Z-Level 10: A Zombie Apocalypse Novel

by Cole, Michael

  Their gazes locked in a tense moment. 57 stood, his amusement now turned to shock. The shotgun hung from his right arm, the muzzle nearly touching the deck.

  Gordon raised his hand and began to speak. “57, wait—”

  As the muzzle began to lift, Dunn drew his Beretta and fired from the hip. 57 spun around, blood spraying from his face. The man stumbled back toward the walkway, dropping the shotgun as he pressed both hands to his face. Dunn jumped to his feet and took several steps toward him. 57 bumped hard against the cabin. Blood formed a tiny river under his feet from the gaping hole in his right cheekbone. His right hand lowered to his pants pocket in search of his pistol. His body jerked repeatedly as Dunn punched three more rounds through his back.

  ********

  “The fuck?” At the sound of the first shot, Ford turned and yanked the portside door open. By the time he poked his head, he witnessed streams of red ripping from exit wounds in 57’s chest. The man fell forward, his lifeless body sprawled onto the deck.

  McCartney and Han ran to the perimeter, seeing Dunn standing behind 57’s corpse with the pistol in hand. Dunn saw them as soon as they saw him. Without hesitation, he raised his pistol and fired.

  Ford and Reimer darted back into the cabin, while McCartney fired several return shots from his pistol as he ducked around the corner on the forward deck.

  Ford turned, his face tensed as his eyes burned into Reimer’s. The Corporal’s heart pounded in his chest. He recognized that look and knew exactly what was going through his mind.

  “Ford…DON’T!”

  Ford grabbed his revolver and yanked it from its holster. Reimer sprang at him, grabbing his wrist with both hands and redirecting the muzzle toward the ceiling. His ears rang as the gun went off, punching a bullet through the sundeck. Reimer struggled, wrenching Ford’s arm back and forth to rid him of the gun.

  “Ford, stop!” the Corporal pleaded.

  “You son of a bitch! I knew it!” Ford snarled. With his other hand, he threw a punch into Reimer’s ribs, then thrust his body weight forward, pressing the marine against the console.

  ********

  Dunn dipped around the back corner of the aft cabin structure as McCartney returned fire. Bullets whizzed by, one splintering the corner inches from Dunn’s face.

  “Please stop!” Gordon yelled. He ran around to the starboard walkway, only to duck back when Han emerged with the M16. Automatic gunfire splintered the deck and cabin side. “Guys! Listen!” Gordon’s calls went unheard as the survivors worked their way down the walkway. Han had switched the weapon to semi-auto, peppering the aft corner with bullets. Gordon jolted as the shots began to punch through, emerging just inches from his left shoulder.

  On the portside, Dunn attempted to fire another round, only to jump back to the inner deck. McCartney had a shotgun pointed, the buckshot narrowly missing his target. He pumped the weapon, sending the empty shell into the crazed horde splashing below.

  “Listen, this is not—” Gordon flinched as another round passed by. He spun to the left as Dunn grabbed him by the collar.

  “This way, man!”

  “No, don’t!” Gordon yelled. Dunn ignored his calls and dragged him up the steps to the sundeck. As they cleared the first set of stairs, the two survivors closed in on the aft deck. Dunn pushed Gordon down and pulled the detonator device from his vest.

  ********

  “Goddamnit Ford!” Reimer shouted, his body jolting from another blow from Ford’s fist. Ford pressed his arm down, trying desperately to position the gun barrel toward his face. Reimer leaned back, fighting against Ford’s weight and strength. As the muzzle slowly lowered, he could see the rifling inside the barrel.

  With no choice left, Reimer launched his arm out, his open palm plowing Ford’s face. In that same moment, the Corporal twisted his other arm, redirecting the revolver as Ford squeezed off a shot. The .38 caliber round punched through the windshield, a second going into the ceiling as Reimer forced his hand up.

  Reimer kicked down on Ford’s right knee, weakening his stance before twisting his gun arm and locking it behind his back. With Ford locked up behind him, he stomped on the back of his leg, putting him down on his knees. He yanked up high on his locked-up arm, weakening Ford’s hold on the revolver.

  His eyes went to the back of the cabin as Michele stumbled out of the guest room. She flinched as further gunshots rang out from outside. Her eyes watered, representing a woman feeling betrayal and a desire for reprisal. Reimer watched as her hand inched for her Sig Saur.

  “Michele…”

  “You son of a bitch…he was right…”

  “Michele…MICHELE!! DON’T!”

  Michele yanked her Sig Saur free and pointed it. The gun twitched as she applied light pressure on the trigger.

  In that same moment, Ford reacted in a new attempt to get free. Reimer struck him with an elbow to the back of the head, and whipped his body around, turning the revolver toward Michele.

  The gun discharged. Blood gushed from Michele’s lower abdomen, the shot throwing her against the closed door of the master bedroom. The gun fell from her hand as she fell to her knees. Both hands pressed beneath her stomach, blood running in streams down her legs.

  Reimer froze in complete shock. His body felt cold as he watched the poor woman slide down against the door. Her mouth was gaped open, her paling face staring at him unblinkingly.

  Ford let out a roaring yell and pushed back on his feet. He twisted from Reimer’s grip and pistol whipped him across the face with the revolver. Reimer’s head jerked back as he fell hard against the console. He looked up, seeing the blurry image of Ford aiming the muzzle to his forehead.

  The hammer clicked back. Reimer tensed.

  All three fell to the floor as a tremendous explosion pitched the boat forward. Ford twisted and spun, the gun discharging off to the side.

  The bow plunged into the water, driven by the fiery force from the aft deck.

  ********

  Both Han and McCartney hit the deck hard as the boat settled back. Water splashed down from the bow and ran back in little rivers down the port and starboard walkways. Behind the smoke, the water swirled, carrying debris and carnage from the ghouls caught in the blast.

  Water surged into the gaping hole in the boat, pulling the stern six feet down into the water. In seconds, what remained of the aft deck was flooded, forcing McCartney to scurry to his feet.

  The path was now an upward slope, with the bow being the only part above water. He grabbed the guardrail and hauled himself up.

  The stern settled down on the lakebed, serving as a ramp for the horde of ghouls congregating beneath the surface. McCartney looked back, watching as dozens of them lumbered up the slope, dripping water and sopping strands of meat.

  McCartney turned to face forward, ready to sprint the rest of the way up. As he did, he saw Dunn extending his pistol down over the sundeck rail. Before he could react, three shots punched into his chest, snapping ribs and deflating his lungs.

  The breath blew out of him like air from a balloon, forcing the stunned McCartney against the deck. He tried to lift the shotgun to shoot back, but Dunn had already jumped down on to the lower deck. He launched himself at the wounded man, ripping the shotgun from his grasp and striking it against the bridge of his nose. McCartney stumbled back and fell, rolling down to the feet of the herd.

  His scream was nothing more than a gurgling moan as they came down on him. Fingers entered his gunshot wounds like bowling ball grips and pulled outward, tearing them wider until internal flesh was exposed. Teeth embedded into skin as they ripped skin and muscle tissue from his arms. He shook violently as several of them bit down on his face, catching nothing more than gulps of hair. Their clenched jaws pulled back, pulling segments of beard out from the follicles, tearing the facial skin like tissue paper.

  Dunn raced around to the forward deck, where Dr. Hill screamed, her hands pressed against her ears.

  “What are you doing?
!” she screamed.

  “Oh, shut up,” Dunn muttered. He struck her with the shotgun. As she fell to the deck unconscious, he worked his way around to the starboard walkway to take care of Han.

  The intern was waiting, already in a kneeling stance. Rifle shots cracked the air as he ducked back, one round catching him hard on the upper left arm.

  “Agh! Damn it!” He yelled out. He attempted to fire back, only to duck back as more M16 shots rang out.

  “You killed him!” Han yelled. “You want to kill us all! Ford was right!”

  “No!” Gordon yelled from above. He held himself over the starboard guardrail, waving a hand at Han. “Han! PLEASE! Listen!” His voice was lost behind numerous pops of the rifle. Bullets ripped by his face, missing him by centimeters.

  Gordon screamed and fired wildly with his Carbine. The M16 shots stopped and the rifle hit the deck. Han stared up at Gordon, eyes bulging as he pressed his hand to his stomach. Blood surged from his gut and through the exit wounds out his back.

  Han leaned back against the guardrail, unwittingly teetering over the top. Gordon reached out, “NO!” He was long out of reach. He watched helplessly as Han splashed into the lake. His body floated, arms and legs twitching with the last remnants of life.

  As he began to sink, swimmers gathered around him like bluegills attacking discarded bait. The lake turned red as they pulled away at him, exposing entrails. Arms detached from the shoulders as they tugged at him several feet under, his body disappearing under a blanket of blood and the bits of flesh that floated along the surface.

  Gordon was numb with shock. Dunn’s calls for him were nothing more than faint echoes as he watched the man he shot be torn apart. Reality was gone, replaced by a drunken sensation.

  “GORDON!” Dunn’s voice finally broke through the haze. Gordon saw Dunn firing his gun aft. Corpses collapsed down on the walkway, their heads ruptured by Dunn’s shots.

  Gordon looked to the right, seeing the mass of corpses walking up onto the sundeck. He frantically looked left and right in search for a way out. With little option, he hauled himself under the rail and descended the short distance to the starboard walkway.

  He landed outside the open cabin door, seeing Reimer and Ford locked in a fierce embrace. They were on their feet, fighting over the revolver. Reimer, gritting teeth as he struggled to keep Ford locked up, saw the marine standing dumbfounded in the doorway.

  “Get the doc!” he yelled.

  Ford seized the opportunity of Reimer’s distraction. He threw his elbow upward, striking Reimer in the chin and breaking his hold. Ford followed with a kick to his chest, sending Reimer barreling into the wall.

  “Ford!” Gordon yelled. He held both hands out, trying to display goodwill. Ford never saw them. He spun at the sound of his voice and fired the last remaining round. Gordon fell back, immediately feeling the hot pressure in his ribs. He slumped against the rail, blood pouring into his hand as he clenched the wound.

  Dunn yelled with fury as he fired one last shot into the horde. He ran to Gordon then redirected his aim at Ford. Ford, his revolver already aimed, squeezed his trigger, only to hear the click of an empty gun. In a fit of rage, he threw the gun. It struck Dunn in the face, throwing his aim off.

  Ford drew his knife, ready to move in for the finish.

  “NO!” Reimer yelled out. Ford ignored his pleas and continued marching toward the other marines. He raised his knife like a slasher villain. The sound of a pistol filled the air, the round piercing Ford’s lower back. Ford hit the edge of the doorframe, blood coating the glass. He felt the blood pouring over his jeans and denim. He turned and looked back, seeing Reimer breathing heavy with his Beretta extending from his hand.

  Moans of approaching corpses loomed over as the horde advanced on both sides. Dunn grabbed up Gordon and dragged him up to the forward deck. Dr. Hill began to stir as they gathered near her. A droning sound reverberated from above, followed by a heavy downward draft. They looked up, seeing the Sikorsky descending from the heavens.

  Ford staggered, his knife still raised. Reimer shook his head, his face seemingly expressing as much pain as Ford’s. He wanted to tell him to stop, but it was too late. He was too far gone.

  Reimer squeezed the trigger and watched as a red hole exploded in Ford’s chest, knocking him down onto the floor. His chest rose and fell rapidly with labored breathing. He was still alive, though immobilized. Reimer looked to the windows on both sides, seeing the horde advancing toward the doors.

  He jumped down the stairs to Michele. She laid against the closed bedroom entrance atop a pool of her own blood. Her face was pale, her strength almost completely gone. Her droopy eyes opened and she gazed at Reimer.

  “You’re going to Hell,” she muttered.

  Reimer shook, not knowing what to say or do. Shock began to overtake him. The whole event was so abrupt. His brain hardly had time to process it. Part of him wanted to try and rescue Michele, while another part of him knew she couldn’t be saved and he should end her suffering. By the time the critical thinking had started, the ghouls were starting to fill the cabin.

  Reimer turned, seeing the corpses staggering through the doors. He drew both pistols and fired numerous shots. Heads cracked and bodies fell, only to be stepped on by other ghouls. Reimer turned his head for a way out. The doorways were blocked and there was no sunroof. He pointed both pistols dead ahead and emptied both mags into the windshield. Bullets punched through the glass, which then shattered completely as he launched himself through it. Shards bounced over the deck around him while he rolled onto his feet, blood trickling from numerous cuts.

  Immediately, he felt the downdraft from the chopper. Its belly was only about ten feet above them. A line and harness extended downward.

  A scream drew his attention back to the cabin. The dead had converged inside and had begun feasting on Ford and Michele. The nearly dead woman let out another scream as chunks of muscle and fiber were ripped from her bones. There were a few pained moans from Ford. However, his were cut short as one of the ghouls bit down directly over his throat, severing his vocals.

  “Corporal!” Dunn yelled. He was grabbing the harness and was beginning to put it on. Reimer lunged at him and yanked it from his grip.

  “Her, first!” he yelled. Dunn tensed with brief hesitation, then grabbed Hill and yanked her to her feet. She was still in a daze from the blow, and barely seemed to understand what was going on. Reimer gave the hand signal to the chopper crew to begin hoist. The rope lifted, hauling Hill high overhead. As she disappeared into the hatch, Reimer grabbed Dunn.

  “You know what you’ve done?!”

  “I did what needed to be done!”

  “You’re insane! YOU’RE ABSOLUTELY INSANE!” Reimer was screaming, his voice drowned out by the rotating blades. The undead began to converge from the walkways. Reimer reloaded both pistols and started firing into both crowds. The harness came back down. “Get Gordon secured!”

  Dunn propped the young marine up against him and slipped his arms through the harness. He clipped it shut and signaled the chopper crew. Blood trickled onto the deck as Gordon was lifted high into the air.

  Dunn reloaded his Beretta as he and Reimer backed into the forward rail. Heads cracked with each gunshot. Bodies, many with hardly any meat on their faces, marched toward the two marines. Fallen corpses littered the deck, only to be crushed by those behind it.

  Reimer fired rapidly until the horde was almost point blank.

  The harness came down between them. Without a second’s hesitation, both men reached out and grabbed it.

  “GO! GO!” Dunn yelled.

  The chopper pulled up, lifting the line and the two marines.

  Dunn jolted, feeling the toes of his boots caught up under the guardrail. Dunn screamed as the sudden lurch tore his grasp from the harness. He twisted and fell, both arms snapping as they hit the rail bar. He rolled off of it and slumped into the deck. His eyes opened. The sky was obscured by the sight of countl
ess hands reaching down on him.

  Reimer couldn’t help but watch.

  Dunn screamed, unable to fight them off. Hands pulled away at his uniform, exposing bare flesh. Ghouls tugged away at his arms, the flesh giving way to the unending force. Strands of meat stretched as both arms separated from his body. He wiggled in placed, another stuck its fingers into his belly like knives. Several other hands entered along with it, pulling the ribs outward. The ghoul, its teeth exposed through rotted lips, sunk its entire head into his body.

  Dunn convulsed as it bit at his insides, his screams suppressed by the hands of another ghoul tearing at his throat.

  The event looked like a blur of grey rot as the chopper lifted high overhead. The view disappeared behind a wall of steel. Reimer emerged through the hatch and slumped on the floor. The chopper crew gathered around him.

  “Sir, are you okay?”

  Reimer gave a slight nod, while staring blankly at the wall. Yet, it wasn’t steel he was seeing. In his mind, he saw one huge, distorted image off all the things that had just occurred. In the center of that image was Michele’s dying gaze and her expression of hatred toward him. Though he no longer held his gun, he felt the pressure of the trigger. In the midst of it all was the question of the price of this loss in humanity.

  With glazed eyes, he looked into the cabin. Medics were tending to Gordon, attaching IV lines and applying dressings to his injury. The young marine was in a state of similar shock, thinking repeatedly about shooting Han.

  Beside him, another crewman had knelt by Dr. Hill. She was still in a daze, unable to answer their questions. She didn’t even notice them extracting her ID from her pants pocket. They pressed a cloth to her bruised forehead and lifted her into a seat.

  “Corporal?” Reimer looked up and saw the crewman standing over him. “Sir, do you need medical attention?”

  “No…no thank you,” Reimer said. “Uh…contact Border Command. Tell them Alpha-Four-Eight has the package.”