by Mark Tufo
“You never shot an M32, 40mm grenade launcher?” Bags asked.
“Shot? I’ve never even seen one.”
“Put it down. Last thing we need is your crazy ass tossing grenades around.” BT grabbed it from my hands. It wasn’t so much so I couldn’t have it, but rather so he could.
My jaw fell open. Felt like my older brother just commandeered my Red Ryder BB Gun with a compass in the stock. “You son of a bitch.” I couldn’t stay mad, though. There were so many other prizes to get, plus the crates of ammunition. If we could somehow get the zombies out in the open, we could rid the entire ship of them. As wonderful as that fantasy was, we had immediate problems to address, the enemy was at the gates. The reavers were making that strange cough/bark and we could hear their nails scraping against the door and the wall. Wasn’t worried about them getting in, it was how we were going to get out that was the tricky part. The heavy door was comprised of two halves, the top half would open and an attached shelf propped up for the transfer of weapons. That was our only option.
“And I’m the crazy one.” I had to tell BT to put down the grenade launcher before we were set to open the top half.
Tommy had his hand on the latch and was ready to open it when I felt vibrations under my feet.
“We moving or something?” BT asked.
“Back up, Tommy.”
He looked at me with a questioning stare. I didn’t need to answer what it was as the entire room bounced from the impact.
“Bulker.” BT was the one that gave voice to it. The immensely heavy footfalls retreated, and a minute later were coming back at a run. A couple of rifles came loose from their racks and spilled to the floor. I didn’t think the heavy steel hinges were going to give anytime soon, just the fact that we were under siege and now they were using a siege weapon, I fucking hated them. Another strike, Bags moved quickly before one of the machineguns could hit him on the head. With all the rattling is was difficult to pick out one particular noise, but it sure did seem like the door groaned from the hit.
“Fuck this. Help me set this up.” BT had grabbed the Browning M2, 50 caliber machinegun. Thing weighed in excess of a hundred and twenty pounds and he was wielding it like a kid with a bat. I sometimes forgot just how strong he was. When this was over and we were sailing the seven seas in style, I was going to make Tommy and BT arm wrestle.
Baggelli grabbed a box of belt-linked ammunition. We waited for the bulker to strike again then run a few steps backward before we dared to open the top part of the door. It was coated in a thick smear of oily blood, hair, and what looked like teeth, so, the bulker was taking damage with each hit but was still very much in operational mode. I propped and locked the shelf. BT placed the extended tripods down, at least the front two, as the rear leg was too long for the shelf. Baggelli quickly loaded the monstrous machine. “Ready,” he said as he smacked the cover down. The bulker had already reached the far end of the hallway and was even now thundering toward us. We weren’t sure where the reavers were, but they were smart enough to clear a hole when bulkers were around. The giant zombies did not stop for anything. When tasked with a mission, friend or foe, didn’t matter. It was all fair game. I don’t think they much cared who they crushed, as long as they could make a decent puree out of them.
“Might want to start shooting,” I told BT as he pulled the charging handle back. He looked over at me for the briefest of seconds. My attention was focused entirely on the bulker; it was so enormous it looked more like a bore cleaner being shoved down the barrel of a rifle. Its head was scraping the ceiling and each of its sides were touching the walls. It was the perfect killing creation for this type of warfare. The zombies' ability to adapt to any surroundings were seemingly without restraint.
“Hold on!” Reed shouted. He was tossing headphones around the room; I caught one. The bulker was halfway here. BT was looking at the ear protection device that lay by his feet; I could see him sweat, debating lowering the gun down to don the gear or not. He had to do something quick. Firing that thing in this enclosed space ensured deafness, but bleeding eardrums might be the lesser of two evils.
“I got it!” I yelled at him, reaching down. I quickly stood. I had his left side covered and the other muffler was on his nose. We were all out of time. A dozen rounds ripped into the bulker before I could cover his other ear. The noise so loud as to be otherworldly. The fillings in my teeth hurt as they vibrated within the holes I’d created for them by eating too many sweets. Damn you, peanut butter Twix bar. The bullets weren’t the deluxe lethal poison-tipped, but a fifty caliber round doesn’t need anything fancy. When you’re sending a projectile the size of your aunt’s vibrator downrange, there’s not much that can stand up to it. And for all the bulker’s extra padding and dense bone structure, those rounds tore through like we had a paper doll charging towards us.
BT stitched a pattern across the beast’s chest. Huge chunks of meat were flying backward, looked like a bomb went off in a butcher shop. Still, the zombie plowed forward. Less bulk now, but it wasn’t enough to stop the momentum. The top half of its torso began to slide to the right as all the connective tissue and skeletal frame were destroyed. Its head was now dragging against the wall and slightly behind the body; its legs took another few steps before it crashed completely down on itself. It was like watching an Imperial Walker finally brought down by cables. Now we had a bit of a problem. It had clogged up the entirety of the hallway and it was still alive. BT, in his haste to shoot it, had not placed one in its head, possibly still operating on the belief we were using the super bullets, but more likely in sheer desperation to stop the thundering creature. I watched as thick, half-gelled blood leaked under the door and into the armory. I moved my boots away like the fluid was caustic and it would eat through the rubber.
Smoke was swirling around the room but for a moment, all was calm. I pulled the left side of my ear protection up and could hear the bulker chomping at the air. That alone was enough reason for me to kill it; I absolutely hate noisy eaters. Drives me fucking nuts, like shut your fucking mouth when you chew, you Cro-Magnon. And, okay, that might even be misrepresenting the early cavemen, they could have been very well mannered. Probably the Neanderthals that ate like savages.
“Don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like that,” Tommy said and, considering the source, that was something.
We could hear more footfalls behind the bulker but couldn’t see who was making the noise yet.
“Any chance you’re the good guys?” I called.
“Muuuuust Diiiiiiie,” dragged out for long seconds like the words were being expelled from a slowly deflating tire, hiss and all.
I put my earmuffs back on and tapped BT. He adjusted both ear cups and steadied himself then blew a couple hundred rounds down that hallway, making sure to riddle the body of the bulker once or twice in the head. If anything had been thick enough to stand its ground, we’d now be able to pry whatever they’d been holding from their cold, dead hands, if we could locate their hands. When he was done, the armory was enshrouded in a dense, smoky fog. Couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything, but truth be told, I was only listening for the sound of the bulker’s smacking gob. Like trying to get a night of sleep while your partner snores–it’s all you can hear. No matter how much cotton you stuff in your ears, no matter how many decibels it’s reduced by, that tiny, infinitesimal little bit you can still hear is as aggravating as a fistful of mosquitoes let loose in your bedroom. Maybe more so, because you can kill the mosquitoes, well, I mean sure, you can kill your partner, too, but there’s generally repercussions to that act, even if snoring might be considered just cause.
It wasn’t long until we could hear the raspy bark of the reavers. Not in the hallway, though, possibly the side rooms or the stairwell. Couldn’t tell. Even with the hearing protection, there is bone induction, meaning, the sound reverberates off your skull and facial bones, still slamming the living fuck out of the tiny hearing apparatus bones. It wa
s a good bet the reavers and regular zombies weren’t going to make another frontal assault; the smart move on their part was to wait us out. We weren’t prepared for a siege, and they most likely knew that. We had all the weapons and ammunition we could want; that was one problem solved. Had a couple hundred others waiting in line behind it asking for our attention.
“Now what?” Bags asked, fully expecting a thought-out response that would perfectly sum up what we needed to do to get out of here.
“Any chance there’s a trap door? Some sort of secret exit?” I asked.
“Sure, the room with all the weapons has a back door. I mean, that seems logical,” BT said without taking his eyes from the hallway.
I reached for the door handle.
“What the hell are you doing?” BT asked.
“Going to check it out,” I told him.
“I’ll go check it out. Already lost one commanding officer on my watch; not letting it happen again.” Baggelli shouldered past me.
BT lifted the gun before Bags swung the door open. I noticed he had the same weapon he’d come with. Made no sense to me. When I was a kid and went to a toy store, I came home with a new Evil Knievel action figure and my old Stretch Armstrong invariably ended up under my bed. I feel like I just dated myself.
“Tommy.”
“Yup,” he said as he followed Bags out. I would have done it myself, but the hot-headed SEAL would have taken it as an insult. God forbid his direct superior might want to protect his life.
I was holding my breath. I was convinced this was the part of the movie where the monster jumps out from behind a hiding spot, cheap yet effective way to startle the audience. And no matter how many times it’s happened or how well prepared you are, shit still works. Should have brought Gary down…he could have set the mood with some chilling background music, and maybe some TLC because that is terrifying music to me. We had very differing ideas about what was good to listen to.
“Reed, what’s past us going the other way?”
“Marine quarters and a way up to the deck.”
“Tommy, Bags, not too far,” I said as quietly as I could. The SEAL had just finished poking the beached leviathan, satisfied it was dead. He was doing his best to get over or around it with as little contact as possible.
“Tommy, you see anything the other way?” I asked.
He came back toward me and then went past. I walked out, making sure I could cover either man should the need arise.
“Reed, start packing up some gear,” BT said.
I wasn’t sure how we were going to do this. The wooden crates were large and heavy, Tommy and BT could possibly carry one on their own, but they’d be unable to do anything else. Two people on a crate left one person to defend the caravan. A few trips down here would be great, but we’d never be afforded that luxury, not while the zombies were here and without them, we’d have no reason to move this stuff to begin with.
“Something moving up ahead.” Baggelli had backed up, keeping the bulker between him and what was on the other side. “Can’t see anything.”
“Come back!” I yelled, I was moving toward him, he’d as of yet not done anything. I’d just reached him as I saw the reaver launch. It had been using the bulker’s body as cover and had stalked its prey, getting as close as it could before pouncing. I pushed Baggelli back and to the side—I couldn’t even get my rifle up to shoot it. This particular reaver had long flowing red hair and a full thick beard, the hair easily over a foot long, giving the monster what could only be described as a mane. Its green eyes were fixed on me; long canines glinted light as they sought flesh. I turned and caught the brunt of its momentum in my shoulder. I was slammed against the wall, my helmeted head rocketing off the steel. My brain felt like that little steel paddle inside a violently slapped desk bell, ring and everything. As potentially concussed as I was, the reaver was in worse shape. I’d broken its jaw—it was hanging askew. With its front paws it was desperately trying to knock it back into place, whining as it ran back and forth with its head down. Baggelli put it out of our misery with a quick trio of bullets to its head.
“Thank you,” he said as he pulled me back.
My initial thought was to ask him if this meant I could see sexy pictures of his mother, but my head felt like it was broken.
“Are you all right, sir? Your nose is bleeding.”
“Red or gray?” I asked.
“Sir?”
“Blood or brains?”
“Hit that hard? Just red, sir.” He kept himself between me and the bulker as we headed back to the armory.
My stomach was doing somersaults. I knew enough about concussions to realize I’d probably been given a big one. I’d heal up well enough and fast, too, but how fast? To add to my stomach issues, my vision was blurred. At first, the next sound I heard I thought was related to my condition. It’s not often someone hears the sounds of porpoises communicating up close.
“That Flipper?” I asked.
“Don’t know what the fuck that is,” Baggelli said as he got me through the door. “Reed, the captain smacked the shit out of his head. I think he’s concussed.”
“Jesus,” Reed hissed as he took a look at my pupils.
“That bad?” I asked a moment before I bent over and let a thick string of bile loose.
“I’m not much of a medic, but he needs a CT scan. I’m afraid of him having swelling and possible bleeding.” He was talking to BT.
BT knew the deal. Even if we could somehow get to the medical bay and operate the machinery, which was no given, who the fuck was going to do anything about a brain hemorrhage? Certainly wasn’t going to let Baggelli drill holes in my skull to ease the pressure, especially after all the shit I’d given him about his mother.
“I’ll be fine,” came out more like: “I’d like fried chicken with my okra.”
“He’ll be fine.” BT sidled between Reed and myself. “Right?” he asked me quietly.
I didn’t answer. I was too busy making sure I didn’t offer up another sacrifice to the floor gods. Reed finished packing up.
“These are heavy as hell,” he said, lifting an end.
Didn’t care, didn’t ask where he got it, but when Tommy came back in, he was carrying a floor dolly, four sturdy wheels on a rectangular wooden frame. Great for moving heavy things on a deck; stairs, not so much, unless you don’t give a shit about having control of it. Had to keep reminding myself: one problem at a time. And right now, I was dealing with the inability to stand straight up without feeling like I was at ground zero for a hellacious earthquake. So far, the reavers that we all knew were behind the bulker had not made another move. We loaded up the two crates, well, they did, I thought about getting on top and just laying there until I didn’t see three of everything. I was okay with that condition when it was of my own making, but not when it had been thrust upon me. I stumbled out of the room first.
“Not a chance,” Bags said. He made sure BT grabbed ahold of me then he took the lead. Reed followed him. I was next in line then Tommy, who was pulling the cart. It would have been easier to push it, but BT had braced his M2 up top and was doing his best to walk alongside, guarding our rear. The hallway was wide, but this was stretching the limits. Safe to say anything that tried to come up from behind and hamstring its prey was in for a very rude and loud awakening. We’d made it to the Marines bunking area and nothing had yet tried to impede our progress. Sounds good on the surface, but this, more than anything, led me to believe the zombies' plan was going according to their design. The area was large, stuffed with bunk beds bolted to the floor. I got claustrophobic thinking about how many people slept here on any given day. Or used to. This version of me would have never been able to get to sleep. Having bulldogs in my life had me prepared for snoring and gaseous emissions, but not to this degree. And Marines, let’s face it, are egotistical, loud, and not very empathetic. I knew, because I was all of those things, and I would not want to live with a bunch of people like me.
> The hatch did not lock. BT stacked what loose things he could find up against it. The desk he ripped from the floor and the few duffel bags would not stop the zombies, but it would give us advance warning. When nothing was offered freely, you took what you could. My bearings were coming back slowly; the triple imagery was gradually pulling back in. Most times I looked at my shaking hands, I was down to twenty fingers, twenty-two tops. All of our attention was drawn to the front as there was noise by the door we were headed toward. I fully expected it to fly open and hundreds of zombies to come piling through. BT must have felt the same way because he told us all to move away as he spun the dolly around, pew-pew end now aimed ahead. We slowly moved forward, and now I wondered if we should have taken our chances the other way. Sure, we would have had to move the six-hundred-pound pile of rotting carcass out of the way, but at least we would have been headed toward our ultimate destination and not away. Of course, there was always the chance that way would be blocked because of all the munitions and explosives we’d sent down it, but the reavers had got there, so it meant there was some sort of ingress.
The closer we got to the door, the more I expected it to fling wide. By this time, the rest of the group had fanned out into a tactical formation; I was doing my best to walk. Didn’t at all think it would be prudent for me to raise my weapon and join in the melee, should one start.
“Reed.” BT motioned with his head for the man to go and check the door once they were close. I was doing my best to keep up, but I was a few steps behind. I was listing to the left and had to concentrate on each footfall to make sure I was more or less making a straight line. Tommy was staying close. I appreciated it but was angry that I was more of a burden than an asset right then. Reed grabbed the handle, wrenched the door open quickly, and stepped back and to the side. The upper half of a man that had been leaning against the door fell into the room.
“Whoa!” Reed had his hand up before the multiple rifles could fire. “Don’t think he’s a threat.” He approached slowly, gun on his shoulder, but his finger outside the trigger well.