Outbreak (Book 1): Emerald City (23 page)

“I know a place,” Luke said.

CLARK

Clark stood in the doorway of an employee’s lounge on the lowest floor of the cruise ship. There was a small kitchen, two tables with chairs, and a bathroom with showers and lockers. Hidden in the back of the room were the five survivors. All were employees of the cruise line and dressed in similar cruise line uniforms. Clark had stayed back to keep guard while Rocha assessed the situation. Clark saw Rocha come out of the bathroom area. He knew from the grim look on the soldier’s face the news would not be good. “Jesus,” Clark said. “How bad is it?”

“Typical survival scenario,” Rocha said. “They heard about the outbreak on the news, saw a few passengers with symptoms, grabbed as much food as they could and holed up back here.”

“For how long?” Clark asked.

“Three months, give or take,” Rocha said. “They had a decent stockpile of food, still have some left even, and they drank shower water.”

Clark looked up and thought about what was above them in the ship. “Fresh water tanks must be on one of the floors up there,” he said.

“Damn straight,” Rocha agreed. “That lady, the one that came and got us, is basically their leader. She was the one who went up to the upper deck and started the fire. She thought she would grab some food from the pantry on the way back down.”

Clark could not think of anything to say. He knew the woman had unknowingly signed the death warrants of everyone in her care. Clark swore in frustration.

“I know,” Rocha said and then added quietly. “They’re screwed. All of them are as good as dead.”

Clark walked down the hallway, away from the lounge, so that they would not be overheard. “Signs of infection?” he asked as Rocha followed him.

“It’s early, but yeah. Swollen glands, aches and pains.”

Clark wanted to hit something. “Dammit! What was she thinking?”

“She wasn’t. She was hungry and it didn’t cross her mind the food could be infected.”

Clark shook his head. “What food had they been eating for the last couple of months?”

“I asked her that. Sounds like the employees have their own cafeteria. She and the others made due with rations there.”

“Unbelievable,” Clark said. “How late are we from having saved them? Twelve hours?”

Rocha sighed deeply. “Something like that,” he said.

“What did you tell them?”

“What was I supposed to tell them?” Rocha asked. “I told them I was leaving to call in a chopper. I told them they were going home.”

Clark suddenly hated the world. He knew what was going to happen next and it made him sick. He had read the military protocol during his research back on the aircraft carrier. If survivors were clearly infected, or even suspected of being infected, they were to be terminated. The risk of spreading the virus was too great to try to treat anyone showing symptoms. “It’s just not fair,” he said.

“Damn straight it’s not,” Rocha agreed. “But let’s get this done.”

Clark nodded and blew out a frustrated breath. “Okay. Where next?”

“Engine room,” Rocha said. “We’re on the bottom floor and near the front of the ship, so I’m thinking it only makes sense that to get to the engine room, we just work our way to the back.”

Unable to face the survivors, Clark worked to put his emotions aside and focus on the job.
Easier said than done,
he thought. “Sounds logical to me,” he said and followed Rocha down a hallway in the direction of the rear of the ship.

It was a short and straight shot and in only a couple minutes they found a sign which directed them to the engine room. Finding it, Rocha kicked in the door. He searched the room, but it was empty of any infected, so they started looking for the fuel tanks. After a few minutes, Rocha called to Clark. He had found a schematic on the wall.

“What have you got?” Clark asked as he approached.

“Ship’s diagram,” Rocha replied. “Looks like there’s some kind of maintenance chase above the fuel tanks.”

Clark examined the details. “We have to go up two floors?” he asked. “How big are these tanks?”

“Must be pretty big. Come on,” Rocha said. Clark followed Rocha up two flights of small metal stairs where they finally found the tops of the fuel tanks. There were four total tanks and they were enormous.

“How much do these hold?” Clark asked.

“The diagram said that they have the capacity of a hundred thousand gallons of fuel.”

“Each?”

“Damn straight.”

“Good Lord,” Clark said and knocked on the side of one of the tanks. It was thick steel under what looked to be a heavy coat of some kind of industrial paint. Clark did not know if he could have heard an echo even if there was one, but it sure sounded full to him. Rocha knelt down beside the tank and took off his backpack.

“Growing up,” Rocha said. “All I wanted was a job where I could blow shit up.”

“Well,” Clark said. “Here you are. Now’s your chance to make a fireball that can be seen from space.”

“Damn straight,” Rocha said and started unzipping pockets on his bag.

“What are you looking for?” Clark asked. Rocha found what he was looking for and held up two large gray bricks of clay for Clark to see. Clark thought he was going to choke. “Those are explosives,” he said. “All that shooting you were doing earlier ... if one of those had ricocheted and caught that pocket --”

“Too late to worry about it now,” Rocha said. “Let’s get this done.”

“Right,” Clark said.
Easy for you to say, you love this stuff
, Clark thought as he gingerly took the plastic explosive from Rocha.

“Press those things against the side of the tank. Make sure they stick good,” Rocha said. Clark did even though his hands were shaking. The explosives stuck like clay.

Rocha held the timer. “How long you figure?” he asked.

“Hell if I know,” Clark said. “You’re the expert.”

“Damn straight,” Rocha said. “Well, we have to get back out of here, over to the pantry, go up the rope to the cafeteria, then off the ship --”

“Hey, how are we going to get off the ship?” Clark asked.

“Easy,” Rocha said as he worked the timer on the detonator. “We use the same rope in the elevator and just find a place to secure it to the deck. Then we repel down the side. So, what do you think? Thirty minutes?”

“Thirty minutes?” Clark asked. “Are you insane?”

“You’re right,” Rocha said and set the timer. “Better make it twenty.”

What!
“Rocha,” Clark said. “What’s the rush? And besides, how far away do you think we need to be before this blows up?”

Rocha scratched his chin and then changed the clock to ninety minutes. “Good point,” he said and picked up his backpack. “Follow me. Let’s be quick, but smart. The clock is ticking and any mistakes that hold us up will kill us.”

“That would suck,” Clark said.

“Damn straight.”

Rocha led as they ran down the hallway and into the pantry. “You first,” Rocha said. “And watch for bad guys at the top.”

Wonderful
, Clark thought and squeezed himself back into the elevator shaft. He quickly realized it was a hell of a lot harder going up than when he had come down. In seconds, under all of his gear and shark suit, he was sweating like a pig. His grip was getting tired and his forearms burned as he worked his way up the rope. At the top of the shaft he grabbed the ledge and looked out into the cafeteria.
Son-of-a-bitch,
he thought as he spied an infected in the room.
Now where the hell did you come from?
There was barely any space in the shaft to maneuver, but he managed to reach down for his pistol and pull it from the holster on his leg. The elevator shaft was tight. It was designed for food, not for soldiers in combat gear. With the silencer on his pistol, the overall length of the weapon was nearly fourteen inches. Clark got his hand around the grip, but as he pulled it from the holster, he caught the silencer on the wall of the shaft, and he dropped it.

“God Dammit!” Clark said as he watched the pistol clunk down the shaft. The infected growled and Clark looked up just as it saw him. With a roar, it charged and dove head first into the elevator shaft with Clark. Clark lost his grip and the two of them slid down five feet before Clark’s leg pinned beneath him and they became stuck.

“Oh my God, my leg!” Clark screamed. His whole body hurt, but the pain in his leg was explosive. His back bent crooked as the weight of the infected bore down on top of him. The monster clawed at his face and shoulders but Clark was able to keep its mouth off of him with his armored right forearm. Clark remembered his boot knife and reached for it but could not quite get his hand around the weapon. The infected was hissing and snarling. Clark was trapped and beginning to panic.

“Hold on!” Rocha shouted from below. “I’m coming up!”

“Jesus! Hurry!” Clark cried. His leg felt like it would snap in half. He arched his back to relieve the pressure and his upper body shifted. He and the infected slid down the shaft another foot before they became pinned again and stopped. Clark tried for his knife again and this time was able to reach it. He pulled the weapon from its sheath and plunged the blade into the stomach of the infected. The infected howled in pain as Clark drove the knife deep and up, aiming for its heart. Clark’s hand disappeared inside the infected’s gut, but he pushed further. The infected clawed at Clark and he felt them slipping further down the elevator shaft.
Where the hell is Rocha?
Clark thought. Blood and intestines dumped from the infected’s stomach, but Clark drove the knife further and suddenly dark red blood gushed from the wound and the infected finally went limp.

“Christ!” Clark said. “Rocha! Where the hell are you, man?”

Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!

“Give me a second!” Rocha yelled back. “I’m up to my ass in lurkers down here.”

Clark craned his neck and tried to look below him. Blood and gore ran down the inside of the elevator shaft.

Thwip! Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!

Rocha finally stuck his head into the elevator from below. “That’s really Goddamn disgusting!” Rocha said.

“Tell me about it,” Clark replied. “Stay away from the blood. And, hey! I’m dropping my knife.” Clark needed at least one of his hands free, so he dropped the weapon. It flipped twice in the air as it fell and landed point first with a thud at the bottom of the shaft, impaling itself in the sheet metal.

“That’s a good way to break off the point,” Rocha yelled up the elevator shaft.

“You really think I give a shit?” Clark asked. He hurt everywhere. He wrapped his arm around the climbing rope and kicked with his legs. He was almost upside down and he made enough space for the infected to slip past. “Watch out,” he said as the infected’s body dropped down the shaft. Rocha snatched Clark’s knife out of the way just as the infected’s body slammed to the bottom.

“All that screaming and there’s just one?” Rocha asked.

“Yes! Screw you!”

“Hey! Eat me. I had to take out seven more while you were in there playing with yourself.”

“Cry me a river,” Clark said as he righted himself and finished climbing up the rope. He got his arms over the ledge of the elevator and looked around. The coast was clear and he slithered out. Rocha quickly came up the rope behind him.
Showoff,
Clark thought as the big man handed him back his pistol and knife. “Is there any blood on my face?” Clark asked as he looked Rocha over. The soldier had gotten some of the infected’s blood on his shoulder, but he did not think it would be anything to worry about.

“No,” Rocha said as he peered at Clark. “You’re all good.”

“Thank God,” Clark said. “Hey. How long has it been?”

Rocha pulled the rope up the elevator, coiling it over his arm as he went. When he was done, he stuffed the rope into his backpack and checked his watch. “Ten minutes,” he said.

“Bullshit,” Clark said.

Rocha tapped the face of his watch. “It’s right,” he said.

“Damn, it felt like an hour,” Clark said and rolled his neck. It popped all the way down through his shoulders.
I wonder if there is a chiropractor on the U.S.S. Johnstone,
he wondered.

“We should hurry,” Rocha said.

You think?
Clark thought. “Following you.”

“Damn straight,” Rocha said and lead them out the door and down the hallway. They found a stairwell at the end and they ran up, taking two steps at a time towards the upper decks. Clark saw another door with a sign which indicated it led to the balconies of the theater. “Think I should open that?” he joked.

Rocha snorted a laugh. “No,” he said. “Let’s just get off of this ship before it blows us to hell.” Clark was not about to argue and he followed Rocha out a final door and they were outside. It had stopped raining and Rocha checked his watch. “Plenty of time,” he said and tied the rope to the rail.

“Aww, Jesus,” Clark said as he looked over the side of the ship. It was a long way down to the beach. At least the rope reached the bottom.