by Rand, Thonas
He saw his chance.
Paul reached for his seatbelt and undid it. He fell immediately and landed just to the side of the cannibal group but, because they were too busy fighting for the bodies, none of them noticed him. The wind was knocked out of him on impact, but he recovered quickly and darted his eyes everywhere for a way out.
He saw one.
Behind him was a hole in the fuselage.
Paul crawled rapidly and in his haste, kicked a large piece of debris, sending it back at the feasting corpses. The pieces of steel hit one of the undead. The ragged creature turned, spotted Paul, and came at him but, as it did, its bones broke at the waist. Its pelvis and lower backbones snapped, and the ghoul’s upper body bent over and dropped to the floor. As if it were a slinky toy, it transformed into a nightmare coil that sprang after Paul. The arms of the beast became winding claws that propelled the thing forward as it twisted like a huge drill bit that dug its way for Paul.
He kicked his legs as hard as could to move himself back from the attacking nightmare that rotated toward him. Suddenly, the air marshal’s Glock was in his hand, appearing out of thin air. Paul didn’t question it. He aimed the weapon at the drilling thing and fired. The gun burst out dozens of rounds in full automatic, more ammunition than the magazine could hold, but it kept firing in a surreal God mode. The gunfire had no effect on the twirling ghoul; it sped faster toward Paul. Its jaws snapped with tornado speed, creating a grinding noise from its teeth that pierced Paul’s ears.
He thrust himself back as fast as possible toward the hole to escape. He reached the jagged exit and pushed himself through, his clothes hanging up on the thorn-like edges of the torn fuselage. Paul struggled to free himself, his pants ripping from his relentless tugs. He continued to fire at the spinning cannibal and then tore free just as the creature pounced on him. He fired at its face, but it knocked the gun out of his hand. A hard boot to its mangled, raging face, and that gave him time enough to get away but—just before he was free—the ghoul swiped its claws and scratched his calf.
Paul cried out from the burning pain and fell…
The ground beneath him was gone and he was in a freefall through darkness that had no definition or depth, just ungraspable blackness. His arms and legs flailed wildly and he tried to grab anything to save himself. There was nothing. He screamed out of blind terror, but he had no voice. The dark void ended as Paul crashed through the roof of the passenger ferry. He landed right in between Katie and the little girl, who were both asleep on a bench at the side railing of the ferry. Surprisingly, the two didn’t wake when Paul plopped in between them. He dropped in perfectly, like a cork into a bottle and rested his head on Katie’s shoulder. The child rested her head on Paul’s side as if she expected him. Both girls remained in perfect slumber.
Paul was confused because he didn’t realize he was dreaming, which explained why he didn’t notice that the gun had vanished. He didn’t want to move for fear of waking the girls, but there was something he wanted to check, something he needed to see—he was desperate to do so. He carefully moved forward. Katie’s eyes remained closed as they moved in REM sleep. The child remained in slumber as Paul gently laid her against the back of the bench. He leaned down and looked at his legs, but didn’t realize his pants weren’t torn from exiting the jagged hole in the fuselage. They were actually new and pressed nicely. Paul reached down with trembling hands and pulled up the pant on his right leg—he was relieved to see that his skin was untouched and had no scratch from the coil monster.
He looked at his left leg; the clean khaki material covered it evenly that he couldn’t even see his ankle. He needed to see his calf. He felt no pain or discomfort from any hidden wound, but he needed to see for himself.
He had to.
The anxiety of not knowing was killing him.
He reached down and grabbed hold of the pant leg.
Slowly, he pulled up the material.
Sweat tracked down the sides of his face, over his hollow temples, and past his widened eyes.
He raised the pant leg to his knee and when he looked at his exposed calf—
It was gone.
From the knee down, his leg was gone.
Paul was baffled, especially since he felt nothing from his limb being severed. He looked around in a panic, but his leg was nowhere to be seen—it suddenly appeared as it was stuck right in his face. Paul jerked back of repulsion from smelling his bloody limb dangling before him; he didn’t understand what was happening, until Katie’s wicked face appeared next to the leg. She held Paul’s calf as if it were a treat for a dog.
“Looking for this?” Katie’s twisted vocal cords hissed.
Paul looked into her eyes and saw infected madness staring back at him.
She dropped his leg in favor of attack as she lunged at Paul and bit into his neck. The little girl awoke as a ghoul and tore into his side, ripped through his clothes, dug her nails into his skin, and began to savagely gnaw on Paul’s ribs. He felt a splash of warm blood on his clothes and skin, which quickly turned cold. His clothes became wet rags of red and the hairs on what was left of his chewed neck stood up through the layer of cooling blood. The two beasts ravaged him to death and just before the last light left Paul’s eyes, he saw his severed leg on the floor before him and he could clearly see the infected scratch mark on his calf.
His eyes dilated for the last time…
Paul awoke startled from his night terror, back on the bed in the ferry captain’s quarters, lying with Katie. He was breathing heavily, and his eyes squished tightly, tears streaming down his cheeks. Not wanting to see what could be another nightmare, he didn’t open them. The child still slept at the foot of the bed, but Katie slowly awoke from Paul’s movement on her belly.
“Paul, are you alright?” she asked with heavy eyes.
There was no reply as he struggled to shake off his haunted sleep.
“Paul?”
He still wouldn’t open his eyes; he wiped the tears from his face and beads of sweat replaced them.
“What’s wrong?” Katie asked.
Paul opened his eyes and stared at her. Katie couldn’t believe what she saw—his pupils were deep red in rage and barbed wired with a greenish iris.
Paul was no longer himself.
Paul Hubber was infected.
He growled madly at her with barbarically twisted lips and Katie gasped in horror as she looked into his depthless stare. She tried to get away, but he grabbed onto her waist and pulled her in. The thing that was Paul tore through her clothes and stabbed her with his claws. His gray fingers pierced her skin and ripped her open. Her blood sprayed the white bed sheets in layers; it dappled her face, drops landed in her screaming mouth. It was evil. The creature dug both hands into her abdomen and pulled out her insides and, even though it couldn’t be seen, Katie’s unborn child was destroyed in Paul’s clutches. The ghoul filled its mouth with her innards, as she kept trying to pull away, but it was futile.
The undead attacker rammed its hand into her and grabbed onto her pelvic bone, anchoring her from escaping. The little girl awoke behind them and saw the scene. She screamed, but her cry was cut off when the cannibal swung at the child, clutched onto her throat, and yanked a large section out. She was silenced as her jugular vein screamed blood. She fell off the bed and didn’t move when she hit the carpet.
Massive amounts of blood poured from Katie’s mouth. The life left her and her head fell back onto the pillow in demise. Her eyes looked beyond as Paul looked at his meal and continued to feast on the girl he loved. The blood-covered thing roared and its voice ended with a twisted screech as it stuffed its mouth with her…
Paul awoke startled from his night terror, back on the ferry’s bench. He was sitting between Katie and the child, both of whom were sound asleep. He breathed heavily, and he had his eyes squished tightly, tears streaming down his cheeks. Not wanting to see what could be another nightmare, he didn’t open them. He could hear the ocean waves breaki
ng on the ferry’s hull; the saltwater mist sprayed his face. He could taste the salt on his lips and the ferry’s engine soothed him, but was it real?
He didn’t know.
He opened his eyes.
He had to know.
He leaned down and lifted both his pant legs…
Katie stirred slightly from Paul’s movement.
His calves were clear and untouched from any infected scratches.
He breathed a sigh of relief, but a moment later, he was still unsure.
He needed to know.
Paul punched himself in the face abruptly.
The blow sent his head back hard against the bench board.
His eyes burned and became blurry, and his nose bled some from the trauma.
He touched his face and looked at the blood on his fingertips.
Katie awoke. “Paul, are you alright?” she asked with heavy eyes.
There was no reply as he struggled to shake off his haunted sleep.
“Paul?”
He felt the red tissue between his fingers.
“What’s wrong?” Katie asked.
Finally. “Nothing,” Paul said to her.
Katie noticed his bruised nose. “You’re bleeding.”
“Yeah,” he told her, brushing it off, “I think I hit myself while I was dreaming.”
“A nightmare?”
“Just a little.”
Katie tore a piece of material off her sleeve and blotted his nose. “We’re all having them.”
The little girl woke next to Paul, looked up at him, and smiled slightly. The first time since they saved her. “Hi,” she said to Paul with a soft, innocent voice.
Katie and Paul were surprised to hear her speak.
“Hello, little one,” Paul answered.
He caressed her face and she smiled a little more.
Paul looked at what they left behind; the once-great nation of England and the many black smoke trails that rose from it, like the black mane of a demon horse that rode through town destroying everything in its path.
But Paul, Katie, and the child were alive.
Paul knew that now.
He knew he was awake.
They had survived this disaster, for now, and they would face their future together…
DAY 202:
SITTING on THE DOCK of THE BAY
THE SUN WAS A QUARTER WAY THROUGH THE SKY, GOD’S HEAVENLY TORCH, lighting his forgotten science project. The boat that carried John, Lauren, Ardent, and Bear, along with the rest of the surviving group, still chugged along the Long Beach waterway as it made its way to the shipyard.
Everyone was quiet. Ardent steered vigilantly, and Bear scanned ahead with binoculars, his burned hand still stinging. Anthony and Tom had finished singing a while back, and Tom was asleep in his brother’s arms. Tom didn’t look well in his slumber. His skin was pale and he was sweating profusely, Anthony knew—they all knew—what that meant as he gazed down at his brother with sorrowful, loving eyes. He knew this was their last morning together.
He tried not to think about it.
The boat’s one engine struggled to propel them, which was why they were only traveling at about 5 knots. The overworked engine was on its last legs. It would fail soon. The group really couldn’t hear the whining engine very well, and not because they were so tired and numb.
They were tired.
They were numb.
They were also extremely sharp; they had to be if they wanted to continue living. The reason they couldn’t hear the boat’s motor was because of the 70,000 plus undead that shadowed their boat from both sides of the channel. As the barge moved on, more of them came, attracted by the commotion, and joined the enormous hordes. The continuous cacophony had to be exactly what Hell sounded like; no other comparison existed that was this close to the actual place. It was here, on Earth, right now.
Following them like locusts as if the boat were a green, untouched valley that they would swallow whole. Tens of hundreds ran into the water after the barge, only to sink before they reached it. Some fast movers were able to get close enough to slap their claws on the hull before they sank. Countless heads banged into the bottom of the boat. Every few seconds there was a profound THUD, SLAP, or BANG on the exterior and they kept eye to make sure none of them grabbed hold.
“Are we there yet?” Tom said as he parted his eyes.
“No, buddy, but soon. Just relax,” Anthony said.
“Okay, but soon. Right?”
“Yeah, soon.”
“Good, because I really need to sit down,” Tom said as he lay there.
Delusion set in.
“There it is,” Bear said at what he saw with the binoculars.
Ardent saw it too, about a half a mile ahead, past a curve in the waterway, was the harbor of the naval shipyard.
“Thank God,” Milla said.
“Fuck yeah! We’re home free, motherfuckers!” Derek shouted and then flipped off the horde. “FUUCK YOUUU!”
“We’re not free yet,” John said. “We either have to find a better boat or fuel for this one, and we have to fix the other motor or we’re not gonna get very far.”
“That’s the plan,” Ardent said. “Keep your fingers crossed. We’re almost there.”
They reached the mouth of the harbor, but there were two bridges before them . . . one for train crossing, and the other for vehicle traffic. Some of the dead things saw the bridges and ran toward them. They rushed onto the first bridge and waited for them. “Oh hell,” Ardent said as he watched them stampede on to the narrow train bridge above them.
“No, no, fuck!” Derek muttered.
“They’re gonna make a jump at us!” Anthony shouted.
The slow barge slid under the bridge just as the dead reached the center and many of them jumped off for the boat. Multiple splashes broke at the rear of them, some just missing their deck.
“God!” Maggie cried out.
Tom was too weak to move and there was no time to drag him to the wheelhouse. “John, cover us with that case, hurry!” Anthony said and pointed at the empty Javelin missile case.
John put the six-foot case over Anthony and Tom, then stood his ground and watched the falling dead to avoid being hit by them. One corpse hit the boat rail behind Derek and bounced into the water. “Whoa, that was too close!” Derek shouted.
Ardent looked at the other side of the bridge; he knew more would be jumping at any second. “Get ready for the other side of the bridge!” he yelled to them.
Just as he spoke, a waterfall of undead fell.
“Heads up!” John shouted.
They tried to take cover from the putrid shower, but there was only so much room in the small wheelhouse. It rained bodies and many hit the boat in hard impacts, but they were fortunate enough that almost all of them bounced off the barge and into the water. “Oh shit! Jesus!” Anthony shouted as he tried to protect Tom. One corpse landed in the center of the deck on the front part of the boat. The stench’s body was crushed, but it was still alive. The destroyed thing couldn’t get up because its spinal cord was severed. The immobile beast growled madly when it saw them in the wheelhouse, spitting out jelly-like blood, and pulled itself at them with its claws scratching the deck like nails to a chalkboard.
Bear pumped a shotgun round into it, splattering its head to nothing, and the corpse dropped limp. Another one landed in the rear of the boat, hitting the stack of supplies in a bone-shattering impact, then bounced on to the deck. The mangled thing saw Anthony and Tom. It tried to stand to attack them. It crawl-walked to get them, its legs collapsing like slinky toys every time it tried to stand. Anthony reached for his pistol, but Tom was lying on it. He wasn’t going to reach his gun before the thing got to them. “Help!” Anthony cried as he struggled for his gun. “Help us!”
John stepped in and shot it through the forehead.
Another dead thing slammed into the deck face down directly behind John, missing him by inches. It grabbed him by the ankle a
nd pulled itself in to bite. Bear rushed in, stepped on the thing’s back to stop it, then placed the shotgun barrel on the back of its head and fired. The buckshot destroyed it and blasted the deck as well.
“Thanks,” John said.
“Think nothing of it,” Bear told him.
They passed the last bridge before the horde reached it and the group watched as dozens jumped to get them, but they landed in their wake. If these creatures weren’t already dead, this would be a mass suicide of a few hundred throwing themselves off. The boat glided into an escape from the narrow waterway they were in. The undead could follow them closely no longer; they were forced to keep within the boundary of the harbor perimeter. The dead horde spread out as the small boat moved on unchallenged, but they weren’t giving up. Their rage was an unstoppable surge, and they continued to follow the boat. Bellowing madly, growling, and shrieking that emulated tornadoes as they pushed on, fanning out on both sides of the large harbor.
They would not stop…
They threw the bodies on deck overboard; the corpses splashed into the black and quickly disappeared as the deep absorbed them. The water in the harbor was a flat membrane of forgotten death; the surface was caked in dust and ash that hadn’t been disturbed for months until they arrived and melted through it. The boat’s hull parted the waters and sent wake ripples flowing as the black hair of a witch, the churning wash of the propeller muttering her evil spells that would forsake the crew on this voyage of the damned. They reached the first set of docks, piers for personal boats of pleasure, but there were no useable craft. Only empty slips that resembled burial holes, and a few boats that were burned out shells and sunken driftwood— useless to this desperate group.