LZR-1143: Evolution (9 page)

Vaguely, from a distance, I heard the sounds of what sounded like gunfire. They cut off abruptly. There must be more survivors on board, but the odds of uniting with them, or finding them in this maze of death and twisted metal, were phenomenal.

Everyone was on their own.

Jesus, I couldn’t get off this damn floating coffin fast enough.

Reaching the end of the hallway, Hartliss reached for the latch quickly, starting to turn it and open the door. From the other side, a slow pounding started against the metal.

He jumped back as if electrocuted, cursing and slamming his fist against the bulkhead.

I was tired of running, and ready to get the hell out of this metal tomb.

“Listen, if it’s just one of those things, we’ve got a bullet, and we can take a bite. If we’re close to the end, let’s risk it!”

He looked at me sideways.

“What do you mean we can ‘take a bite,’” he asked, face confused.

Oh boy. No one had told him.

Okay, maybe later.

“Just ... open the door and we’ll talk later,” I said, eyes shifty, avoiding his glance.

I was definitely not a fan of this whole being locked in a zombie ship thing.

Kate looked at me sideways as she reached for the door as Hartliss stood back, gun trained on the opening.

The hatch flew open and Kate stepped away, clearing the way for Hartliss’s one shot. Instead, a large man in a white uniform sped through, crumpling into the hallway. His hand was clutched to his neck, blood leaking through his fingers. A small white hat was still affixed to his huge head. He had been a cook or a messmate, but was now just a man, running for his life.

By the looks of it, he didn’t have much running left.

Hartliss moved forward, gun still trained on the intruder, and looked quickly into the stairwell.

“All clear here, for now,” he said, looking nervously around, one eye still halfway trained on the dying man in our midst.

I moved toward the white-clad man, who was still turned away. He groaned once, but it was the groan of a man in pain, not a brain dead creature.

Hartliss shouted from the doorway, “Leave him man, we need to move. You know what that wound is.” His voice was hurried and cold.

I knew this, but I also needed information. I couldn’t let the vaccine get away. It was all the hope we had, in a tiny blue bottle. Without it, we were all lost.

“Hey friend, you coming from topside?”

I tried to stay calm, considering the man had a large chunk missing from his neck and was likely a tad inclined toward propitious panic.

“What the fuck do you think, man?” his voice was high, panicked.

No shit, huh?

I tried another tack.

“Okay, yeah. Sorry. What’s the story up there? Have you seen the Captain?”

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He turned toward me, and I knew he was short on time. As he turned, I saw that he held a nine millimeter pistol in his hand.

“Ship’s gonna collide with the causeway, man. You got minutes until we hit hard and start sinking.”

I blinked.

“What about the Captain? Is he up there?”

His eyes were wild. The red blood vessels rimming the sockets were bursting, his eyes filling with blood. His mouth and cheeks looked ashen and pale.

He was turning before my eyes.

“He’s there, but he’s not right.” The voice was raspy, breathy.

“I need to sit down.” He sat heavily on the floor, the gun falling to the deck. I squatted next to him, hand moving surreptitiously to the weapon and finding the warm grip as he closed his eyes briefly.

I quickly forced the gun into the waistline of my pants.

“Somebody fucked up big, man. Ship is heading straight for the causeway at flank speed. We’re gonna rip a huge ass hole in the road before we go down, but at least all these ass-mastering bastards will go down with her.”

He laughed wetly, coughing as he did so.

Flecks of thick, dark blood spat from his lips as he chuckled softly to himself. His hand shook as he wiped his mouth, smearing the crimson fluid across his pale skin.

I backed up, knowing the score.

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me.

“You ... can’t leave me. I ... this isn’t how I want to die.”

His tone had changed. No longer tough. Now scared.

Almost childlike in its fear.

The plea ripped into my soul. It was the refrain from the millions who had already perished, and the certain thought of millions more who would die. To be torn up like an animal by another human, and then turned into an animal as a result.

It wasn’t what we thought of when we thought of death. It was horrid. Ignoble in the extreme.

His eyes were red and bloodshot, now recessed in the skull like they were fleeing from the light. His skin was pallid, and most assuredly cold. Despite my disgust, I smiled warmly.

“No, we’re not going to leave you.”

He smiled, his bloodless lips turning up at the edges slightly. His eyes closed slowly, blood dripping from the edges as if he were crying.

From behind me, Kate’s grip on my elbow and a hasty, rasping whisper, “You know we have to go. We have to leave him.”

I waited for his eyes to shut firmly, and his chest rose once and fell again. He was calm and at peace. I quickly raised the pistol and fired one shot. The trigger was light and responsive and the recoil barely perceptible. His head snapped back once and fell forward. Blessedly, his eyes stayed closed.

I turned. “I know we do.”

She hadn’t gasped or cursed. She only nodded, her resolve a testament to our new world.

We turned as one and followed Hartliss up the stairs to the flight deck level. The ship’s power had been disrupted, and the red emergency lights were still the only source of illumination, giving every surface the appearance of being covered in blood. This narrow stairwell was empty, devoid of zombies or people. Hopefully, that luck would hold.

We raced to the top, ears perked for the slightest sound from above signaling the approach of the undead. As we pounded up the last flight of stairs, our footfalls echoing loudly in the tinny space, I shouted to Hartliss, heedless to the sound of my loud voice in the rush of adrenalin.

“What’s between us and the flight deck right now?”

My breath was coming hard, my chest tight. I still wasn’t in shape for this crap.

“Just the machine shop, mate. Bloody empty when I went past on my way down. No worries.” His voice was high, excited.

Kate sped up, moving quickly and athletically up the final few stairs. I fought the dual emotions of resentment and admiration as I watched her move so lithely.

“Okay, last bit. You blokes ready?” He turned, eyes wide and hand on the latch.

I nodded mutely, still breathing hard.

As he started to rotate the circular latch, I slid the magazine from the pistol, looking at the ammunition. Seven rounds to get us from here to the helicopters, and to get me from the helicopters to the bridge and back.

Sure, why not?

The door yawned open quickly. The opposite side was dark, lit by fewer red emergency lights. It took our eyes a moment to adjust.

From beyond the frame of the doorway, there was movement.

A lot of damn movement.

My stomach lurched and I lowered the pistol in a subconscious homage to futility.

“Bloody fuck!” shouted Hartliss, clambering to pull the massive steel door shut again.

But the momentary pause as we counted the thirty to forty creatures wandering aimlessly through the machine shop, blithely knocking tools and pieces of machinery to the ground, had given the undead time to attack. Even as Kate rushed forward to pull the door closed, I realized that it was too late. My feet moved, but my mind was screaming in protest.

Several creatures had reached the massive door, and were moving between the entry and the door itself, lodging their pressing bodies between the two sides and keeping Kate and Hartliss from pulling it shut. As the creatures moved forward, knocked toward the stairwell by the momentum of the door behind them, they reached out for Kate’s outstretched hand. She screamed and lost her grip, stumbling back.

I got to the doorway just as she lurched, tripping back on the ledge of the bulkhead and falling into me as I dashed ahead. We both fell down hard, my back to the ground, Kate falling on top of me. The pistol clanged against the floor, sliding to the corner of the landing. She cursed, struggling to rise.

At the entryway, Hartliss was surrendering his position, letting the door swing wide and reaching into his belt for the pistol that I knew held only one bullet.

A small man sporting what could only be described as a pornstache was the first through the door as Hartliss retreated to stand protectively over the pile that Kate and I had made. She scrambled to her feet as Hartliss walked forward, grabbing the creature by the front of the dark green flight suit, and jamming the pistol into the soft spot underneath the mouth.

Its teeth gnashed and its head writhed, but the barrel was pressed so hard it was almost piercing the skin.

“Last bullet,” he warned us over his shoulder as the zed’s hands grabbed for his face.

He instinctively ducked and pulled the trigger at the same time. The creature’s blue baseball cap with the Enterprise insignia affixed to the front flew into the air with an explosion of blood and brain matter as Hartliss shoved the motionless corpse into the doorway, momentarily knocking the next two creatures backwards.

“Nice shot, ace,” I muttered, reaching for my own weapon even as the creatures outside the door regrouped.

“You’re up,” he said and backed away from the dangerous cavity.

A crew member lunged forward, its hand grabbing the ledge of the doorway and pulling itself forward as the gray head and bloodshot, sunken eyes forced its way through. I raised my gun and stepped forward. Suddenly, my eyes tracked a small, red dot flying across the open doorway, which slowed as it reached the opening; I watched as it disappeared behind the head of the creature.

Splunk.

The corpse crumpled to the ground at my feet.

I wiped the gore and brain matter from the front of my chest as a second creature’s head exploded like a ripe melon. Ignorant of the cause, I stupidly looked down at my pistol, vaguely expecting to see the tell tale wisp of gun smoke curling from the muzzle.

Violence was erupting from the machine shop. Pieces of metal and tools exploded and oil sprayed the floor as bullets ripped through dead bodies with laser precision. The sharp snap of gunfire was punctuated only by the sound of bodies falling silently to the floor. After what seemed like merely seconds, a voice rose from the smoke filled room.

“You there, opposite side of the bulkhead, stand fast and identify yourselves.”

My mouth was dry and my hand was shaking from the explosion of focused violence I had just witnessed as I croaked, “It’s the Skipper and Gilligan with Mrs. Doubtfire.”

Kate slammed her hand into my arm and Hartliss exhaled loudly, cursing under this breath, likely hoping that my attitude wouldn’t get him shot.

A brief pause, then the voice humorlessly responded.

“Stand by.”

Laser sights cut through the smoky haze on the other side of the door. A single shot was fired, ending a stirring groan from close to the door, then the same voice, very close.

“Hold your fire,” he said authoritatively.

I sheepishly realized that I had relaxed my guard and was ignorantly and vacantly flipping the safety on and off as I waited.

Kate’s hand snaked over mine and stopped my nervous finger as a head popped into view.

A face, obscured with black and gray paint, preceded a large body in tactical gear. A large carbine with a laser sight affixed was in one hand. A bottle of water was in the other. He looked at each of us quickly and professionally, stepping to the side of the door and gesturing forward as he took a swig from the bottle.

“Any day now, folks,” he said calmly as he stood there, rifle lowered and face nonplussed by the immense violence that his team had just unloosed on the small room.

“We’re on a schedule here, and since your friend,” he nodded at Hartliss curtly, “insisted on going back for you, we are damn close to dying in a monumental shipwreck; we have about forty seconds to secure stations. Y’all can sit tight if you want, but I’m getting back on deck.”

He disappeared into the smoke and dark of the machine shop.

We jerked awake and followed, Kate coughing as she inhaled the acrid stink of gun powder and dead flesh. I felt like vomiting as we were again called upon to virtually wade through the bloody remains of numerous human bodies. A door ahead framed late afternoon sunlight, clouds visible in the distance. We rushed for the light of day, tumbling outside onto the flight deck.

Droplets of rain fell lightly against the deck, and I rubbed my face dry as I stood in place, transfixed by the scene in front of me.

Dead bodies covered the large flat space, blood washing off the tarmac in red rivers. Airplanes secured to the deck rocked with the high speed of the ship.

Several men in dark uniforms and tactical gear stood flanking the door, and slammed it shut after we emerged into the daylight. Shouts arose from the doorway and around the corner, indicating that the area was clear. From behind the conning tower, several sharp cracks from a rifle indicated that not all access points were as secure.

“Stations, people. Twenty seconds to impact!”

Kate grabbed my arm as Hartliss sprinted forward, diving for the netting of an arresting device fastened to two thick metal stanchions. She sprinted after him and, as I looked up to the impending danger, my eyes widened, realizing where we were in a blast of recognition.

I had driven on and through the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel once on my way north from Williamsburg. Maria and I had vacationed in Ocean City one summer, years before I hit it big. It was a trashy sort of place, but quite fun. A consummate resort city, blessed by geography to be the largest beach community within 3 hours of Washington D.C. and Philadelphia.