“I found something,” he said. Cale handed Akhom the flashlight and the book. The handlers gathered around it while their subordinates continued palletizing the food. Naeem was hard at work sorting cans and boxes.
“I think it’s a ledger of some kind,” Cale offered.
“Hmm,” one of the men said.
The handlers began discussing the contents of the book. Cale went over to help Naeem with his task.
“What were you guys talking about?” Cale asked, but immediately wanted to take the question back.
Naeem paused a moment and deliberately avoided Cale’s gaze.
“Never mind,” Cale said.
It was obvious now that he had been the topic of discussion, but why? He thought that the zombie apocalypse would have brought mankind together, and stuff like this would have been left in the past.
“None of what they were saying meant anything,” Naeem whispered, while watching the handlers study the black book.
“Like what?” Cale inquired.
“Just childish things, some name-calling. Don’t worry about it,” Naeem answered, still avoiding the question.
“Okay,” Cale said.
Cale wanted to tell them all to go screw themselves, especially considering the handler for team one would be dead if Cale hadn’t killed Pashet first. For a moment he fantasized about pulling out the revolver and shooting all three men as they huddled over his find. But if he did that, there would be no coming back from it. The others would either storm aboard and kill him, or just sink the whole damn ship. Silence fell on the Sudanese man and the American. Together they worked, stacking boxes. After a few minutes Akhom broke the silence.
“Come here,” he ordered all three scavenging teams.
Cale hated to do it, but he put on a friendly smile and walked toward his handler with the rest of the group. Quickly, he explained something in Arabic to them.
“Cale,” he switched to just addressing him, “I think these are container numbers.”
“Roger,” Cale replied.
“We’re going to stop what we’re doing here and go check these out,”
Cale nodded and gathered his things. Akhom and the other two men had come to the conclusion that the numbers were containers, and that the letters next to them were locations on the ship. But what really drew their attention were the amounts of money tied to certain containers. They could be anything, from bars of gold, to military grade equipment. Some of the containers were on deck, but others were located in the belly of the ship. Team one went on deck to investigate and teams two and three went deeper into the derelict vessel. All Akhom could tell was that the container was located toward the stern. Its serial number was PSSU081086. Even knowing that, it would still be difficult to find. A closed porthole with a placard that read ‘CONSERVAZIONE’ halted their progress.
“We need through here?” Cale asked.
“Yes,” Akhom answered.
The door had a ‘steering wheel style’ crank. Cale attempted to open it, but failed. Whoever closed it last wanted to make sure it stayed shut.
“Here,” Naeem said, and he took the other side of the wheel. In unison, the two men forced the wheel around. The door groaned loudly as the locking mechanism released, followed by a metallic click when the lock had been fully retracted. “There, that wasn’t so hard,” Cale said, out of breath.
Just as Naeem pulled the door open, Akhom’s radio crackled. It was team one; their handler sounding frantic, and then his voice cut out. For a moment they all stood wondering what the call was about. He’d been yelling in Arabic, but none of those able to speak it understood what he was saying.
“What the hell was that?” Cale asked.
Before anyone could speak, the smell of decayed flesh poured from the opening. Immediately, all the men covered their nostrils—some of them gagging as well. Naeem turned to close the door but was startled by the appearance of an undead woman stumbling over the threshold. Before she could get to her feet, another corpse fell over her. Soon there was a flood of undead piling into the corridor, fighting to get through the opening.
“Shit!” Cale shouted.
The two men chained together ran off down the hall, away from the massive wall of bodies. Akhom and the other handler, whom Cale had once saved, opened fire on the putrid mass, and Cale and Naeem took refuge behind them. The two guards continued blasting at the crowd.
“There are too many of them!” Naeem shouted in Arabic.
“Move back!” Akhom ordered.
Not needing to be told twice, Cale and Naeem moved back through the passage, following the trail of glow sticks they’d left. The men with guns retreated, taking turns firing at their pursuers.
“Hurry up! Come on!” Cale shouted.
Naeem continued to their next checkpoint as Cale ushered the men in the right direction.
“Let’s go!” Cale ordered them, “You don’t have enough ammunition!”
Not arguing with logic, both men discontinued their assault and ran. Cale moved to the next glow stick where Naeem waited, looking confused. The glow stick was supposed to be in the middle of the intersection, but was too far down the hall. Team two must have kicked it as they ran away.
“Shit!” Cale exclaimed.
“What’s wrong?” Akhom asked, as he ran to him.
“Those dumbasses kicked the marker! We’ve either come too far or not far enough!” he answered.
Down the hall, team two’s handler fired again. His muzzle flashes revealed the hall was packed solid with undead. He fired two more shots, and then, in the darkness, let out a scream. Cale couldn’t save him this time.
“Just go!” Akhom shouted.
“Go where?” Cale asked.
“Anywhere! Let’s just go” he ordered.
Akhom tossed Naeem the flashlight, and Naeem led the way down the corridor. As they ran, they looked for placards, hoping to find one that might lead to the deck. Occasionally Akhom would stop to shoot at the pursuing crowd of undead, slowing them down for a bit, as they stumbled over their fallen comrades. That was the theory anyway, but Akhom couldn’t be sure if his rounds were actually killing his targets. He was firing wildly, in what Cale called an ‘Iraqi Blossom’. Being in the corridor would improve his chances though.
“In here!” Naeem yelled, leading them through an open door.
Once they were all inside, they worked together to close the door, using the circular turn crank. Just as they sealed the door, the undead began their assault, beating at it with decomposing fists. Their moans and growls echoed throughout the ship.
“Where are we?” Akhom asked.
The room was filled with metal pipes and scaffolding walkways.
“Boiler room?” Cale offered reluctantly. “We might be able to find a way up to another level from here.”
“I have to call this up,” Akhom said pulling out his radio.
He called the sub, speaking rapidly in Arabic. Cale and Naeem watched him as he and the operator exchanged messages back and forth. Akhom became increasingly frantic as the conversation went on.
“Shit,” Naeem whispered.
“What’s going on?” Cale asked.
“They just gave us thirty minutes to get off the ship,” Naeem explained.
“Okay, then what?” Cale inquired.
“Then they’re going to sink it,” Akhom stated, putting his radio away.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Cale said rhetorically.
“They don’t want to risk anymore personnel,” Akhom explained.
That was all fine and good, but what about the personnel already on the ship? How were they supposed to navigate their way through darkness, on a ship infested with undead? Akhom set his watch for twenty-five minutes.
“Alright, let’s find a way out of here,” he said optimistically.
The angry shouts of the creatures echoed outside.
“You think there are any in here?” Naeem asked as they moved about.
“There is no telling,” Akhom offered, “At least now we know what happened to the crew.”
“No, we don’t,” Cale objected, “That door was sealed from the outside, and all the life boats are gone.”
“Then where did all of those things come from?” Akhom inquired snidely.
“Human trafficking,” Cale said.
“What?” Naeem asked.
“Why else would those containers be specially marked with high amounts of money tied to them?” Cale offered.
“Makes sense, I guess,” Akhom stated.
“Looks like these guys got a bad batch of product,” Cale said.
“Here are some stairs,” Naeem interjected.
A steel stairway led up toward the next level. Naeem traced its path with the flashlight to where it joined a catwalk and circled the room.
“It’s worth a shot,” Cale said.
The trio went up the stairs and onto the scaffolding. Their footfalls resounded in the room but were still trumped by the undead trying to gain access to the boiler room. They followed the walkway to the far wall.
“See any doors?” Akhom asked in Arabic.
“No,” Naeem replied in English, as he panned the light down the wall.
“Fuck, we’re trapped,” Cale whispered.
“Just keep looking,” Akhom ordered.
They walked further down the platform, passing another flight of stairs that went back down. Cale and Akhom paused at the stairs and looked down as Naeem pushed on.
“How much time have we got?” Cale asked in a daze.
Akhom hesitated a moment, and then looked at his watch, “Nineteen minutes,” he answered.
“Fuck,” Cale whispered.
He wondered if this was it. Would this be where he was going to die, in this dark and dusty room? Would this be his grave?
“Over here!” Naeem shouted excitedly.
Akhom and Cale ran over to him. He’d found a way out.
“Fantastic,” Cale said.
The three of them worked together and opened the rusted door. Its circular crank hadn’t been turned in a very long time. After a few minutes, the door finally swung outward, and they stepped through and found themselves in yet another dusty hallway. Naeem shined the light in both directions, unsure which way to go.
“Give me the light,” Cale demanded.
Naeem turned it over without protest. Cale shined the light to the right again. He could see a placard on the wall.
“This way,” he said.
Now in front of the sign that read ‘INFERMERIA’ Cale turned to Akhom, “Still have the book?” he asked.
“Yes,” Akhom said, retrieving it from his pocket and handing it to Cale.
Cale frantically flipped through its pages searching for the rough diagram the captain had sketched. Even if it wasn’t exact, he could get an idea of where they were on the ship.
“What are you looking for?” Akhom asked.
“This,” Cale said, finding the page, “According to this, we’re three levels down, near the bow of the ship. And there is a conduit to the deck near the infermeria.”
“That’s great, how far?” Akhom asked again.
“I don’t know,” Cale answered, “How much time do we have?”
“About ten minutes,” Akhom answered.
“Then we should get going,” Naeem stated.
The men followed the signs to the infermeria and then searched for the passage to the surface. They moved on to another hall, and there was a small hatch with the words ‘MANUTENZIONE PORTELLO’ stenciled on it.
“I think this is it!” exclaimed Cale.
Just like the other doors, it was a wheel crank and was difficult to turn.
“Let’s get it open,” Akhom ordered.
The three men took turns trying to loosen the door. After his turn, Akhom stepped back and checked his watch.
“We’re out of time,” he announced.
“The fuck we are! Help us!” Cale shouted at him.
Like men possessed, they went to work on the door. They’d been so busy trying to open the hatch that they hadn’t noticed the smell of the dead creeping up on them. The door finally swung open, revealing a ladder.
“Oh thank…” Akhom never got to finish his sentence.
The crowd that had been silently closing in clutched onto him and pulled him back.
“Help me!” he pleaded.
Cale reached for the revolver but did nothing. Naeem scurried up the ladder while Cale stood in the hall watching as they sunk their teeth into Akhom. He began shouting in Arabic. Cale wasn’t sure what he was saying, but had to use the opportunity to escape.
“I’m sorry!” he shouted, before entering the small space and closing the door behind him.
Cale may not have liked Akhom, but he hadn’t disliked him. The American followed Naeem up the ladder, hoping that the hatch up top wasn’t sealed. It was dark now. Akhom had the flashlight.
“Cale is that you?” Naeem whispered through the dark.
“Yeah, Akhom is gone,” Cale replied.
Naeem didn’t reply to that. He himself was guilty of leaving a comrade behind, having done so many times as a child soldier. Instead, he continued his desperate climb for freedom. Cale did the same. Naeem, unable to see in the dark, ran his head into the hatch with a loud thud.
“What was that?” Cale asked.
“The door,” Naeem answered.
“Will it open?” Cale inquired.
Naeem fumbled to find the levers for the door. It didn’t have a wheel crank like the others. Instead, three pins secured it. He rotated each one, and then pushed with all his might. The door hit the deck, and sunlight poured into the passage. Cale could see that he had ten feet of ladder yet to climb. Naeem was the first on deck.
“You might want to hurry!” Naeem shouted down to Cale.
The team that had been topside had released dozens of infected from their container, and they had been drawn to the sound of the hatch hitting the deck. Naeem stood ready with his machete, and hacked at each one, buying time for Cale. Cale quickly climbed through the opening, as Naeem was about to be overtaken. Cale whipped out the revolver and fired at Naeem’s closest attacker. The impact sent the infected sprawling, but the bullet had only hit him in the neck. Surprised, Naeem spun around.
“Where did you get that gun?” he exclaimed.
“Now isn’t the time!” Cale answered.
He only had five more shots, and the first hadn’t done them any good. Cale and Naeem took turns pulling on the undead and throwing them down the maintenance conduit. Now that their numbers had been thinned, they moved to the ladders that lead down to the sub.
The sub was gone.
“They’ve already moved into position to fire!” Cale shouted.
“We’ll have to jump!” Naeem yelled.
Cale looked back at the few infected still crossing the deck for their next meal.
“Look!” Naeem yelled again.
Something was approaching them in the water, something fast. The mercantile vessel shook when it made contact, and massive bubbles erupted to the surface. Cale and Naeem ran to the bow of the ship and leapt into the cold seawater below. Both men flailed their limbs in an effort to keep themselves oriented. They held their breath before they even reached the water, and the breeze whipped past their ears until they plunged into the waves.
Cale was surprised at how hard he hit. They resurfaced just in time to see the ship explode at its center, cracking the vessel in half. The two halves separated, as water filled their decks. Infected flew through the air like discarded rag dolls and fires ignited, only to be immediately extinguished by the salty water. Cale and Naeem swam away from the sinking vessel. Already some of the containers had floated to the surface and the lucky duo swam for one. They’d be able to use them as a life raft until rescue came. Once on top, however, and looking at the wreckage of the massive vessel, Cale wondered if rescue would come this time.
17.
Captain Antonio Russo stood at the helm of his ship, the Bella Donna, and scanned the horizon. One week ago, he and his crew had seen a large mercantile ship anchored there. The GPS no longer worked, and they’d had to resort to nautical charts and compasses. The newest generation of sailors had been pampered, and lacked many of the skills necessary to sail the seas. Russo however, was a man of fifty-three, and preferred the old ways of navigation. All he needed was a compass and the stars. This method had been handed down through generations in his family, beginning with his great-great grandfather, who he was named after.
They’d left the flotilla this morning to forage for supplies. The flotilla was a collection of ships, like a floating village. It was composed of survivors of whatever it was that was happening to the world. At the heart of the community was Salvatore Moretti’s yacht. He’d been a big action movie star before the world had gone to the zombies. Somehow, he’d managed to set sail with enough supplies to sustain both himself and the twelve models he’d brought along, for years; not to mention the blow he had stowed away. His plan, apparently, was to survive, snort, and fuck until the bitter end. Now his yacht served as the main hub for the other boats. They’d had people turn up from all over the place: Italy, Spain, France, Morocco, and Turkey. Of course they were mostly wealthy people, with more money than they knew what to do with. The newest members were small town fishing vessels from coastal communities. Despite their status, the group welcomed them with open arms. Just more flesh for their orgies. Some of the folks wanted nothing to do with either the sex or the drugs, but they were still allowed to stay; the more boats the better.
Captain Russo spotted debris in the water. What he’d feared had become reality. The ship had somehow sunk, taking down its precious cargo with it.
“Skipper, there’s something in the water,” the first mate said.
“I see, Mr. De Luca. Continue on this course, we can still comb the wreckage,” Russo ordered.
“Aye,” De Luca replied.
His meager fishing vessel had a crew of six men, none of whom had families, which made this new life easier for them. The captain himself wasn’t interested in Moretti’s carnival of flesh, but his crew certainly was. He didn’t care, as long as they stayed away from the drugs. Russo needed his men to be at their best so they’d still cast their nets and fish for the community. It had always been dangerous, but now they had to worry about pulling up one of those dead bastards. One time they’d hauled one aboard; it was bloated, and leaked as much puss as seawater. The damn thing had a fish halfway down its throat, still alive, flopping and flailing to get away. Russo pushed the horrifying memory out of his mind.
Z Plan (Book 2): Red Tides Page 11