Domain of the Dead

by Iain McKinnon

  Three more zombies were still bearing down on her. One shambled ahead, its arm outstretched pawing at the air. The other two were staggering to their feet, having been knocked over as the door opened.

  Sarah took a couple of steps back to keep her distance from the approaching corpse. She took aim and this time her shot hit home.

  The two remaining zombies behind simply pushed passed their fallen brethren and continued to advance.

  Sarah tried to step back but her retreat was over. She had reached the hull. Cornered against the wall, she fired at the closest one. The shot burst its skull open, sending it tumbling to the deck.

  The last creature, undeterred, reached out its arms to grab her.

  The ghoul was so close that the barrel of the gun touched its forehead. Sarah pulled the trigger and heard an empty click.

  Her heart sank and she became suddenly aware of the pounding in her ears and her shortness of breath.

  The zombie grabbed Sarah by the hair and started to pull her in.

  There was a loud crack.

  “Ow!” Nathan screamed.

  The zombie collapsed to the floor and behind it stood Nathan, nursing his right hand.

  “What happened?” Sarah asked, trying to catch her breath.

  “I smacked it one with the fire extinguisher and the fucking thing’s taken a chunk of skin off my knuckles.”

  Sarah stepped forward. “Let’s see.”

  Nathan held out his hand. There was a tiny gash across the joint of his first two fingers. “It was the squeezy bit.” He could see Sarah hadn’t understood what he was talking about. “The trigger thing… I was holding it.” He shook his head. “Ah, never mind.”

  “Get a dressing from the first aid kit. You’ll be fine,” Sarah said as she opened the cupboard beside her. “Oh, and thanks.”

  “Anytime,” Nathan said, rooting around the first aid box. He glanced over at Bates. “What are we going to do about him?”

  Sarah opened up a second cupboard. “Take him with us.”

  Nathan looked anxiously at the open door. “Not just lock him in here?”

  Sarah was pulling out bottles and squinting to read the labels in the dim light. “I don’t want to double back if we can avoid it. And we’ll need him to radio the Russians and stop them from nuking us.”

  “Okay, but we can’t carry him… What are you doing anyway?”

  “This.” Sarah opened up a small bottle and knelt down next to Bates.

  “Jeez, what the hell is that?” Nathan asked, screwing up his face. “It smells like rat piss.”

  Sarah was wafting the bottle under Bates’ nose. “Ammonia. It’s what smelling salts used to be made of.”

  Bates took in a gasp of air followed by a long splutter of coughs. His eyelids fluttered open.

  Sarah shook him by the shoulders. “Bates? Bates?”

  All Bates could manage was a groggy, “Uh…”

  “You’ve been bit,” Sarah reminded him. “But we’ve stopped the infection from spreading. We need your help. You’re going to have to walk.”

  Bates held out his injured arm in front of him. There was a fresh white bandage a few inches below his elbow where his arm now terminated.

  “My hand! My fucking hand! Fuck it hurts!”

  “I had to stop the infection from spreading,” Sarah said as justification.

  Nathan looked down at his own arm. The whole thing ached and felt numb. He tried to suppress his dry cough and shivered from the effort. His throat was scratchy and the headache from being seasick was getting stronger. He had hoped the oppressive cold was from the storm outside, but seeing Sarah comfortable in a vest made him realise just how sick he had become.

  “Now on your feet soldier!” Sarah barked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Bates replied back out of instinct.

  Sarah extended her arm and helped Bates to his feet. “I couldn’t find any morphine. Do you know where it will be?”

  “There’ll be some in the infirmary, but that’s backtracking,” Bates said. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You need to lead us to the armoury,” Nathan said. “Are you up for it?”

  “Sure,” Bates replied with a pained gasp.

  “This is yours,” Sarah said, passing Bates the gun. She added, “It’s empty.”

  Bates reached out with his severed arm. He looked down at the empty space where his hand should have been, and snorted.

  “Don’t matter,” he sniggered. “I can’t fire it anyways.”

  “Use your left hand, you idiot!” Nathan snapped. “Now can we get out of here?! That door’s wide open and those shots will draw every zombie on board!”

  “Okay, let’s go,” Bates said, and stepped out of the lab.

  Sarah and Nathan followed.

  * * *

  As the three figures moved down the corridor, a zombie shuffled after them. Something caught its eye—a flickering movement from the room beside it.

  Professor Cutler shuffled into the room. There were a number of bodies lying on the ground which made getting into the room difficult for the stiff-legged zombie. It ambled over to the source of the movement. The creature which once spoke four languages fluently let out an unintelligible grunt. The noise was made all the more horrific as it gurgled out past the mashed-up flesh and bone that used to be his lower jaw. Part of the professor’s ear had also been obliterated from the shots Bates had fired at him. Drawn deeper into the room, he bent down to see the dancing yellow shape more closely.

  The light from the Bunsen illuminated what was left of Professor Cutler’s ashen face. The only colour was his brown hair and the crimson ooze around the edges of his ragged flesh. He seemed ignorant to the fact a large portion of his face had been blasted away by a gunshot. All that captured his attention was the dancing light in front of him. He reached out a hand to grasp the movement but he couldn’t clutch hold of it. Instead it ran up the sleeve of his crumpled and gore splattered white shirt. This astounded the professor, who stood and watched as the yellow flame engulfed him.

  Swatches of the burning shirt sloughed off and floated to the floor. Flame dripped onto the gurney where the tethered zombie lay concealed under a sheet. The covers ignited. Flames gusted up, touching the ceiling and dripped down, wafting to the floor. In turn, these offspring ignited the clothing of the corpses on the deck and within moments the whole lab was burning.

  Strapped to its gurney, the specimen zombie could do nothing but watch the flames engulf him for as long as his eyes still worked.

  Professor Cutler shambled out of the lab, his body a flaming torch. The movement and light from the flame had caught his interest for a moment, but his primordial drive compelled him to search out victims to infect, regardless of his physical state.

  * * *

  “It’s not far now,” Bates said. “Just a few more feet.”

  “Fuck!” Nathan swore as he stumbled. He tried to hold his balance by pushing his foot out, but it slipped on a wet patch. Nathan threw his arms out and landed on something cold and soft. A tirade of mono-phrase profanities spilt from his mouth as he jerked back up to his feet.

  Sarah bent down to see what had caused such panic in her friend.

  “What is it?” Bates asked.

  “Dead bodies.” Sarah looked up at Bates. “Or should I say dead W.D.’s.” She turned her focus to Nathan. “You okay?”

  Nathan blew out a puff of breath. “I’m covered in shit.”

  “Are you okay though?” Bates repeated Sarah’s question.

  “Yeah, sure, I suppose.” Nathan replied, punctuating his answer with a dry cough.

  “You sure?” Sarah asked softly. “You don’t sound too good.”

  Nathan snorted and wiped his nose. “Yeah, I told you I’m fine. It’s just this seasickness.”

  Sarah stood up and went to place her hand in Nathan’s, but in the darkness she misjudged his location and instead touched his arm.

  Nathan winced and jolted away. “I’m fine!�
�

  “Well, it’s kind of good news,” Bates said.

  “What do you mean?” Sarah asked, shrugging off Nathan’s reaction.

  “These W.D.’s have been dispatched…” Bates paused to let the significance sink in. “If we didn’t waste them, that bodes well.”

  “You mean there are others still alive?”

  “Look, it doesn’t mean they’re still alive, but at the very least there are—what—three, four less to deal with?”

  “Are you always so pragmatic?” Sarah asked.

  “It’s what’s kept me in one…” Bates stopped. “It’s what keeps me alive.”

  Sensing the change in mood, Sarah pushed past. “Where’s this armoury?”

  “This door down here,” Bates said, pointing the way. “You’ll need both hands to open it.”

  “Won’t it be locked?”

  Bates drew level with her at the door. “Nah, there’s a locker room inside and an anti-room like the brig.”

  Sarah swung the door open. She had reacted even before she had consciously registered why. Her instinct had thrust her into a tight ball the moment the gun fired. A familiar ringing peeled through her head but she could make out shouts over the noise.

  “Ustanovaka! Hold your fire, French, they’re uninfected!” Angel bellowed. “Don’t stand about get in, get in!”

  The thick, east European accent stressed the vowels, stretching them, while her brusque consonants brought a harsh quality to the end of her words. All the same it was a voice Sarah was pleased to hear.

  Inside the brightly lit room stood Angel and the two marines who had harangued them at the landing pad. Angel’s previously white plaster cast was now adorned with drawings and scribbles, most of which were friendly jibes at her misfortune.

  Sarah looked around the armoury. It was a room only a few metres square. Against one wall was a cage like the one in the brig, but instead of holding captives there were racks of guns and ammunition.

  “Thought my arm was bad,” Angel commented as Bates stumbled into the room.

  “Yeah, I lost it,” Bates said mournfully.

  Angel ignored his tone and slapped her comrade hard across the back. “You were always shit at gambling.”

  “How come you’ve got lights?” Nathan asked as the door was shut behind him.

  “What happened you?” Angel asked as Nathan stepped into the light.

  “Huh?” Nathan said, then he followed her gaze down the front of his shirt. The whole thing was soaked in the blood from the cadavers outside.

  “He fell over into your handiwork,” Bates said.

  “He still looks like shit,” Angel said.

  “He’s been seasick all night,” Sarah said in Nathan’s defence.

  “And it’s been a rough night,” Bates added, holding up his bandaged stump.

  Angel looked at the mutilated arm. “Does that not hurt?”

  “No, it feels great,” he answered dryly. “I recommend it for everyone.”

  Angel nodded over to a pile of equipment. “There is some Tramadol with my kit.”

  “Thanks,” Bates said, walking over to the pile.

  Nathan looked over to where Bates was heading. On the floor there was what looked like a car battery. Attached by crocodile clips and hung from the wall was a stark white bulb caged in an orange plastic housing.

  Nathan nodded. “High tech.”

  Bates addressed the room as he rummaged for the drugs, “Are we all that’s left?”

  “Looks like it,” French said.

  “Been quiet for some time. We heard shots about five minutes ago,” Angel added.

  Sarah raised a hand as if she were at school. “That would have been me.”

  “You know how to use gun?” Angel said more than asked.

  “The answer’s no,” Bates said, brandishing the pistol. “Otherwise there’d still be bullets in this thing.”

  Nathan continued his casual survey of the armoury. He turned round to look at the way they had come in. As he did he saw a figure slouched against the wall. The open door had obscured the body as he had come in and Nathan peered past the other occupants to get a better view. It was the body of a dead sailor slumped on the floor of the armoury.

  “What happened to him?” Nathan asked nervously. The spray of red blood on the wall behind him had already told him his answer, but Nathan needed to hear it.

  French pulled back the sailor’s collar to show a deep bite mark.

  Sarah asked, “Did he kill himself?”

  The marine huffed, “Good catholic lad, or something. Couldn’t bring himself to do it.”

  Bates and Sarah looked at French. Angel had her eyes down.

  Nathan covered his mouth and stifled his cough. His head pounded and his body ached. He felt asthmatic, unable to get enough breath and the wound on his arm burned. It burned through the muscles and down into the bone.

  “Don’t you give me any crap,” French said. “Hey, if there had been a few more people like me when this all kicked off, things would be totally different.”

  “God only knows,” Sarah blurted out.

  French stepped closer to Sarah. “You got a problem, lady?”

  Sarah gave him a trenchant stare. “Was it you who took the pot shot at us on the way in?” There was a lingering silence and a good few hard looks before Sarah continued, “If it was, I wouldn’t trust you to aim straight enough to shoot me.”

  French surged forward, “Why you—”

  “Shut up, Lawrence!” Angel said, pushing in front of him.

  Bates stepped up to Angel, adding to the human barrier between the marine and Sarah. “So have you dogs got a plan?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Angel said.” We wait here few hours, let things settle down before we make our way to radio room to send mayday.”

  “We had much the same plan, but we need to get up to our cabin and rescue Jennifer,” Sarah added.

  “If you going out there you better take precautions,” Angel said, throwing open the door to the armoury.

  “How many vests do we have here, Angel?” Bates asked as he walked into the locker.

  “Three. One I’m wearing and the spares.” Angel looked Bates up and down. “Can I assume yours in your bunk?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t get an invite to this party,” Bates said, hauling out the vests.

  “Yes, you were in brig again.”

  Bates threw the first vest to Sarah. “Funny,” he said as he gave Angel a reluctant smile. “Seem to remember that the last time I was in there you had warmed the bunk for me.”

  The second vest snagged by one of its straps. Bates yanked it free but his one-armed clumsiness sent it dropping to the deck. He bent down and picked it up, frustrated by his disability.

  He thrust the second vest at Nathan. “Here.”

  Sarah protested, “Bates, I don’t know what to do with this. Aren’t you guys better off wearing these?”

  “The lady’s right, Bates,” French added. “What are you doing that for?”

  Bates ignored him. “Sarah, these aren’t just ammo vests.” He poked at the material behind the ammo pockets. “It’s made from a stab-proof weave. We wear them in country ‘cause if they stop knives they stop bites.”

  “Do you smell something?” the other marine asked.

  “Smoke?” Angel replied.

  “Cover me,” French said as he stepped up to the door.

  French eased open the door to a trill of soft clicks as safety catches were disengaged.

  A thick cloud of black smoke clung to the ceiling of the corridor and further down the ship the plumes were backlit with a rolling orange tint.

  “Aw, shit,” French said as he slammed the door shut. “We’d better get out of here.”

  “Isn’t there a fire suppression system?” Sarah asked.

  “Yeah,” Bates said as he pocketed useful items. “But it’s linked to the power and the manual system assumes there’ll be more than six of us to deal with it.” />
  “What are we going to do?” French asked, anxiety rising in his voice.

  “We need to abandon ship,” Angel said, her voice calm and steady.

  “Not before we—” Bates fumbled a lump of yellow tinged plastic. Half out a pocket and left-handed he couldn’t stop it from falling to the floor. “Shit!”

  Sarah could see he was annoyed at himself for the awkwardness he had working one handed. She bent down and passed him the wayward object.

  Bates shown Sarah a sheepish grin. Sarah watched as his lips arched, plumping his cheeks as he smiled. She looked up into his eyes and realised that she was smiling back at him. His eyes were hazel, she noted.

  Bates took in a sip of breath and broke eye contact, his cheeks a slightly redder hue than a few moments before. He cleared his throat and continued, “As I was saying, we can’t abandon the ship before we’ve sent that sitrep.”

  Sarah turned and saw Nathan staring at her. His mouth was slightly open and his eyebrows were furrowed. His pale, clammy complexion stressed the hurt in his expression. Sarah cast her eyes down, suddenly ashamed. She had no reason to feel guilty; she had never led Nathan on, but she knew he had always carried affection for her. She had always brushed off his advances with excuses about their situation rather than the truth. Nathan was a nice guy, but not the type Sarah found attractive. Now she saw the harm of that lie in Nathan’s eyes.

  “Do we risk the bridge or just go straight to the radio room?” asked a nervous looking marine.

  “Radio room our best bet,” Angel said.

  “Okay, Nathan and I will go get Jennifer,” Sarah said. “You guys make the radio call before abandoning ship and we’ll meet you up on deck.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Bates said.

  “But you’re wounded.”

  “You’ll be quicker with someone who knows the ship,” Bates argued. “Besides, Angel can’t shoot straight right handed. I’m safer off with you two.”

  A huge grin on her face, Angel flicked a slap across the back of Bates’ head. “Tool-up, people. Let’s get out of here.”

  The soldiers quickly loaded guns and ammo, passing equipment to Nathan and Sarah.