“…I am sure someone has radioed for help. We just have to hang tight and let rescue come to us.” I think she was about to ask if I had been listening to her when she followed my gaze to the guy on the floor.
“Is he going to be all right?”
“No, he’s dead. Well, eventually.” All at once, the ship shuddered, like a mini earthquake, not hard enough to knock you down, but sufficient to get our attention.
“Some kind of explosion.” A slightly older woman, heavyset, about my height, and definitely not military, was standing next to me, in matching powder blue pajamas and slippers.
“Somewhere aft, too small for a grenade, don’t think it was the engine room, could be the lab. Hmm, yes it could be. But it definitely wasn’t the engine room.” She wasn’t exactly talking to me or Kathy. I guess it was more to herself. I moved over to her.
“Hey, are you okay?” Now that I really took a good look at her, I decided that she was older than I was, and based on the roots, if she hadn’t been coloring her hair, it would be completely white. She was clutching a purse tightly to her chest. On her right side, midway between her shoulder and breast, was a bloody handprint. When she looked at me, it was with the strangest face I have ever seen; all kind of scrunched up. She didn’t have makeup on or anything, but the first image that came to my mind was a scared clown. I turned to go back to Kathy.
“We should have techs on the way by now. The lyophilizers failed, you know. I have no idea where we were in the recipe. It must have been toward the end. Yes, it had to have been in secondary drying. It’s okay, the seals will hold, they should hold you know.” Her voice sounded thin and distant, as if she knew she was talking, but at the same time thinking of something else.
I stopped. What did she just say? Did I really hear that? Now I was scared. In a slow, obviously concerned voice, I said, “Kathy, what the hell is she talking about?” Kathy didn’t look at me but continued to stare at the woman. This was starting to be too much to absorb at once. I went over to a table and sat down. Lyophilization? Why would anyone want to freeze dry anything? Oh no. Like the proverbial light bulb, it all started to make sense. Please let this be a dream.
“Kathy, you mentioned something about reverse engineering. How far along were they?” She was now staring at me. Was she afraid of me? “What was the talk about progress?” I was trying to calm down a bit.
“Apparently, things were moving faster than was originally anticipated. In the last meeting, somebody actually used the word gangbuster to describe his project’s rapid development. That’s why our part was ending.” She hadn’t moved to sit down, and actually, might be moving slowly away from me.
“All that rush for the lung samples. How could we have been so stupid?”
“Wait a second, John, we...”
“We what? Kathy, I know what lyophilization is.”
Lyophilization is the fancy term used in biotech for freeze-drying. It’s a common practice in the pharmaceutical industry to stabilize a product. The process is fine-tuned to the particular compound you are making; The Eutectic point has to be known, how long are your freeze cycles, how fast, at what temperature and what pressure. Each compound has a unique lyophilization procedure and is often called a recipe. Lyophilization is also used to stabilize biologicals, like viruses. Only the military could put something like this together on the fly, part of me was very impressed.
“Okay, Kathy, straight up, could someone be weaponizing the virus? Is that what they are fucking freeze-drying? The tissue sample we take would be stored in liquid nitrogen, right? You don’t need to freeze dry them. So what the fuck are we freeze drying?”
“It could be. I’ve heard nothing about a vaccine. All the work I know of deals with the structure and various characteristics of the virus. So, yes, maybe small batches for research, but what kind of research, I have no clue.”
“How small? Are we talking grams or kilos?”
“I don’t know. My guess is the units they are using are not industrial sized. Maybe research size. Grams? Could be more.”
“Our military at its most efficient. Your tax dollars at work. They are freeze-drying the virus and they’re doing it on this ship! My ship! Jesus Christ!” I put my head in my hands while my mind raced. Okay, slow down, slow down and breathe. I am starting to think that T.S. Elliot was right all along, this really is the way the world will end. Can we really be that stupid? That arrogant? Who would have thought this was a good idea? The fucking world was dying! Were we just trying to ensure the job was done right?
Stop it, John. Think! I opened my eyes and found myself staring at the gun in my hand. I had been gripping it so hard for so long that my hands where white. I was tired, hungry, and way past depressed. I felt cheated, as if someone had interrupted my vacation. I was retired from the zombie fighting game. John had officially called it a day. I had compressed a lifetime of gunplay into a couple of months! I had done my duty and now I just wanted to crawl back into bed and drift off to a sound sleep. I was still staring at the gun.
“Too easy. Not my way. Not today.” It was only after I said it that I realized I was talking out loud.
“John, what?”
I stood and looked at Kathy, and in an instant, I knew my future. I am going to die on a ship in Long Island Sound. I will never be forty-seven. I will never again eat barbecued ribs. I will never have sex. I will never finish Gravities Rainbow, again. I will never see the Grand Canyon, or the pyramids, or for that matter, dry land again. I am going to die on a ship in Long Island Sound. However, I am not going out with a fucking whimper. I went over to the woman.
“Ma’am, hey, lady, look at me.” I grabbed her shoulders. “You need to talk to me right now, okay?”
“I don’t know. Who are you?”
“That doesn’t matter. I have some quick questions and you have to answer me. It’s important.” I was trying to keep my voice low so as not to attract attention. I was also trying to sound calm and nice, but I knew I was not doing that good of a job. I took my hands off her and saw her eyes dart to the gun. “Ma’am. Where are the freeze driers located?”
“Do I know you? I don’t know you, so leave me alone.” She started to walk away. With my one free hand, I grabbed her shoulder again, but this time I was not gentle. Again, in a low voice without the slightest hint of politeness or pleasantry, I spoke.
“Listen, you old bitch. If there is a hell, my ticket was punched long ago, so do not think I will have any qualms about putting you down like a sick dog. So, ma’am, where the fuck are the freeze driers?” My gun was now firmly jutting into her ribs. From the corner of my eye, I saw Kathy back away.
She looked down at the gun, and then into my eyes. She knew, and more importantly, I knew I would do it. Shit, I should do it just on principle.
“There are two of them, but they are in the same lab. Deck four, lab six. It will have a biohazard sign painted on the door, a green biohazard sign. You will see the air lock and have to gown to get in.”
“Where is it stockpiled? On this ship or another, and if so, which ship?”
“I don’t know.”
“Give me your card key. Are there any codes or locks that I need to know about?” She started fumbling with her purse and pulled out a lanyard with her ID and a small cream-colored tag about the size of a credit card.
“No. This will get you in.” Then her eyes went wide with understanding. “You’re not going down there. What about the zombies?” It was around this time that I noticed she was wearing a small gold cross.
“Fuck you. Pray to your God, because you’re going to need it.” I let go of the hag and turned to Kathy.
“John, you have to understand that I had no idea. I thought they were…”
“Kathy, if I can trust anybody right now, it’s going to be you. Maybe she is just some crazy old bag woman who happens to have survived the zombie apocalypse and just ended up on this navy vessel in the middle of some classified research, if there is such a th
ing as classified research. I have to check this lab out.”
“Why? Let’s just get to a safe place, maybe stay here, and wait for rescue.” As if on cue, a loud scream came from the other side of the door nearest us, followed by gunfire and someone banging on the door; some indeterminate sounds of commotion and the banging stopped.
“John, are you insane? So you find the lab, big deal.”
“Yes, to your first question, and I need to know if the ship has been compromised. We both agreed these labs were slapped together and would never pass spec in the real world. If this shit has been developed to the point of freeze drying and the machine’s compromised, then the ship is more than likely compromised, we’re compromised.”
“But, John…”
“Kathy, if this is true… they will sink the ship.” Something in her face changed. Just a subtle relaxation of some facial muscles and I knew she understood. There is a good chance that no rescue would be possible. We are not going home. The hag sat down and I noticed that Dawson had taken her place.
“I’ll go with you.”
“Okay, what’s your first name?”
“Peter.”
“Alright, Peter, let’s saddle up. Grab anything with a trigger and lots of ammo. We…”
“I’m going too.” It was Kathy. She no longer looked pale.
“Okay, find something that goes bang.” Why am I being such an ass to Kathy? She really is my only friend on board.
I’m bouncing on the balls of my feet again. Where did this come from? I really want some breakfast. Somewhere way back in the recesses of my messed up head, a cowbell was being rung.
The door is going to open inward. I need an angle. Peter is going to open it. He looks ready. Kathy is behind me. Okay, John, here we go, again. More gunfire from somewhere.
‘Spotcheck Billy got down on his hands and knees. He said ‘Hey mama hey, let me check your oil all right?’ Why the fuck is my brain playing a song called Fat Man in the Bathtub?
I nod and he pulls the handle.
The zombie is right outside the door with his back to me, maybe twelve feet away. They are fast, but now, I am faster. I don’t shoot, but with exaggerated steps cover the distance in a heartbeat. By the time it turns, my muzzle is a foot away from its face and I pop a cap right between the eyes. The eyes of a tall, athletic, bald, naked zombie. What the heck is going on here?
‘Come back Monday, come back Tuesday and then I might.’
The corridor is clear and I step over the corpse and start to walk in what I believe to be the direction of the labs, which I know are several decks lower. I hear sounds behind me, which I really hope are Kathy and Peter, but I don’t turn to check.
‘I said Juanita, my sweet Juanita, what are you up to?’
I am now singing to myself. What the hell is it with this Little Feat song? Little Feat. I saw them with Tom in Albany around nineteen eighty-seven, just after they had reunited. Lowell George died, what? Late seventies? Albany’s gone, Tom’s gone.
Stairs leading down were just off to my right. Thank God, the door was open. When I stepped onto the landing, I heard more gunfire, this time above. The coast was clear, so I started down.
“John, wait up.” It was Kathy. Kathy is a petite woman and looked a bit comical carrying a large pistol. I was glad to see she was using a two handed technique like me, but the comedic value of the image she presented was instantly lost when I realized it was pointed at my thigh.
“Kathy! Let’s keep this bad boy aimed in the right direction.” She blushed, muttered something and pointed her gun at the floor. Great, I again have someone behind me with a loaded gun and possibly no clue as how to use it.
“Hey, Kathy, let me take care of the bad guys. You shoot only if necessary, okay?”
“John, why are you eternally the asshole?” Boy, that’s a good question. Peter joined us. Just then, there was another explosion somewhere in the bowels of the ship. I went down the steps expecting a zombie at each landing I came to, but my luck was holding. At level four, I entered the corridor and realized it was a lot, and I was no longer singing about a fat man in a bathtub.
“Kathy?”
“Aft. Straight ahead.” I was back in the corridor from earlier this morning, but without the guards. Oh, shit, I take that back. About twenty yards down the hall from me lay two zombies, obviously dead, and a marine. He was sitting next to the corpses and he looked up at me as I approached. Drenched in blood and holding his right arm, we made eye contact. He looked remarkably calm and didn’t say a word. At least three fingers were missing from the bloody stump that used to be his hand. Next to him was a sidearm with the slide-bar extended, out of ammunition. Behind me Peter muttered, “holy shit,” but didn’t approach. Our eyes locked again. He gave me a faint smile and nodded, yes. I mouthed the word, okay and started to pass him, stopped, quickly turned, and blew the top of his head off. His eyes were closed and his face had an almost serene appearance.
“Fuck me!” It was Peter. “Are you fucking insane, John?”
“Peter, he was dead, man.” And will people stop asking me that stupid question, because the answer is yes.
“Yeah? You a doctor? You gonna shoot me if I get bit?”
“It depends on the situation. If you don’t do it yourself, then yes.” I started down the corridor. It took me about a three steps to realize no one was following. When I turned, I saw two things at once: Kathy and Peter staring at me dumbfounded, and some kind of frenetic commotion going on behind them, rapidly moving in their direction.
“Fuck! Behind you!” I yelled and dropped to one knee, pointing my weapon straight at them. With the two of them in the way, it was hard to tell exactly what was approaching us, but the jerky movements and dull roar significantly narrowed the options.
Kathy fired first. She was shooting so fast that I knew she was not really aiming, just unloading a whole lot of lead down the corridor. In a second, Peter was joining her. Ah shit! I jumped up and ran to them. The two zombies had been hit multiple times each. Unfortunately, their central nervous system had not and the first zombie crashed into us. Kathy had been reloading, Peter blasting away, and me just thinking, fuck.
The first one ran right into Kathy. He didn’t tackle her, but instead, literally ran into her. It was if its brain was not processing distance correctly. They both fell to the floor. What saved her life, was that the zombie continued to try moving beyond her to a prey that he was already on top of. They both were squirming, trying to get away from each other. The creature was almost free when I stepped on the back of its neck and ended its misery. This left Kathy in a very awkward position, since the now dead zombie’s groin was right in her face. John being John, I immediately started thinking of a variety of witty observations. I came up with three real zingers in about a nanosecond, and was on the verge of a fourth that I knew was destined for some kind of hall of fame, when the second zombie slammed into me. This one had no issues with depth perception.
I hit the ground hard with most of our weight landing directly on my right elbow. The shock made my entire body go electric with pain, and my arm went numb. I dropped my pistol. What kind of sick fuck would call this your funny bone? It’s your fucking unprotected ulnar nerve and it fucking hurts when you hit it just right, and I just nailed that son of a bitch! I got lucky, again, because I fell in such a way that my knees were bent and I was able to push the creature slightly away, preventing him from immediately taking a bite out of me. Out of the corner of my left eye, I saw the barrel of Peter’s gun. This gave me the second I needed to turn my head and close my mouth and eyes. I could not close my ears and the sound of the blast rendered me temporarily deaf. I gave myself a couple of seconds just to lie there and let some feeling return to my arm. Zombie body temperature is significantly cooler than human, but still slightly warm to the touch, and the heat from the big dead marine on top of me was somewhat comforting.
Marine. There, I thought of it again. The consistency of appearance, ag
e, physical conditioning, hell, I knew something incredibly fucked up was going on. The zombies who had patches of skin removed. Someone was cutting out tattoos, trying to hide who these guys really were. Why would we do this?
I still couldn’t hear anything, but several hands were pulling me to my feet. I looked around and made sure the coast was clear. How many rounds did I have? A full clip is fifteen, so I should have around ten, maybe. Kathy and Peter looked okay, just shook up. I shook myself free and stumbled down the corridor past the card swipe door. With each step, my hearing returned and by the time I reached the labs, I was only half-deaf.
The third door on my left had the green biohazard symbol, why green, and not black or orange? This kind of bothered me. Like green makes it kinder? Less deadly?
“All right, this is it.” I knew I was talking far louder than necessary. To the right of the door was a small grey box with a slot on one side. Okay, bingo. Or …should I say …Fuck me. The door was slightly ajar, and the light above it green. Could things get any worse?
Why would I even think such a question? I am living in an absolute FUBAR reality and things here can always go downhill. And they did. Just beyond the biohazard door was a short well-lit standard hallway that led directly to another door, also half closed. Off the corridor, there were four other doors. Now the Angel of God must be watching over us because the right two doors actually looked closed. The first room was small and obviously some kind of storeroom. My hearing was still coming around when I noticed some kind of loud banging. When I turned, I noticed Peter and Kathy had their weapons trained on the second open door.
“Cover me. I’ll take him.” Once again, way louder than necessary.
I didn’t wait for a response and sidestepped into the doorway. The room was large, maybe forty by forty, all tightly draped in some kind of plastic. Against the far wall stood two lyophilizers, slightly larger than a refrigerator with thick Plexiglas doors. In the middle of the room, splayed out like some sick play on Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, was an extra large faceless zombie. The lab itself was a disaster area. Several tables had been overturned and the floor was littered with lab crap. Along the right wall was a series of ‘elephant trunks’ for localized ventilation, hanging limply over where tables used to be. In the far corner, next to one of the freeze driers, was a fully gowned researcher. I entered and went to the back of the lab. The noise we had been hearing was the researcher banging his head against the side of a Plexiglas box. I reached out and gently touched him on the shoulder.
Brutal Planet: A Zombie Novel Page 33