Only the Dead Live Forever

by W. J. Lundy

  Before the Marines could respond, they heard the clang of the engine room hatch and then the bang as it was thrown open against the deck. “Go!” Brad said as he pulled down on the handle and shoved the door in.

  “Next man in, right!” Wilson yelled as he cleared the doorway.

  “Coming in, right,” Craig called just behind him as he cut through the narrow doorway and took a position aiming down the right side of the bridge.

  Brad pulled in just behind them, aiming down the center. The bridge was about fifteen feet wide and had two large chairs positioned near the steering controls. Brad could see navigation equipment scattered around the large consoles on the far wall. Two dead crew members lay on the floor in solid blue jump suits. A small sub machine gun lay on the deck with an empty magazine lying near it.

  Even with the tinted windows, the sun easily lit the space. Brad gestured for them to move forward online. He could hear the SEALs moving through the bowels of the ship; an occasion muffled gunshot or a shout of instruction reverberated up through the hull. There were two ladders leaving the bridge, one leading aft and the other in and under the bow.

  Both ladder ways had their hatches open. Brad signaled for Craig to dog the aft hatch so they could focus their attention towards the bow. Craig pushed the hatch but failed to close it. On closer inspection, he saw part of a man’s leg blocking the bottom quarter of the door. Brad moved around the door to look down the ladder well and into the darkened interior of the ship.

  Brad couldn’t see anything below, but he could hear the echoes of the SEALs’ movements. He used his boot to kick the man’s leg clear of the hatch, then helped Craig push it shut and secure its latches. Just as they secured the final latch, they heard the rapid firing of Wilson’s rifle. Brad turned just in time to see two crazies already directly in front of Wilson, coming up the ladder and through the hatch.

  Wilson was firing point blank into a uniformed primal’s chest, but the momentum of a second primal pushed it forward and onto the Marine. Wilson tripped and fell onto his back; flailing, he dropped his rifle to the side. Brad lowered his weapon and fired at the second primal that was now lying across Wilson’s hips. At the same time, Craig smacked the head of the uniformed creature with the butt stock of his rifle.

  Brad leapt forward and kicked the second primal hard enough to knock him clear off of Wilson and back down the stairs. Craig had regained control of his rifle and fired three rounds into the head of the other primal. He then grabbed Wilson and dragged him clear of the bow hatch as Brad slammed it shut and locked its latches.

  Wilson was still on the ground flailing about. Brad grabbed him and tried to calm him as he inspected his body for wounds. He stopped cold when he saw a large gash going from Wilson’s right hip and down the side of his leg. Brad ripped the clothing away to get a better look at the wound. It didn’t look good. Brad could see deep into the muscle; blood was oozing out and filling the cut.

  Brad put pressure on the area and ordered Craig to give him a tourniquet. Brad ripped the rest of the clothing away and tried to apply the tourniquet but the location of the wound made it impossible. He grabbed a bundle of pressure dressings off of the Marine’s body armor and started packing them around the long gash. Wilson was still flailing on the deck and screaming.

  “They fucking got me, oh shit they got me, Sergeant they got me,” Wilson screamed.

  “No, it’s okay Wilson. Maybe you cut it on the hatch or when you fell. It’s okay,” Brad said back, trying to calm the Marine.

  “No, he fucking got me, I felt it. I felt its hands rip at me. He got me.”

  “Calm down, Marine, and let us work. Craig, get down here and put pressure on this wound,” Brad ordered.

  Craig switched positions and put both hands on the open cut. Brad used his knife to cut more material from the Marine’s other pant leg. He looked back up at Wilson’s face just in time to see…

  “NO!”

  Wilson had drawn his side arm and had the barrel in his mouth; Brad lunged forward to grab it just as Wilson pulled the trigger.

  Brad punched the deck before dropping on his back side and sitting flat on the floor. Craig released his grip on Wilson’s leg and just stared at him in shock. The bridge was suddenly quiet, the smell of Wilson’s blood and the gunpowder filling the air. Brad got to his feet and began to walk outside just as someone banged on the aft hatch. “It’s us, open the hatch,” he heard Brooks yell.

  Brad stopped and walked to the aft hatch and un-dogged the latches to allow the hatch to open. Without saying a word, Brad turned and walked out of the bridge and back onto the deck of the ship. Sean followed Brad through the doorway and looked at him.

  “Sergeant! Get back on the bridge and cover your man. Brooks and I will clear the bow,” Sean ordered.

  Brad looked at Sean with a scowl, then slowly readied his weapon and followed him back onto the bridge. Brad looked down at the still body of Wilson. Craig and Brooks were busy moving the primals away from the bow hatch, preparing to open the door. Once the way was clear, Brooks leaned against the wall and signaled for Craig to unlock it.

  The door swung out and the two SEALs dropped down the ladder. Moments later he heard them give the ‘all clear’. Brad reached down and grabbed Wilson by the shoulders. He asked Craig to help carry him out onto the deck. Craig nodded and let his rifle hang from the sling as he grabbed Wilson by the ankles and followed Brad through the hatch.

  They sat Wilson’s body just outside the door on the deck. Brad removed his dog tags and put them in his pocket.

  “This isn’t your fault, Sergeant,” Craig said.

  “I shouldn’t have taken my eyes off of that hatch. Wilson was my responsibility,” Brad said quietly.

  “That’s bullshit! Wilson was supposed to be watching the bow hatch; he got caught up on us trying to close the other door. He took his eyes off of his area; it was a mistake and it got him killed. It’s not your fault,” Craig argued.

  “Well thank you for saying so, but it doesn’t matter now; he’s dead and we won’t get him back.”

  Brad walked forward toward the bow of the ship. When he got to the front, he looked Swanson in the eyes, reached out his hand, and gave her the dog tags. She gasped when she read the name. “Where is he?” she asked, just above a whisper.

  “Over there.” Brad said, pointing down the walkway toward the bridge. “I’m sorry.”

  Swanson climbed to her feet and walked in the direction of the bridge.

  18.

  There was no time for mourning. Sean quickly put them all to work preparing the boat for departure. They dumped overboard nearly everything on the craft that wasn’t bolted down. Working through the night, they cleaned every crevice with bleach to remove any contamination that might lurk on a sharp corner. While they decontaminated, Bill and Tony rigged pallets of supplies that they lowered down to the ship.

  Brooks explained that the fast attack boat was normally operated by a crew of twenty, but they would have to make do with six. Tony had turned out to be an expert with the boat’s large diesel engines; he was able to get the ship’s power on and the motors purred to life. The diesel engines allowed them to fully power up the systems on the bridge. Brooks gave the craft a walk down and determined it to be in good working order.

  The sleeping compartment was filled with goods. They stacked cases of MREs in the bunks, and cases of fresh water anyplace they could fit them. One advantage to running on a skeleton crew was that it allowed for more storage space. Brooks estimated they should have enough food for forty-five days on board; fuel would be the problem.

  The boat had a range of approximately eight hundred miles on full tanks. They had lowered two pallets of fuel drums and strapped those to the rear deck. They debated bringing on more fuel drums, but Brooks and Sean feared overloading the vessel. They had to be cautious taking the small boat into blue water, so they wanted it as stable as possible.

  Crews had been selected and assigned responsibilit
ies. Craig would travel in the Black Hawk with Bill. Tony and Swanson were assigned to the boat’s engine room. Nelson had an electrical background, so Sean quickly appointed the private as the ship’s electrician’s mate. Brooks would control the vessel and promised to train Brad on the ship’s weapons systems as they went. Sean, of course, would be the chief/captain of the boat.

  They made plans to depart late the following afternoon. Brooks estimated it would take them close to eighteen hours to complete the five-hundred-mile trip to Masirah Island. If they left on time and sailed through the night, they should reach the island at the hottest part of the next day, when any primals that might occupy the island should hopefully be dormant.

  The air crew made similar preparations. They would hold on station to give the boat a fourteen-hour head start. If everything went according to plan, they would take off early the morning after, and would arrive at the island near the same time as the surface team. Staggering their starts also allowed them to support each other. If the boat was halfway enroute and the air crew ran into problems, the attack boat would be the only hope for a water rescue.

  By the end of the day, all of their gear had been pre-positioned on the boat or the helicopter, leaving only the bare essentials on the platform. Brooks and Tony had decided to stay the night on the vessel to make sure there would be no surprises on the next day’s voyage. Sean was running around making final preparations and plans on how to idle the platform as they left.

  Brad was back in the observation tower. He had been scanning the radio for the last couple of hours, searching for any signal, but so far had come up empty. The radar scope had also been blank. Brad stood and walked towards the windows, where he could see the men making their rounds as they patrolled the decks. After the death of Wilson, Brad had lost the urge to socialize. He had been focusing on work and the coming trip instead.

  Brad sat back in the tower’s chair and began slowly turning the tuning dial, still desperate to find a contact. He heard the door open and shut in the room below. He listened as the person below walked to the ladder and began climbing into the observation tower. Brad looked down into the face of Swanson. She grabbed the top rung of the ladder and pulled herself into the room.

  “I noticed you skipped chow. I brought you some dinner, or at least this place’s version of dinner,” she said as she sat a covered plate on the desk in front of Brad.

  Brad peeled the foil back from the plate. “Looks like maybe … meatloaf? Well thank you Chelsea, I didn’t have much of an appetite earlier.”

  He took the fork and took a large bite of the meat. Chelsea walked across the room and took a seat in an empty chair.

  “You okay, Brad? You’ve been pretty quiet all evening,” she said.

  “I’m fine; I just needed to take a time out. It’s been an exhausting couple of days.”

  Chelsea looked at the radios and reviewed the pages in the log book. “You pick up anything else?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “Nope, scope has been clear and not a peep on the radio. It’s damn quiet out here … I’m so ready to leave this place,” he said with a sigh.

  “Me too, I can’t wait to get going.”

  “So what are your plans? Where is home for you, Chelsea?”

  “Home? I don’t really know any more. I lived with my mom and sister in upstate New York before I joined the Corps, but last I heard New York is gone.”

  “I’m sure your family was evacuated; you’ll find them,” Brad said.

  “Yeah, maybe … What about you Brad, what will you do?”

  “I hadn’t thought much about it. I left a group of people back in Afghanistan. My first priority is to get them home. After that, I don’t know, I’m guessing the Army will have plans for me. I have family in Michigan, but I don’t know where things stand at home; I haven’t been able to reach them since before the outbreak.”

  Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the sound of gunfire. Brad jumped up to look through the observation window. He could see Craig standing with his rifle at his shoulder, firing rounds into the stairway on the storage deck. Captain Bradley was next to him with his M9 drawn and also firing. Bill had fallen in behind them holding a fire axe.

  “What the hell is going on?” Brad said.

  A siren began to blast.

  “That’s the automated alarm, something is wrong with the platform!” Chelsea exclaimed.

  They heard the radio squawk. Brad grabbed the handset and looked at the channel. It was Brooks on the boat below.

  “This is the tower, go ahead,” Brad said into the handset.

  “What the hell is going on up there? The primals are going nuts down here.” Brooks said over the radio.

  “I don’t know, looks like they are attacking at the stairway. I need to get out there and help,” Brad answered.

  “What the fuck … something is going on; there is oil pouring from the second deck. Tony said he thinks the purge valves must be open.”

  “Okay, I understand. I have to go; I have to find Bill,” Brad said, putting down the handset and picking up his rifle. “Let’s go, Chelsea, we need to get out there.”

  They slid down the ladder and back into the control room, quickly bursting outside and onto the deck. The sun had gone down, and the cool night air was filled with the sounds of gunfire and primal moans. Brad ran the walkway with Chelsea close behind him. When they arrived at the stairway to the second deck, they found Sean and Craig firing directly into it. Captain Bradley and Bill were just behind them, trying to force obstacles back into the barricade.

  Brad ran forward and positioned himself next to Sean. He could see that the barricade below had collapsed onto the second deck. The pallets and crates they had stacked days earlier were harmlessly falling down the stairs, providing the primals a clear path to attack.

  “What’s going on here?” Brad yelled to Sean.

  “They are going to breach, Brad, unless we plug this hole in a hurry. Somehow the sneaky fucks managed to take down the barrier without us knowing,” Sean said.

  Bill came up behind them on a small fork truck. He pressed another crate into the stairwell, temporarily closing the gap. Craig shifted positions and continued to shoot into the mass below them while Brad ran to the fork truck and waved his hands to get Bill’s attention. Bill noticed him and cut the engine so he could hear.

  “Bill, Tony said that the purge valves are open. Oil is pouring out onto the lower decks!” Brad yelled.

  “No fucking way … Chief! We have to get the hell out of here now!” Bill yelled. “If those valves are open, any spark could set this place off.”

  “Any spark?” Sean asked.

  “Yeah any spark; like the ones coming out of your rifles,” Bill replied.

  “Craig! Cease fire!” Sean yelled just as more of the barricade collapsed. They could hear the primals at the bottom of the stack tearing away at the crates and pallets, trying to break through. “Captain Bradley, get your people airborne now. Brad, get Chelsea and Nelson to the boat, I am right behind you,” Sean commanded.

  “Who will operate the crane, Chief?” Chelsea asked.

  “You don’t need the crane, slide down the damn rope! Now hurry, we’re running out of time,” Sean barked.

  Brad grabbed Chelsea by the wrist, dragging her behind him. “Where’s Nelson?” he yelled.

  “He had the late watch; he would have been off to bed early and may still be in the living quarters.”

  “Hurry! Follow me,” Brad said just as they heard another crash and more of the barricade collapsed. They ran to the lounge and swung open the door. They found Nelson running down the hallway towards them.

  “I heard the alarm, what’s going on?” he asked.

  “No time, follow us, we are abandoning the platform!” Brad yelled.

  “Wait … I have to go grab my kit,” Nelson yelled back.

  Chelsea reached forward, grabbed Nelson and shoved him towards the exit doors. “You have your rifle, M
arine, that’s all you need, let’s go!”

  Brad led the way, running down the walkway back toward the storage deck. He could hear the whining of the Black Hawk’s engines as it powered up. The primals were screaming and there followed a flurry of activity on the deck below them. Brad rounded the corner and saw a cluster of primals just coming over the top of the barricade. Brad raised his rifle and fired into them.

  He knocked the first two back but more filled the space. He ordered Chelsea and Nelson to run to the rail and get down to the boat. Chelsea hesitated, but turned and ran toward the railing. Brad moved farther away from the stairs in the direction of the railing, firing back as he went. More broke through and Brad took a knee and fired faster into the mass breaking through the stairway. For every one he hit, two more came over the crates searching for a handhold.

  Brad looked to the railing just as Nelson clipped onto the cable and began the descent down. He watched as Chelsea hooked on to the cable and waited her turn to slide down. Another crash at the barricade turned his attention back to the primals. More of the crates had fallen and now there was a clear opening in the stairwell. The primals began filling the void two and three at a time. Brad fired quickly but he wasn’t keeping up with the flood.

  They broke through and charged at him. Brad fired several rounds, knocking many of them back. His bolt locked to the rear and he quickly ejected the magazine, keeping his eye on the sights to watch them bear down on his position. They were too close; he prepared to draw the S&W Sigma pistol. Suddenly Sean was standing over his shoulder; firing in full auto, sweeping the mass and pushing them back.

  Brad re-holstered the Sigma and finished reloading his M4. He raised the rifle and started firing again as the mob rebounded. A full mass was now breaching the stairs. Sean ordered Brad to leave.