Domain of the Dead

by Iain McKinnon

  “Shit!” the guard let slip again.

  Nathan pushed back against the marine. “Why the fuck would we bite them?!”

  The marine continued, “Captain wants ‘em locked up because he thinks they’re the source of the infection.”

  The guard looked them up and down. “They don’t look dead to me.”

  “The old man got bit to so I can’t hang around,” the marine said.

  “What?!” Bates voice was pitched high with shock.

  “Warden’s been infected?!” The guard was just as shocked as Bates.

  “Yeah the old man’s been bit. Anyway, get these two locked up. I’m off to get Frankenstein.” The marine gestured with his gun for Bates to move back and covered the doorway as his prisoners were secured.

  As the barred door clunked shut on her, Sarah felt her anxiety rise.

  “I’d better get moving. The old man wants me to fetch our ship’s mortician.” The marine opened the door of the brig to leave. “He’s got some kind of an anti-zee shot the Captain wants.”

  Sarah shouted through the bars at the marine who was about to leave, “Professor Cutler doesn’t have a cure—it’s only a vaccine!”

  The marine paid no attention to her as he left the brig.

  “You’ve got to keep an eye on the Captain! He’s going to turn!”

  The door to the brig shut and Sarah’s shoulders sank.

  “My high school biology’s a bit weak—well, more accurately, it was a bit of a week. I only turned up for four classes,” Bates admitted. “But vaccines don’t cure, do they?”

  “No, they just boost the natural defences by stimulating the immune system,” Sarah said.

  “So won’t that help?” Nathan asked.

  “The vaccine is usually a weakened strain… Something the body can fight off.” Sarah looked off at the closed door of the brig, feeling trapped. “The immune system remembers the virus and recognises it as an invader, so it’s more effective against a stronger infection.”

  Bates looked thoughtful for a moment. “But the Captain’s been bit, so it’s too late for Frankenstein’s shot to do anything.”

  Sarah nodded.

  “But there is no mild form of the big zee. You get it, it turns you,” Nathan said. “You get a little, it just kills you later.”

  “Look, I don’t know how it works!” Sarah snapped

  “You know more than the rest of us,” Bates said. “And I think you understand more about this than you’re willing to give yourself credit for.”

  “Some vaccines use viruses that are similar rather than using the real thing. Something that mimics the real contagion. Maybe it’s not the live virus… I don’t know.” Sarah shook her head. “I’m not a biologist—I did some chemistry, that’s all.” She made to punch the bars in frustration but sensibility refrained. She stepped back and ran both hands through her hair. “I don’t know… maybe it will work. I just can’t tell from what little I know.”

  “The Captain is as good as dead, isn’t he?” Nathan said in a flat voice.

  Bates pressed up against the bars again and called out to the guard, “You hear all that?!”

  The guard sat at his desk, arms crossed, looking in at the cell.

  “You’ve got to let us out of here,” Bates said. “The Captain’s probably wandering around biting people.”

  “I’ve had enough of you, Bates,” the guard said firmly. “You’re relieved of duty, so it’s none of your concern.”

  “If Warden starts biting, how quickly do you think the shit will hit the fan?” Bates asked.

  “If there’s anything going down, the bridge will call us. Now sit down and shut the fuck up.”

  Bates backed away from the door of the cell, resigned to the situation.

  “Come here often?” Nathan quipped, trying to dispel the tension.

  Bates let out a huff. “There’s been a few occasions; never this sober before,” he admitted. “Since the cable TV went off we’ve had to make our own entertainment.”

  Sarah flumped onto the cot in the cell. Its weak mattress dissolved under her weight, crumpling the coarse green blanket into canyons around her. She lent back and let out a sigh.

  Something didn’t add up. She couldn’t work out how Doctor Robertson had become infected. Sarah rubbed her temple and tried to ignore the headache that had set in.

  When she tuned back in she realised Nathan and Bates were making idle chat.

  “Doctor Robertson didn’t get bitten,” Sarah interrupted.

  “She didn’t have a mark on her,” Nathan said, confirming Sarah’s statement.

  “So the infection has gone airborne,” Bates said.

  Nathan shook his head. “If it had wouldn’t that mean we were all infected?”

  “Cutler!” Sarah straightened up as she said it.

  Bates and Nathan looked at her.

  “He’s the carrier!” Sarah said, voicing the epiphany.

  “We’ve had crew infected before because of Frankenstein’s specimens,” Bates said, “but you said there were no bite marks on Doctor Robertson.”

  “His vaccine,” Sarah said. “What if they’ve tried the vaccine and it doesn’t work?”

  “That’s a hell of a jump, Sarah,” Nathan said.

  “You said it yourself, Nathan: A little dose will kill you, it just takes longer.”

  Nathan obviously wasn’t convinced. “Sarah, we don’t know that it doesn’t work. And we don’t know how it works and neither of them said they had taken it.”

  “Frankenstein’s reckless enough to try it, but not Doctor Robertson,” Bates added.

  “The love bite,” Sarah said.

  Nathan walked over to the cot and sat down next to her. “You said you couldn’t catch it through a love bite.”

  “I know,” Sarah said, “but don’t you get it.”

  Looking round, neither Bates or Nathan did.

  A voice came from across the brig: “They had sex,” the guard said.

  “Doctor Robertson had sex with a corpse?!” Nathan squealed in revulsion.

  “No, she and Cutler are—were—lovers,” Bates said. “You’re suggesting Frankenstein gave it to her during sex?”

  “What—like the clap?” Nathan finally twigged.

  “Safe sex is virtually outlawed as part of The Plan. The ABC to save humanity,” Bates rhymed off.

  Sarah and Nathan gave him blank looks.

  “Coalition of the Living speech,” Bates added. “Ammo, Babies and Concrete.”

  The other two occupants of the cell looked dumfounded.

  “It’s how we’re going to win the war,” Bates tried to explain.

  “No, we get it… it’s just a bit... well, you know.” Nathan shrugged.

  “World’s gone to hell in a hand basket and we’re still getting fed slogans by fat assed politicians,” Sarah said.

  “So you reckon Frankenstein gave it to Doctor Robertson,” Bates said, bringing the conversation back round.

  Sarah nodded.

  Bates continued with his line of thought, “But if that’s the case, why hasn’t Frankenstein turned?”

  “I don’t know,” Sarah admitted. “Maybe he has. I mean you don’t just turn the moment you get bit. It works its way through your system first. Who knows how long that would take. And if he’s injected himself with some kind of serum he must have manipulated it in some way.”

  “What would that mean?” Bates asked.

  “I don’t know.” Sarah pushed her tongue against her lip piercing, trying to think. “It might mean nothing. It might mean it works differently.” She shook her head. “It could be he’s a symptom-less carrier. He could be wandering about feeling fine, spreading the contagion. He could have turned hours ago and has been shambling around trying to find someone to bite. I just don’t know.”

  “Either way, he’s not going to save the Captain,” Nathan offered.

  * * *

  The rest of the deck dogs had been dismissed and none o
f them had volunteered to help Patterson with a line check. Resigned to the fact he couldn’t get any wetter, he had circled the deck, double-checking nothing else had been damaged or knocked loose by the storm. Satisfied everything was fine, he walked back round to the helicopter pad where he had started. He looked at the ugly repair job. A flash of lightning from behind illuminated the shambolic carpentry. The weather and the absence of the joiner meant that the work had taken three times longer to complete and was a hell of a lot more unsightly that it should be. Patterson, however, was sure it would hold the few days it would take for Kelly to recover.

  He trudged through the spray back to the main hatch, a journey made all the more arduous by the weather and the roll of the boat. Every few seconds the ship would pitch, with the waves making walking an impossibility. With his fingers numb and pruned from the wet, holding the guide ropes was agony. But every few steps Patterson was forced to stop and hold on for fear of being tossed overboard. His stiff orange survival suit made him take ugly steps to stop the rubber clinging. He hated the garment; it’s ungainly weight, the restrictive joints, even the chemical smell of it conjured up feelings of dread and revulsion. He knew that if he were to lose his grip and be swept into the sea he would be dead in minutes without it.

  Finally, wet from the spray and the sweat of the effort Patterson, reached the deck entrance.

  The jolt of the lever opening the door screeched all the way up to his elbows. The door groaned as it swung open. Quickly, before the swell shifted the centre of gravity, Patterson ducked inside. As he shut the door behind him his thoughts went immediately to a hot shower and bed. He pulled back the tight sleeve of his suit to check the time. By his estimate it would be well after two in the morning. The sudden warmth of the ship coated his glasses with steam, making it impossible to see. He unzipped the neck of his bright orange survival suit and pulled out the damp hem of his polar-neck jumper.

  Popping the glasses into a fold, like he was tuning a violin, he started to clean them in an awkward manner under his chin. He looked up, alerted by the sound of footsteps. Squinting through his myopia he saw a figure limping towards him. Even with his terrible eyesight he could make out the telltale white Captain’s cap.

  “The landing pad has been temporarily repaired, sir,” Patterson reported, still rubbing his glasses. But even without them he could see that the Captain walked with a pronounced limp. “Unfortunately, Kelly injured himself. Nothing serious, so I’d like him to check the work over once he’s fit for duty.” He finished wiping his glasses. “I was going to retire for the night, unless there was anything else you felt needed my attention, sir?”

  As Patterson finished, Captain Warden stepped directly in front of him.

  A hand on each leg, Patterson put his glasses back on and focused through the streaks on the lenses. Warden stood before him, his face grey and his jaw hanging open. Patterson’s stomach plummeted in the split second of realisation before the zombie attacked.

  As the dead Captain lunged forward to bite, Patterson threw his arms up in front of his face. Cold dead hands slapped against the rubberised fabric of the survival suit. Patterson felt the zombie’s teeth clamp down on his arm. The force was tremendous, crushing the muscle against his own bone. He screamed out in shock at the pain and realised that his skin hadn’t been broken. The cloth of the survival suit didn’t yield and the infecting bite of the zombie couldn’t break through.

  Patterson rallied from the shock and punched his ex-captain in the face. The dead captain’s grasping hands occasionally deflected Patterson’s blows, but the punching did nothing to deter the zombie’s attack.

  Captain Warden’s sluggish brain realised that its biting wasn’t finding flesh. His jaw unlocked just as Patterson’s fist connected. The force and the unexpected success of the blow threw Patterson off balance. He found himself stumbling to maintain his steadiness while fending off the Captain’s flailing slaps. His feet tangled up with the zombies and he tripped, crashing hard against the deck. Patterson’s head cracked against the steel and immediately his senses were overwhelmed by the jolt of pain. He forced his eyes to focus, pushing back the encroaching blackness. Through the muffled ringing he heard a moan and then felt frozen fingers grip his hair. He knew he had to dispatch his dead Captain but he didn’t have any weapons on him. His hand brushed over Captain Warden’s holster. If he could get enough purchase he could snap the holster open and use Warden’s gun.

  Against the weight of his assailant and the resistance of his rubberised suit, Patterson heaved himself up. He heaved against the extra weight of the zombie sprawled over top of him. With one arm he pushed himself up, the other fumbling with the catch on the holster. Patterson felt something wet against the side of his face. Opening the holster he grasped the hilt of the gun and yanked it free. The ghoul bit down and this time it found flesh. In one action its teeth clamped together and it pulled back, tearing a chunk of skin from Patterson’s jaw line.

  Through the pain of the bite, Patterson’s only thought was that even if he won his struggle with his dead Captain, he had already lost.

  * * *

  Sarah was awake and standing by her bunk even before she knew what had woken her.

  “Did you hear that?” Bates called out at the guard.

  The guard was wiping his eyes and looking confused. “What the hell was that?”

  “Just a minute—I’ll go out and check,” Bates offered. “No, wait—I’m locked in a fucking cell!”

  “Just wait there,” the guard instructed.

  Bates cocked his head. “Ya think?”

  There was a heavy clunk then the lights flickered. The fluorescents tinkled and plinked, growing dim and then sparking bright again. Suddenly the electrical hum stopped and the lights went dead.

  Sarah gasped, shocked by how complete the darkness was. With a clunk the red emergency lights popped into life. The red glow made the surroundings and everyone around look darker and more sinister than the stark white fluorescents.

  Everyone froze as a second spray of shots rang out. The noise was stifled behind walls, but it was still clear enough to be unmistakable.

  “I’ll phone the bridge,” the guard said nervously. His hand shook as he lifted the receiver.

  As he was about to dial the number the klaxon burst to life. The guard almost dropped the phone.

  “Come on, let us out!” Bates implored.

  The guard adamantly stuck to his orders. “I’m calling the bridge.”

  Shouts, screams and weapons fire now seemed to come from all over.

  “Come on,” Bates urged.

  The guard shook his head. “It’s just ringing out.”

  “You’ve got to let us out! The shit’s going down out there and we’re caged up!” Bates rattled the bars for emphasis.

  Scraping and scratching sounds accompanied by guttural moans emanated from behind the brig door.

  Everyone took a step back deeper into the brig.

  The guard pressed up against the bars and looked over his shoulder into the cell. “I... I...”

  In the midst of the guard’s stammer a stream of machinegun fire opened up from somewhere in the corridor and a line of bullet holes erupted across the wall.

  Sarah felt a hard blow across her shoulder and she fell to the floor. The impact with the cell floor knocked the wind from her. Coughing, she tried to breathe but there was a weight on her chest.

  Bates slid off Sarah’s back and onto the floor beside her.

  Laying almost nose to nose with her he whispered, “You okay?”

  Catching her breath, Sarah just nodded.

  “Sorry if I pushed you down a bit hard,” Bates said. “Instinct.”

  Sarah whispered out her thanks and lay there happy it hadn’t been a bullet that had slammed into her. Bates still had his arm around her in a protective hug and he was looking off to the door of the brig expectantly. Sarah found herself examining his face. The stark red lighting sent a dark shadow down from hi
s narrow nose across his elegant, almost feminine chin. Pulses of warm breath blew across Sarah’s lips as Bates steadied his breathing. The darkness around his eyes pulled her gaze in. He had long, elegant eyelashes for a man. With the saturating hue of the emergency lights, Sarah couldn’t make out or even remember the colour of his iris, but they had a seductive quality to them in this light.

  Bates looked away from the door and caught Sarah’s gaze. From just inches apart they stared at each other. Sarah was startled by the intensity of the connection between them. His pupils dilated as she watched and she became aware they had both stopped breathing.

  Suddenly Sarah became painfully aware of how long she had been staring at Bates. The red light saving her blush from being spotted, Sarah batted her eyelashes and looked away, a nervous smile curling on her lips.

  “Everyone okay?” Bates whispered, breaking the nervous quiet.

  There was a round of hushed replies.

  A second roar of machine gun fire forced the brig’s occupants to stay flat against the deck. With the sound of popping of steel, a spree of shots punctured their way through the corridor wall. Through the arc of jagged perforations, glimpses of light and shadow could be seen flickering on the other side. And with the presence of the holes, the noises from outside were no longer muffled. A chorus of undead wails echoed around the ship. Sporadic gunfire in the near and far distance could be heard. Occasionally a scream or a curse could be distinguished above the noises.

  “What the hell do we do?” Nathan asked.

  No one answered.

  Bates pushed a finger through the bars and prodded the guard. “And for fuck’s sake don’t say I’ll call the bridge.”

  “Well?” Nathan asked.

  “The first thing to do is let us out.” Bates had kept his voice low but the clipped words conveyed his anger.

  “I’m going to check the door,” the guard said.

  Reticently he got to his feet. He stood there for a moment listening out for danger—or trying to find an excuse to lay back down. Slowly he crept his way to the door, freezing at the slightest sounds.