Only the Dead Live Forever

by W. J. Lundy

  They gathered up and walked past the power station. Brad peeked in the door and saw a flurry of activity. The Marines were working hard, refueling the power plants. “I think we can handle this on our own, guys,” Sean said. Brooks and Brad nodded in agreement. They had been through far worse without the help of anyone, Brad thought to himself.

  The men finished the walk to the one-story steel building. There was a large tower, not unlike an air traffic control tower, only on a much smaller scale. The tower extended a good seventy-five feet into the air and appeared to be topped by an observation bubble. A radio antenna extended another hundred feet above that.

  Sean and his men stood near the door. As they had discovered earlier, there were several large windows in the face of this building at shoulder height. The windows were all smashed and Brad could easily see inside. The sun was in the perfect location, and light was filling most of the structure. Sean readied his MP5 as Brooks kicked the wedge from the bottom of the door. Sean touched the handle and the door swung open.

  They surrounded the entrance in a half-circle, listening and waiting for anything or anyone. After a few minutes, Brooks swept into the room and cut left. Brad moved in and to the right, closely followed by Sean. The men had become very good at working together. Very little verbal or hand communication was required with the trio; they had become a tight cohesive force.

  Brooks positioned himself at the end of the room at the entrance to the next doorway. The team stacked up and cleared their way through the entire first floor. They found offices filled with banks of computers and control panels that appeared to run the rig’s drilling equipment and life support systems. Fortunately, no primals or bodies were found inside. This building must have had early warning, or was possibly unoccupied during the attacks.

  They found a locked hatch to the observation tower but waited before breeching it. Satisfied that the rest of the building was clear, they relaxed their posture and began looking around. Brad found a large control panel labeled ‘desalinization’. He pointed it out to Sean, who smiled and said he hoped it was still operational.

  “Damn, between the systems in this room and the pallets of food and water on the decks, we could make a home here for quite a while.” Brooks said.

  “Sure as hell seems that way. Let’s just hope all this shit works,” Sean said.

  As if on cue, they heard a rumble from the power station. The noise quickly evened out to a purr, and suddenly the lights in the control room popped on. Several of the control panels started lighting up and the computers began to beep and boot up. The men smiled at each other as they examined the gauges and dials.

  Brad looked back at the desalinization panel; the status lights quickly went from flashing red to solid green. The digital gauge on the fresh water tanks showed full. Another indicated that the boilers were back online and water pressure was nominal.

  “Hell yeah! Look at this,” Brad said, pointing at the gauges.

  “Hot showers tonight guys,” Brooks laughed.

  The celebration was short-lived, however, as the sounds of gunfire and screams erupted from outside.

  “What the fuck is that? Move to contact, let’s go!” Sean yelled.

  Brooks quickly put his game face back on and stepped out at a quick trot towards the source of the firing. Brad was right behind him, moving parallel to Sean. The intensity of the firing had quickened and was now mixed with the sounds of primal moans. Brooks turned a corner and his MP5 barked. He didn’t stop; he kept moving forward, keeping the weapon at his eye, and firing controlled shots as he moved.

  Brad sped to keep up. He had his own weapon at the ready as he saw a mass of figures at the end of the walkway near the cranes. Sean’s weapon began to fire next to him. Brad searched for targets, trying to distinguish friend from foe.

  He finally saw one of the Marines on his back, struggling. A primal was bent over him, clawing and chewing frantically. Brad held his breath and took careful aim, then fired two rounds. His first shots landed in the primal’s hip, spinning the primal away from the Marine. Brad fired again, connecting with its upper chest and head. The beast arched backwards before falling slack against the deck.

  Brad pivoted in search of more targets while leaving his eye against his optics. He scanned from left to right. The firing stopped and was replaced by the screaming of the man still on the ground. It was Ben Walkens, one of the Marines who had been assisting with the cleanup. Brooks ran quickly to his side and dropped down, cutting away Ben’s body armor and clothing.

  Walkens had scratches all over his face, and deep cuts and chunks of flesh missing from his left shoulder and arm. Brooks pulled a small bottle of alcohol from his aid bag and dumped it all over the Marine’s face and onto his wounded arm, then grabbed a gauze pad and began scrubbing the wounds. Walkens screamed frantically in pain. Nelson had moved forward and was trying to hold the injured man so Brooks could work. Brooks gave Walkens a dose of morphine, then stood and walked away. Sean approached him.

  “How’s it look?” Sean asked.

  “You know damn well how it looks, Chief. He’s cut wide the fuck open and you know what that means. I poured as much alcohol as I had in the wounds and cleaned them as best I could. Who the fuck knows? Maybe it will kill the infection. How the fuck did this happen?” Brooks stood, shaking his head. “Chief, I need a minute,” he said with deep frustration in his voice.

  Brooks turned and walked away from the scene. Sean approached Walkens, still on the ground and a bit more calm with the morphine in his system. Nelson was sitting next to him, applying a pressure dressing to his arm. Brad was walking among the dead primals, double checking that they were terminated.

  “How you feeling, pal?” Sean asked Walkens.

  “I’m gonna turn into one of those things, ain’t I, Chief?”

  “We don’t know that. Brooks is a good medic. Let’s just wait and see, okay buddy?”

  “Just don’t let me turn into one of these things, Chief,” Walkens pleaded.

  “Just relax; we’re going to take good care of you.” Sean reached into Brooks’ aid bag and gave Walkens another dose of the morphine. Walkens’ gaze faded and he looked away, talking to himself.

  Sean looked back to Nelson. “What the hell happened, Nelson?”

  “Me and Ben … we was moving things … clearing the deck. We heard the power kick on … we was smiling and … joking about hot food tonight.” Nelson’s voice started to break as he looked down at his friend. The rest of the men had arrived at the scene and started to gather.

  “It’s okay, Nelson. Just tell me where these things came from,” Sean said softly.

  “From there, Chief.” Nelson pointed to a caged lift.

  “How the hell? The lift was secured; it was in the lockout position. Bill and Tony said they checked it,” Sean exclaimed.

  “That’s right, Chief, the engage bar was set to lockout,” Bill confirmed.

  “I don’t know, Chief, we was standing right here. We heard the lift click; then the light turned green and it started to rise. Them things must have engaged it and pressed the operate button,” Nelson said.

  Just then they heard the lift click again; the green light switched from green to red, and it started to drop into the lower deck.

  “What the fuck!” Sean yelled. Brad and Sean ran forward, weapons at the ready, watching the lift drop. “Shut that thing down!” Sean yelled to Bill.

  Bill ran to a control box and started digging through wires. “The breaker is below; I can kill it from here though … I just gotta find and disconnect the ground.” The lift finished its move to the lower deck, making a loud clunk. The red light went out. The lift made another loud clunk, the light turned green, and it started to move up again.

  “Any time now Bill!” Sean yelled.

  “I’m working on it Chief!”

  Tony ran forward, fire axe in his hands, and shoved Bill out of the way. He swung the axe and severed half of the bundle. The lift still moved. To
ny quickly adjusted his feet and swung hard again, severing the bundle in a bright spray of sparks. The lift hung dead with a short six inches of the top extending above the deck. The green light went out.

  Brad let out a sigh of relief just as the primals in the lift began to moan. Brad stepped forward angrily and put his rifle into the small gap between the lift and the deck, ready to engage.

  “Hold your fire!” Sean yelled.

  “What?” Brad said, looking back.

  “Save your ammo, they can’t get up here and we don’t want to rupture anything that will burn down there with wild shots,” Sean answered.

  Brad nodded back, but kept a nervous eye on the lift, trying to see the monsters’ faces hiding in the shadows.

  Sean turned back to Tony. “How the hell did the lift come up if it was locked out?” Sean asked.

  “Someone … or something … had to have toggled the override below and pressed the lift button!” Tony stuttered.

  “What the fuck? They’re pushing buttons now?” Sean asked.

  “It’s the only way. Chief, you saw them call it back down! Those things are getting smarter,” Tony gasped.

  “Okay, are there any more lifts?”

  “No Chief, this is the only one.”

  “Okay, listen up. Tony? Clean up that mess; I don’t want those cut wires starting a fire. Swanson? You and Bill back to the power house; get this place online and get the water running. Craig? You and Wilson keep your eyes on this lift. I want the two of you patrolling between here and the stairway. The rest of you help me get Ben back to the lounge,” Sean barked. “Any questions? No? Good, move out!”

  13.

  Ben’s arms had been restrained and his legs bound together, but his head and torso were still free. They’d retrieved a mattress from one of the beds upstairs and laid him out on the lounge pool table to try and make him more comfortable. Sean was standing next to Ben, monitoring his breathing and heart rate. Nelson was asleep on the sofa. The officers had gone back outside to supervise the cleanup and security of the deck.

  They’d hoped that the quick treatment of the wounds would save Ben but, as the clock ticked, they watched the infection take hold. The fever hit and Ben began to sweat profusely. The wounds turned dark then began streaking. Ben was coherent at first but as panic set in they gave him more morphine to relax. He slowly fell asleep, fading in and out of coherence.

  “I’m thirsty, Chief,” Ben’s weakened voice rasped. He had been slipping in and out of consciousness, probably from the fever, but also the morphine.

  “Here you go, buddy,” Sean said, putting a bottle to Ben’s lips.

  Ben eagerly drank from the bottle before coughing and putting his head back down.

  “Did the medicine work, Chief? Am I going to be okay?” he asked.

  Sean looked down at Ben’s battered face. The scratches had begun to turn a deep purple, even though Brooks had soaked them with alcohol and packed antibiotic cream into them. The infection had still taken hold. Ben’s temperature had been rising at least one degree every thirty minutes. Sean looked across the room to Brooks, who was sorting through a box of medical supplies that had been scavenged from the platform’s infirmary.

  “Yeah, you’re going to be fine. You just need some rest, okay?” Sean lied.

  “Okay Chief,” Ben answered before turning his head to the side and closing his eyes.

  Feeling Sean’s stare, Brooks took his attention from the box and frowned at Sean before shaking his head. Brooks went back to his task of sorting through the box, pulling items and stuffing them into his aid bag. Sean turned his attention back to the Marine, adjusting his sheets and trying to make him more comfortable.

  Quickly Ben turned his head back towards him and struggled to sit up. “Chief!”

  “Whoa relax, son. What is it, Ben?” Sean asked.

  “Chief, please make sure I don’t turn into one of those things, please, Chief.”

  “Don’t worry buddy, we’re going to take great care of you. Just get some rest now.”

  Ben relaxed and once again turned his head to the side and closed his eyes.

  “Brad, can you take over? I need to get some air,” Sean asked.

  “Sure, I got it, Chief,” Brad said, leaving his place at the back of the lounge.

  Brad looked Ben over. Ben was unconscious now and sweating profusely. The scratches on his face were darkening, the deep purple outline spreading. The wounds on his arm had been covered, but dark red and blue lines streaked up from the bandaged limb. It was obvious that Ben was now infected. There would be no saving him.

  Sean walked over to Brooks and whispered something to him before he left the room.

  “It’s too bad, bro,” Brad said as he used a damp cloth to cool Ben’s forehead.

  “Too bad my ass! This was completely avoidable,” Brooks said. “No excuse for us losing this kid.”

  “It is what it is, Brooks. We have to just keep moving forward,” Brad replied flatly.

  Brooks shook his head, then pulled a large syringe from his aid bag and a couple of unmarked glass bottles. He drew the fluid from both bottles into the syringe and injected it into a vein on Ben’s good arm. He then secured the syringe in an empty water bottle before tossing it.

  “Can you stay with him, Brad? I’m going to give his buddies an opportunity to say good bye; it won’t be long now ... Be careful, I just gave him a dose big enough to kill a horse, but who knows how the virus works,” Brooks said.

  Brad nodded as Brooks left the room. He put his hand on Ben’s chest and felt his labored breathing. It had been almost three hours since he had been attacked.

  Brad heard the door swing open behind him. Swanson entered the room with Wilson and Craig. They were shaken but tried to hide it. There were no tears. The weeks of constant death and attacks had desensitized them to the agony of losing a friend.

  “How is he?” Swanson asked.

  “He only has a short time left. We gave him an overdose of diamorphine. He won’t wake up,” Brad answered.

  “Good, he deserves to die a Marine and not as one of those things,” Wilson said.

  Brad felt the movement of Ben’s chest stop; he slipped a hand to his wrist and couldn’t find a pulse. Cautiously they all stepped back from the table and waited for the reboot.

  Brooks and Sean came into the room and joined them around the table. Wilson woke up from his nap and sat up, feeling the somberness of the room. Brad shook his head at Sean and Brooks. Brooks came forward and also checked Ben for a pulse. When he failed to find one he held his hand to Ben’s chest, then shook his head and moved back against the wall.

  Sean came forward and removed Ben’s dog tags. He handed them to Swanson.

  “This is what happens when we fuck up. We got lazy, we assumed the deck was secure, and we didn’t pay attention to the small details. This doesn’t happen again. Get your friend cleaned up and prepare him for burial. Our work day isn’t finished yet,” Sean said.

  Sean placed his hand on Ben’s chest for a moment, then pulled the sheet gently over his head before stepping away and walking outside. After stopping to pat the sheet, Brad and Brooks followed Sean through the door.

  14.

  Brooks and Brad followed Sean back to the control room, and found him standing below the hatch to the observation tower. The hatch dogs were securely in place, but there didn’t appear to be any physical lock to prevent them from opening it. Sean looked over to Brooks and nodded. Brooks raised his weapon and pointed at the hatch.

  Sean carefully climbed the ladder to the top and began to un-dog the latches. They each freely opened with a slight metallic clang. The final latch clanged free and Sean looked back at Brooks and again nodded. He bent his legs and shoved the hatch up, throwing it open until it locked into place, then dropped back down the ladder and moved to the side to give Brooks a clear shot.

  Brooks kept his weapon pointed at the now open compartment, trying to see inside. After a few tense moment
s, Sean drew his sidearm and again climbed the ladder. When he reached the top, he disappeared into the tube that led to the compartment. There was a large crash and a bang. The sound echoed down into the space below.

  Brooks quickly jumped forward, grabbed the ladder and began to climb.

  “Calm down ... It’s okay … Dammit … I just banged my head. I’m fine, guys.” Sean yelled down.

  Brooks looked down at Brad still standing on the deck. Brad tried to hold back but finally lost it and burst into laughter. Brooks couldn’t contain himself and gave out a large belly laugh.

  “Glad you assholes think that’s funny, now get up here!” Sean yelled down the ladder.

  They found themselves in a small square room. The walls angled up on each side and were topped with large tinted-glass windows. The wall was cased with a desk and workspace, which was topped with an assortment of radios and computers. Located high in the air just above the height of the helicopter pad, they had an expansive view of the platform.

  “Do you know how to use this stuff?” Brad asked, pointing at the radios.

  Sean reached down and picked up a handset. He powered up a radio and hit a scan button. “Looks like a basic setup, shouldn’t be too difficult to use,” he said.

  The radio stopped its scan and they heard static and a broken noise. It was hard to tell if they were hearing just static or a garbled voice. Sean pressed the scan again, but it never stopped and looped back through to the garbled frequency.

  “Mayday, mayday, mayday, any station,” Sean said into the handset. When he released the handset they heard the same garbled static.

  “Sounds like there’s nothing out there, and whatever is on this station is probably high powered and blocking the freq. Let’s set up a radio watch; maybe we’ll get lucky,” Sean said.

  Brad was looking through the drawers of the workspace and found a large, clothbound book. He opened it and looked inside. “Hey check this out. It’s a logbook,” he said as he flipped through the pages.