Z-Risen (Book 1): Outbreak (3 page)

The Boat

10:35 hours approximate

Location: Undeadville, San Diego – Fortress

Nothing to do except hang out and try not to kill each other. We’re flush with supplies for a day or two but no reason to start stroking each other’s egos after yesterday's mess. Frankly, I’m surprised we’re still alive. And with all of these supplies I’m really missing Tylenol. My body feels like I worked out until I puked.

So the day we boarded up the place, Joel had the bright idea to fill the tubs with water. We drank until our eyeballs were floating and then we drank some more. Joel kept telling me what it would be like in a week when the water stopped running and he was right. Now the water tastes foul and I’m worried about mosquitoes.  I run a vegetable strainer over the surface every few hours. Tomorrow I’ll use cheesecloth but that won’t kill parasites. So do we burn through the few remaining Sterno cans boiling water or just put up with a bad case of the shits?

Joel said we can treat the water with a little bleach but I'll be damned if I can find a bottle in the house. I guess we'll have to find some on our next run.

###

Supplies:

1 pound of Jasmine rice

¼ pound of dried beans

1 ½
pounds of tofu-jerky

7 cans of tuna

2 cans of cat food - where the hell is Butch?

6 boxes of pasta

1 beautiful jar of spaghetti sauce

5 cans of
various veggies

2 cans of mixed

1 case of canned spinach

“When you gonna talk about how we met?” Joel pointed at my logbook. I had the pen ready to start recounting our day – and that was going to be boring.

Day
X: Sat on ass. Stared at empty beer bottles. Pissed in a bucket.

“Like the day you bought me flowers and a drink?” I looked across the Sterno flame and batted my eyelashes at Joel. “Fucking Marines. Always trying to get into a lady’s panties.”

We had a can of water boiling up some rice so we could put it aside and let the grain set. It was the quickest way to accomplish two tasks. Boil water and have a little food in an hour. I'd probably toss in some tofu jerky just to add to the blandness.

Fortress was hot. It might be October out there
, but this house hadn't had a breath of fresh air in days. No fans, no central air. That meant we sat in a room and fanned ourselves with a collection of Playboys I'd found stashed under a kid's bed.

“Yours were pretty fucking frigid,” Joel chuckled, “and it took a whole bottle, but just like a Navy puke, you put out on the first date.”

I stifled laughter.

“Too bad you couldn't get it up. You know they make little blue pills for that?”

Joel had his assault rifle stripped and was quizzing me on parts while rubbing them down with motor oil. His towel had been white a few days ago. Now it looked as grimy as gopher guts.

“Marines are giant blue pill
s. Just being in the Corps gets me hard,” he said. “That’s what my old Drill Sergeant used to say just before he quarter-decked the shit out of us.”

“Drill Sergeants are like that. Dicks.”

“He was just doin' his job. Gunny made me the man I am today.”

“Hooah!” I said.

“They only say that in movies,” Joel retorted.

“Imagine I’m Brad Pitt when I say it.”

Joel held out a long piece of metal that looked like a tube. “What’s this called?”

“The bolt thing.”

He sighed and tossed it to me. “It’s not called ‘the bolt thing,’ it’s called a bolt carrier assembly and even Brad Pitt would know, because I bet he pays more attention than you whether he’s stripping a gun or that hot wife of his. Now take this part.” Joel gave me the charging handle, something I actually remembered the name of. I took the pieces and slid the handle into the bolt carrier assembly, locking it in place before giving it back.

“There.”

“You ain’t as useless as I thought.”

“Guess not.”

“Too fucking hot for this. Go write about the ship,” Joel grumbled.

I’d avoided writing that chapter for a lot of reasons, but after the last
few days of scrambling for survival I knew it was time to get it out of my system. If I waited much longer I was going to start forgetting important facts.

“Not yet. Man, I really want to say it.”

“Don’t. We made it and I don’t need thanks. We wouldn’t be here if we weren’t a team, even if you are a stupid fucking hole snipe.”

“Words hurt, Joel. Words hurt.” I leaned over my friend. Even seated I towered over him, but he didn't back down.

“Why all that writing anyway? Never heard of a hole snipe fond of jotting things down besides readings.”

“I always wanted to be a writer. Sue me.”

“What-the-fuck-ever. Just do it. Write about the boat; we ain’t getting any younger and we might be dead and eaten tomorrow.”

“Ship, it’s called a ship. A boat has oars - and what a morbid fuck you are today!”

“Like I said. What-the-fuck-ever. Just write it.”

So I did.

###

05:45 hours approximate

Location: USS McClusky, San Diego CA

I had the worst fucking hangover of my life the day the world went to shit. I lay in my bunk, hand over my eyes, and dreaded going on watch. My head pounded and my mouth felt like someone shit in it. We ain’t supposed to drink at sea but I’m a classic Navy alcoholic and I keep a stash of booze you wouldn’t believe. Last night I dumped a third of a 2-liter Pepsi down the drain and topped it off with some Thai whiskey I picked up in Pattaya Beach.

That was only two hours ago. I barely got enough sleep as it was. Emergency flight ops had blown me out of my bunk, and that shit went on until dawn.

There were rumors that something big was happening back at base, and that’s why we were recalled. Then flight ops had started and never ended. Helos arrived and departed every fifteen minutes – that should have been my first clue that something was really wrong.

I had about fifteen minutes to shit, shower, and shave. Smitty got to be an angry little bitch when I was late even though he’d never been on time for watch a day in his life.

Then the alarm sounded and I thought my head was literally going to explode.

“General quarters, general quarters, all hands man your battlesta...”

The first line wasn’t even finished, unless you counted the screaming. I sprang up and jumped out of my top bunk. Why a top bunk after this many
years in the Navy? Because I fucking like it, that’s why.

I stared up at the speakers and wondered whose idea of a joke that had been.

“The fuck was that shit?” Feely asked.

He wore a pair of South Park boxers and socks that smelled like death. Feely had a weird OCD thing with socks and only changed them once a week. One time I bought him a bag of socks at the ship commissary and left them on his bunk. Gratis. He tossed them in the trash.

I dug out a pair of dark blue overalls and gave them the sniff test. Yeah, they’d get me through one more day. They weren’t as bad as Feely’s socks. Those fuckers were probably going to get up and walk around on their own.

Wanglund fell out of his bunk and looked ready to punch anyone that got in his way. His mustache was turning into a biker’s handlebar, but with shore in sight today he’d be shaving it. CHENG might put up with that shit on deployment but not when we were headed for port. The thing about Wanglund was that he was bigger than me and I’m a big dude. He was a boiler tech and looked like a gorilla, with hairy arms and enough fur on his back to let him fill in for the next Planet of the Apes movie.

Wanglund also owed me a hundred bucks from our last game of spades. I’d mention it later when it wasn’t so early in the morning and he didn’t look like punching someone.

###

I trudged toward the engine room
, already dreading the heat and noise. The ship hummed around me. That’s the kind of environment you live in when you are stationed on a Naval vessel. It’s never quiet, not ever. From the grind of machinery to the sound of forced air in nearly every compartment, all you get is noise. Then there are the smells: the oil, the fuel, the cleaning chemicals. It’s an assault when you first board ship, but then you get back on land and suddenly you forget how to walk straight because the ground is no longer rocking and rolling under your feet.

I moved along the same bulkheads I’d passed every day for the last twelve months. Boring, white, yellow emergency lights in every corner. I didn’t see any other crewmen and that was weird. Maybe everyone was up early for mess. Was there an inspection I’d forgotten about?

Earplugs inserted, I descended a pair of ladders and stopped for a cup of shitty coffee before heading to main control. The whine of the turbines would be deafening without earplugs. As it was, the tone was slightly less annoying that having a tooth drilled. The engine was insulated and taller than a greyhound bus. I glanced at a couple of dials. Everything nominal.

The Chief Engineer was sitting at the console while newly-minted Chief Harmikle stood watch over the room. I was surprised he didn't have his nose up CHENG's ass. I tossed him a quick salute but he didn’t bother responding. Petty Officer Mahan had the helm. He was spinning the giant
steam valve to slow the ship. It looked like we’d just come down from Flank 1.

“How long we been at Flank?” I asked him.

“Too long if you ask me. Some crazy stuff is going on back home, man. You’re my relief, right?”

“Nah, I got Smitty.”

“Damn, he’s ill too. They took him to sick bay an hour ago.”

“What happened?”

“No clue, man. I’ve been stuck here all damn night.”

“Say again?” CHENG barked into the phone. Then he banged it on the desk a few times. “Say again! Don’t make me come the fuck up there!”

“S’going on?” I asked Chief Harmikle.

“Some fucking bullshit on the bridge. Sent Keen up to take a look."

“Does he even know where the bridge is, Sir?” Keen was so new he hadn't washed the creases out of his BDU's.

“Doubt it.” The Chief Engineer said, hanging up the phone and hitting me with that “officer look” that's supposed to intimidate. I towered over him by a good seven inches and had arms the size of his neck, but somehow he always made me feel like he could take me in a fight. Maybe because he never wilted or looked away from one of my "pissed off" looks that sent other guys scurrying.

“You go look for Keen, Creed,” he ordered.

I almost smiled. Just a few minutes on watch and I was already on my first errand. Looked like some coffee in mess would be my first stop.

“And Creed, don’t get lost up there.”

I nodded, took my pounding head out of main, and started back the way I’d come. Well, fuck me six ways from Sunday. This watch was off to a shitty start
, but at least I was out of the hot engine room.

I headed starboard hoping I’d run into Keen’s skinny ass. Instead, I ran into a riot.

Something was happening, something big. The passageways on a ship are already small and when a bunch of screaming guys are occupying the one ahead of you it’s not like you can find a way around. I’d have to walk back until I could cut across the center of the ship.

I assessed my options. Walk all the way back on a mission to find Keen? Nah. I decided I’d rather get into some trouble. My last Captain’s Mast was six months ago.

Fuck it. I was due.

I passed berths and came to a cross-section filled with a riotous crowd. I hung back but didn’t see any engineers to rescue and couldn’t figure out who to hit first. Getting into a fight wasn’t the best cure for a hangover but I’d settle for it today.

I didn’t personally know most of these guys but they were still familiar. You spend a few months at sea with a hundred and seventy-five or so guys and pretty soon you know a lot of names. They looked like electricians with their pressed shirts.

“Can someone let me through before I start breaking stuff?” I bellowed.

That got attention, but the wrong kind. A Lieutenant with fresh bars turned on me and looked at my stenciled name.

“Creed. Get some security here, now. And don’t yell on my ship again. Got it, Sailor?”

“Yes Sir,” I muttered, wanting to punch his fucking lights out. Then I saw blood on his hands.

“Sir?”

“It’s…I don’t know. One of the radio techs bit one of my men and then both of them went nuts. Go wake up the Marines.”

That was all I needed. Crazy-ass nerds biting each other? That wasn’t my problem. I was going to continue my search for Keen but then remembered that the LT knew my name. He also knew my size and it’d take about
three seconds to find me.

I knew where the Marines bunked but never ventured down there. Why should I? They never came to my side of the ship.

I huffed it down their ladder and found myself in near-darkness. It was still the middle of the damn night, so that made sense, but a couple of black guys in tank tops were throwing cards at a table. One of the men jumped up on his chair and threw the little Joker.

“Suck it!” He yelle
d.

I cleared my throat. “Sorry to interrupt, fellas, but some LT sent me. Some guys are biting each other and the LT wants security.”

“See my shirt?” asked little Joker. “Do you see ‘babysitter’ stenciled on it?”

I looked. I squinted. I peered.

“Huh. Nope. Umm…what’s your name, man? I need to know for the LT; you know how it is.”

“GENERAL QUARTERS, GENERAL QUARTERS, ALL HANDS MAN YOUR
BATTLESTATIONS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. GENERAL QUARTERS…” The voice trailed off this time without screams, but screams or not I was really starting to get a very bad feeling about today.

“Thought it was a joke before.” The Marine nodded toward the speaker in the ceiling.

“That sounded legit,” one of the other guys said.

They looked at each other and then back toward their bunks.

Then I heard a sound I’d never heard on a ship before. Gunfire.

The Marines went into some turbo mode, moving around each other like they had a secret language. Before I could scratch my balls more than once, the black guy that had given me a ration of shit was back and half-dressed. He buttoned up a shirt and stared at me like I was a stranger. His stenciled name read ‘Kelly.’ He wore an oversized vest of some sort and slapped it over his body, securing straps and Velcro here and there as he patted down pouches and pockets.

“Weapons locker!” One of the other Marines yelled and suddenly there were guns everywhere. Kelly strapped a belt around his waist with a holster and pistol. My fists were the only weapon I’d ever been even halfway shitty with.

“Secure yourself, Sailor! Stay or go - just keep out of our way.”

“Fine man, whatever. Just don’t shoot anyone by mistake. Especially me.” I rattled off the coordinates I’d marked in my head when I’d left the LT. As soon as the men were assembled, Kelly nodded. He pulled his sidearm and racked the bolt back, did an inspection, and let it slam home. He slid it back into his holster and then was up the stairs as fast as Spiderman.

I followed them and hit the passageway while they moved out. I wasn’t more than a few steps from the ladder when a guy screamed and bore down on me. I knew his name but not much else. Bauman was a skinny little guy that wore his pants too high on his hips. He was covered in blood from a wound on his skull. The blood streamed down his head and into another wound on his face. Christ! Most of his cheek was ripped away! He howled, creating a weird hissing sound.

“The fuck?”

“Move!”
one of the Marines ordered.

I ignored him and stood my ground. Come on Bauman, if you got the guts.

In a heartbeat, the bloodied, howling sailor was on me. I lashed my arm out and punched him square in the middle of the face. His nose erupted around my knuckles and he went down like a bag of potatoes.

My hand hurt like a bitch but I wore my poker face for the Marines. See? I can be a badass too.

“Dude!” One of the Marines brushed past me and leaned over to check on the sailor I’d decked. I wiped blood on my pants.

“Hey man, he attacked me,” I said.

Skinny Bauman should have been out for the day after the punch I’d landed, but his eyes snapped open as he howled and leapt up, landing on his knees with a crack of bone.

He spun and attacked the Marine. The sailor bit in and yanked flesh from the other man’s arm until blood flowed. The guy screamed in pain, pulled his gun, and hit Bauman hard enough to knock out teeth.

“What the shit!” I backed up in horror.

Kelly moved to my side and watched with his mouth wide open as the Marine dropped to the ground and thrashed his body up and down. It looked like he was having an epileptic fit.
 My Aunt used to get those and they were not pretty. The downed Marine screamed, but then something quickly changed as his wails of pain became those of rage.

Bauman should have been completely knocked the fuck out - or even dead - but he staggered to his feet and raised his hands, which were twisted and splayed like tight little claws.
 He howled again, that awful hissing sound now bubbling with blood, and then he was on us.

Me and Kelly
beat the shit out of the guy, but every time he went down he just got back on his feet and came at us. Then Kelly’s marine buddy went bat shit insane.

What the
fucking hell!

First he was staring at his arm in horror. Then he was trying to stop the flow of blood with his hand. Next he gasped and flopped over on his back. He thrashed and held his arm as more and more blood squirted. It spread over his shirt and pressed pants. You could have split a grapefruit on those seams a few minutes ago, but now they just soaked up the crimson.

“Angel, man, Angel!” Kelly yelled.

Behind me, a riot had
broken out.

T
wo of the Marines had advanced down the hallway to confront a new foe. Only this wasn’t an argument. The same shit that was going on here was happening over there. Blood flowed, and lots of it. I had the stupid thought that it was going to take hours for someone to clean it all up. Screams, howls, some in pain, some in anger. Fists on skin, striking and ripping. It was worse than a riot. It was worse than any concert mosh pit I’d ever seen.

“Okay, fuck this,” I said to no one in particular. I’d had enough. If anyone needed me
, I’d be in main control with my people, safely locked up behind a properly dogged hatch.

Kelly took out a radio and barked orders into it. He listened to a muffled voice and then stared at the device in confusion. I paused to see if he had news.

“Say again?”

“Don’t let anyone bite you. You got me, Marine? If that happens, you are dead, and then you aren’t any use to anyone.”

Kelly looked at me. I shook my head because it sounded crazy.

Then Angel gasped, foamed at the mouth and flopped around three or four times before his body went completely still. Kelly stared in horror as his friend died. I tried to look away from the riot that was occurring down the passageway, because it felt less real than what was happening right in front of me.

“Sir, Corporal Angel is down, Sir. He…he got bit. What do I do?”

“Shoot him in the fucking head. He isn’t your buddy anymore. If you don’t have a gun, then find something to bash his
skull.”

“Sir?"

“That’s an order, Marine. You do it or I’ll come down there and personally rip your head off and shit down your neck!” Kelly stared at the radio in horror. “We need to contain this before it goes any farther."

Kelly drew his sidearm and aimed it at his friend.

“Oh fuck this,” I said and backed away. A riot behind or an execution ahead.

“I can’t do it.” Kelly put his sidearm away. The mob that had been behind us shifted momentum and was now coming toward us. One of Kelly’s Marine buddies was being chased.

“Go!” the Marine yelled, then turned and opened fire. The explosions were deafening as he fired into the chaotic mass of people. Sailors and another Marine fell, but the mob kept coming. The narrow passageway created a natural bottleneck.

We fell back, Kelly pushing me while he swept his gun back and forth.

Angel picked that moment to groan and sit up. He bubbled up a putrid load of blood, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a rictus grin of pure horror. He snarled and struggled to his feet. I knocked him down but he reached for my leg and tried to bite me. Bite me! Son of a bitch! I kicked him but pulled the blow at the last second, fearing the Marines wouldn’t take too kindly to me stomping one of their own.

A snarling group came at us from the port side of the ship. They bumped into each other as they tried to maneuver the small passageway. When they got a look at us a pair moaned. Moaned! One of them howled and staggered toward me with arms raised, his hands like claws.