Dead Sea (24 page)

    From out in the passageway, I heard Carol call out. Her voice was muffled, but alarmed.

    "What's going on? Did someone scream?"

    "Carol," I shouted through the closed hatch. "Stay in your compartment. Joan's a zombie!"

    "What?"

    "She's right outside our door. Just keep your hatch closed."

    I took a step forward, making a wide berth around the half-dollar sized drops of Mitch's blood.

    "Mitch, it might not be too late. We could…"

    The look he gave me froze the words in my throat.

    "You've seen it happen, Lamar. So have I. Too many times. Infection is instantaneous. It doesn't matter if we cut my arm off or burn the wound or pour a gallon of fucking bleach on it. We both know what's going to happen."

    Tasha began to cry. A second later, Malik joined her. The muffled pounding continued outside.

    "Goddamn it." I punched the locker in frustration. "God fucking damn it."

    "Yeah," Mitch said, wrapping the pillowcase around his arm like a tourniquet. "Believe me, I feel the same way. But that ain't gonna help us right now, Lamar. Hold it together for the kids. We need to come up with a plan."

    "We're supposed to be safe," Tasha whimpered. "You guys promised. You said we'd be safe on the ship. You said the zombies couldn't get us!"

    "Yeah." Malik wiped his runny nose on his shirt sleeve. "How did they get onboard?"

    I shook my head. "We don't know guys. We just don't know. It doesn't make any sense."

    Moaning with pain, Mitch tightened the pillowcase. It was already soaked through with blood. Brushing away her tears, Tasha stripped the sheet off his bed, grabbed Mitch's pocketknife from his locker, and began cutting the sheet into strips. Joan kept clawing at the door.

    "Can Joan work the latch?" Malik asked, glancing at the door.

    "I don't think so." I turned back to Mitch. "There has to be a way. Amputation? Fire? You can't just give up."

    Teeth clenched, he finished tying off the bite. The linens were stained red, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped.

    "I ain't giving up," he said. "Just making better use of my time. Don't know how long I got, so let's not mess around. Get the guns out. All of them."

    Malik stopped crying completely. "The grenades, too?"

    "Yeah, Malik." Mitch grinned, despite the pain. "The grenades, too."

    I lifted up his mattress and pulled out the rifle and the shotgun. Then I grabbed the ammunition and grenades. Mitch propped himself up against the wall and nodded.

    "You'll have to load them. And Tasha, you're gonna have to carry a rifle this time. I can fire the pistol, even with this bum arm. But there's no way I'll be able to handle a rifle."

    "I can do it," Tasha said, "if you teach me how."

    "Won't be much time," Mitch said. "But I'll try."

    "Maybe you shouldn't have a gun at all," I suggested. "1 mean, no offense, Mitch, but you said it yourself. We're on borrowed time here."

    "Yeah, but I ain't dead yet. What-you think I'm going to turn on you guys? I've got to die before I become a zombie, Lamar. So I might as well take out as many of these damn things as I can before that happens. Who knows how many are loose on the ship."

    "How did they get onboard?" I asked, echoing the kids.

    "Well, let's think about it for a moment. However it happened, they got to Joan first. By the looks of her, she hasn't been dead long. We saw her at dinner, right?"

    The three of us nodded.

    "Okay," Mitch said. "Then it happened between the time she left the galley and now."

    "Was there anybody else in the passageway?"

    "I don't think so." Mitch shrugged, clenching his teeth as more pain shot through him. "I really… didn't get a chance to see. She attacked me… right away. She must have been coming down the corridor."

    I frowned. "Do you remember which direction she came from?"

    Mitch paused, thinking about it. "Forward."

    "Her compartment is aft. So she wouldn't have been coming from there. After dinner, Joan and Alicia were going to check in on the professor and Basil…"

    My voice trailed off. The realization jolted me. My stomach lurched and my head swam. 1 thought I might pass out, so I sat down on the floor.

    "Lamar," Tasha cried out. "What's wrong?"

    "The professor and Basil. Both of their berthing areas are in the forward section. Joan was coming from their compartments."

    "Maybe," Mitch said. "But that still doesn't explain-"

    "The fish." I slammed my palm down on the floor. "The tuna-the one that swallowed the hook. Don't you see? It kept thrashing around even after it had been out of the water for so long. It was wounded. Bleeding! And the professor had an open wound on his hand. His hand was covered with
the fish's blood."

    Malik frowned. "What are you talking about?"

    I jumped up. "Remember when the dead first started coming back to life? There were cross-species jumps. Well, that's happened again. Hamelin's Re venge has spread to the fish. It's in the rucking ocean now. The tuna was already dead. We just didn't realize it. Remember that sore on its tail? We thought it was some kind of fungus or parasite, but you were right. You said it was a bite, Mitch. We should have listened to you. We should have paid attention, especially after all we've seen. Horses were supposed to be immune, but the other day, the chief said he'd seen a zombie horse. It can jump species.
We should have lucking thought.'"

    "Lamar." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Get a… grip on yourself, man. You're hysterical, and that's not… going to help us… right now."

    "Lamar," Tasha pleaded. "You're scaring Malik. Please help."

    "Sorry." I took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, guys. It's just not fair."

    "No," Mitch said. "It's not. But it happened anyway, and we can't… change that. Right now, we need to stop it before anyone else gets… killed. Please, Lamar-while I can still think and move?"

    "Okay." I forced myself to calm down.

    Mitch smiled. "You keep… asking everyone why we fight to survive when… it all seems so hopeless. Why we continue to go on? This is why. Because you're a hero… and that's what heroes do. They rise to the… occasion."

    I nodded, unable to speak around the lump in my throat.

    "What are we gonna do now?" Malik asked, running his fingers over the grenades.

    Mitch struggled to sit up farther. "Well, the first thing is that… you're not to use those grenades. Set it off in the wrong spot and you'll… sink this boat. They are a last resort, and I'm going to keep them… on me."

    "Well then what the hell am I gonna use? I need something, too. I want to blow stuff up again."

    "We'll find something for you. For now, reach into my locker and pull out that big bayonet."

    "Man, I don't want no stupid knife. Give that to Tasha."

    "I've already got his pocketknife," Tasha said.

    "Malik," Mitch groaned. "Don't… argue with me."

    Sulking, Malik did as he was told. His attitude changed when he saw the size of the bayonet- military-issue and nearly twelve inches long. It looked very sharp. Until now, I hadn't even known Mitch had it.

    "Now, that's a knife," Malik said, his demeanor changed.

    Mitch grinned. "We cool now?"

    "Hell, yeah!"

    "Good. Now, Lamar, slide me the… weapons and the ammo. Tasha, go listen at the door… and tell us what you hear."

    While he checked and loaded the guns-carefully, so as not to bleed on them-Tasha crept to the hatch and listened. Her upper lip quivered with fear, and her eyes were wide.

    "Miss Joan is still out there," she whispered. "1 can hear her scratching on the door. Sounds like when our teacher at school, Ms. Price, used to run her fingers down the chalkboard. And there's a banging noise too, but it sounds far away."

    Mitch slid bullets into the pistol's magazine. "No screams or gunshots?"

    Tasha shook her head.

    "How about… Carol? Do you hear her?"

    "No."

    "Good. That means… she listened to Lamar and is still inside her compartment. Okay, Joan is infected… so we have to assume that Alicia is, as well. That means there are at least… four zombies onboard."

    "Four?" I was confused. "There's Joan, Professor Williams, and maybe Alicia."

    "Right."

    "So then who's the fourth?"

    "Basil. He had the… tuna's blood on him, too."

    "Shit. I'd forgotten about that. But if he didn't have an open cut and didn't get it in his mouth, he might be okay."

    "Maybe, but we have to… assume he's one of them… now."

    Carol called out and we yelled back, telling her to stay inside.

    "The professor and Basil are probably mobile," Mitch continued. "They died from the disease, rather than from… an actual attack by an infected corpse. Alicia's the wild card. Maybe they… tore her to pieces, or maybe… she's still mobile, too."

    "Or maybe she got away from them," Malik offered. "Maybe she made it up to the bridge and warned the chief."

    I could tell from the expression on his face that Mitch's pain was growing worse, and when he spoke again, we heard it in his voice.

    "I hope… that you're right. But… we've got to assume… o-otherwise. So… here's the p-plan. We're going to… open that d-door, take care of Joan, and then… s-search the ship… Let me go into the passageway f-first… I'm already infected, so I s-should be… on point. Once we're sure the… passageway is clear, we'll… w-work our way f-forward… Lamar, if we get separated… we'll meet back here. K-kids, once we're g-gone, I want you to… s-shut the hatch behind us and don't open it f-for… anybody."

    "Screw that," Tasha yelled. "We ain't staying behind. We're going with you. Look at you-you can barely talk at this point."

    "Yeah," Malik said, moving to her side. "Ya'll are gonna need our help."

    Groaning, Mitch stumbled to his feet. "It's n-not… open f-for… debate. Now Tasha, come… here and let me… t-teach you how to use this… r-rifle. When you f-fire it, it'll… knock you… over if you're n-not… careful."

    "No." She stomped her foot. "We're going with you. It ain't open for discussion."

    "Tasha," Mitch sighed. "W-we d-don't… have time t-to… argue. Now d-drop it… and p-pay… attention, or I'll have L-Lamar… lock you b-both… inside this… c-compartment."

    Tasha bit her lip to keep from responding. Her hands curled into fists.

    Mitch went over the basics of the rifle, quickly taught her how to hold it and how to sight, showed her where the safety was and how to change the magazine. Then he handed me the shotgun.

    "Th-think you c-can… handle that b-better… now?"

    I nodded. "I'm the hero, remember? I'm just glad you had extra shells that would fit this, otherwise it'd be pretty fucking useless."

    "Me, t-too… Okay, hero… let's d-do this… Malik, m-move… away f-from the… hatch."

    "Mitch. Lamar." Tasha picked up the rifle. "Wait a second."

    We turned to her. I heard Mitch take a deep breath, prepared to argue more, but Tasha was done arguing. Even as we turned, she swept past us and ran toward the hatch.

    "Open the door, Malik!"

    He followed his sister's order and flung the hatch open. Then he ducked behind the steel door. Only his feet were visible. Joan half-tumbled through the doorway. Tasha snapped the rifle upward, set it against her shoulder like Mitch had just taught her, and squeezed the trigger. Her aim was perfect. Joan's head exploded, showering the hatch and the bulkheads with blood, hair and bone fragments. The rifle bucked, and the force of the blast knocked her backward. Tasha cried out in pain and surprise but kept her footing.

    Outside, Carol screamed. Her voice was still muffled, which meant she had at least stayed inside her berthing area.

    Malik slammed the hatch door shut again, carefully avoiding the gore. He and Tasha checked each other, making sure they hadn't gotten hit by the splatter, and then they turned to us.

    "You said we were a family," Malik said, his tone serious. "You said we got to stick together."

    Tasha nodded, rubbing her shoulder. "Now let's do it. Or Malik and I will lock you both in here."

    Mitch and I turned to each other in disbelief, and then back to the kids.

    "Okay", I said. "Let's go. But you stay behind me and Mitch. Understand?"

    They nodded.

    Mitch and 1 both tried to stifle grins, but failed. The kids smiled back.

    I readied the shotgun. Mitch unholstered his pistol with difficulty, but managed to hold it in his uninjured arm. Malik brandished the bayonet and licked his lips. Tasha's arms sagged from the weight of the rifle. Nodding to each other, we stepped over Joan's unmoving corpse, opened the hatch again, and moved as one into the passageway.

    Alicia waited for us there-dead.

    She was very hungry.

    

    

    

    Alicia stood at the end of the passageway, leaning against the starboard bulkhead. Her head swayed limply in time to the ship's rolling. Whoever had killed her-Basil or the professor-had done it brutally. One of her arms was nearly fleshless from the elbow down to her wrist. It looked like the skin had been chewed off. The only things left were tendons and bone. A few ragged scraps dangled from the bones. One side of her face had been stripped, too-not just of its skin, but the eye, ear, lips, and scalp, as well. Her torn shirt was so soaked with blood that it was impossible to tell what its original color had been. Now it was just a deep red. Beneath the shredded cloth were more gaping bite wounds. Her other hand was stained red. It was impossible for me to tell if it was from her blood or someone else's. She stumbled toward us, leaving a scarlet trail along the bulkhead. Alicia raised her head. Her lipless gums and teeth worked soundlessly. She took a few tentative steps forward, almost tripping over her own feet.