pretty well; Iggy had been free to roam around the house and eat as he saw fit. The man spent countless hours teaching Iggy sign language, and they had become friends. Then, when the man was arrested, Iggy was sent to a medical testing facility where his life became one of unimaginable pain, indignity, and loneliness. When another group arrived and took him a few years later, he had mistakenly believed he’d finally been rescued. That was when his already downward-pointing life began to spiral into the abyss.
