by JE Gurley
Malosi pushed the rifle’s barrel to one side with a single finger. “Young man, I have lived with death for weeks. If you wish to kill me, pull the trigger and do so. If not, stop swaggering about and railing like a madman.”
For a long second, Brad thought Deen might pull the trigger, but Hughes’ voice barked out, “Deen!”
Deen lowered the weapon and stepped away from Malosi. He stared at Hughes; then strode angrily from the room. Until that moment, Brad hadn’t realized just how tense he was. He relaxed his shoulders.
“Do you intend to join us or return to your hidey hole?” Hughes asked.
Malosi bent over to retrieve his identity card, and then shrugged. “I will join you. There is a measure of safety in numbers, but I must warn you that, although they are stupid creatures, the zombies are persistent. Given time, they will find a way to break in here.”
Hughes’ answer was somewhat petulant. “We’ll deal with that eventuality when it arrives.”
Brad hoped they didn’t have to deal with it too soon. With Malosi’s help, they uncrated and moved the generator and connected it into the building’s power panel. They ran an exhaust line to a vent in the roof by connecting several lengths of fire hose. To prevent the noise of the generator from attracting hordes of zombies, they surrounded it with piles crates and stacks of supplies to muffle the sound, leaving ample room for air to reach the intake. Brad watched on as Deen purposely shoved a crate into Malosi while they worked in a childish attempt to provoke him. Malosi shrugged off the clumsy ‘accident’ with a smile, but Brad noticed a barely concealed look of hatred flicker across Malosi’s face whenever he glanced in Deen’s direction. Brad pulled Deen aside and warned him to stop, but he doubted Deen would heed his advice. From the twinkle in Hughes’ eyes, Brad surmised that the conflict between the two men amused him. He considered Deen’s actions contemptible and Hughes’ deriving pleasure from them as juvenile. Brad began to suspect that Malosi was far more dangerous than he first thought and would bear watching.
They fueled the generator and cranked it. Next, they relit the fuel-oil boilers that supplied heat for the Biology and Core Pods. By closing off the two dock areas and any unnecessary rooms, they managed to raise the temperature in the loft to a comfortable fifty-five degrees within two hours, allowing them to remove their heavy outdoor gear. The opportunity to move around without the cumbersome anorak was a godsend to Brad who was beginning to think he was living in it. Later, as he was inspecting one of the labs that he thought Liz might need, he caught Malosi smiling at him.
“How much responsibility do you take in this disaster?” he asked Malosi.
The smile faded from Malosi’s lips. “Responsibility? Why should I feel responsible? I did not create the nanites. That was Cromby’s sin alone. My input into the project was minimal. I autopsied our failures to determine the cause of that malfunction and suggested a tweak here and there in a particular molecule to enhance the nanites’ effectiveness with the endocrine system. General Scott pushed Cromby beyond his limits. If one can cast blame on an act of God, it falls on the military who so eagerly welcomed our failures as opportunities.”
Brad was livid. “An act of God? How dare you bring the Lord’s name into your unholy experiments?”
Malosi laughed. “I suppose you believe we did the devil’s work.”
“Not all evil derives from the devil. Men are evil enough on their own.”
“Evil? You think me evil. Our goal was to coax damaged flesh into growing new, healthy tissue, a worthy goal, don’t you think?”
“But you didn’t stop there. Your new toys were too … useful.”
Malosi shrugged. “They got out of control.”
“You created a thing with no way to stop it from spreading.” Brad chopped his hand in the air to emphasize his point. “That was unconscionable.”
“Our failsafe …” Malosi stopped speaking.
Brad’s ears perked up. “Failsafe?”
Malosi shook his head. “As you said, they got out of control.”
Brad could see that Malosi was lying for some reason but figured confronting him now would serve no useful purpose. “A doctor is coming with the rest of our group. Will you work with her?”
Malosi smiled. “To find a cure? There is little hope for that, but I will assist her if you insist. I suppose my continued safety resides in my usefulness.”
While Hughes and Deen patrolled the building securing the outside doors and windows, Brad and Malosi cleaned the labs and chose the open upper level as sleeping quarters. Later, they could convert individual offices into private rooms, but for now, communal-style living would suffice. Several times as they worked, the floor shook and glassware rattled as tremors caused by the volcano raced across the island. Brad stared at Mt. Erebus through the window with its summit crowned in a blood-red halo and recoiled at the monster on their doorstep. With inhuman monsters surrounding them and a gargantuan monster threatening to brush them off the island, he wondered at their chances for survival.
Later, they performed an inventory of supplies and discovered cases of food on the dock originally destined for a winter expedition, enough to feed the entire group for weeks if a bland diet of canned meats, vegetables, and tapioca pudding didn’t kill them first. There were undoubtedly more supplies scattered around the base, but the army of zombies would make scavenging difficult. He hoped that they could find some way off Antarctica before that became necessary.
Before his trip to McMurdo and Amundsen-Scott, he had looked forward to exploring a new world. Now, he was hopelessly homesick for North Dakota. He realized the odds of reaching home were dismally small, but with luck, they might reach Australia. There, they might find ships and people who could sail them. He tried to push aside thoughts of what they might find in Australia or in the States. The Spanish Flu pandemic of 1918 had killed five percent of the population. This nanite virus could leave only five percent, but if no one was immune, it could eventually eradicate all human life from the face of the earth.
He caught Malosi staring at him and realized that he had been standing immobile in the middle of the room. Malosi dropped the bundle of blankets he carried onto the floor and said, “You strike me as a survivor. There are always a few in any disaster. I, too, am a survivor. People such as ourselves set aside our differences and work together. I know you hold me responsible for what has happened, but that is like trying to blame a hurricane for blowing. What occurred was inevitable. Many groups throughout the world are experimenting with nanite technology. Some of their goals were not as noble as were ours. What happened was an accident, nothing more.”
“Some accident,” Brad snorted. “Most of the world’s population is dead or dying.” He didn’t mention that were also doomed.
“My point is, in situations such as this, group dynamics suffer. Friends become rivals. Acquaintances become enemies. This group coming – how many are there?”
“Eleven, no ten now. Why?”
“Eventually, some will grow tired of the group effort and rebel at any authority. Some will simply give up.”
“So what’s your point?”
“You, Hughes, and I are survivors. Perhaps a few others in your group.”
“You discount Deen?”
Malosi frowned. “Deen is a fool. Without your guidance, he would already be dead. My point, as you so eloquently asked, is this. Shortly, an opportunity to promote survival for a few individuals might present itself. If this occurs, I would like to count on your assistance. Your female companion, Doctor Strong, would be a welcome addition.”
“Are you planning a trip?”
“I’m planning on surviving as long as possible.”
“Why? I thought you said there’s no cure.”
“We cannot develop a cure. That does not mean others might not have already.”
“You forget that we’re stuck at the bottom of the world.”
“Once this plague began, word would have leaked of Project Resu
rrection. If someone were to seek to develop a cure, they would eventually seek information at Resurrection City. Perhaps they would send an expedition. If so, we should be ready.”
“Why not all of us?”
“I would imagine that space for survivors would be extremely limited. My credentials would assure my place in any evacuation. My word could secure one or two more.”
Brad was disgusted. “You would abandon the others.”
Malosi frowned. “By the time help arrives, it will already have become every man for himself.”
“You don’t have much faith in mankind, do you?”
“None at all.”
Malosi turned and left the room, leaving Brad to brood over Malosi’s offer. Given what had happened at Amundsen-Scott, Brad realized that Malosi’s prediction of chaos was not too farfetched. No one believed they could be capable of complete and total selfishness until their lives were threatened. Then, an innate sense of self-preservation kicked in, the thin veneer of civilization chipped and cracked, and the baser animal instincts took control. What were the zombies other than the basest part of a human fighting for survival? Was mankind in general any better? He liked to consider himself civilized, but would he accept Malosi’s offer later if things fell apart?
Feeling the need for company, he sought out Hughes. He found him drinking coffee in the break room. Noticing the dour expression on Brad’s face, Hughes scowled.
“Has Malosi been at you too?”
Brad didn’t know why he was surprised that Malosi had been hedging his bets by making the same offer to each of them. “The man has no scruples.”
“Maybe you should have let Deen kill him?”
Brad shook his head. “We might need him.”
Hughes looked at him over the rim of his coffee cup. “I doubt it. Still, if you want to keep us civilized …”
“I don’t trust him. It’s just … he’s the only one with any idea of what we’re facing.”
“If he’s not lying, of course.”
“Yes, there’s that possibility. Meanwhile, we keep an eye on him.”
“It’d be simpler to shoot him,” Hughes replied, but Brad detected a hint of humor in his voice.
“What’s left to do?”
“The building’s as secure as we can make it, the zombies haven’t found us yet, and we have supplies. Deen is … exploring. The only thing left is to wait for the others to arrive.”
“Can we contact them on the radio?”
Hughes nodded. “When they get close enough we can use the walkie-talkie, or I can go back and bring the Sno-Cat. Its radio has a longer range.”
“Bringing the Sno-Cat here would be too noisy. It would be better if we stopped the others a safe distance away. They would have to follow, more or less, the same route we did, right?”
“More or less,” Hughes agreed.
“I’ll go back to the Sno-Cat and wait on them, lead them in on foot.”
Hughes grinned, “And leave me and Deen here alone with Malosi?”
“You won’t kill him and I expect you to stop Deen from killing him.”
“You expect an awful lot from me.”
Brad stared at Hughes. “You’re hard, but you’re no killer. Deen’s frightened. Fear changes a man. He might want to strike out at someone. Malosi would make a good target.”
“I don’t like Deen all that much, but I won’t kill him to prevent him from killing Malosi. I don’t trust the man.”
“I don’t expect you to. Just keep an eye on him, on both of them.”
Hughes nodded and took another sip of coffee.
“I’ll get some sleep and leave in four or five hours,” Brad said. “If they didn’t run into trouble, they should be here by then or soon afterwards.”
Hughes said nothing. Brad realized he had gotten all the conversation out of him he was going to get. Hughes was a difficult man to read at times. He was cold and self-sufficient, but he lived by a personal code of honor, a line that he would not cross. Brad just wasn’t certain where Hughes’ line was.
* * * *
Brad awoke with a start as another tremor rattled the building. Outside the window, bright flashes in the darkness indicated that Mt. Erebus was once again coughing up hairballs of fiery phlegm. He was torn between hoping that a river of lava would sweep down its flanks and wipe out the zombies and the fear that he and the others would be caught as well. Checking his watch, he saw that he had slept only three hours, but knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep again. Washing the sleep from his eyes, he went to the break room, made and ate a cold ham and cheese sandwich, washing it down with coffee that had been brewing all day. The strong caffeine helped perk him up. Hearing breaking glass, he sought out the source and found Deen in a storage room tossing empty glass bottles at the wall. He started to confront Deen for creating a mess, but seeing the look of rage on Deen’s face, decided to let it slide. In the receiving area of Dock B, he interrupted a heated conversation between Hughes and Malosi.
“Is there a problem?”
Hughes pointed at Malosi. “Our friend here wants to go exploring outside alone. I suggested that he not.”
Malosi scowled. “He threatened to shoot me if I left. Am I your prisoner?”
“Let’s just say that it’s dangerous to venture out alone.”
Malosi was unconvinced. “Yet, you are making preparations to greet your friends.”
Brad shrugged. “It’s a one-man job. I volunteered.”
“And leave me here with this man.”
“I could take Hughes with me and leave Deen here with you.”
Malosi went silent for a moment. “I see. In that case, I shall welcome Mr. Hughes’ companionship.” He turned and walked out of the room.
Hughes shot Brad a smile. “Touchy, isn’t he?”
Brad noticed the stacks of cases in the receiving area. “Is any of this stuff useful?”
“Most of its scientific equipment – glassware, chemicals, etc. No food.”
Brad thought of Deen’s rampage in the storeroom. “By the time Deen gets through making a mess, we might need the glassware.”
“Are you leaving?”
“Now is as good a time as any. I should be back to the Sno-Cat in an hour. You keep the walkie-talkie. I may need you to provide a diversion for our undead friends when I bring the others in.”
“I could let Malosi go out alone.”
Brad smiled. “Maybe something less harmful to the zombies.”
Brad donned a used anorak that fit and a new pair of gloves he found in a closet to replace his bloody ones. He took his rifle and a curved blade on a four-foot-long pole that looked as if it someone had designed it as a pruning knife, though where anyone would have used it in a land with no trees was beyond him. He hoped it would make a good, silent weapon if he encountered zombies.
Exiting through the lower Aquarium entrance, he stayed close to the buildings to avoid zombies. He immediately noticed that the ground was spongy and the ice was melting. He didn’t know if the continued rise in air temperature was from the volcanic activity or a worldwide phenomenon. He wished for a moment that he had Bain’s Geiger counter to check for increased radiation, but then realized it didn’t matter. He would have to venture outside and breathe the air, even if it proved fatal. He doubted it would prove deadlier than the nanites infecting his body. He considered removing the heavy anorak, but decided that though uncomfortable and unnecessary to protect him from the cold; it would provide extra protection against zombies.
Zombies were everywhere. It was as if the rise in temperature had made them more mobile. He avoided them as best he could and when spotted, made a circuitous route to divert them from following. On the last leg of his journey, between the last buildings and the edge of the island, two zombies prowled the shoreline in search of penguins. He watched one of them chase down and begin to devour a male Adelaide penguin. A fight ensued as the two zombies fought over the carcass. The creatures were starving. He wondered if th
ey would devour one another in their hunger. He tried to sneak past the two creatures as they pushed each other and growled like awkward teens arguing, but they spotted him and forgot their differences. He could have outrun them, but they would have simply followed him out onto the ice. He confronted them with the pruning knife to avoid noise.
One managed to reach him ahead of the other. He stepped aside as it lunged at him and swiped at its neck with the knife but managed to embed it in the creature’s shoulder. It jerked the weapon from his hand. He pulled his hunting knife and faced it, desperate to dispatch it before the other joined its attack. It raced at him. Brad ducked its outstretched arms and plunged the knife into the creature’s side with an upper stroke that should have gutted it. It paid no attention to the gaping wound spilling dark blood on the ground. Within seconds, the wound stopped bleeding. The pruning knife dislodged from its shoulder. Brad shoved his bloody knife in its scabbard, picked up the pruning knife, and delivered a two-handed overhand chop to the zombie’s skull, splitting it almost in half. The creature groaned and dropped at his feet.
He had no time to rest or to admire his handiwork as the second creature took up the fight. This one was more wary, staying just out of reach of the pruning knife but not allowing Brad to move away. Brad heard the growls of more zombies in the distance and knew that they had caught scent of the blood. He had very little time before they would spot him. He rushed the creature, feinted with a blow to its midsection, ducked out of reach, and planted the blade in the creatures back. Using the long handle for leverage, he turned the creature and grabbed his knife. Facing the creature, he stepped inside its reach and jammed the knife into the creature’s neck and upwards into the brain, twisting it for maximum damage. Blood ran down his hand and arm, making the knife slippery, but he held on knowing that to release it would mean his death. The creature pawed at him futilely with its claws. He was glad for his decision to keep the heavy anorak. Finally, the blade did enough damage to kill the creature. Its red eyes rolled back into its skull, revealing no white at all. It slumped into Brad’s arms. He dropped it to the ground, and, for extra measure, lopped off its head with the pruning knife. He raced down the beach, onto the ice, and into the darkness before the other zombies reached the beach. He hoped the odor of the dead zombies would mask his scent. He was too exhausted for another battle.