by Jon Schafer
“Z’s,” he hissed as he went into a half crouch. Without even looking, he knew that behind him the others had done the same and were now facing outward as they looked for targets.
“Where?” Tick-Tock asked as he searched the area.
“Don't know,” Steve replied. “But I can smell them.”
“I smell them too,” Heather said, her voice thick with revulsion.
They had stopped just past the grand staircase and were in an open area, so any threat from the walking dead should be readily apparent. When nothing came at them, Steve decided to try and find the source of the stench. Heading toward the registration desk on his right, he made his way to within a few feet of the counter before stopping. Behind it was the only place where any of the dead could be hidden. Reaching out, he tapped the granite countertop with the barrel of his rifle and then drew back as he waited for any zombies to be attracted by the noise.
None of the dead popped up like a jack-in-the-box from hell, so he stepped forward and tapped louder. He knew he was close to something not still alive because as he approached the desk, the smell had gotten stronger. Loathe to putting his head over the top to take a look, he moved further along the counter toward a pass-through a few feet away. Here he could move behind the desk without exposing himself too much. As he did, he noticed that the musky, rancid stink of the living dead became even more cloying, but now it seemed to be emanating from another direction. Suddenly realizing that the smell wasn't coming from behind the registration desk, he stopped and slowly turned around to see exactly where else it might be coming from.
That was when he saw it. The double steel doors that led from the Centrum into the next compartment were chained together. Now he realized why they hadn't seen any of the dead, even though they could smell them. The Z's were locked away in the next section of the ship.
Not trusting any barrier that he hadn't erected himself, Steve cautiously approached the doors. He knew before they could turn their backs on them that he had to make sure they were secure.
Something he hadn't noticed at first in the low light became apparent as he drew closer. What he had originally thought was a decorative design on each of the doors was actually a five-foot high, ornately painted cross. Further proof of the religious graffiti was the discarded spray cans lying near-by on the rug. Stopping within arm's length of the barricade, he glanced over his shoulder at the others. All three of his friends stood with weapons ready to cover him. Turning back to the door, the stench of death became thick in his nostrils, telling him he had definitely found the source.
Cautiously reaching out to check the chain, and expecting that at any second the doors would burst open to disgorge a horde of the dead, his hand was only inches away when it was stopped by a voice calling out loudly from behind him, “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”
Whirling around as his heart leapt to his throat, Steve brought his M-4 up to his shoulder and easily found his target. A boy, not even in his teens, stood at the foot of the grand staircase looking nervously down the barrels of the four automatic rifles pointed at him.
Steve's finger pulsed on the trigger as it started to squeeze the last half-ounce of pressure. Seeing no immediate threat in the kid, or anywhere else in the immediate vicinity, he eased off and said furiously, “That's a good way to get your shit sprayed all over the far wall, dumbass.”
Not giving the youngster a chance to reply, and angry that someone, especially a kid, had been able to sneak up on him, Tick-Tock called out aggressively, “What the fuck are you doing creeping around down here? And who the fuck are you?”
Shocked and scared at the reaction from the four people, and amazed at how incredibly fast they had all spun around to point their guns at him, he answered in a squeaky voice, “My name's Tim.” He cleared his throat and tried to put some bass in it as he added, “I’m the one who left the hatch open for you so you could get on board. I need your help.”
“Is it zombies?” Heather asked as she looked around for any sign of the dead.
“They’re part of the problem,” he replied. “But mostly it's the living ones on the ship. They're crazy as hell.”
Chapter Five
The Dead Calm:
After regaining his composure, Tim Lopez walked to the guest registration counter and jumped up to sit on it. His legs dangled over the edge and his heels thumped its face as he studied the four people he hoped could help him and his sister escape the madness they found themselves in.
The two siblings and their parents had boarded the Calm of the Seas almost three months earlier from Port Canaveral for what was supposed to be a seven day cruise to Mexico. Tim still remembered the fun and excitement of the first two days at sea, but after that, the trip had spiraled into a nightmare that continued to get worse. The first case of HWNW showed itself on the second day of the cruise when one of the attendants entered a cabin to clean it and create an animal figure from rolled towels he would leave for his guest's enjoyment. The room itself was empty, but when he opened the door to the bathroom, he found a bloody, half-naked woman lying on the floor. He summoned medical aid immediately, but before they could arrive, he saw the woman start to convulse and then lay still. Her body sagging as all its muscles relaxed.
Seeing that she had quit breathing, and fearing that she was dying, the attendant bent over her and started mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. The woman quickly came back, but not to life. Instead of giving her thanks to the attendant for his heroic efforts, she lunged up from the bathroom floor and bit off his right ear.
What the attendant didn't know, was that earlier in the day when the ship had stopped in Miami, the woman and her husband had disembarked to tour the city and buy souvenirs. She brought back T-shirts, a coffee mug and a new sundress, while her husband brought back the HWNW virus after being attacked and bitten on the shoulder in a public restroom.
Thinking at first that the assault was nothing more than some freak getting his perverted kicks, this was Miami after all, and not wanting to ruin his vacation, the man kept the attack to himself. Hours later he started convulsing, died, came back to life and tried to eat his wife. His secret was out. She escaped her dead husband by locking herself in the bathroom. Here she fainted from shock and blood loss, lying unconscious on the floor until the cabin attendant found her. Hubby, in the mean time, having been denied his meal, went in search of other food.
Staggering down the passageway, the dead thing had barely gone ten yards when it found something to eat. A door to a cabin opened and an elderly man stepped out. Seeing food, the dead man turned and leapt at him, pushing him back into his room. The senior citizen's first impression was that he was being robbed. That thought was snuffed out, along with his life, when dead hubby tore his throat out and started to feed. In this manner, the zombie visited three more cabins over the next day before being discovered.
After the woman who had attacked the attendant was restrained, the Captain was summoned to deal with the bloody incident. Not wanting to alarm the passengers for what he suspected was a drug induced attack, he had the cabin sealed and the injured moved through the crew passageways to the ship’s infirmary. The doctor who examined the woman had never seen a case like hers before, so he advised that she be airlifted to the nearest hospital. The Coast Guard was called and a helicopter dispatched, but before they could arrive, two more cases of passengers going crazy and attacking those around them were reported; one in the Sombrero lounge on deck ten near the bow and the other in the formal dining room on deck five near the stern.
The Captain, now thinking that since the three incidents were scattered throughout the Calm of the Seas that they could be related to some type of food poisoning, gave orders to have the ship's stores examined for any type of contamination. The reports came back negative, so he reverted to his initial theory that that the attacks were caused by some type of drug use. When no other cases were reported, and the three sick people were successfully airlifted, he felt justified in g
iving the order to continue on with the cruise schedule. All went well until early the next morning when the cabin attendant who had been bitten on the ear staggered into the crew’s mess hall and attacked a sales girl who worked in one of the shops in the Centrum. Before three men from the engine room restrained him, he managed to infect them, the sales girl and four others.
Before the Captain could respond to this latest carnage, dozens of reports started coming in about other attacks on passengers and crew by maniacs who bit and clawed at their victims. Now fearing that whatever contaminates causing the outbreak was being spread by the water or air circulation systems, the Captain ordered that these be shut down and examined. No contaminants were found, but with the situation getting out of control, he ordered his first officer to make for Cozumel.
Calling a general emergency, the Captain asked that all passengers return to, and remain in, their cabins. Using the excuse that the crew needed the passageways clear while they worked on the water and air systems, he left these off to support his lie. What he really wanted to do was to keep the decks clear so that the drug addled junkies could be restrained and locked up. Splitting his available crew into two person teams, the Captain ordered every square inch of the cruise liner searched for anyone acting aggressively. Once apprehended, these people were to be kept in the Sounds Lounge at the rear of deck eight. Although his intentions were good, and most of those carrying the virus were detained, the Captain's order caused a good portion of his crew to become infected when they came into contact with the dead.
After the sweep of the Calm of the Seas was completed and an all clear sounded, the Captain allowed the passengers to come out into the common areas of the ship. At first the mood was subdued, but as word leaked out as to what was really going on, and that these incidents were connected to news reports about the spread of the HWNW virus, it started to get ugly.
Some passengers locked themselves in the relative security of their cabins but many more besieged the crew with demands for protection. A large group banded together and initiated roving patrols that went in search of anyone who might be infected with the disease. The words 'plague ship' were used for the first time.
Over the course of the day, as the members of the crew who had been infected succumbed to their various bites and infected scratches, the Captain ordered them quarantined with the others in the Sounds Lounge. Finding himself shorthanded due to the attrition of his crew, he asked for volunteers from the passengers to fill the gaps in his staff.
Tim's dad had served in the navy on a cruiser, so he stepped forward to offer his skills. Assuring his wife and children they would be safe, he left to do what he thought was his duty. None of them ever saw him again.
Shortly after this, a passenger who had joined one of the roving patrols knocked on the door of the Lopez's cabin. Now better organized, the men of the patrol had taken to wearing crimson colored T-shirts so they could be more easily identified. The red shirt that came to the Lopez's cabin informed the family that they had to relocate since their deck was to be used to quarantine those suspected of being infected. After being given ten minutes to pack their belongings, Tim and his family stepped out into the passageway to join the stream of other displaced passengers from deck four heading toward the exit.
Despite many people stopping and complaining to the red shirts, stationed at twenty-foot intervals to make sure everything went smoothly, the exodus was moving along in a fairly orderly fashion as everyone filed toward the rear of the ship. Not liking the crowds and the noise, and wanting to keep her family together as more people flooded into the hallway from their cabins, Tim's mom had just finished telling him and his sister to stay close when from behind them they heard a blood curdling scream.
Since he couldn't see what was happening through the throng of people, Tim assumed it was an attack by one of the crazy people he had heard his mom and dad talking about. Not wanting to be separated from his family, he reached over to grab his sister's hand. Finding it, he locked it in a death grip. As he reached for his mom’s, a sudden press of people surged from behind and separated them. Above the frightened screams and shouts that filled the passageway, Tim could hear his mother calling for him and his sister. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't force his way back through the now panicked mob to reach her.
The forward momentum of the crowd pushed Tim and his sister Connie out through the double doors of the cabin area and into the Centrum where Connie pulled Tim to the side of the flow. Here they could wait for their mom to appear. As they anxiously watched the exit, neither could find their mother in the throng but they did see their first zombie.
When Tim spotted the thing, it appeared to be receiving a piggyback ride from a stocky man who looked like he had just stepped out of an ad for Muscle and Fitness magazine. As Muscle man stepped past the exit doors, it became clear that he was not willingly giving his hitchhiker a ride. Twisting and bending, he swung back and forth in an effort to dislodge the thing, but the zombie was not to be denied its meal. With its arms wrapped around Muscle man's neck and its legs similarly wound around his waist, it clung to him like a remora as it repeatedly bit into the back of his head, ripping scalp from his skull in small flaps.
The crowd coming through the doors scattered at the bloody sight, and those still waiting to exit backed up into the cabin area's passageway. Two red shirts that had been standing by the doors jumped forward to try and remove the zombie from Muscle man’s back but got nowhere for their efforts. Seeing they couldn't save the man, and knowing that anyone who was bitten would soon go crazy themselves and try to assault others, the two red shirts pushed Muscle man and his aggressor back into the cabin area and slammed the heavy, steel fire doors behind them with a resounding bang. Before any of the onlookers could step forward to point out that there were people trapped in the cabin area with the maniac, one of the red shirts produced a length of chain and a lock, using them to secure the doors.
Seeing this, Connie screamed and froze as Tim rushed forward to save his mother. A crowd formed around the red shirts, yelling at them to open the doors. Tim heard one of the men reply that he didn't have the key, someone named Reverend Ricky had it.
Hearing this sent fear and rage shooting through Tim and he threw himself against the barricade, tearing at the heavy links of chain that imprisoned his mother. Even above the noise of the crowd, he could hear screams of pain and terror coming from the other side of the door. As he tugged futilely at the lock, he never saw the red shirt step up behind him and raise the club in his hand.
Regaining consciousness, Tim's first sight was his sister leaning over him with tears streaming down her face. “Mom?” He asked groggily, but his sister couldn't speak. She shook her head and mouthed the word, “No.”
Pain welled up in him. Looking around, he tried to focus on something besides his grief and hiding his tears, when he noticed that they were in a cabin. Connie finally got herself under control and explained what happened after he was knocked unconscious.
When the red shirt struck Tim down, the crowd surged forward in rage at seeing a small boy abused. Tim's attacker and his partner were outnumbered twenty to one, but they carried clubs while the passengers were unarmed. With their backs against the doors leading to the cabin area, the red shirts used these bludgeons to menace the mob and hold them at bay. Despite this, the angry crowd inched forward until it looked like the two men would be pulled down anyway by sheer weight of numbers. Suddenly, screams erupted from the back of the group. Turning to what they thought was another crazed attacker, the people in the mob were astonished to see half a dozen men in red T-shirts knocking passengers to the left and right with an assortment of sawed off pool cues and broken off table legs. Seeing their rescuers coming to save them, the two red shirts at the door joined in by striking the passengers nearest them with their own clubs.
The crowd scattered under the assault, and Connie took advantage of the distraction to run toward her brother and pull him away from
the melee. After dragging him a short distance, she covered his body with hers so no further harm would come to him.
When the noise of the short lived battle was over, Connie looked up to see the red shirts grouped in front of a man wearing a three-piece suit. Those clustered around this new man called him Reverend Ricky, and from what Connie could see, he appeared to be their leader.
When the red shirts finished explaining what had occurred and how they even had to lock their own people in the cabin area to keep the infected contained, Reverend Ricky raised his hands up in benediction, as his followers bowed their heads. In a deep, bass voice, Ricky intoned, “Thy will be done Lord. Make me a tool of thy will and use me as you see fit on this Earth until you call me home at the rapture. My faithful Ushers have vowed their obedience to you, oh God, so I ask that you protect them as they go about your work, Amen.”
The Ushers intoned, “Amen” and looked to their leader for further instructions. With a tight smile, Ricky ordered them to lock down the cabin areas on all the remaining decks but not to clear them of the passengers first since they couldn't afford to risk losing any more of their people. Not questioning his orders, the red shirted Ushers went to do his bidding.
When they were gone, Reverend Ricky looked around with contempt at the few moaning, bloody people left behind. With venom in his voice, he warned them not to stand in the way of God's will again or risk an even more severe form of punishment. As Ricky glowered at the beaten passengers, his eyes fell on Connie crouched next to her brother. Instantly in motion, the scowl on his face changed to a grin as he walked toward her and asked in a soft voice, “What's the matter child, do you need some assistance?”
Tim's friends were always telling him how beautiful his sister was, but he thought she was a pain in the ass. She was nineteen and still living at home and had taken it upon herself, since graduating high school, to make sure her little brother didn't get into any trouble while their parents were at work. As far as Tim was concerned, she had ruined the past summer.