Ship of the Damned

by James F. David

  “That’s enough, Cobb,” a woman said.

  But it wasn’t enough for Cobb, and the current continued to flow. Wes writhed in pain, rolling across the deck, slamming against the superstructure. Suddenly the pain decreased, the steel grounding him. Wes forced the muscles in his arms to move, pressing his palms against the metal and letting the current flow into the ship. It was still torture, but he was dying more slowly now.

  “I said stop it, Cobb!” the woman commanded. “Prophet wants them alive.”

  As Wes slipped toward the blackness of unconsciousness, an invisible force threw Cobb across the deck. When he hit, he rolled ten feet before crashing into other Crazies.

  Gasping for breath, Wes rolled to his back, hands pressing his chest in a vain attempt to restore a normal rhythm. Slowly, his heart regained its beat and muscle control began to return. Ralph leaned over him.

  “Hurts, don’t it?” Ralph said.

  A woman looked down on him now. She was dressed in blue slacks and a powder blue blouse with an unusual cut. The shoulders were wide, giving her the look of a football lineman. Her hair was shoulder length and curled up around the bottom—a style popular in the forties. The woman looked him over with compassion.

  “Can you walk?” she asked.

  Wes tried various muscle groups, rocking from side to side, flexing his arms and legs.

  “I need another minute,” he told her.

  “Thirty seconds,” the woman said.

  “Hihowyadoin?” Ralph said, extending his hand.

  The woman smiled at Ralph and took his hand, letting Ralph pump hers vigorously.

  “I’m Ralph and this here’s Wes, and that’s Monica. What’s your name?”

  “Gertrude, but everyone calls me Gertie.”

  “Nice to meet you, Gertie,” Ralph said. “Got any gum?”

  “No,” Gertie said.

  “Any place around here to get a Slurpee, or an Icee. I can drink a Slushee but I don’t like them too good.”

  “I don’t know what those things are, but we don’t have them here,” Gertie said.

  “Ice cream?” Ralph asked.

  “We don’t eat here, Ralph,” Gertie said. “We’re immortal.”

  “Cool,” Ralph said, clearly not understanding. “Well, we gots to be going now. Nice meeting ya.”

  With Ralph’s help, Wes got to his feet, but he wobbled, barely controlling his legs. Wes saw Cobb coming up behind Ralph.

  “You’re coming with us,” Gertie said.

  Cobb reached for Ralph, placing his hand on his shoulder. He was six inches taller than Ralph and his hand was massive. Ralph started to turn, but Cobb’s fingers tightened on him. Wes could see Cobb’s fingers whiten.

  “If you zap him I’ll knock you into the desert,” Gertie threatened. Cobb was going to hurt Ralph, but not with his power. His massive paw shook from the pressure of his shoulder pinch. Ralph’s face lost only a bit of its genial look as the hand squeezed his shoulder. Then Ralph reached across with his left hand and put it on top of Cobb’s. Ralph’s hand squeezed, and suddenly Cobb gasped.

  “Don’t you zap him,” Gertie warned.

  To the amazement of the Crazies gathered around, Ralph lifted Cobb’s hand from his shoulder, turned, and then holding Cobb’s hand with his left, put his right hand in the man’s quivering palm and began to pump it.

  “Nice to meet ya,” Ralph said.

  “Damn, he’s strong,” someone said from the back.

  Cobb tore his hand free, glaring malevolently with his wild eyes. Then he looked at the other Crazies, daring them to make another comment. All looked away.

  “Prophet wants them, Cobb. You don’t touch them.”

  Gertie turned to Wes and the others.

  “He won’t hurt you if you stay close to me,” Gertie said.

  Gertie ordered their hands tied.

  “We’re looking for a man named Dawson,” Wes said.

  “I know him,” Gertie said. “He’s a heretic. When we get him we’re going to burn him.”

  With their hands secured, she led off, Ralph following immediately, Monica next, and then Wes. Wes thought about what Gertie had said about wanting to kill Dawson. The harsh reality was that Dawson’s death was the only sure way to save Elizabeth and Anita.

  RETURN TO THE NORFOLK

  It was nearly midnight when they arrived at the lab. Shamita and Len had the equipment powered up, the liquid nitrogen lines pressurized, and the CPU near superconducting temperatures. Following checklists, they made sure all components were operational and communicating with the consoles. Shamita hurried to Elizabeth as soon as she came in, taking her arm from Anita’s mother and helping her to a cot.

  “Elizabeth, you don’t have the strength for this,” Shamita said. “We can integrate without you. I’ll go into the dream.”

  “No!” Elizabeth said emphatically. “You might be susceptible to the dream, too. I have nothing to lose.”

  Len came over, limping, holding one of the EET helmets. He was unshaven, his hair was greasy, and he looked as if he had slept in his clothes.

  “You look terrible,” Elizabeth said.

  “Look who’s talking,” Len answered, smiling. “It’s my new plan to get Wanda to stop smoking. I don’t shower until she gives up the nicotine habit.”

  Elizabeth smiled, remembering the little war between Len and Wanda.

  “She’s a tough old lady, Len,” Elizabeth said. “She won’t crack.”

  “If it doesn’t work I still have one more trick up my sleeve,” Len said, then lost his smile.

  “Maybe Shamita’s right,” Len said seriously. “You shouldn’t do this. Let me meld with the others.”

  “I can’t stop the dream, Len. I can see the ship right now.”

  Closing her eyes, Elizabeth let the dream expand out from the corner of her mind.

  “I’m walking through the ship and I’m afraid. More afraid than I’ve ever been.”

  “It’s not you, Elizabeth,” Shamita said.

  “I know. I haven’t lost my sense of self yet, but the dream is taking over my waking mind, too. Nothing can stop it now, and I can feel that Wes and Ralph are in terrible danger.”

  “But what can you do?” Len asked.

  “I can help them get home again,” Elizabeth said.

  They could refuse to help her, but soon she would have no consciousness left, only the dream, and then the accumulating waste products in her brain would kill her.

  Len pushed the helmet onto Elizabeth and adjusted it until Shamita signalled that the reception was clear. Elizabeth was sticking the monitor leads to her own chest and temples, so Len helped Anita up onto her cot and into her helmet.

  “Elizabeth said Anita wouldn’t have to see the people in the dream,” Anita’s mother said.

  “I only need a little more reception sensitivity,” Elizabeth said. “I’m getting the basic images and feelings without the others.”

  “We’ll try using you as the primary matrix and patch Anita and Wanda in,” Shamita said. “Anita’s sensitivity will make it hard to keep her out entirely, but we should be able to hold her reception to normal level.”

  “She won’t see the scarred man or the people in the walls?” Anita’s mother asked.

  “It should be her normal dream,” Shamita said.

  Satisfied, she kissed her daughter on the forehead, pulled a blanket over her, and said good night. Wanda came in as Anita’s mother left, a cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth.

  “You’re late,” Len said, following her to her cot.

  “I was playing bingo, if it’s any of your business,” Wanda said. “You paged me right in the middle of the blackout game for the big jackpot.”

  Len pushed the helmet onto her head, trying to keep his face away from the cigarette smoke trail.

  “Did you win?” Len asked as he worked with the helmet.

  “Hell, no,” Wanda said. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  Shamita
signalled good reception, but Len stayed close to Wanda, leaning until he was almost touching her.

  “Len, did you lose your deodorant?” Wanda asked.

  “Oh, do I smell bad?”

  Wanda looked at him stone-faced for a second and then burst out laughing.

  “Oh, I get it, Len,” Wanda said, trying to control her laughter. “You stop washing your armpits and I’m supposed to beg for mercy and give up smoking?”

  Wanda’s laugh dissolved into a coughing fit. When that finished, she started laughing again.

  “This is it?” Wanda said, barely controlling her laugh. “This is the best you could do? Ha! You’re pathetic, Len. I almost feel sorry enough for you to give up smoking out of pity—almost.”

  “Wanda, we need you to relax,” Shamita said.

  Still chuckling, Wanda closed her eyes, resting her head on the pillow.

  “The cigarette, Wanda?” Len said, holding out his hand.

  “Forgot I still had it,” Wanda said, taking the cigarette from the corner of her mouth and handing it to Len.

  Len dropped the cigarette on the floor and ground it out with a violent twisting of his heel. His face was red as he walked to his console.

  “I didn’t want it to go this far, Wanda, but you’ve left me no choice,” he said.

  “Tell me you don’t have another pathetic plan to force me to stop smoking?”

  “Trust me, Wanda, you don’t want to push me any farther.”

  With one last chuckle Wanda said, “Bring it on, Len. Whatever you can dish out I can take.”

  That exchange was the last thing Elizabeth heard as the dream expanded to fill her consciousness. Unlike before, the details filled in slowly; the dream pieced together as Anita and Wanda were integrated into her consciousness. She was on the ship now, walking down a corridor as the featureless walls took on detail; pipes ran the length of the ceiling, a red alarm bell appeared on her left. Now she could hear the sound of feet on metal, and then there were people. She was following a sailor carrying a spear, and in front of him was one of the people in a silver suit, his gun in his hand. Farther ahead was a man in civilian clothes carrying a crude machete. There were others behind her; she turned, seeing the woman who had held her captive before—Compton was her name. There were also two more sailors, each carrying a crossbow. Elizabeth looked around her to make sure Anita wasn’t with her before she spoke.

  “Wait,” Elizabeth said.

  The others jumped at the volume of her voice, turning on her angrily. Jett came to her, speaking softly.

  “Are they coming?” Jett asked.

  “Who? I mean, I’m not Dawson, I’m Elizabeth.”

  “Elizabeth, was the integration successful? Did we manage to keep Anita out of the dream?” Shamita asked.

  “Anita’s not with me,” Elizabeth assured Shamita. “Shamita, I can’t talk now.”

  The man looked perplexed, and then he understood.

  “You’re the social worker.”

  “Elizabeth Foxworth. I came for Ralph before.”

  “Keep your voice low,” he whispered back. “I don’t need a social worker right now, I need Dawson.”

  Elizabeth felt the Dawson part of her mind stir, his feelings blending with hers. Their two minds were slowly merging into one mind, and the Dawson part of her wanted to help the man called Jett.

  “I’m looking for three people who came to the ship,” Elizabeth whispered. “Ralph is one of them.”

  “Ralph’s back? How?” Jett wanted to know.

  “He found a way in.”

  “If Ralph is back, he might be our ticket out of here,” Compton said.

  “But we’ll need time,” Jett said. “We have to stop Evans.”

  Jett turned to Elizabeth.

  “I need Dawson,” Jett said.

  “He’s here with me.”

  “Get Dawson, now!” Jett insisted, putting his gun under her chin.

  It was an empty threat. Still, the gun triggered a visceral response. At the same time, a feeling bubbled up from deep in her mind. Dawson’s consciousness was screaming a warning.

  “Someone’s coming,” Elizabeth said.

  Jett spun around, waving to the man with the machete who was farthest down the corridor. The warning came too late. Three men with crossbows came around the corner and fired. Jett threw himself on Elizabeth, knocking her to the deck, a bolt passing just over his shoulder. One of the sailors behind Elizabeth took a bolt in the throat and fell, making wet gurgling sounds as he lay on the ground. Their men returned fire over Jett’s prostrate body, then reloaded, stepping into the crossbow stirrups and pulling on the cables that served as bowstrings. Using the fallen sailor as cover, Compton opened fire. Jett ordered retreat, then came up firing, another bolt whizzing past his ear. Jett and Compton drove the archer back around the corner.

  As Elizabeth ran for cover, Jett came up on one knee, gun aimed down the corridor. The man with the machete retreated, head low. Jett fired a couple of rounds at the corner as the man passed, then followed him, walking backward. When they were all safe around the corner Jett whispered to the man with the machete.

  “Roberto, how close are we to the generators?”

  Roberto exchanged signals with one of the sailors and then held up two fingers. The sailor nodded agreement.

  “Two levels away,” Roberto said.

  “Is there another way to the generators? Could Evans have gotten past them on another route?”

  “The closer two levels are together, the more ways they are connected,” Roberto said. “It’s like if you want to go from Miami to New York you must head north on the interstate, but when you get to the city limits there are dozens of routes to Manhattan.”

  “Then find us another route,” Jett said.

  Roberto led them up to the deck above, but ducked as soon as his eyes cleared the top. The deck rang from a shower of metal. Objects shot through the stairwell over Roberto’s head, ricocheting off the wall, sending Elizabeth and the others ducking for cover. Roberto jumped down.

  “Not that way,” Roberto said.

  Then they heard a deep voice that seemed to come from all parts of the ship, as if it was the voice of the ship.

  “There is no escape,” the voice said.

  The Dawson part of Elizabeth cowered in terror.

  “It’s McNab,” Roberto said.

  “The one called Prophet?” Jett asked.

  “He speaks in your head,” Roberto said.

  “Telepathy?” Elizabeth asked.

  “You should know, Dawson, you taught me all this stuff.”

  “Dawson’s connected,” one of the sailors explained. “He’s got someone from the other side.”

  “Bad timing,” Roberto said.

  Roberto turned to Jett and Compton, holding out his hand.

  “Give me your guns,” he told them.

  Instantly, Compton’s gun was in his face.

  “Easy, Compton,” Jett said. “Why do you want our guns?”

  “Prophet can get into your mind. He can take control. Make you move just like a puppet. Worse, he can change you, make you believe different than you ever have. That’s why the Crazies follow him. He took hold of their minds and he made them believe in him.”

  “Then why aren’t all of you following him?” Jett asked.

  “He can’t get to everyone,” Roberto said. “He’s tried many times with me. I’ve felt him in my head poking around, looking for a handle on me, but he never found one. Not these guys either. We don’t know about you and her. You’ve got to give us those guns until we know he can’t get to you.”

  “Surrender,” the voice boomed in Elizabeth’s head. “Surrender and the worthy shall join us. You are surrounded. There is no escape.”

  “Maybe if we talked with them,” Elizabeth said.

  “You don’t talk to Prophet. If he can’t control you, he calls you a heretic and they burn you.”

  As Roberto spoke, Elizabeth saw that Compton�
�s face was blank. Then her gun arm swung toward Jett. The Dawson part of Elizabeth took control and she shouted a warning.

  Roberto and Jett moved at the same time, Roberto lunging for the gun arm, Jett twisting, slapping at the weapon. The gun fired as Roberto hit Compton. Jett took the bullet, grunting as he fell; then Compton’s gun fired again, the second round narrowly missing Jett. Roberto was on her then, pinning her to the floor while the sailors circled, looking for ways to help. Then the Dawson part of Elizabeth’s mind shouted another warning.

  Men with crossbows appeared and fired. Their two sailors took bolts in the chests and fell, one clutching at the shaft, screaming. The other dropped silently, dead before he hit the ground. Elizabeth turned to run, but more men were coming down the stairs and around the corner. She froze, putting her hands in the air, frozen in fear. Jett was on the ground bleeding from a wound in his side. Roberto was still wrestling Compton for the gun, but now men surrounded them, pulling Roberto off. The men began to disarm Compton, trying to release the belt that held her pack and gun.

  “Let her keep her weapon. She is one of the faithful now.”

  Compton stood, shaking her short hair from her face, and held her gun on Jett as his gun and pack were taken away. Then the men parted, and another man came slowly through. He was barrel-chested, with blond hair cropped short over an oval, puffy face. He wore the stripes of a chief petty officer.

  “I am Prophet,” he said without opening his mouth.

  His voice was loud and clear in Elizabeth’s mind, and it terrified the part of her that was Dawson.

  NIMITZ

  Prophet led the column through the Norfolk. Elizabeth and the other captives walked in the middle of the line, hands tied behind their backs. They were viciously shoved whenever they lagged. Roberto and the wounded sailor were first, Roberto’s arm around the sailor’s waist. One of the Crazies had pulled the crossbow bolt from the sailor’s chest by putting his foot on the sailor and giving the bolt a vicious yank. Jett was next in line, and Elizabeth last. Compton was directly behind her, acting as if she had been one of the Crazies all her life. Elizabeth tried reasoning with her, but the only reply she received was a crack on the head with the barrel of Compton’s gun. In a matter of seconds, Prophet had reached inside Compton’s mind and turned her against Jett and the others. Elizabeth knew that her host, Dawson, was resistant to Prophet, or he would have been turned long ago. She didn’t know about herself. Would she end up being manipulated into worshipping a self-appointed prophet of God?