Convulsive Box Set

by Marcus Martin

  “Hurry up down there!” yelled Ruth.

  “I’ll go first,” said Lucy, turning her back to Jack’s feet. She knelt in the rising water, raised both hands over her shoulders, then heaved. Fliss grabbed the far end and the pair sloshed their way through the flooding galley.

  They struggled up the companionway and onto deck. Ruth had opened the gate leading to the boat’s external ladder, where an inflated orange and yellow life boat was tethered.

  “No way – the edges will tear the rubber,” said Ruth, pushing past them.

  She jumped into the flooded galley and rummaged through the submerged cabinets, quickly returning with duct tape and a quilt. The three of them hastily padded and bound the stretcher’s corners, while the hull creaked beneath them.

  Ruth and Fliss hurried into the raft then caught the stretcher from Lucy, as she slid Jack’s slender frame off the lip of the stern. The boat gargled loudly as seawater squeezed air out of the cabins.

  “We’ve got incoming!” cried Fliss, pointing out to sea.

  Jets of water shot up into the air, where wind swiftly scattered the droplets. Lucy squinted. The bursts were several hundred yards away, but getting closer. Beneath each jet was a broad, oily back, arching and dipping seamlessly as it slid through the water.

  Lucy hastily clambered onto the raft and cast them off from the sinking boat.

  “Make for the shore!” cried Ruth, plunging a paddle into the water.

  Lucy and Fliss obeyed, paddling hard. Jack moaned from the stretcher, his eyes fluttering.

  “They’re getting closer – hurry,” cried Fliss.

  “Keep going, the tide’s with us!” yelled Ruth.

  As the creatures closed in, their profiles changed. Out of their broad, flat backs unfolded grey and black striped dorsal fins, which cut through the water like knives. The pack sped up, racing through the water as they made a beeline for the group.

  The raft hit the shore and scraped to a halt, where it bobbed, paralyzed amidst the wet sand.

  “Everybody out!” cried Ruth, bailing over the side. Lucy and Fliss followed, leaping into the shallows. All three grabbed a handle and dragged the raft onto the beach.

  “Get him out,” wheezed Ruth, dropping her handle and vomiting onto the sand.

  Lucy leaned over the raft’s side and gripped the stretcher. Fliss jumped back in and grabbed the leg-end. As the pair heaved Jack out of the raft, Fliss tripped, sending Jack’s legs splashing into the lapping waves. Lucy stumbled backwards, barely staying upright with the weight of Jack’s upper half. The boy came-to and started wailing in fear as she dragged him further inland.

  “It’s OK,” said Fliss, clambering back towards her brother and loosening his ropes, as Lucy dropped him on the sand.

  “Ruth!” cried Jack, pointing to the water.

  The sailor was leaning on the rubber raft for support as fresh waves lapped around her calves. Panic swept across Lucy’s spine; a thick, striped dorsal fin was speeding Ruth’s way. Lucy sprinted toward the water and grabbed the woman’s arm, hauling her away from the raft.

  The pair fell back in horror as the creature made landfall, biting down on the raft, bursting it immediately and dragging it into the water. As the creature swam away from the shoreline with the tattered yellow and orange ring in tow, more dorsal fins rose to the surface to inspect the kill. The lead creature shook the raft several times then discarded it, realizing its mistake. Lucy sat on her elbows, panting, as the predators glided silently alongside the shore, eyeballing her through their expressionless black retinas, contemplating the human group’s distance from the water.

  With a spray of water from its blowhole, the pod leader turned back towards the open water and slipped beneath the surface, leading the rest of the creatures with it. The striped fins contracted one by one as the creatures dived in turn, revealing flat tails like those of a whale. The upper sides were grey and black, but the undersides were bleached yellow. Several of the creatures had chunks missing from theirs.

  “Are you OK?” said Lucy, turning to Ruth.

  The older woman had turned pale and sweaty.

  “I’ve been better,” she said, wiping vomit from her mouth and chest.

  Fliss had untied Jack’s ropes, and was helping him to sit up. Behind them was a sand-colored cliff face, above which stood a dense forest.

  “What’s that?” croaked Jack, pointing over Fliss’s shoulder.

  Lucy followed his gaze. In the distance, a cloud of sand was being disturbed along the shore. It was getting bigger.

  “Let’s go – we need to get to higher ground,” said Lucy, sticking her head under Ruth’s arm and heaving. Ruth grunted and attempted to stand, but her strength had gone. The pair tumbled back into the sand.

  “It’s getting closer,” cried Jack.

  Lucy stared at the oncoming sand cloud. The grains were being churned up by an armored arthropod sprinting towards them. Its head was narrow like a greyhound’s skull; streamlining its long, segmented body, which raced towards them on bony, wide-set legs which moved too fast to be counted.

  “Ruth, you gotta get up,” begged Lucy.

  “Go,” panted Ruth, slumping onto the sand. She rolled onto her back and clutched her heart, closing her eyes in pain.

  “Oh shit,” said Lucy. “You two, get over here,” she yelled at Fliss and Jack.

  The teenagers looked at her in astonishment, having already started fleeing for the rocks.

  “It’s gonna kill us,” cried Fliss.

  “Help us!” bellowed Lucy.

  The pair hurried towards her, Fliss supporting Jack as he swayed. They fell at Ruth’s side and grabbed her arms, ready to lift.

  “No, get behind me. It’s not interested in us three, I promise you. It only wants Ruth,” said Lucy, drawing Ruth’s diving knife.

  The creature was closing in fast.

  “Are you insane?” cried Fliss, stepping away

  “You have to trust me. We’re infected. It can’t touch us. But we have to stop it getting to Ruth,” said Lucy, her eyes flitting between the terrified teenagers and the impending dust cloud.

  “What are we supposed to stop it with?” trembled Jack.

  A rapid, rhythmic clicking was resonating from the creature’s impending body. Lucy glimpsed the thick orange hairs which covered its shell like trip wires.

  She widened her stance and gripped the knife tightly, preparing to stab. She searched desperately for a weakness in its armor but saw none. The creature prepared for the final assault. Its scurrying gait disappeared as it raised its front limbs up like pincers. Its remaining limbs switched seamlessly into a bounding rhythm. The creature propelled itself towards the group in a series of leaps. As it prepared to strike, a fluttering, chopping noise carried through the air.

  A bullet tore through the creature’s thick armor, sending it crashing into the ground. Jack screamed as the creature rose to its feet again and staggered towards them, with blue blood spurting from the top of its shell. Another bullet ripped into the creature’s body, this time felling it permanently. Lucy looked up and her heart danced as a Seahawk helicopter circled around and landed on the beach.

  NAVY was printed on the side of the grey hull in bold. Lucy shielded her eyes as the craft’s blades threw sand towards them.

  “Jack, get to the helicopter. Fliss, gimme a hand, hurry!” ordered Lucy.

  They dragged Ruth towards the chopper, where a pair of black gloves reached through the dust cloud and grabbed her. Another of the aircrew grabbed Lucy by the shoulders and hauled her onboard. Within seconds the craft was taking off again. Lucy grabbed the hull netting for stability as the helicopter turned through the air. The crew shoved Lucy down into a jump seat beside Fliss and clipped her in.

  Lucy stared down as they passed the beach at a tilt. Scores more armored creatures were scuttling towards the spot they’d been standing on just moments ago. The first arrivals were already feasting on the carcass of their dead peer.


  Lucy tried to speak to the others but the noise of the blades was deafening. The aircrew wore ear defenders, but Lucy had to make do covering her ears with her hands. She felt queasy as the helicopter dipped its nose and accelerated away from the beach, heading further along the vast estuary. Ruth’s eyes were closed, and her mouth sagged at both sides as she drew rapid, shallow breaths.

  The craft sped over land and water for several minutes, before slowing and turning into a descent. A buildings complex appeared before them, clustered along the shoreline. The buildings were dominated by satellite dishes of all sizes, along with a range of radar and radio installations. U.S. Navy Chesapeake Bay Detachment read a sign, as they touched down onto the grass. A truck was waiting to meet them.

  The pilot killed the engines and the aircrew chaperoned Lucy and the others out of the chopper and over to the truck, where two uniformed soldiers stood waiting. One had a field laptop set up on the trunk.

  “What’s this?” called the foremost soldier, over the fading whine of the chopper’s motors. His clean-shaven face was at odds with the naval officer’s rich beard.

  “Civilians. We picked them up on the beach a few miles out. They were under attack,” said the airman.

  “They ain’t part of the deal,” said the soldier.

  “Nope. But they’re your problem now,” said the airman.

  “All clear,” said the second soldier, removing a USB stick from the laptop and packing both away in a bulky, indestructible-looking carry case.

  “All clear,” echoed an airman, completing a parallel operation on a Navy laptop.

  “Until next time,” said the bearded airman, extending his Army counterpart a hand.

  “Did you tell the civilians anythin’?” demanded the clean-shaven soldier, gesturing to Lucy’s bewildered-looking group.

  “I thought I’d leave your side to do the briefing. From what I hear, they won’t get told much,” said the airman, retracting his hand.

  “Maybe that’s ‘cause we still have a thing called classified information,” said the soldier, defiantly.

  “Let me know how that works out. Clock starts now people, five minute extraction, let’s go,” said the airman, signaling to the other crew members to follow as he set off for the adjacent building.

  “Lemme know when y’all wake up and decide to join the fight,” called the soldier.

  “Oh we will, don’t you worry about that. We’re playing the long game, brother,” yelled the airman, with a wink.

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Hey! Pff, jackass,” said the soldier, spitting in disgust.

  Lucy looked at the soldier uncertainly, wishing the aircrew weren’t washing their hands of them so readily.

  “What are y’all looking at? Get in the damn truck already,” said the soldier.

  “Are you going to DC?” asked Lucy, anxiously.

  “No, we’re going to Disneyland. Dumbass question,” said the soldier, slamming his door and starting the engine.

  Lucy and the others hurried to the back of the truck and climbed in, heaving Ruth into place between them. The older woman moaned incoherently as they kept her upright. Fliss swept Ruth’s hair from her eyes and mopped her brow. Lucy took Ruth’s pulse as the truck moved forwards; it was irregular, and faint. She looked to Fliss anxiously.

  “We need to get her to a hospital,” said Lucy.

  FOUR

  He

  ___________

  While Jack was making a swift recovery, Ruth’s condition was deteriorating. Her body was limp and her skin clammy. Jack watched her with deep concern as she drifted in and out of consciousness.

  “She’ll pull through,” said Lucy, squeezing his shoulder, as the truck rumbled through the outer suburbs of DC.

  They were tantalizingly close, yet the streets were barren. She thought of Dan’s father, and the protection she’d promised the group on his behalf. Her stomach churned.

  The stillness of the city was interrupted by the soldiers in the front seat, who were growing more indignant in their conversation.

  “So this asshole says to me, ‘you guys should get less rations’,” said the clean-shaven solder, who was driving.

  “Less? If they give us any less we’ll be eatin’ nothin’,” said the navigator, bitterly.

  “That’s what I said, but then this guy’s all like ‘the system ain’t fair, it’s one rule for y’all and another for us,” said the driver.

  “Tell the son of a bitch to sign up and put his neck on the line day in day out. Then we’ll see about fair,” spat the navigator.

  “That is exactly what I told him. We’re out here risking our lives while they get to work the other side, and they think that’s the same?” fumed the driver.

  “Screw ‘em,” said the navigator.

  “Damn straight. Hold up, looks like we got a tailback,” said the driver, slowing the vehicle.

  Ruth slumped forwards as the truck braked. Lucy caught her just in time, and dragged her back into the seat with Fliss’s help. Lucy peered ahead; a line of static military vehicles stretched ahead for almost a quarter mile. Her heart leapt; at the end of the line was a vast grey wall blocking the road. Soldiers manned the watchtowers above, while a central gate controlled access to the city beyond.

  The driver crunched on the handbrake and let the truck idle, while the navigator hopped out to investigate the tailback. As he reached the first vehicle he stumbled backwards, fumbling his rifle into position and cursing in alarm. Lucy watched intently as he proceeded with the gun poised, ready to fire. He edged forward to the next vehicles, ensuring the barrel would automatically be trained at anything he saw. He crossed to the adjacent line of cars and disappeared from view for a minute, before abruptly reappearing beside the truck. He climbed in and slammed the door, white as a sheet.

  “Drive,” he croaked.

  “What you saw?” said the driver.

  “They got hit. They’re all gone,” he replied, his hand trembling as he clutched his rifle.

  The driver pulled into an empty lane and took them onward, cautiously. As they made their way towards the vast city gate, Lucy observed the motionless convoy. Each vehicle was full of soldiers in the early stages of decay. Their uniformed bodies sat like discarded dolls. Some were held in place by seat belts, others lay strewn across their comrades – arms outstretched, reaching for the doors.

  A shiver crept up Lucy’s spine as the attack at Camp Oscar came rushing back. She dug her fingernails hard into her thighs as she tried to shut out the memory of doors being been ripped off the convoy, of people getting plucked from the trucks like candy, and of General Whitaker’s neck snapping as his truck rolled.

  She shook the memories from her mind and focused on the vehicular grave beside them. Judging by the state of the troops’ flesh, the attack was recent; it probably occurred less than twelve hours ago, Lucy reasoned. But the vehicles themselves showed no signs of disturbance.

  “Stop the truck,” cried Fliss.

  “What?” grunted the driver.

  “Someone’s alive back there – stop,” she insisted.

  The driver swore in frustration, stopping the vehicle but keeping the engine running as he checked the mirrors in every direction. He and the other soldier climbed out and drew their weapons. Fliss leaped out too, hurrying ahead.

  “Fliss, we don’t have time – we need to get to a hospital!” cried Lucy, but the girl was gone. Jack made to follow her but Lucy grabbed his shoulder and slammed him back down.

  “You stay – look after Ruth,” she said, sternly.

  Cursing, she leaped out and hurried after the girl.

  “Back up,” barked the driver, as Fliss went to touch the convoy vehicle’s handle. She backed away, hands raised, while keeping her wide eyes fixed on what lay inside.

  Lucy caught up and stared inside the truck; the survivor was a woman who could have been anything between twenty and fifty. The liquefying process of the D4 infection had erased the precise contours
of her age. Her hand was pressed against the window, which had smear marks from her decaying fingertips. Her eyes were yellow and bloodshot.

  The navigator skirted to the opposite side of the vehicle, checking all around it, and sweeping the underside too.

  “Clear,” he said, retraining his gun on the truck.

  The driver opened the door handle and stepped back. The woman slumped outwards and vomited onto the tar, splurging a pinkish-grey amalgam of flesh and digested food.

  She reached out imploringly but the driver leaped back further in horror. The woman’s clothes were damp, and sagged from her putrefying body. She tried to speak but her tongue had become deformed. When she did manage an utterance, it was pained, and gargled, as her vocal cords choked on their own tissue.

  “We need to help her,” said Fliss, staring around the group earnestly.

  The driver said nothing, keeping his assault rifle pointed at the woman, his face fixed in grim concentration. The navigator on the far side was hunched over his knees, dry-heaving. Lucy looked at the dying woman and knew there was nothing that could be done.

  “Do we have any morphine? A defibrillator? Something,” said Fliss, desperately.

  The woman moaned again, imploringly. With trembling limbs, she reached to the open car door for stability. As her hand slipped, her fingers broke off, disintegrating into D4-gelatin. The woman landed hard on the asphalt.

  “Mother of god,” said the driver, backing away further still.

  With immense effort, the woman lifted her face from the tar. Her cheek tore off, sticking the ground, revealing her teeth and jaw bone as she fixed her jaundiced eyes on Fliss.

  The girl froze, petrified, as the mutilated woman dragged herself closer. Her disfigured mouth lolled open, releasing desperate, gargling moans. As she edged forwards, her boots stayed still, as her feet tore off from her ankles.

  “H- help… We need to help her,” gasped Fliss, looking wildly around the group for answers.

  The driver pulled out a pistol and held it out to the girl. She stared at it in horror. The dying woman slapped a glistening, disfigured hand onto Fliss’s boots and let out a spluttering cry. Fliss screamed and leaped back, dislocating the woman’s arm in the process. The woman wailed in pain.