Day by Day Armageddon: Shattered Hourglass (12 page)

“GW this is OP4, understood. We are an Arctic scientific research station. Our situation is dire; we have less than sixty days of fuel and food. We have five souls onboard, some are not in good health, over.”

“OP4 this is GW, roger that, I’ll be passing your situation report up the chain to the highest levels immediately, over.”

“GW this is OP4, you do that, please. What is the situation on the mainland, over?”

“OP4 this is GW, situation really bad. The mainland United States has been deemed uninhabitable. Nuclear detonations have destroyed many overrun cities to no measurable advantage. The undead continue to dominate in the lower forty-eight. No word on Alaska.”

“GW this is OP4, roger that. Winter has set in here pretty hard and heavy. The worst of it is in front of us. You might like to know that the creatures don’t fare too well up here. The cold freezes
them up pretty good. They can’t move if exposed longer than a few minutes, over.”

“OP4 this is GW, acknowledged. There will be folks interested to hear that. Before we lose connectivity, recommend we set up a radio contact schedule with times as well as primary, secondary, and tertiary frequencies, over.”

“GW this is OP4, sounds like a damn good plan.”

Mark continued his back and forth with the ship, exchanging common High Frequency Global Communications System frequencies as well as contact schedule times based on Greenwich Mean Time. Mark had finished establishing his comm schedule and started exchanging news when the transmission faded to garble.

“Damn it,” Mark said angrily.

“Buck up, little camper, this is the best news we’ve had in months. If that boat is up and running then maybe more might be. Maybe something that can help,” Crusow replied.

“Don’t even try to be optimistic. We’re well over a hundred miles from thin ice and even so, the weather is so fuckin’ bad, no ship captain in his right mind short of an icebreaker skipper would risk it. Even if they did, how the hell are we going to hike a hundred miles over chasm-filled and unforgiving terrain in negative-fifty conditions, Crusow?”

“We have the Cat, right?”

“Yeah, I guess we have that.”

“It’s something. I am not giving up. If anything this makes me at least a little more hopeful. I’m not dying at the top of the world. I’m staying at ninety-eight-point-six degrees and you are, too. Neither one of us is headed to the bottom of the gulch and I’ll be damned if I’m not off this ice cube before I die. We will see the sun again. There’s a lot of work to do. Write out three copies of that schedule you just made with the ship. You keep one, give one to me, and post one at the desk, under the glass top. We need to call a meeting to let the others know.”

“All right. Okay. I’ll start now,” Mark said as he sat up straighter in his chair, with just a little more focus, a little more hope.

It wasn’t long before Tara and Laura found their way down to the sick bay, and to Jan. Laura missed her mother and wanted to know why she was down with the sick people all the time. The moment Jan saw Laura, she peeled off the blood-stained lab coat and gloves, removed her face shield, and picked Laura up, squeezing her tight.

“I’m sorry, baby, Mommy’s got to be here, it’s important.”

“Mommy, I miss you. Can’t you leave? You’re gone
all the time
.”

“I know, baby, Mommy is trying to figure out a way to stop the bad people. Mommy is tired of the monsters and wants them to go away.”

“I want them to go away, too,” Laura said, frowning.

Putting Laura down with a grunt (she was getting bigger), Jan asked Tara how she was holding up with Kil being away.

“I’m all right,” Tara said. “To tell you the truth, being able to babysit Laura keeps my mind off of him being gone. I’m helping out Dean with school lessons and that keeps me busy during the day. Did you know that Dean has nearly one hundred students now? It’s practically a full-time job.”

“Yeah, you won’t believe this, but Dean came down to sick bay after teaching classes yesterday and helped to get this place back in order. I have no idea where she gets her energy to teach kids all day and then volunteer down here.”

Tara laughed at this and without warning, broke down into tears.

Jan comforted her. “It’s going to be just fine, he’ll make it back, I promise.”

“It’s not that, Jan. It’s something else.”

“Well, honey, do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m pregnant,” Tara blurted out as more tears started to meander down her cheeks.

“Oh boy,” Jan said with eyes wide open.

“Yay!” Laura appeared from under the lab table.

•   •   •

Danny hated the monsters. All the grown-ups looked at it much differently than he did. His whole family except for his granny had been murdered by the monsters—that’s what his friend Laura called them. Being a little older, he knew they weren’t real monsters, but it didn’t matter. They acted like monsters and they chased you like monsters and they ate you like monsters. The grown-ups treated them like snakes or spiders—avoiding them and smashing them and shooting them only when they needed to. For Danny, it was personal. Danny knew that he wouldn’t be alive if it were not for his Granny Dean. She flew them both away as far as she could.

Danny had been trapped on a water tower and peeing off the top of it onto the monsters’ heads when Kil found them months ago. Before the tower he remembered the propeller incident. His Granny had to land to get gas for the plane. They were running on fumes when she touched down at the airfield. He thought he might have remembered the engine sputtering. They were about to be taken by monsters just before Granny decided to chop them up like vegetables with the plane.
She took out a whole bunch,
Danny thought. The monsters trashed the plane, sending Danny and his grandmother to the tower in exile and away from the safety of flight.

Then Kil came for them.

•   •   •

Danny was done with school for the day and had permission to roam about until dinner as long as he stayed on the 03 level, off the catwalks and out of the way. Danny loved to hide and listen to everyone as they passed by. He thought he needed the practice. He hadn’t spied on grown-ups since before his parents became monsters.
That didn’t bother him much anymore unless he thought about it too long. No one but him knew how tough his granny was. She saved him and smashed them. He never heard Granny tell anyone about that so he didn’t either. She was tough,
maybe tougher than Kil,
he thought.

Danny was in one of the less-populated parts of the O3 level; he noticed the painted number on the wall was 250. Hearing someone stomping over a knee-knocker up ahead, Danny hid beside a firefighting storage locker and behind an open hatch.

As the sound grew louder, he overheard one of the men say, “How long are we going to hold those things onboard? They creep me the fuck out.”

“I’m with you. I want to jettison the things ASAP. We are not getting a damn thing from them. We don’t have the equipment. The admiral wants to hold on to them until . . .”

Their voices faded quickly after they passed Danny’s hiding spot. He thought about following them for a moment but then decided against it and headed down the passageway from where the men had come.

•   •   •

There were benefits to being small; it was a lot easier to hide. Danny had shown Laura all the secrets behind hiding like a boy. After being found a few dozen times when it was Danny’s turn to seek, she had picked up some tricks of the boy trade.

Danny would tell her, “El, you gotta pick less easy places. I found you in two seconds.”

Laura would pout and stomp off and begin counting to thirty, a bit faster than was fair. She was tired of being
it
. Danny was a hiding ninja and was rarely found, unless he was trying to boost Laura’s self-esteem.

Danny had just overheard a curious conversation between what he thought were two soldiers—not knowing the difference between soldiers and sailors—about holding
things
onboard. His eavesdropping was abruptly cut off as the men kept moving down the passageway. Danny had never been farther aft than where he was hiding now.

. . . “Things onboard . . . creep me out . . . jettison” . . .
The conversation between the two men kept repeating in his mind. Danny hadn’t yet learned what
jettison
meant, thinking it might mean to fly away or something like that. He would ask his English teacher at the next class.
She is the best,
he thought to himself. He kept moving to the back of the ship, scouting hiding spots, jumping at every sound of footsteps.

He was far back in the ship when it came time to make a decision . . . go down the ladder or go back to his room. Danny didn’t even think. He quickly and quietly scurried down the ladder. It was dark and unfamiliar, and it smelled funny. Reaching the last step, the sterile smell intensified. As his eyes slowly adjusted, he recognized the red night-lights that were sometimes on in the sleeping areas of the ship.

He could see a fan room just up ahead—his healthy young eyes could make out the label on the hatch clearly. Adjacent to the fan room was another door marked
Restricted Access
. There was a little box next to the door where he had seen soldiers enter codes before—not here, but where John worked—in the radio shack. With no one in sight he sprinted for the fan room. His heart thumped faster as he closed the distance . . . only one knee-knocker to hurdle before reaching the door.

In midair jump, he heard the metallic sound of the door handle from the other door turn. Quickly, he slung open the fan-room hatch and dived in under the air circulator; he didn’t have time to shut the hatch behind him.

The mold was a quarter-inch thick under the circulator; the rapid transition from the hospital-like aroma to the mildew stench caused his stomach to turn just a bit. The light from the passageway spilled into the fan room but was broken by a silhouette of legs. He could see only the outline of boots from his vantage point.

“Has maintenance been here today?”

“No, but we’ve hit some heavy seas in the last few hours. The hatch probably flew open in the chop.”

The hatch slammed shut, leaving Danny in darkness; the voices slowly trailed away just like before. Inside the black of the cool steel around him, Danny’s mind wandered into equally black parts of his imagination. He thought of the monsters and for a
second imagined that they might be in this dark place with him. Rolling into the fetal position, he squirmed in fear on the damp and moldy floor until he was certain no one or thing was near.

His fear faded after his senses told him that there was no immediate threat. He lay there listening to all the ship noises—sounds he had started to tune out after his time onboard. Someone above him dragged chains across the deck and then some distant valve opened somewhere and the sound of steam escaping drowned out the chains. This duel of noises continued for a few moments, nearly hypnotizing Danny . . . and then silence. The fear he had shaken flooded back as the sound of something familiar, distinct, and terrible came through the vent above him.

Looking up, he followed the vent. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness. The vent connected to the wall and then into the adjacent space—the restricted area. Danny was a boy with a wild imagination, no disputing that, but he had definitely heard that sound. The hair standing stiff on his neck confirmed it.

Kil couldn’t sleep. The USS
Virginia
had been underneath bad weather seemingly since they hit the blue water of the Pacific, leaving the Panama coast. They stayed submerged, cut off from the sun and all radio transmissions.

His watch was set to GMT time and he’d forgotten how that corresponded to where the sun might be at the moment. Sliding out of his rack, his feet hit his shower shoes perfectly. He grabbed his shower kit and scooted down the passageway, bumping his shoulder on one of the thousands of pipes and junction boxes jutting out from the bulkhead. This served to wake him up a little before hitting the showers. The
Virginia
had less than half the walk space of the carrier and two people couldn’t walk side by side in most areas.

The head was already packed by the time he arrived. He recognized some of the crew members, mostly enlisted. Addressing him as a commander, they offered to let him have the head of the line. He declined, fighting off the urge to tell them that he had been only a lieutenant until a recent and bizarre spot promotion. He brushed his teeth while moving forward along the line of sinks to the shower. As a long queue of sailors coming off watch formed behind him for the showers, he decided to put the soap in his hair before getting in, a time-saving measure.

“Hollywood” showers would make you the target of hate and discontent onboard any submarine. They had plenty of fresh water (they made their own onboard), but the
Virginia
was 105 percent manned at the moment with Kil, Saien, and the special-operations team onboard. As an officer, Kil thought it best to
stay extra humble and quiet until he figured out how things ran onboard.

It was soon Kil’s turn anyway. He quickly hung his kit on the hook outside and stepped in. The water was hot—better than the 50/50 hot shower he had had at Hotel 23. He sang “The Star Spangled Banner” in his head; by the time he reached “home of the brave,” he knew he should be reaching for his towel.

On his way out of the head, Kil noted that one of the submariners wasn’t wearing shower shoes and thought to himself,
nasty bastard
; he’d rather get in the wrestling ring with one of the undead than go barefoot in a U.S. Navy submarine shower—almost.

Back in his stateroom, he was careful not to wake up Saien—still sawing logs and saying something to himself in his sleep. He threw on his coveralls, ball cap, and sidearm and headed for the galley. The officer’s mess was shut down in an effort to pool resources. For better or worse, officers and enlisted men dined together onboard.