Sometimes, a crewman would happen by as we were staring at the sea. I would exchange pleasantries but was careful not to allow anyone to speak to Deb: “We’re very strict about such things, you know – she can’t talk at all to any unrelated male. Sorry, Mate.”
I always said this with a smile and was quite apologetic in my manner.
We had one crewman on board who was a Yemeni. (He apparently had three wives back home.) He was totally puzzled by the situation. He knew that some Westerners converted to Islam but he’d never encountered anyone who had taken to the stricter custom of wearing the burqa (which was, he readily volunteered, merely a cultural thing – not necessary to be ‘a good Muslim’).
I gave him our rationalisations and he politely listened to them but, I believe, remained suspicious – particularly when he would mention (apparently well-known) aspects of his faith and find all but complete ignorance on my part. (I did find out what ‘the Haj’ was – much later.) In the end, he caused us no problem. He was just curious, but not overly so.
Of more concern was another crewman, Dan. On about day 7 at sea, I observed the faded outline of bite mark, apparently a human bite mark, on the forearm of one of this crewman. It was clearly an old wound. The hair on his muscular forearm had grown over the scar but it was still quite visible.
It was now common knowledge that the only men who had survived infection during the first wave of the zombie plague had been gays. Some minor genetic difference had, apparently, protected them. It was not firmly established that all gay men were protected in this way - and the comparatively small rates of survival strongly suggested they were not. The most commonly held scientific view was that that the male survivors had been merely a poorly described sub-group of gay men.
So, where had the crewman acquired his bite mark? Would it have been impolite to ask?
Well, yes, I decided it would have been. Besides, he was exhibiting no symptoms of infection when I first noticed the scar - and he was therefore quite safe. So, I kept my idle curiosity to myself – until about day 14 of the voyage.
On day 14, crewman Dan awoke with severe ‘flu-like symptoms – hacking cough, high temperature, running nose etc. etc.
On day 15, he was confined to bed.
Chapter 23
A Meeting with Captain Blunt
On day 17, I paid one of the crewmembers to let me view their fellow crewman. Dan was now seemingly comatose.
His state might have been a facsimile of what I had observed in my brother, David, immediately before he had changed into a zombie ten years previously. His skin was pale and clammy. His breathing was shallow and rapid. And, when I lifted an eyelid, I saw the familiar bloodshot sclera surrounding the iris and a pinprick pupil.
I’d observed these tell-tale signs not only with my brother but with many others in those early, dreadful days of the first wave. Many of those others had been my friends and classmates at Melbourne University.
I knew these signs only too well. But there was one final check I needed to make: the bite-mark itself. With his crew-mate’s leave, I gently lifted Dan’s arm from beneath the sheets and looked carefully at the small, fading scar.
I wondered, hopefully, could it have been made by an animal? I cast my mind back ten years. I’d seen hundreds of human bite marks on human flesh. Back then, of course, they were fresh and the skin was broken and bleeding. Dan’s mark was well-healed.
However, there was no doubt in my mind. The individual teeth-marks were still clearly visible. The marks made by the canines were little larger than the other teeth-marks – but these were not made by the canine teeth of a dog or a monkey. And the shape of the scar, overall, was comprised of by two quite shallow, and opposing, u-shapes – not the sort of shape that you would get from something with a pronounced snout.
As I removed the last vestige of doubt in my mind, Dan groaned loudly and rolled back and forth - in a sort of restless way. I had heard that distinctive groan and seen that restlessness before – maybe an hour or so before David had died.
I thanked the other crewman, gave him his money and determined to seek out Captain Blunt without a moment’s delay.
Through the first mate, I asked for, and was granted, a private audience with the ship’s commander. The Captain’s cabin was a little less spartan than the rest of the accommodation on board – but it was still barely ‘one-star’. It was about twice the size of Deb’s and my cabin. It had a proper bed rather than a ship’s bunk. It also had a table in the centre of the room – as well as a writing desk of more ample proportions than the one which had been squeezed between the bunks and under the porthole in our cabin.
All outward signs – till then – were that the Captain still considered me in a kindly fashion. In his mind, I supposed, he considered me like some sort of benign and entirely unexpected benefactor.
We sat across the table from each other. The Captain offered me a drink but I politely declined. The Captain poured himself a tumbler of Irish whiskey and, with a theatrical flourish, downed it in a single gulp: “Ahhhh!”
It seemed more than clear that this was not his first ‘wee dram’ of the evening.
Without invitation, I tactfully started to explain to the Captain my observations of his crewman, Dan.
He stopped me before I had finished the description.
“Where is all this leading man? I haven’t got time for a speech. Remember what I said when we first met: ‘Blunt by name and blunt by nature’. So, if you’ve got something to say to me, spit it out!”
I took him at his word – though, in retrospect, I should not have. Getting a half-drunk man to understand a hard truth required more rhetorical skill than I could muster just then.
“I’m absolutely convinced that your crewman will shortly die – and that, within a matter of minutes, he will return as a zombie.”
(That was blunt enough, wasn’t it?)
Blunt was indeed affected by alcohol. He took my information – and my bluntness – badly, very badly. So, he started blustering at me, questioning how I could possibly know such a thing.
(Have you ever noticed that those who most readily give offence are also those that most readily take it?)
“I was at ground zero when the first wave struck,” I continued, unwisely. “I saw this happen dozens of times in those first few days…”
He cut me off with more bluster – now he wasn’t even listening. He told me that it was common knowledge that only women were turning into zombies this time round. In the face of this assertion, I tried to explain that this was probably not entirely true – though I had not, myself, seen any male zombies in the second wave - yet.
The Captain didn’t want to hear any of this. It seemed, somehow, that it was an affront to his authority as commander. (I’m still trying to figure the logic of that one out – but I think it had a lot to do with the drink.)
“…Sir,” he stated haughtily. “All matters of the crew’s health and discipline and entirely my responsibility. They are not the affair of mere paying passengers on my vessel. I’ll thank you not to transgress into my domain again. Good evening to you!”
And, with that, I was, quite literally, ‘shown the door’.
As I was retreating through the door, with the help of a less-than-gentle shove, I begged the Captain at least to arrange for Dan to be physically restrained – just in case I was proven correct.
No response – the door was slammed firmly behind me: bang!
Bugger!
As it turned out, even if the Captain had listened to me, there would only barely have been enough time to tie crewman Dan securely to his bed. Events were moving far more quickly than even I had expected.
I had not been back in my cabin more than five minutes, considering my next move, when an all-too-familiar roar erupted from close by – very much a ‘blast from the past’. This was not the banshee wail of the female zombie but the full-throated roar of the male – more frightening than a lion’s roar and just as loud.
The male zombie was a major predator.
Instinctively, I locked our cabin door. I did not wish to face what I heard beyond it.
Soon enough, screams of terror mixed with Dan’s increasingly excited and predatory roars. How many crewman would Dan recruit to his ‘side’? How many would he simply kill and eat? Would I end up being among their number?
The urgent running of feet – the slamming of doors. Some crewmen were escaping outside, beyond the crew’s quarters. But how many?
Still roars and screams. Then just roars. The victims, those who had not fled successfully, had fallen silent – quite possibly for good.
Then, Deb started acting up. Belatedly, she had guessed what was going on beyond the door and the undeniable insistence of her blood-lust had returned. She wanted to go out and join in the party!
(Deb had always been a party-girl.)
She tore off her outer clothes and started pacing the room, started clawing at the door and the walls. When she was in this state, of course, she did not have the reasoning ability of even a two-year-old. It was all driven by bestial instinct – and I would do well not to try and oppose her in this mood.
Clearly, she wanted out of the cramped cabin – and out now.
I wondered if I would, once again, be spared by my sister if I (passively) kept her confined. I remembered the murderous face she had shown me when she had first ‘changed’. I remembered well that I had only avoided a violent end then because I had strapped her securely to her bed.
I remembered also what had greeted me at the shack upon my return from the city.
Was there time to secure her now? Would she let me? No, not now that her blood was up.
And yet, if I gave into her desperate pleas and opened the door, I would suddenly be part of the slaughter that was undoubtedly still in progress on the other side, in the corridor.
A nice choice.
The minutes seemed like hours as I listened. One of Dan’s victim’s weakly renewed his cries for help. They went unheeded and soon stopped. Then another sound: a heavy thump came to our door, followed by insistent sounds that I had not heard in some years: Gronff! Gronff! Nunff!
Zombie-Dan was now just outside our door, hungrily devouring one of his victims.
Deb could hear it too. The unmistakable sounds of human flesh being consumed by another. Deb flew into an absolute frenzy, scratching and tearing at the door anew.
She turned looked at me desperately. There was too much anger – very familiar anger - in those eyes. Suddenly, I felt very vulnerable, trapped in the cabin with my beloved sister. She seemed to be saying to me: “Open the fuckin’ door or else!” (Though, in this state, she had, of course, lost the power of speech.)
Even so, in a moment of clarity, I decided that I still stood a better chance if I only had to defend myself against Deb – I would not open the door. That was my hastily considered decision.
Then the door was flung open – somehow Deb had managed to manipulate the bolt. Deb dropped hungrily through the doorway and onto the inert figure lying on the threshold. She started feasting on Dan’s ‘kill’. Dan did not object – or even notice – there was plenty for two.
The victim’s face, still bearing a surprised look, was recognisable to me. It was the ship’s cook. A pleasant fellow of Filipino origin, he had told me that he had a wife and three kids to support – back in slums of Manila.
The sight of this gentle and hard-working man being hungrily devoured made me feel ill – far worse than I had felt when Deb had killed and eaten her long-term lover, Ben.
I cursed Captain Blunt for not heeding me but, as I’ve said, maybe my warning had simply come too late to prevent what I was now witnessing. On the other hand, if he’d not been drunk and had cut his arrogant bluster, he might have moved just quickly enough.
I looked beyond zombie-Dan and my sister – there was another victim lying in the corridor, not far from the doorway. Just as I had guessed, at least two crewmen had died in Dan’s initial onslaught and now the only exit from my cabin was blocked by two feasting zombies.
Terrific!
Chapter 24
Being more blunt with Blunt
In the distance, I could hear Blunt screaming orders at the remaining crew. I got the distinct impression that these were orders for the sake of giving orders. Amongst other things, he demanded that the crew ‘man’ this part of the ship or that – or that they ‘secure’ various pieces of it.
Why? The attack was not coming from outside but inside the ship. The Captain needed to deal with zombies not pirates. Perhaps his Captain’s manual didn’t have a chapter on zombie emergencies? It should have - after what had occurred in the early 1970’s.
In any event, he was completely out of control and his orders, I guessed, were having the effect of merely promoting panic among his crew rather than preventing it.
How perfect for what I had in store!
I heard the Captain repeatedly curse the fact that there was no firearm on board – very useful information for an unarmed man like me.
(I later learned that this was something to do with maritime law but, at the time, I was surprised that this would be the case.)
The surviving crew had all gathered outside, on the deck, and the ship’s quarters (where Deb, me and the ‘fallen’ crewmembers were) had been sealed and hastily barricaded from the outside. This circumstance did not immediately panic me because I knew, from past experience, what zombies did once they had eaten their fill: they rested.
So, unless one of them were turned away from feeding on the initial victims before that time, I was likely to be reasonably safe for the moment.
So, how did I ensure that I did not attract their murderous attention before that time? I developed an extremely clever and complex stratagem: I hid behind the door and stayed very, very quiet.
Out of zombie-sight, out of zombie-mind.
This gave me time to take a deep breath and consider what came next – whilst listening to the moist, gruesome sounds of human flesh being chewed and consumed. These were, in truth, a trifle distracting.
o0o
In due course, Deb and Dan had eaten their fill of the kindly Filipino chef and, as expected, became torpid. Conveniently, they both lumbered into my cabin, leaving a trail of blood and gore behind them, and stretched out on the two single bunks. (‘Don’t mind me, chaps! I won’t be sleeping there again anyway.’)
This allowed me to emerge from behind the door and leave the cabin without having to walk past them. However, there was still the obstacle of the chef’s half-eaten corpse blocking the doorway. This was not a pretty sight. I will spare you the details of which bodily parts, amongst the widening pool of redness, were still present and which were not. Suffice it to say, like the two males I’d seen in the zombie-sisters’ farmyard, there was never going to be nearly enough to be reanimated and ‘return’.
After gingerly stepping over the chef, I cast my eyes to the left, down the corridor, and viewed the body of the other crewman. He was very definitely beyond salvation. There was a single, gaping wound to the neck which had resulted in massive blood loss. As with the chef, the blood was also pooled about him - in a sort of halo and was still vivid red. That would darken soon enough.
That said, there was no other sign of violence on his body – and, because he was largely intact, I expected I would be seeing much more of him very soon. This crewman would, very likely, be returning as a zombie within a matter of minutes. Because he had been killed outright, there would be no transitional stage of flu-like symptoms prior to death, followed by a return. Death had already come – no transition was required.
In summary then, very soon I would be sharing living quarters with three zombies (including Deb) and a half-eaten corpse.
There’s nothing quite like a Pacific Cruise, is there?
Deb had (eventually) protected me from the three zombie-sisters and their mother. I could only hope that her protective instincts would extend to warding off the a
ttentions of two zombie-sailors. In any event, there was no time to worry about that. I needed quickly to put revised plans into place to ensure that Deb and I still reached our destination: the Port of Rabaul on the island of New Ireland.
o0o
Captain Blunt and his remaining crew were still out on deck more than an hour and a half after the Dan’s attack. Captain Blunt had stopped barking senseless orders. I imagined that a sense of stunned disbelief had now settled on both Captain and crew. They would be numb with fear and helplessness.
There were, I guessed three or four hours before dawn broke. Those on the outside would be tired, hungry and thirsty – with no obvious way of changing their dire situation. There were dim lights illuminating the deck. The freighter was still under weigh but, I guessed, no-one had yet re-entered the bridge. Certainly, there had been no obvious change in the ship’s speed or heading.
Mine (Book 2): Sister Mine, Zombie Page 12