Triple Zombie

by Jason Beech

  Punks.

  “Have you, the pair of you, ever been at sea before?”

  “Yes,” they both lied simultaneously.

  Beth added. “I used to sail on the lochs back in the highlands.”

  “Well, fresh water sailing is a different kettle of fish than hauling cargo freight across the world.”

  “Aye, captain,” Johnny grinned.

  “Are you married?”

  “No,” said Beth. “It’s not like that.”

  Captain made a crude circle with the thumb and fore finger of his left hand. With the right he put his index finger through it in a stabbing motion, in, out, in, out… and then shook his head and raised an eyebrow. “Well then, I’ll put you in separate cabins. We have one other passenger. Mr Conner is an import and export broker who will be staying in the Purser’s cabin. You can eat three times with the officers in the mess. The crew are mostly Philippine. There is a salt water swimming pool. You can join us here on the bridge at any time. Three weeks, across the Cape of Good Hope. Watch out for Conner,” he said looking at Beth and then at Johnny. “And if she can’t, you should.”

  “Is there anything we should be aware of?” Beth asked trying to change the subject. “Besides the passengers?”

  “Well, men at sea get lonely. And then there’s the other concern. We will run through the safety procedures during the voyage. Pirates are of course a concern along the Malacca straits. There will be posts on the doors of your cabins each day, pirate activity, things like this…”

  Beth giggled.

  “I’m not talking about black-beard and the Jolly Roger. Modern day pirates. Machine guns and speedboats. The vessel has a manual shutdown facility. When under attack all officer’s cabins are sealed shut. These modern day pirates usually steal equipment such as life rafts or anything they can be getting their filthy little hands on.”

  “Are we safe?” she asked.

  “Depends what you mean by safe, ya?” The Captain said with a ghost of a smile.

  FOUR

  EVENING.

  Indian Ocean.

  Sat in the Officer's lounge.

  Johnny had acquired two bottles of rum from the slop chest below. He drank from the neck of the bottle and leaned back on the sofa. Outside a heavy storm rocked the vessel, rain hammered against the port holes and the hull of the cargo ship. Johnny wrote on a hardback notepad.

  “Does a writer never stop?” Beth asked.

  “Some do when they die. What is it you do again?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it, if it’s all the same.” Beth looked directly at the door as it swung open.

  Johnny looked at the figure. Greased back hair and a cream coloured safari suit and furtive eyes that zeroed in on the bottle. “Any of that in there for me, Sailor?”

  Johnny nodded towards a row of glasses that stood on a wall-side cabinet. “Sure, get yourself a glass, two more glasses, and we can celebrate.”

  “Yeah, what you celebrating?” the stranger asked.

  “Europe.”

  “You ever been?”

  “Yes,” answered Beth. “Where I was born.”

  “Well, well, well. Tell me stranger,” Conner shot a glance at Johnny. “You corn-dogging this young filly?”

  “We’re friends,” Beth answered.

  “I see. Like that, is it? What’s the matter there boy? She not playing ball with you all? You think she needs a little loosening up?”

  The bottle came down on the table, broke in half, Johnny brought up the broken jagged edge up to Conner’s throat. “Now listen to me Boy, let’s not be getting off on the wrong foot now, that won’t be doing neither of us any favours,” Johnny said mimicking, Conner’s southern accent.

  Conner smiled slowly like a shark in shallow reefs. “You’re good boy, real good.” His gaze turned to Beth. “I guess it must be love.” He said mockingly, his eyes darted back at Johnny. “True romance?” He spoke his words slow and carefully like he was pulling each vowel from an old chest in a dusty attic. “Let me ask you one question and one question only.”

  “Shoot.”

  “First you put down the bottle.”

  Johnny put down the broken bottle onto the table. The wave of fear had passed and in its place was a warm energy, almost like friendship.

  “Why you be wasting good rum on some piece of tartan pelt, Sailor? No wait, let me answer that one for you. She’s a better looking piece of tail than the cabin boy’s dragging around portside and the cook is keeping all the meat and vegetables for himself?”

  Johnny eyes panned from Conner to Beth.

  Beth stood and slapped a hand across the agent’s face. A look of surprise danced across Conner’s face replaced swiftly by that smile. “Thanks. I was just testing a theory. They say the women from the highlands have spirit. You have.”

  “There’ll be plenty more where that came from,” Beth said sitting back down, “just keep talking.”

  Conner held his palms towards her. “I apologize,” he said.

  “There’s another bottle in the cabinet,” Johnny said. “Are you with the crew?”

  “Me?” Conner smiled. “Monkeys will fly outta my ass before I become a seaman. I am here on business. Let’s leave it there and drink this bottle,” he said putting it on the table. “Do you want to hear a ghost story?” he said.

  “What?”

  “A story about a ghost?” Conner said.

  “Do we have a choice?” Beth asked.

  “Everyone has a choice. Do you want to hear it or not?”

  “Spill,” said Johnny.

  “Well,” Conner took a bite on the rum. “There was a passenger. A female passenger on this very vessel a few years back. The story goes that she travelled on a fake passport to avoid the persecution in her country. She was part of a tribe in Burma who had lost their homeland due to border changes. One of these nomad tribes, you understand. Well, she met an American who took a liking to her and pulled a few strings. He was attached to the embassy, if you know what I mean. He got her an American passport and promised to meet him back in New York three weeks later.”

  “Were they lovers?” Beth asked.

  “Well, in a platonic sense, you see they hadn’t actually…”

  “She was a virgin?”

  “So the story goes. She was waiting for the American. They were to be married in New York. But something happened on board. She was alone and the crew…”

  “Oh my God,” Beth said.

  “Well, it was too much for her, she drowned herself in the ship’s swimming pool. She still walks the cabins…”

  “Ah bullshit. Let’s drink,” said Johnny.

  They drank until they weren’t sure if the ship was swaying or if there was a ghost among them.

  Johnny returned to his cabin to write. “Writers…” Conner scowled. “No freckin backbone.”

  He sighed and decided that, with the booze, and the ghost story, the time was right to lay out the bait.

  FIVE

  “LET ME at least take a look, at one of them,” Beth looked into his drunken eyes. Conner felt something stir in his linen slacks. He had always wanted to make it with one of those eco-warrior types. She aroused him. Once he had got that tank top off the breasts would be firm, rounded, perhaps with nipple piercings. Her legs weren’t the longest yet shapely and she probably was into some kinky stuff, daddy issues and a back tattoo. The kind of girl who watched porn, he considered, and not just the soft stuff. She wanted to see dead monkeys, well what else did she want to see and were not the cards now in his favour? Both had their own cabins, long time at sea. The alcohol was doing its trick summoning up all kinds of possibilities. The fact that she was on the ship interested him. And, he guessed she was equally as interested in him. She found him brave, unpredictable, cute, funny, the perfect travelling companion. Unless, and it was a big unless. Unless, she was one of these eco-pirates, out to save the world. No, she wasn’t like that. Things were looking up. He let the thought dance in
his mind for a while but it didn’t seem to wash. Her partner didn’t seem the type to give a rat’s ass about shark fins or harpooned whales. Maybe she was just one of these new age cyber-kids looking for new experiences. Well, he could give her a new experience alright, yes, Conner could show her a completely new world.

  “It’s a very delicate operation, sweet pea. I could lose my career. I said too much already. Comprende?”

  “I’ll make it worth your while,” she put a hand on his thigh, squeezed it.

  “How much will you make it worth?”

  “All the way,” she said.

  Conner studied her face… Even the tiny imitation diamond nose stud seemed to add to rather than subtract from her beauty. He would show her one of the subjects, why the hell not? Tomorrow she would be his. He could move her into his cabin and they could explore each other for the rest of the voyage. Three weeks wrapped around each other like rattlesnakes, he could tutor her in the art of love-making. By the time they arrived in Hamburg he would be sick of her and her of him but she would be a woman with the skills to snare any man. They would go their separate ways both the richer for it. But the project was secret, he could lose his job.

  He would find another.

  He fished out a ring of keys from his pocket. Stood and picked up a flashlight from a cabinet. “My instructions are to drop the cargo somewhere in the Indian Ocean. I have the instructions somewhere…. I have not been permitted to inspect the cargo.”

  “It will be a long lonely voyage with nobody to hold at night,” Beth said seemingly to herself.

  Up on deck a storm was percolating. Then the clouds broke open and the rain hammered down on the deck like an angry promise. The ship swayed with the tides and both had to hold on to the railings else they would have fallen onto the deck. The moon was full and bright above. They edged along to the cargo hold and reached container number 23A. Conner took the keys from a chain and worked the lock. It sprang open. The smell hit them like a physical assault. What was that smell? It reminded Beth of the time she had gone for a two week break in Corfu and turned off the electricity. She’d opened the refrigerator on her return home to discover that she’d left a joint of ham in there. That was the smell – rotten meat.

  “Who cut the cheese?” Conner said.

  “Sweet mother of God,” she said, flashing the light into the container. The apes were hanging upside down with their bestial faces bearing awful sharp dead teeth. She panned along unable to identify all of the species, some she knew were gibbons with their long arms reaching down towards the floor of the container. Others appeared to be baboons. There were smaller specimens with large eyes, the Slow Loris, perhaps. In the corner she saw what looked like a human figure, in the sitting position, knees brought up to the chest, head sunk down. She shuddered. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “The experiments were to reanimate primates. A human is, after all, a primate. I guess they considered the experiment incomplete without all subjects tested.”

  “I’ve seen enough of this.” Beth turned, dropping the flashlight. It rolled under a pig-tailed marque.

  “I’ve got it,” Conner crouched.

  Thunder cracked, twice, above them.

  And then it happened.

  A lightning bolt stuck the container.

  The charge threw them both clear from the open hatch. Landing on the deck, they slid on the slippery surface. The vessel swayed. The container shook as a flash of color lit it. Inside the scraping sound of bare skin on metal. A gibbon’s paw twitched. Arm stretched, scratched its head. Stood erect, eyes dead, teeth bared. Then leapt up and hung from a rail and called out with three shrill wild whoops. The other apes began to stir out of the container. Feet, wet, slipping, back to the cabin

  ***

  Several hundred miles away on dry shore a scientist awoke suddenly. Waves of anxiety propelled her to the bathroom. She leaned over the toilet bowl and vomited. The Project flashed in front of her eyes.

  ***

  The second mate sat at the wheel in front of the controls at the bridge. He looked out to the vast Indian Ocean ahead of him. Two hours left of his shift he felt his mind wandering to the city of Hamburg and the streets in the Reeperbahn district. He could almost taste the good German beer and the cool fall air on his skin. He would take in a show and after a night on the town collapse at the Sailors Inn. He brushed a hand through his balding scalp and massaged his temples with his thumb and forefingers in an attempt to keep himself alert.

  The sound of the gibbons call was like a tango between dance and laughter. It began as a sad song before reaching a heightened pitch of frenzied passion. At first he considered the song an audio hallucination before curiosity spun him around to examine the source. There were four of them perched on the equipment shelves. He rubbed his eyes and stood. Their fur was a mottled brown and their eyes wide. Saliva dripped from their teeth. He took a few steps forward reasoning that live cargo had escaped. This wasn’t in the manual but common sense dictated they must be either contained or thrown overboard – This was a health and safety risk if ever there was one.

  “Here, here,” he cooed. “Let’s get you guys back inside.”

  The gibbons responded by leaping in an arc of browns and greys that landed on the second mate’s chest spilling him onto his back. His arms reached out, his hands held one of the animals from biting distance, its longs arms and fingers trying to find purchase. The others moved in fast, leathery fingers gouging out his eyes, optic fibres spilling on the floor. His screams lost in the gibbon’s blood-curdling song. Decapitating the second mate, an alpha gibbon gripped the head, spinal column attached and leaped up onto the control panels where it feasted.

  SIX

  IT WASN’T some kind of taekwondo move that brought Conner down to his knees. It was an upper cut. Johnny struck Conner as he reached for his glass of vodka. “I want to know what is going on in this love boat and I want to know now.”

  “I was given a job. The job was simple. To lose the cargo once we reached point 0.5 in the Indian Ocean. A job I haven’t executed due to you fucking fuck-wits.”

  “Steady with the language. Just what are we dealing with here? I want to be sure, because when I go for a leak on a cargo ship I don’t expect to see a monkey staring at me from the other side of the port hole. Does that appear somewhat strange to you? A monkey’s face staring at me from the other side of the glass wasn’t what I was expecting.”

  “Subjects, ahem, projects. Experiments. Some fucking crackpot reanimation project,” Conner flinched.

  Johnny lurched toward the bottle of Jack Daniels. Opened it. He poured himself a glass. No ice. No slice. No mixer. He drank it. “What are you telling me?”

  “A few monkeys, primates, that’s it.”

  “They are dead?”

  “They were.”

  “So what you saying. We got undead cargo?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “Christ.”

  “The ship’s on lock down. We are safe in the cabin.”

  “The crew?”

  “They were taken.”

  “Taken?”

  “Yes. At least some of them.”

  “So who’s steering this love boat?”

  “Right now?”

  “No. Next Thursday. Of course I mean right now!”

  “No one.”

  “We’re adrift?”

  “Shit creak without a paddle.”

  “Jesus.”

  “He won’t help you.”

  “Don’t you think I know that, god dam it; it’s a figure of speech.”

  Beth spoke. “So the course of action is simple. We have to take the kitchen and the medical room.”

  “Yes, the lady is right,” said Conner.

  “How do we do it?”

  “Quickly and half drunk,” Johnny said taking a large drink from the bottle. “Softly, softly, catch a monkey doesn’t sound like the way forward.”

  The calls of the dead g
ibbons echoed around the ship. The songs rose and fell, the devils music, ballads from the dead.

  Whhooop whoop, whoop, whoop!

  “What do we know about the gibbons?” Johnny asked.

  “They are arboreal,” Beth answered.

  “What?”

  “They don’t touch the ground. Well not unless they have to. I guess they are on top deck. We don’t need to worry about the gibbons. At least not yet.”

  “And the others?”

  “The marques are pack animals. Happy on the ground. They have sharp teeth, unafraid, comfortable around humans,” Conner lit a cigarette.

  “Shit.”

  “These are the most likely to be the ones knocking at the door.”

  Johnny walked over to the wardrobe. Took out the clothes rail and smashed it against the mirror. Shards of glass fell to the floor. He picked up a diamond shaped shard. Opened his rucksack, took out a hunting knife. Tore off a length of curtain and tied the shard of glass to the end of the rail. “This may work...”

  Conner surveyed the room. A tall floor lamp. “Does anyone know anything about electricity?”

  “A Level Physics,” Beth replied. “Unscrew the bulb. Attach a live wire and we have a cattle prod. Short range. I suggest one of us stays here and uses it to secure the cabin.”

  All eyes fell on Conner. “Okay. The moment you leave I’m resealing the door. You knock five times and I let you back in. If I don’t hear anything in an hour?”

  “Then pray.”

  “To who?”

  Johnny lashed the spear tight as he let the question dance. Beth checked the live wire on the floor lamp and handed it to Conner who had also found an axe in the wardrobe. Beth chose the hunting knife.

  “The count of three, us two make it to the medic room. Once in, seal the door. We take whatever looks like it could kill or save somebody’s life...”

  “What else do we take?”

  “Bandages, alcohol, uppers, downers. I know my way around a pharmacy. We take the strongest most kick ass drugs known to man. We need a bag. We have to stash this shit.” Johnny emptied his rucksack. “We fill it up with supplies and then we return to the cabin. In the morning we take the kitchen.”