HAYWIRE: A Pandemic Thriller (The F.A.S.T. Series Book 2)

by Shane M Brown

  In desperation Justin scanned the food court over the crazies’ heads.

  He spotted the Marines.

  He’s going to jump, thought Craigson.

  He did.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Justin leaped right over the heads of the sick passengers trying to reach him. He collided with one on the way down, but that only served to break his fall. Before the crazies knew where he’d gone, Justin had rolled onto his feet and was running toward the Marines.

  Craigson and Myers charged toward him.

  Justin ran straight between the Marines. He ran like he had a plan. Craigson couldn’t ask, because the crazies were right behind him.

  Again, Craigson and Myers lashed out with their hand-to-hand weapons. Craigson whipped his hockey stick around and tripped the first crazy who reached them.

  This time the Marines couldn’t hold their ground.

  They didn’t have the high ground advantage.

  They had to retreat.

  They had to retreat fast.

  Craigson heard a dull thump. He glanced back. Justin kicked at the low window again.

  Thump.

  Craigson saw why.

  Outside the glass hung a window cleaning rig, just like the kind used to clean windows on tall buildings.

  ‘Come on!’ Craigson shouted at Myers.

  Craigson turned and sprinted for the glass. He wasn’t just fleeing from the hostiles, he was building up momentum. As he reached the glass, he channeled all his speed and momentum into one mighty swing of his hockey stick.

  Crack!

  He expected the glass to shatter.

  It didn’t.

  Instead, it popped from its frame in one solid square and landed on the cleaning rig.

  Justin ducked under the window frame and jumped onto the rig.

  ‘Go!’ Craigson shouted at Myers.

  Myers ducked under the frame.

  Craigson swept his hockey stick into the feet of the closest crazies. The stick tangled among their feet. Two went down. More tripped over them. It bought Craigson just enough time to duck under the frame and leap onto the rig.

  ‘Up! Up!’ yelled Justin. ‘The red one!’

  Myers slammed his palm on the red button. Instantly the rig began rising. It wasn’t fast, but they only had to clear the window to escape the pack.

  Craigson kicked at the crazies trying to grab the rig.

  ‘Shit. They’re grabbing on,’ warned Myers.

  Small rubber wheels kept the rig off the glass, but also gave the crazies enough room to grab the frame.

  ‘Cut my hands free!’ yelled Justin.

  Craigson flicked out his pocket knife and cut free Justin’s hands. Justin instantly began stomping on the fingers grabbing the rig. Craigson and Myers began crushing hands and fingers under their heavy boots.

  The crazies didn’t care. Broken fingers didn’t seem to bother them at all. They began pulling themselves up around the rig.

  ‘They’re climbing up!’ warned Craigson.

  Myers pulled Justin to the controls. ‘Hold the button.’

  Justin held the red button.

  With both hands free, Myers started beating the crazies down with his baseball bat. Two crazies fell away and splashed into the sea below.

  ‘We’re stopping!’ yelled Justin.

  He’s right, realized Craigson. We’ve stopped rising.

  Craigson looked over the edge.

  Oh, my God!

  The crazies hung off the rig like a human curtain. The crazies who couldn’t reach the rig had grabbed onto the legs of those who had. At least a dozen people hung down from the rig in long human ladders.

  Craigson had never seen anything like it.

  ‘It’s too much weight!’ he yelled. ‘Pry their fingers off.’

  Myers pulverized fingers with his bat. Justin stomped and kicked at them.

  Craigson knelt and stabbed into the nearest fingers with his knife. I’ll cut their damn fingers right off if I have to.

  But it was already too late.

  CREEEECK!

  Ominous sounds of machinery pushed beyond its limits began emanating from the rig. Craigson heard wires straining, the motor grinding, and the sound of steel warping under their boots.

  ‘It’s going to fall!’ shouted Myers.

  He was right.

  The rig suddenly plummeted.

  Straight down the side of the ship.

  It felt like riding a roller-coaster without a restraint.

  Craigson hadn’t realized they were so high.

  They hit something on the way down.

  The entire rig flew away from the ship.

  Completely airborne now, with the rig not touching the ship at all, Craigson just managed to grab Justin’s arm and the railing before—

  Crash!

  The rig jolted up underneath them, knocking everyone off their feet. Craigson collapsed, but kept his grip on Justin. As he hit the unforgiving steel, he glimpsed over the side.

  The crazies hanging from the rig were jolted loose. Still clinging to each other, they plummeted down into the ocean.

  Craigson didn’t hear the splash. He just saw their bodies disappear in the churning white water beside the ship.

  Myers rolled over.

  He’d also grabbed Justin. ‘You all right?’

  Justin nodded shakily.

  Myers rubbed his shoulder and sat up. ‘How did we stop?’

  Craigson pointed to a thick wire rope still attached to the rig.

  ‘The safety line caught us,’ he said.

  Myers shook his head in amazement over the side of the rig. ‘That is the craziest thing I have ever done in my life.’

  ‘Look,’ pointed Justin.

  Where the rig had swung back into the ship, one corner of a window had been smashed in.

  ‘Let’s get off this thing,’ said Justin.

  Craigson couldn’t agree more.

  Myers didn’t say anything. He just started smashing out the window with his baseball bat.

  Ben peered carefully around the chair to ensure no crazies lingered on the bridge.

  It seemed clear.

  He needed those scissors.

  Not far from Ben, the helicopter pilot lay dead with a pair of scissors embedded in his back.

  Maybe I can reach them with my foot.

  After removing his left shoe and sock, he stretched out as far as the restraint allowed.

  His foot reached the pilot.

  His toes hit the scissors. He put his big toe through one of the handles and pulled. His toe slipped free.

  They were really stuck in there firmly.

  Ben put his toe through again. This time he wiggled the scissors backward and forward, trying to loosen them from the pilot’s back.

  He tried pulling them again.

  They slid free and hung from his toe.

  Got them.

  He carefully unhooked the scissors from his toe and began hacking into the heavy cable tie.

  Even scissors barely cut the restraint.

  Ben kept hacking and slicing until finally the scissors cut through.

  His bullet wounds really hurt now, but he couldn’t stop. Not with the bridge unsecured.

  He crossed to the bridge door.

  A body lay over the threshold. Bracing himself, he grabbed the woman’s ankle and pulled her clear of the door. He pushed the door until the automatic lock engaged.

  Now the bridge was secure.

  Slowly he walked across the bridge and knelt beside his wife. He leaned forward until their foreheads touched.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he cried. ‘I’m so, so, sorry.’

  He wasn’t sure how long he stayed that way. He looked up when he smelled something burning.

  It was the fallen flamethrower. It’s burning the carpet. He rolled the weapon until its pilot flame wasn’t scorching the floor.

  From the emergency cupboard he took a blanket and the first aid kit.

  He care
fully covered Karen with the blanket.

  His wounds were awkward to treat. First he bandaged his side, then his bicep, and finally his wrist. He slipped his blood-stained uniform back on.

  Let’s see what I have to work with.

  Bullets had damaged every console on the bridge. Not a single screen was active. He had absolutely no navigational system. The helm controls were operational, but what good was steering without navigation?

  He crossed to the chart table and studied the map.

  He’d marked on the map where they’d stopped to evacuate the passengers.

  That’s where the lifeboats will be.

  The survivors on the lifeboats were Ben’s first priority. He needed to get the First Lady of the Sea back to the lifeboats.

  But I don’t know where we are now.

  He touched the spot on the chart that Christov had made.

  This is our current destination.

  Ben leant close to the map. Again he couldn’t see anything in that part of the ocean.

  Not on the surface anyway.

  From under the bench he found the region’s seafloor topography map. This map showed the underwater mountains, plateaus and trenches.

  Ben found Christov’s coordinates on the seabed map.

  It’s a trench.

  Sea trenches were gigantic chasms in the seafloor. Many dwarfed the Grand Canyon in scale. They were the deepest locations on planet Earth.

  Christov’s mark on the chart lay right above the Caraway Deep Sea Trench. The Caraway Trench was nine thousand meters deep.

  He’s going to sink the ship in the trench, realized Ben. That’s why he unloaded all those crates. They were full of explosives. He’s trying to cover up what’s happening here.

  Nine thousand meters below the surface, no one would ever reach the ship to discover what really happened on board.

  But that means he would have to kill everyone, reasoned Ben. Me. The Marines. All the sick passengers. Christov would need to kill all the healthy passengers back on the lifeboats to cover up what happened.

  With sickening clarity, Ben realized how Christov would murder everyone on the lifeboats.

  The attack chopper.

  Christov’s attack helicopter could easily obliterate the vulnerable lifeboats.

  What if he’s already destroyed the lifeboats?

  Ben shook away the terrible thought. His responsibility remained clear.

  I must return to the lifeboats, no matter what I find.

  He scanned the bridge again. All his navigational tools were destroyed.

  Wait....

  From his pocket he found the birthday present Karen had given him. She’d had the golden compass engraved:

  To my dearest, Benjamin. Let’s chart our voyage together. All my love forever, Karen.

  Ben looked at the blanket covering his wife. He gripped the compass firmly.

  ‘I have charts and a compass,’ he told himself. ‘I have enough to get this ship pointed in the right direction.’

  Ben carefully took a compass reading off the chart. He took the compass back to the manual controls and began the process of turning the First Lady of the Sea around.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Neve raced after Coleman.

  Her hands burned from thrusting her wheels.

  While Coleman could leap over dead bodies, Neve had to wind her way around them. Dead crazies lay everywhere. The gunmen had massacred the sick passengers with impunity. Bullet wounds riddled most of the bodies Neve passed.

  Fire had killed the rest.

  Coleman ran with a radio in one hand and a gun in the other. He was monitoring the gunmen’s conversations over the radio and leading the men in a futile game of cat and mouse.

  Again and again he managed to outmaneuver the search teams. With each maneuver, Coleman was bringing them closer to the bridge.

  Neve knew that giving Coleman her complete trust was the only thing keeping her alive. She also knew that if most of the gunmen were chasing her and Coleman, Justin stood a better chance of reaching a lifeboat.

  Coleman suddenly skidded to a stop.

  Neve slammed down her brakes. Her chair skewed sideways.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘Did they mention Justin?’

  Coleman shook his head. ‘They haven’t mentioned two Marines traveling with a boy. They’re chasing two Marines traveling with a female ship’s officer. They’ve sent men with flamethrowers to trap them.’

  ‘Erin,’ said Neve.

  Coleman tried his radio again. He couldn’t raise King or Forest.

  ‘What can we do?’ asked Neve.

  ‘Take this,’ said Coleman.

  Neve studied the strange object.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s my last electro-dart. When those two prongs penetrate skin, they release a very powerful electric charge.’

  ‘Like a taser?’

  ‘Exactly. If you thump somebody with that, they won’t be getting up for a while.’

  Neve tucked the electro-dart down beside her leg.

  ‘What about the others?’ she asked. ‘What can we do to help them?’

  ‘Not a damn thing,’ replied Coleman.

  Neve started to speak, but Coleman quickly raised his hand. He listened to the radio.

  ‘They know we have one of their radios,’ he said. ‘They know how we’ve been avoiding them. And they know where we are.’

  Neve felt panic start welling inside her again. She looked at Coleman. He looked as determined and resolute as ever.

  ‘They’re closing in,’ he said, pocketing the radio. ‘Christov is coming.’

  Coleman dashed to a door near Neve. ‘Quickly! In here.’

  Neve rolled in.

  The door slammed behind them. It sounded like a refrigerator door slamming.

  Oh, my God. It’s freezing in here!

  With a single glance, Neve realized why.

  The room was made entirely of ice.

  They’d entered the Sub-Zero Vodka Bar.

  Neve had read about it. The tables, seats and bar stools were all carved from large blocks of solid ice. A gigantic slab of solid ice formed the bar itself. Ice even covered the floor. Blue hanging lights made the bar seem even colder.

  Along one wall hung dozens of heavy jackets. The other walls were covered with pictures of polar explorers and the special equipment they had used to survive.

  Behind the bar, hundreds of vodka bottles stood shoulder to shoulder on ice shelves.

  ‘They’re right outside,’ Coleman warned. ‘Get behind the bar. Try to find the light switch.’

  Neve pushed off, searching for the switch.

  Behind her, the bar’s heavy door flew open.

  Gunmen surged into the room.

  The first man came through shooting. The gunfire sounded so loud that Neve didn’t even realize Coleman was firing back until blood exploded from the gunman’s back. Coleman had shot him through the chest at least three times.

  The man’s body acted as a human shield for the three more gunmen who charged through the door behind him. They dove behind tables made of solid ice.

  The gunmen outnumbered Coleman three to one.

  Lights, Neve thought. He wants me to turn the lights off!

  She searched behind the bar.

  More gunfire erupted just meters away.

  They don’t know I’m here. They’re all firing at Coleman. Where’s the light switch! I can’t find it.

  Bullets sent ice chips flying everywhere around the bar. Vodka bottles smashed over Neve’s head. Glass and vodka rained down on her.

  She ignored the freezing liquid and thrust herself forward.

  She didn’t move.

  She thrust again.

  Her wheels spun without gaining traction.

  My wheels are slipping on the wet ice!

  Between gunfire she heard Coleman yell, ‘Neve! Hurry!’

  She grabbed the bar top and pulled herself through the wet patch.
She searched under the bar again.

  Here it is. The switch!

  Or rather, a dozen switches.

  Neve didn’t have time to read their little labels. With one hand she slapped all the switches downward.

  Darkness swallowed the bar.

  The firing continued. Orange muzzle flashes silhouetted the gunmen up the walls.

  She couldn’t hear Coleman shooting back.

  Oh, God, they’ve killed him. He’s shot. I was too late.

  All the gunfire halted.

  Neve kept perfectly still, listening. The overpowering reek of gunpowder made her nose twitch. She needed to sneeze. She held her breath, listening, praying Coleman was alive.

  She couldn’t hear a thing.

  Not a single noise.

  Not until the ungodly first scream.

  In the darkness the scream seemed to come from every direction.

  Before the scream cut out, gunfire erupted. Only two silhouettes leaped up the walls this time.

  Neve heard a ‘whooshing’ sound that ended in a desperate moan. Gunfire roared out once more.

  Neve spotted only a single silhouette on the wall.

  The moment the firing stopped she heard a grisly sound. Once, twice, three times she heard the grisly thumping sound.

  Then nothing.

  Total silence.

  Until footsteps.

  Someone walking toward her.

  She grabbed the electro-dart, ready to attack.

  I can’t stand this darkness anymore.

  She flicked up the lights.

  Coleman stood before her. Blood covered his hands. Neve followed his gaze over the bar to where a gunman lay slumped backward over a table. A mountaineering shoe with sharp steel spikes hung from his throat.

  Three feet away lay a man with an old-fashioned climbing pick embedded in his head.

  The third gunman lay flat on his back. Blood pooled from his skull where Coleman had repeatedly smashed it onto the ice.

  ‘They almost had me,’ said Coleman. ‘Were you hurt?’

  Neve drew her eyes from the dead gunmen.

  ‘No,’ she answered. ‘I didn’t even see—’

  Before she finished, someone dove from the wall and tackled Coleman to the floor.

  A piece of the wall had opened right up.

  It’s not the wall, realized Neve. It’s a door. A plastic flap in the wall leading to other areas.