Z-Level 10: A Zombie Apocalypse Novel

by Cole, Michael

  Webbed hands reached over the bow of their boat, tilting it forward as a spongy swimmer began pulling itself aboard.

  “Son of a…BITCH!” Reimer shouted. He yanked one of his Berettas from his holster and fired. The bullet entered the bridge of the nose, the hollow point expanding the back of its head like a balloon. The swimmer slipped beneath the hull, its feet thumping against the metal. Reimer holstered his pistol and rowed as fast as he could, following the other boat around to the stern of the Gibson.

  McCartney ran to greet them. He reached down, first helping Michele, then Han. As he pulled 57 up, he saw the other boat coming about, and that they were missing Jones.

  “Where the hell is…”

  “They got him,” Ford said. He climbed aboard and reached down to help the marines. The water splashed behind the aluminum boats as several swimmers congregated. “Holy damn shit,” he muttered. He pulled his revolver and fired. 38. Caliber rounds punched through bone, reducing the infected hosts to lifeless floaters.

  With all three marines aboard, Ford sprinted for the cabin.

  “What about the boats?” McCartney yelled.

  “Forget ‘em! No time!” Ford answered. He grabbed the helm and throttled in reverse. The propellers twisted in place, backing the large boat away from the shore. The horde was a little over chest deep, now only a few meters from the bow.

  Thumps echoed through the hull as the aluminum boats bounced off the stern. He accelerated at full speed, crunching swimmers as he went. He adjusted the rudders to turn the boat to starboard. Like the trailer of a semi-truck on an icy highway, it began to fishtail.

  Ford throttled forward at full speed, turning the bow out to the center of the lake.

  “Oh, SHIT!” he said. He saw the strands of weeds accumulating directly ahead. He turned further to starboard. But it was too late. The boat passed over the weed bed, tangling up the propellers. Cursing repeatedly, Ford throttled down. Metal groaned behind him as the gears became stuffed with weeds.

  57 and McCartney got on their stomachs and looked beneath the guardrail to assess the damage.

  “There’s no way we can get at this,” he yelled.

  “Damn it!” Ford stuck his fists against the helm.

  “Ford, it’s okay,” Hill said.

  “Okay?” Dunn asked.

  “We’re in at least seven feet of water,” Hill said. “The undead won’t be able to get onboard.”

  “Those weeds are freaking huge down there,” Ford said. “I don’t know if they’re mutating too, but the point is, those ghouls aren’t simply walking on the lake floor. The bunching of weeds gives them higher elevation.”

  “It’s still too deep,” Hill said. “Besides, they’ll get tangled up. Just like the swimmers.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Ford muttered. He stepped outside and gazed out at the shore. Looking further back to the campsite, he could see more bodies continuing to emerge from the tree line. Out in the water, the undead at the front of the horde were now face deep, still several meters out. By the time they would reach the boat, they would be completely submerged. Perhaps the doctor was right.

  “Everyone, keep an eye out for swimmers,” he said. He walked away, taking a few moments to ease the tension. Reimer took a seat in the cabin, pondering how to inform Ford of the chopper.

  As he thought, he noticed Dunn’s eyes burning into him. The PFC knew what he was thinking, and he didn’t like it. But there was something else going on. Dunn seemed more tense than usual. He was hunched as he sat, his hand quivering ever so slightly. He was swaying back and forth in place.

  Probably an overload of adrenaline, Reimer thought. He was a bit shaky himself.

  “Hey man, you’re alright,” Reimer said. Dunn’s eyes were locked on him, his face as flushed as the ghouls.

  “Am I?” he said. “How long until the chopper gets here?”

  “Half hour or more,” Reimer said. Dunn continued his labored breathing. He stood up and walked out onto the walkway, dry heaving over the railing. Gordon began to check on him, only for Dunn to walk off.

  “Let him be,” Reimer said. Gordon’s eyes followed Dunn as he walked to the aft deck.

  “You sure he’s alright?” he asked.

  “It’s been a busy day, Gordon,” Reimer asked. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. I have other things I have to focus on right now.” He leaned back in the seat and rested. He felt his heart rate gradually decrease to a relaxed pace. He hoped Ford was doing the same.

  In a few minutes, he would speak with him.

  CHAPTER 25

  Reimer closed his eyes and listened to the splashing of water. The army of undead had filled the whole side of the lake. Many had marched under the bow, their fingertips scratching the bottom of the hull. He opened his eyes and looked out the cabin’s rear window. Several heads stuck out from the water as they waded out, disappearing beneath the surface roughly a hundred or so feet out. Luckily, the bastards couldn’t climb, with the exception of the swimmers. From what Reimer had seen, the swimmers weren’t large in numbers, and the survivors were more than capable of handling them. After his careful study of the situation, Reimer felt absolutely confident that they would survive long enough for a secondary rescue unit to fly in.

  The guest bedroom door opened up. Michele stepped out. She held a grocery bag in her hand. Reimer could tell from the way it was bulging that it was packed with belongings. The corner of a picture frame had peeked from the top. Reimer was deep in thought, considering whether to tell her. He noticed her smile at the moment it faded behind a look of concern.

  “Everything good?” she asked.

  “Oh…yeah, everything’s good,” he said. The smile returned as Michele lifted the bag.

  “It’s amazing how much shit I actually acquired during the apocalypse,” she said. “You’d think I was packing for a trip to the Bahamas. Who knows? Maybe it’s still paradise over there.”

  “One can only hope,” Reimer said. It was the only response he could think of.

  “You know, we really owe you one,” Michele said. “Hopefully, we can keep in touch after we get out of here.”

  “That sounds great,” Reimer said. He forced a smile. It was a prospect he wanted to see come true. Michele nearly blushed before stepping back into the room.

  “Gotta collect a couple more things, you know?” she said with a chuckle. She dipped back out of sight behind the doorway. Reimer’s smile disappeared as quickly as she did. He wished he said something. He hesitated, considering it once more. No, he’d better tell Ford first.

  There wasn’t much more time to waste. Reimer opened the sliding starboard door and stepped out, stopping in surprise as he saw Dunn leaning against the guardrail. The marine turned to face him, his eyes glancing off to the sides to make sure they wouldn’t be heard.

  “Dude, I’m telling you one last time, this won’t go over well,” he whispered.

  “Dunn, we’ve been over this,” Reimer whispered.

  “Please, man. Reconsider. We can trick them into letting us up on the chopper first. We can take off and not worry about it—”

  “Dude, stop it,” Reimer said. Dunn bit his lip and hit his hand against the metal rail. He shook his head and looked out to the water. With a sigh, he turned back to face Reimer. “It’s your call.”

  “We’re doing this,” Reimer answered. His voice was direct. Dunn understood once and for all that he would not be persuaded.

  “Okay,” he muttered, raising his hands out as though saying ‘whatever.’

  “Where’s Ford?” Reimer asked. Dunn almost didn’t want to answer. His eyes looked over Reimer’s head.

  “Up on the sundeck,” he reluctantly answered. Reimer nodded in silent thanks and started walking to the aft deck. Dunn followed him with his eyes until he turned the corner.

  Dunn wrestled with the thoughts in his head, trying to concede to the possibility that Reimer was correct. But the feelings wouldn’t go away. Telling Ford that they wouldn’t
be extracted with them was a foolish mistake, and Reimer couldn’t, or wouldn’t understand that. In Dunn’s mind, the consequence was clear as day. His mind flashed back to Jones. It was a reminder to the choice he had committed to. His stomach was in a knot as he mentally goaded himself to follow through.

  He peeked around the forward deck. 57 and Han were waiting idly, the intern still in a state of shock from losing his brother. A shadow stretched across the deck from the port rail. Studying the black figure, he recognized the shape of McCartney’s beard. He stood just out of sight, but the lack of motion in his shadow indicated he was leaning against the rail. All he cared about was that their attention wasn’t on him.

  Dunn hurried into the cabin. He glanced down the small stairway to the guest bedroom’s open door. He waited to make sure Michele wouldn’t step out and see him. After a few quick moments, he hunched down to the explosives pack, which way laying near the edge of the sofa. He pulled the zipper back slowly, keeping his eyes on the open door.

  With the bag partly open, he dug inside and pulled out several blocks of C-4. He stared at the explosives for a moment, his conscience questioning him once more. That inner conflict was stopped short with the sound of footsteps on the sundeck. He looked up as he listened to Reimer converse with Ford.

  ********

  Ford had both arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the sundeck’s forward rail. The sound of footsteps turned his attention behind him.

  “Hey man,” Reimer said.

  “Howdy,” Ford said. “Need something?”

  “Yeah, I’d like to have a private word with you in the cabin,” Reimer said. Ford nodded and stepped away from the rail.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “Yes and no. It’s a little complicated,” Reimer said. “I want to discuss it with you first.”

  ********

  Their footsteps echoed against the ceiling as they started walking aft. Dunn hurried and stuffed the C-4 blocks under his uniform. He only needed two or three. With time dwindling, he settled for two and grabbed the triggering mechanisms. He zipped the bag and pushed it back where he found it. He stood up and hurried out the door.

  “Whoa!” 57 called out, staggering back as the two nearly collided. Dunn opened his mouth, unsure of what to say. 57 stood aside, looking the marine over. Dunn felt his blood beginning to race. He wondered if the C-4 blocks were evident beneath his shirt.

  “Uh, my bad,” he said.

  “Almost had an accident there,” 57 chuckled.

  “Yeah, almost!” Dunn said. He glanced down the walkway. Reimer and Ford had just turned the corner and were coming his way.

  “Everything good?” 57 asked. Dunn whipped his head at him. 57 was looking down to Dunn’s hand, which was instinctively placed over his sidearm.

  “Oh…” Dunn moved his hand away, “I’m just…you know! What did you call it? Swimmer patrol!”

  “Ha! Won’t have to worry about that for much longer,” 57 said.

  “Amen to that,” Dunn said. He glanced back as Reimer and Ford approached. “Well, I’d better get to it. See ya later.” Dunn walked aft, hugging the guardrail as he passed Reimer. He gave them a nod, attempting to look inconspicuous. They passed by, following 57 into the cabin.

  He arrived at the aft deck and looked around. Dr. Hill was seated on the bench under the sundeck awning.

  Shit.

  She looked up at him as he glared at her.

  “Need something?” she asked. Dunn wasn’t sure what to say. He could not afford to fake small talk. Time was not on his side. Reimer and Ford would be starting their conversation within the next minute. He didn’t want to wait for whatever happened next.

  “Us? Need something?” he remarked in a gruff voice. “Lady, I’m impressed you even had the courtesy to ask.”

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “Oh, gee? Let’s see…only nine soldiers died trying to get you. God only knows how many of these guys you got killed. Considering you’re worth so much, I should be bowing down to you asking what your bitch-ass needs.” Dr. Hill’s face lit with disgust. “Oh! Did I hit a nerve? Lady, I don’t need anything from you. That is, unless you’re willing to blow me.”

  Dr. Hill stood up violently, her eyes burning with fury.

  “Jesus Christ, you’re a fucking pig,” she muttered as she walked to the port walkway. Dunn seethed as she disappeared from sight. At least it was an easy show to put on, as he genuinely felt much of what he said. He glanced up to the sunroof and down the other deck. The coast was clear.

  He got down on his knees at the deck edge and dug the C-4 from under his shirt. While continuously checking over his shoulder, he applied a sticky substance to the plastic explosives. He inserted the triggering mechanism and reached his hand down into the water. He pressed the block to the hull just above the waterline. He watched as the water rippled with the reaching fingertips of countless flesh-eaters. He fought against the nervous strain and grabbed the second block.

  ********

  Reimer and Ford waited as Michele and 57 collected their things. Ford’s impatience was beginning to show through taps of his foot against the flooring.

  “Hey guys. You mind giving us a minute?” he asked. Both 57 and Michele glanced at them with inquisitive looks. A dozen jokes rolled through 57’s mind, each competing to expose itself through his lips. But the stern expression on Ford’s face made it clear they would not be received well.

  “Okay,” he simply said. “Uh, everything alright?”

  “It’s good,” Reimer said. “You’ll know in a minute. I just want to speak with Ford first.”

  “Okay,” 57 said. He opened the portside door and stepped out, only to swiftly step aside with a rambunctious “Whoa!” Dr. Hill marched in past him and fixed her fiery eyes on Ford.

  “You have a problem with me too?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Reimer asked.

  “Listen, I get you guys lost a few folks, but you need to get a handle on the ones who are still alive!” Hill’s voice was just under a yelling volume, each word filled with resentment. Reimer’s jaw opened with astonishment.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That asshole back there, whatever the hell his name is, telling me to go suck cock! Who does he think he is?!”

  Reimer and Ford both glanced at each other, both uncomfortable by the confrontation. The Corporal could see Gordon standing out on the forward deck with McCartney, meaning it had to be Dunn she was talking about.

  Of course, he would start something now of all times.

  “Ma’am, I’ll handle it. Right now, I need to—”

  “Oh, you’ll handle it. Is this how they run things in the military? You realize who I am, right? What I have?” She pulled out the flash drive, as though showboating her significance.

  Even Michele felt awkward. In the time she knew Dr. Hill, she did notice a sense of self-importance, but this was near over-the-top. Even if what she said was true, anyone with a hint of empathy would know that Dunn had more than a typical rough day. Uninterested in walking past the standoff, she decided to slip back into the guest room and shut the door.

  Ford was shaking his head. His patience had run dry, eliminating any tolerance for ridiculousness.

  “Doc, get a grip. So, the guy insulted you. Get over it.” Dr. Hill’s eyes and jaw opened wide in disgust. A hundred arguments came to mind, and she wanted to spout every one of them. But Ford was already guiding her out the door. “Go. Now. We need the space. Bye.”

  The door slammed shut inches from her nose. Seething with contempt, Hill marched to the forward deck, her anger increasing as she noticed the amused grins forming on the face of everyone on deck.

  57 placed a hand over his mouth to suppress a laugh. It was a shame: he needed a good laugh, and hell, he had no qualms about having it at her expense. She didn’t even offer condolences to Han. Even Gordon was smiling. The smile escalated into a small giggle, which was moments away fr
om becoming a full-blown laugh. As casually as he could, he walked the length of the boat to the aft deck.

  His eyes found Dunn hunched by the deck edge.

  “Looking for swimmers?” he asked. Dunn whipped around at the sound of his voice. He had the look of somebody caught doing something they weren’t supposed to be. In his hand was a black block-shaped object with a tiny electric rod protruding from its center. Gordon marched forward, as if confirming what he saw was real. “Dunn! What are you doing?”

  “Shh! Be quiet!” Dunn hissed. He grabbed Gordon and hunched him down. Gordon looked over the edge of the deck, seeing the other explosive sticking to the hull.

  “What the hell? You’ve completely lost it, you know that?” he said, his voice sounding panicked.

  “I’m telling you this is the right thing to do. Reimer’s about to tell Ford, and when he does, it’ll be chaos,” Dunn argued in a sharp whisper. “You can help. Lure the others over here. Once they’re here, I’ll detonate the charge. It’ll be painless. The bow should remain afloat. We’ll be fine until the bird arrives.”

  “Dude, you’ve COMPLETELY lost your mind,” Gordon said. “No way, man! I’m not gonna let you blow up the ship!” His attempt to grab the explosive was suppressed as Dunn grabbed him by the wrist.

  “Gordon, you need to listen!”

  “I’m not listening to shit. You’re unhinged.” Gordon yanked his hand away and reached back down.

  Their voices elevated above a whisper and carried throughout the deck, drawing the attention of a curious 57. Though he couldn’t hear what they were saying, he could sense the harshness in their tones. His ears caught a few curse words, though he couldn’t pinpoint the context. Whatever it was, he thought it was best to make sure nothing hostile was occurring. He walked down the pathway to the aft deck, where he saw the two marines hunched at the deck edge.

  He noticed Gordon reaching down over the edge of the boat. Dunn was right beside him, holding a block in his hand. He noticed the tiny wires protruding from the triggering device. He froze as both men spun to look at him.