Chuck screamed. I whipped around and did the same. Chuck was spinning around and slamming himself against the bulkhead in an effort to dislodge Cliff. I wondered where the hell he’d come from. The passageway had been deserted just moments before. Cliff’s corpse must have snuck up behind us. Chuck continued turning. The dead college student clung to his back, his legs wrapped around Chuck’s waist, his arms wrapped around his chest, his teeth clamped down on Chuck’s right ear. Tony lay sprawled at Chuck’s feet, his hands clutching at his ruined face. As Chuck spun around a third time, he tripped over Tony. Both he and Cliff tumbled to the floor.
“Shoot the fucker,” he shouted.
Fingers trembling, I reloaded the shotgun and jacked a shell.
Half of his ear had been bitten off. Blood streamed down his face and all over Cliff and Tony as well. Not that it mattered—both of them were covered in gore already. Cliff sat up and ignored us all, content to gnaw on the severed ear.
“Get down,” I ordered. “Chuck, you’re in the way.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he wailed. “I’ve been bit. Now squeeze the fucking trigger!”
Before I could, something clawed at my shoulder from behind. Screaming, I whipped around. Basil was back on his feet. Incredibly, the second shot hadn’t been enough to put him down for good. The pellets had done a serious amount of damage. The left side of his face looked like it had gone through a cheese grater, but I hadn’t penetrated the skull and destroyed the brain.
His cold, bloody fingers pawed across my chest. Recoiling in alarm, I clubbed him in the jaw with the shotgun’s stock. Then I shoved the barrel into his gaping mouth. He bit down, shattering his teeth.
“Stay the fuck down, Basil, and go find your wife.”
Closing my eyes and turning my face away, I squeezed the trigger. Basil’s head exploded. Wetness splattered against my cheek. Frantic, I wiped my face with my sleeve.
“Lamar,” Chuck called out from behind me, “take care of Tony!”
A second gunshot exploded in the passageway. When I turned around, Cliff was slumped against the wall, blood pumping from a hole in his head. Before I could act, Chuck stuffed the smoking pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger again. His body jerked upright, and the back of his head blew apart. He went limp. What remained of his head caved in like a rotten melon that had been left out in the sun for too long. His legs and feet twitched as if electrified. The crotch of his pants turned dark as his bladder failed. And then Chuck lay still.
I prodded Tony with my foot. He didn’t respond. I couldn’t tell if he was dead or just unconscious. Not that it mattered anyway. Regardless, he was already dead. The poison was pumping through his veins. Soon, he would stand again. I put the shotgun against his forehead and made sure that wouldn’t happen.
Silence returned to the smoke-filled passageway—or maybe it was just that I’d gone deaf. Half in shock, I stared down at the four corpses. It had all happened so quickly. There’d been no time to think—just act, let impulse and instinct drive. I patted my pockets and took stock of my shotgun shells. I considered taking Tony and Chuck’s weapons, but both were stained with blood and I didn’t want to risk infection. I’d already come too close to exposure when I shot Basil. Making sure the passageway was still clear, I ducked into Basil’s compartment again and searched his footlocker. At the bottom, I found a clean t-shirt with a logo that said, malcasa point is for lovers. Inside a small shaving kit, I found a bar of soap, a bottle of aftershave, and a tube of antibacterial cream. Using a pair of Basil’s socks, I wiped my shotgun clean and disinfected it with the aftershave. Then I poured aftershave over my hands and then scrubbed them with the soap. Next, I wiped them clean on a pair of Basil’s underwear. Satisfied that they were spotless, I scrubbed my face with the aftershave. The alcohol burned, but it was a good pain. I checked my complexion in the mirror, looking for pimples or cuts—anything that would have allowed Hamelin’s Revenge to get inside me. When I saw that I was safe, I breathed a sigh of relief. Then I removed my gory T-shirt, ripping it down the middle and stripping it off rather than pulling it over my head and further risking infection from Basil’s blood. Once it was off, I slipped the clean shirt over my head. It was a little snug around the belly and shoulders, but it would do. Finally, I rubbed my hands and face with the antibacterial cream just for extra protection. I’d seen the effects of Hamelin’s Revenge firsthand. When Turn and Mitch were infected, the disease had spread rapidly. They’d both gotten sick within minutes. I wasn’t feeling sick yet, so I assumed that I was okay.
And then I closed my eyes and prayed to a God I didn’t believe in that I’d stay that way. All my life, I’d been told over and over again that he didn’t care for people like me, that he’d sent an angel to nuke the ancient city of Sodom because of men like myself. But I hoped that if he did exist, God would make an exception this time—if not for me, then for the kids. Tasha and Malik hadn’t done anything to him. They deserved a better world than this.
“Amen,” I said out loud. I could barely hear myself.
I felt no different. There was none of that peace or calm that religious people say comes with prayer. I thought back to the graffiti I’d seen spray painted on the church back in Baltimore: god is dead. Maybe it was true. And if so, then maybe he was just another zombie. His son had come back from the dead, right? Maybe he’d come back hungry.
I opened my eyes, picked up the shotgun, and stepped back out into the slaughterhouse. As I walked through the hatch, two things happened simultaneously—an explosion rocked the ship and somebody shot at me.
Chapter Eleven
At first, I thought the two blasts were actually one big explosion. The first one was muffled, occurring in another part of the ship, but powerful enough to jolt my feet. The
“Hey,” I shouted, dropping to my knees, “hold your goddamned fire!”
“Lamar?” The voice belonged to Runkle. A second later, he stepped out from around the corner and leaned through the hatch. “Oh, shit.”
“You stupid redneck motherfucker,” I spat, climbing to my feet. My legs were wobbly and I had to steady myself against the bulkhead. Then I realized that it wasn’t my balance at all. The ship was still leaning to starboard.
“I’m sorry, man.” He lowered his pistol and held up his hand in surrender. “1 thought you were a zombie. I heard shots and ran down here. Smelled all the gun smoke in the air and just assumed that—”
“Yeah” I interrupted. “Well you know what they say about assuming, Runkle. Makes an ass out of you and me. You nearly fucking blew my head off. If it hadn’t been for the ship rolling—”
“What was that, anyway? I felt it vibrate in my feet.”
“How the fuck should I know? I was too busy getting shot at, you stupid asshole.”
“Look”—he raised his voice—“I said I was sorry. Now we can stand here and argue about it or we can find out what the hell is going on. Do you want to fight?”
Shaking my head, I retrieved the shotgun. “No. I’m cool for now. You’re right. We need to focus. I’ll take this up with you later.”
“Well then, let’s just hope there is a later. What the hell happened here?”
I quickly filled him in on everything I knew, ending with Chuck’s suicide and me putting Tony out of his misery.
Runkle counted on his fingers. “So that leaves the two of us, the kids, Carol, Tran, Murphy, and Chief Maxey —and there’s been no sign of Professor Williams, correct?”
I nodded. “You see anybody other than the chief?”
“No. The passageways were all deserted. I figured everyone was asleep, until I heard the gunshots.”
The ship leaned farther to the starboard side, jolting us both again. There was a loud, metallic groan from beneath the hull. An alarm blared, and the chief’s voice came over the speakers.
