‘To the casino,’ he yelled above the hiss of the flame throwers. ‘And I swear I’ll kill any man who lets them escape!’
Craigson slammed the stairwell door behind Myers.
He pressed his finger to his lips for quiet and then listened at the door. The gunmen who were chasing them weren’t trying to be quiet. If they were racing up the stairs, Craigson would hear them.
‘They’re not coming,’ he said, relieved.
Myers looked around.
‘Where are we? I haven’t seen this level before.’
Neither had Craigson. He pointed to a directory sign. ‘I think it’s the sports deck.’
The sign gave directions to dozens of activities.
‘This is ridiculous,’ said Myers, pointing at the sign. ‘Rock-climbing. Ice-skating. Basketball. Gymnasium. Batting cages. Golf simulator. This ship is gigantic. Justin’s probably not even on this deck. The Captain was right. We shouldn’t have been guarding him. King and Forest wouldn’t have lost him. No way in hell.’
Craigson shrugged. ‘Maybe not. But they have their orders and we have ours.’
Myers waved around at the ship. ‘If we survive this, we’ll be reassigned back to standard operations. The Captain’s not going to offer us a place in his Critical Response Team.’
‘We screwed up,’ agreed Craigson. ‘We don’t deserve a place on his team.’
Myers shook his head. ‘I don’t care about that anymore. I just want to find the boy. This ship is no place for any kid to be on his own. I’m not leaving without him.’
Craigson nodded. ‘Then let’s find him. We’ll sweep this level and then move up.’
Craigson waved to Myers’ weapon. ‘How are you for ammo?’
‘I’m empty,’ admitted Myers.
‘Me too,’ said Craigson. ‘We need some better hand-to hand weapons.’
Myers pointed at the directory. ‘I know where to find some. Come on.’
Craigson followed Myers under the large ‘Sports Zone’ entrance. Beyond lay what resembled a large underground mall, but instead of shops, the space was filled with sports venues.
Craigson and Myers ran to take cover against a juice bar.
‘That place,’ pointed Myers. ‘Let’s go.’
Myers took off toward the entrance.
Craigson ran right behind him.
A sports bar? thought Craigson.
Inside, the walls were covered in sports memorabilia. Pennants and uniforms and trophies were crammed everywhere over the walls. Among these rested baseball bats, golf clubs, tennis rackets, lacrosse nets, cricket bats, and sports equipment Craigson couldn’t even identify.
Myers climbed on a table and lifted down a metal baseball bat.
Craigson walked deeper into the bar, looking for another baseball bat. He spotted a javelin.
No. I need something I can swing.
He’d prefer something longer than a baseball bat. Something to keep the crazies at a distance.
Myers pointed over his shoulder. ‘Didn’t you play ice hockey?’
Craigson saw it. Of course.
He lifted the hockey stick off the wall. He’d played street and ice hockey all his life.
The stick felt familiar and comfortable in his hands. He knew about a dozen ways to knock people off their feet with it.
Perfect.
‘All right,’ said Myers. ‘Let’s—’
Myers froze.
Craigson tensed, ready to dive for cover, but then he saw it.
A monkey?
The small monkey wore a little purple vest and a red hat tied on with string.
‘Jesus, how did he sneak up behind us?’ asked Myers.
‘Monkeys are quiet,’ explained Craigson.
‘Not him,’ said Myers, pointing across the bar. ‘HIM!’
Holy Crap! thought Craigson as the man stepped from the shadows.
His skin looked whiter than an albino’s.
A massive neurotic smile was painted across his face. His hair stood out from his head at every angle. His bright clothes looked designed to stop traffic.
Both Marines stared at him.
‘I hate clowns,’ said Myers.
Craigson wholeheartedly agreed. ‘What the hell is he doing here?’
‘Circus act,’ answered Myers, trying to keep his voice level. ‘The ship’s theater is above us. I saw a poster. This must be their clown.’
Craigson took a step toward the exit.
The monkey leaped into his path, landing on a table. It screeched and bared its teeth.
Holy shit, thought Craigson. That little bastard’s got big teeth!
At the same time, the clown moved to block Myers’ path. He’d lost his big shoes and red nose, but he still had a giant orange bow tie.
He also had a cleaver.
Craigson glanced at the cleaver, hoping it was a circus prop.
Blood covered the cleaver’s blade.
‘Fuck you, clown!’ roared Myers, charging at the clown with his baseball bat.
Craigson heard the monkey screech as it attacked. It jumped through the air. It leaped straight at his face like a shriveled, hairy demon.
Craigson lifted his hockey stick, but not fast enough.
The monkey landed right on his chest.
It tried to bite his face.
Craigson turned his face away, but again the monkey was faster.
Its teeth sunk into his face.
Oversized canines tore straight into Craigson’s left cheek, just below his eye. Its lower teeth punctured the skin under his jaw and hit the bone.
Beyond panic, Craigson dropped the hockey stick and wrenched the monkey off his face. Lifting it over his head, he threw it with all his strength against the wall.
The monkey flew across the bar and slammed into the wall. It bounced off the wall, landed on a table, and then raced back across the tables toward Craigson in a screeching ball of fur and fangs.
That didn’t hurt it at all, realized Craigson.
He dove for his hockey stick, snatched it from the floor and stood up just in time.
Got you now, you horrible little demon.
As the monkey landed on the table beside Craigson, a hockey stick was streaking toward its head.
Craigson swung with everything he had.
He hit.
Something flew across the bar.
It wasn’t the monkey.
The hat!
All he’d hit was the monkey’s stupid hat. The monkey leaped at him again in a blur of hairy speed.
Craigson glimpsed Myers crashing across the bar with the clown. Myers no longer had his bat. The clown still had his cleaver.
But Craigson couldn’t spare a second because at that moment the monkey landed on his back.
Between his body armor and helmet was an exposed area of flesh.
His neck.
The monkey’s teeth bit into the back of his neck, either side of his spine.
The pain felt excruciating this time.
In desperation, Craigson jumped into the air, drawing his knees in as though he were performing a backflip. He slammed down onto the floor, landing on his upper back and feeling the monkey absorb the full weight of his fall.
The insane animal’s screech of surprise and pain loosened its teeth instantly.
Craigson rolled away before it could bite him again, but it wasn’t moving.
Finally he’d hurt the damn thing!
Craigson instantly looked for Myers.
The clown had wrestled Myers to the floor. He sat over Myers, hacking down with his cleaver. Myers desperately defended himself with a broken piece of stool.
He had only seconds.
They were right across the far side of the bar. Myers would be dead by the time Craigson reached him.
Craigson grabbed the closest object off the wall. He took one step and hurled the object at the clown.
The javelin streaked through the air.
Craigson had thrown it with so muc
h adrenaline coursing through his body that the javelin’s point passed clean through the clown’s head and emerged out the other side.
The clown crumbled sideways off Myers, dead in an instant.
The cleaver fell from his grip and bounced away.
Myers desperately kicked himself free, scrambling backward until his shoulder hit the wall. He stopped there, staring at the clown in horror, sucking down breaths like he’d just finished a marathon.
Craigson fumbled for his field medic kit. He felt blood running from his face and neck.
‘Myers, are you wounded?’
Myers just stared at the dead clown with the javelin through his head.
‘Myers!’
‘No,’ replied Myers, snapping back into reality.
‘I need help.’
Myers leaped to his feet and dashed across the bar. He kicked aside the dead monkey.
‘How bad is it?’ asked Craigson.
Myers studied Craigson’s bite wounds and then opened his field medic kit.
‘How bad?’ repeated Craigson.
‘Well,’ replied Myers. ‘You look better than the monkey.’
Chapter Fourteen
The gunman shoved Justin again.
‘Move!’ he barked.
Justin barely managed to keep himself from falling this time. He wasn’t used to running with his hands tied behind his back.
He was keeping up, but the sadistic gunman kept shoving him anyway.
Just stay on your feet. Don’t fall again!
Last time the gunman had wrenched Justin to his feet by his scalp.
What the hell happened to Mom? I hope she’s safe. Maybe she’s reached the lifeboat. She could be there already.
Justin never underestimated his mother.
She had raised Justin on her own since he was two. She had never let being in a wheelchair hold her back. When Justin started school, she went back to work as a consultant. A year later she started playing wheelchair basketball. Now she played in the state division.
Justin had only vague memories of his father. And photos. His father died in the car wreck that paralyzed his mother. Justin hadn’t been in the car. He’d been staying with his grandparents that night while his parents went out to celebrate their wedding anniversary.
On the way home from the restaurant, on their way back to pick up Justin, his father had driven through a red light.
‘It was just an accident,’ his mother had explained. ‘We were talking and laughing. He turned his head too long talking to me and missed the red light.’
The impact of the truck to the driver’s side crushed his father instantly. His mother had been paralyzed from the waist down. She had been pregnant, but she lost the baby. Justin’s little sister would be eleven by now.
Justin stayed with his grandparents until his mother returned from the hospital. He didn’t really have memories of a time when his mother wasn’t in her wheelchair.
‘Move!’
The gunman pushed Justin when he slowed for a corner. They were running toward the casino.
Slam!
Justin crashed into the man in front.
He heard yelling ahead.
Christov was yelling orders.
FWOOOOOOOOSH!
Justin heard the terrifying sound of flamethrowers discharging.
The crazies were attacking again.
Justin knew what to expect this time, but still nearly vomited.
The chemical roar of the flamethrowers sounded just seconds before the heat wave rolled back down the corridor. Justin felt it burning his face and neck where his clothes offered no protection.
But that didn’t make him feel sick.
It was the smell.
The stomach-churning smell of burning hair as the flames engulfed the crazies.
Justin had never inhaled anything more repulsive. When he tried breathing through his mouth, he tasted it.
Hold your breath, he told himself, wishing he’d thought of it earlier. We’ll move again in a second.
The crazies feared fire. Justin had never seen them run away before. They were terrible at it. They ran into walls. Ran into each other. Tripped over each other.
It was as if the concept of fleeing was as obscure as flying.
Nevertheless, they fled from fire.
Still holding his breath, Justin felt his head start to spin. His lungs demanded air after all that running.
He inhaled.
Oh, yuck. Oh, God. That’s even worse than before!
The repulsive smell made his head spin faster.
Christov walked back into sight.
He yelled instructions at his men. ‘The acid drive is made of metal. It can fit into your palm. It will be on them. I don’t want it damaged, so shoot them in the head. Elizabeth activated the drive when she left, so the countdown is active.’
Christov touched a tool strapped to his body armor, as though reassuring himself it was still there. ‘I need to deactivate that drive or we’ll lose everything.’
Christov checked his watch. ‘The countdown has reached the two hour mark. I expect that drive to be in my hands in the next twenty minutes.’
Two hours?
Justin knew that number was significant.
I’ve seen that somewhere. I remember. In the room where I found Elizabeth. In her stuff. The digital timer.
The gunman shoved Justin.
They were moving again.
Justin tried to remember what had happened back in the hospital. He’d handed Craigson Elizabeth’s ID card. Myers had asked about the device with the countdown.
Just after that, Christov attacked, remembered Justin.
Did I give it to Myers?
No.
Did I drop it?
No.
Justin looked down at his jeans.
Holy crap - it’s in my pocket. The thing Christov wants is in my pocket. It’s been there this entire time!
All Christov had to do was search Justin’s pockets.
What even is it? What’s an acid drive?
Justin had never heard that term before, but he knew something incredible was happening on this ship. His mother had regained the feeling in her legs. As impossible as it seemed, the damaged nerves in her spine had begun healing. Justin had seen it with his own eyes. And Christov had come to the hospital to get it.
That’s why Christov is here. The acid drive has something to do with Mom’s healing legs. Maybe it’s like a flash drive.
Justin looked at the tool strapped to Christov’s chest.
The tool resembled a socket wrench. The handle had a small digital touchscreen. The thicker end looked designed to accept the acid drive.
Should I give it to him? Will he take it and go?
Even as Justin thought it, he knew he wouldn’t dare. The fact that Christov didn’t have the acid drive could be the only thing keeping Justin alive.
If I tell him, he’ll kill me. He’ll think I’ve been hiding it. And there could be information on this drive that would help Mom walk again. I can’t let him take it.
Justin kept moving, suddenly feeling like the most dangerous thing on the ship was right in his pocket.
Coleman tried to make sense of Neve’s explanation.
‘So Elizabeth Green was employed by Pharmafirst to find new drugs. Somehow she did. The drug can make damaged nerve cells grow. But that wasn’t enough for Pharmafirst. They wanted the drug to be communicable?’
Neve nodded.
‘That doesn’t make sense,’ reasoned Coleman. ‘If the drug can reproduce and move freely from one person to another, how can a pharmaceutical company make a profit?’
‘By limiting its lifespan,’ replied Neve. ‘That’s why you and none of your Marines are infected. The sinus bacteria are engineered to self-terminate. The drug is only infectious for a limited time.’
‘The bacteria kills itself?’ asked Coleman.
‘Exactly,’ answered Neve. ‘Pharmafirst can control its distrib
ution. They could send a single vial of these sino-bacteria to any hospital with enough money. One vial could treat all the nerve damaged patients in an entire hospital and then self-terminate. Pharmafirst doesn’t need to produce millions of tablets or injections. They would have no distribution costs. Everything would be profit. They will be the richest company in the world.’
‘Except it doesn’t work,’ said Coleman. ‘Turning patients into homicidal maniacs isn’t a good business model.’
Neve nodded. ‘I think the original drug evolved with a dual purpose. In addition to repairing nerve damage, the drug alters the brain’s blood supply. It sends humans crazy. It’s a terrible side effect that Elizabeth was trying to eliminate.’
‘But something Christov could sell as a weapon if she couldn’t,’ said Coleman.
Neve nodded. ‘Pharmafirst must have been desperate for a return on their investment. Elizabeth had already managed to eliminate the violent side effect from about half of the population. That’s why only half the ship went crazy.’
‘So why are some people resistant to the side effects?’
‘I couldn’t see any pattern,’ confessed Neve.
Coleman pointed. ‘Let me see those files.’
Neve passed them to him skeptically. ‘I’ve already looked, and I know what to look for.’
Coleman took the patient files and flicked through them, scanning each patient’s medical information for a few seconds.
...flick, flick, flick...
‘You won’t find anything,’ said Neve. ‘We’d need computers and a lot more samples.’
‘Shhhhh,’ said Coleman.
A particular area on each page of the medical reports had started to draw his attention.
Coleman never quite understood how his gift for patterns worked. The real trick was finding ways to make his talent useful. The military had provided the best use of his skill up until now.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be useful elsewhere.
...flick, flick, flick, flick...
‘I’ve got it,’ said Coleman, returning the files. ‘It’s blood type.’
Neve shook her head, disbelieving.
‘Check for yourself,’ said Coleman. ‘People with type O blood are resistant to the side effects.’
Neve rapidly flicked through the files.
HAYWIRE: A Pandemic Thriller (The F.A.S.T. Series Book 2) Page 20