by ML Banner
Wasano shrugged his shoulders. What?
“I hear struggle. I hear thump. I hear another thump. I hear nothing.”
Two knocks on the door.
Flavio pointed to the door lock again, and Wasano quickly entered in the code and the door once again clicked open, sending in a blast of heat.
TJ stuck her head through, nose-clip on. “Okay, there are no more dementeds... at least conscious. Find the shut-off quickly. We have little time.”
Flavio stepped past her and glanced at the two human shapes lying silently on the metal flooring a few feet in front of them.
“Did you kill them?” Wasano asked as he slipped by her.
“No, of course not. They’re still people, you know... Please, the shut-off?”
“Yes, of course.” Wasano nodded and then took a few quick steps to an opposite wall with his back to Flavio and TJ, who watched him attentively. Wasano’s head fixed on an unseen point on the wall, then darted around, before he pushed his radio to his ear and yelled something they couldn’t hear.
“What’s the problem?” TJ asked Flavio.
“Don’t know. I know ship’s deck plan well. Never been in engine room.”
They both rushed over to Wasano to ask what was wrong and why the engines weren’t powering down.
Then they saw.
A large electrical-like box hung by wires from where it obviously once fastened much higher to the wall. On its face, now bent and distorted, was a hole and below it a placard announcing that this was the “Emergency Shut-Off.” Pieces of bright red plastic littered the floor below the now nonfunctional device. It was destroyed. And that meant that someone, or more likely something, had sabotaged the emergency engine shut-off.
67
Ágúst
First Officer Ágúst Helguson scampered down the stairs, out of control, as if something were chasing him. In reality, he was running from himself.
He turned a corner and dashed through a crew doorway, barely slowing. When the door swung back and slammed shut, he twisted his head to shoot an angry glare at it for making so much noise. Still barreling forward, not watching his path, he pile-drove into a rotund passenger.
It was like hitting a wall. A soft wall.
Ágúst bounced off the much larger man, and tumbled to the floor. He glanced up at the moving shadow above him, and was surprised to see it was one of those lunatics, and it was snarling at him. Oh God, I ran into that?
The beast wore a Hawaiian shirt, with one panel ripped and hanging open, revealing a huge belly with deep scratched troughs that were raw and oozing. The beast roared bear-like at Ágúst, spewing flecks of dark coagulated blood from its mouth, while the thick gold chains that ringed its neck flopped in a frenzy. Then it stopped and just bored holes in him with its fiery eyes.
Ágúst reflexively pushed away from the loony, but he realized almost immediately that he wasn’t scared of the man at all. In fact, he felt angry at this thing for snarling at him and being in his way. The feeling passed.
Ágúst stood up, ignoring the beast, who now seemed to have grown disinterested in him as well. So he continued his race once again. He didn’t care about the loonies anymore; they certainly weren’t going to bother him, unless he ran into them. He had to get to the aft anchor. His staff captain asked him to do this.
As he zipped through the large expanse of the deck 5 public areas, he marveled at everything he observed: all seemed out of place, and at the same time, just right. With each stride, he gathered in the scenes around him: objects that seemed different or that he’d never noticed before—it was his job was to notice things—or people running in terror, or the loonies running after them. With each object or person or loony he studied, he came to know more of what was happening to himself.
When he leapt over an overturned table full of useless pamphlets about the ship’s various spa treatments, he knew he was stronger than he could remember. He felt like he could take on anyone and anything; he could beat up anyone, even that big loony he’d just ran into. He felt indestructible, like a superhero.
When two loonies were stumbling in his direction, he knew he was no longer afraid of them, and the loonies didn’t pay any mind to him either. It was just as the author had told him would happen. And it wasn’t just the fear of loonies that had left him; he no longer had any fears, about anything. He scoffed at himself, at how he used to shiver at night, thinking about what others would say about him. Even when he made first officer, he was sure he overheard others talking about him. None of that seemed to matter now.
And the smells. He wasn’t much of a foodie, as Jessica called it, so the smells coming from their mess never turned him one direction or another. Eating was just something he had to do. But now there was a bouquet of both the most foul and most delightful smells, and none of them he recognized. He felt like he could smell something many meters away too, even though he didn’t know how that was possible.
His eyesight seemed better as well. He noticed this in the darkened hallway and again when he dashed by blackened windows of the Computer Center. He often gazed in to see who was there, but he could never really see inside, even when he stuck his face up against the glass and cupped his hands around to block out the light. Now, as he breezed by, he could clearly see inside. Further, at some point he realized his glasses had fallen off and he didn’t seem to need them anymore. But along with the better eyesight, everything seemed so very bright. The overheads felt like they burned holes into his skull. He found himself squinting and looking down while he ran.
But the biggest change of all was his anger. He was so angry now. And the smallest things made him angry. It was worse than simple anger. He felt almost insane with rage right now. He knew it was all part of the disease. But he also really didn’t care. It felt strange that this didn’t bother him. He would have been paralyzed by all of this... Before.
Really, nothing bothered him now... except for the urges. Those bothered him a lot.
Before this, he lived a life of regimentation and planning. He didn’t have urges or yearnings. He took pleasure in his work and that was all he needed. His one desire in life was to improve to the point that others recognized him. In everything else he was careful and hesitant, never wanting to make noise. Now, he had overwhelming urges that he felt compelled to pursue, and with wild abandon: sex, violence, murder, and the hunger... For what he didn’t know.
During all of this, he never connected the dots, assuming his urges, no matter how bothersome, were something that would pass. Then he came across a slight woman—he remembered her from the spa. She was hiding underneath a table, eyes owl-like, obviously hoping no one would see her. At first, he didn’t see her; he smelled her.
He tried to ignore it, even running past her, but the glorious smell was too much to ignore. He halted, desiring to know what that smell was. No, he desperately needed to know. He pivoted on his heels and followed the unknown scent until he was upon the table. The woman’s head swung up to catch a glimpse of him. She shrank back in terror. He shrank from her too when he realized what the scent was: he was smelling her, and he knew right then what he wanted desperately to do. And this so disgusted him, he almost puked right there. He pedaled back farther, away from the woman and her hiding place, just as another loony reached in and grabbed her.
Ágúst turned and continued his run, daring himself not to look back at that sight. He didn’t want to admit it. He wouldn’t acknowledge it. But he knew it, like everything else: he was a loony too.
Now on auto-pilot, he zoomed from hallway to stairwell to hallway, until he crashed through a final entrance and dashed the final stretch of hallway before he would be at the entrance to the aft anchor area. He could almost see it.
That was his whole purpose. He had only one mission, and that was the only thing that mattered. He was to drop the anchor and make sure that the auto-release mechanism didn’t engage and the anchor chain held, slowing or stopping them before they hit the island. The whol
e ship was depending on him.
He rounded a pallet of recyclables and was five short strides from the door, and the realization of his mission. But he abruptly held up, stopping just short of his goal.
In front of him, blocking the entrance to the aft anchor area, was a completely naked woman.
68
Engines
“You’re kidding, right?” TJ huffed, as she first heard and then watched the group of dementeds rush toward them. They didn’t have time for this.
She exhaled and then ran at them, targeting the first demented, who was oak-tree-sized, and like the others, wore a black jumper. Her immediate thought was that if she’d make like a bowling ball and knock this one pin down, some of others would tumble behind it. With a little luck, because this demented was so big, maybe he’d take out all of the others.
This supposition was more of the combo of intuition and observation. For reasons unknown to her at this moment, she had more dexterity and control over all her motor functions than the dementeds did over their own. Most dementeds appeared to be either lumbering or spasmodic, with the spasmos acting like they were running downhill and were easily tripped up. Rather than take them on one on one, and risk any of them getting through to Flavio or Wasano, she knew it would be better to trip up the whole group of them.
Just before she was in striking distance, TJ threw herself up and somewhat sideways into the air. But at the point of leaping, she twisted her body hard, reacting to another crazy who had pulled up quickly beside the big one—the two pin was off kilter now and wouldn’t automatically fall when she took out the one pin. She’d settle for a one-two split.
She wasn’t sure where these thoughts were coming from, or what exactly they meant, only that they were correct.
Her body moved more slowly in the air than she would have thought, and so she had to gesticulate more to get the second one. But this caused her to lose sight of her second target as her head and torso rolled around to face Wasano and Flavio, who gaped at her actions. When her right foot connected, she couldn’t really see the impact, but she felt the hard bone of her ankle connect with the soft jowls of the number two demented’s face, almost at the same time as all her body weight smashed into the big one.
She expected her forward motion to continue, toppling the big one, but was instead jarred to a sudden stop. Her body was forcibly wrenched down and then sideways. She felt the beast’s giant arms clamp down around her, and then deftly fling her away from it and the rest of the horde. She was airborne again, this time traveling in the opposite direction.
Once more, she wasn’t anxious or fearful about any of this—more like surprised. Just before she crashed hard against a wall of pipes, she saw the big demented barely acknowledge her. The beast turned only slightly, and then continued its barreling toward Wasano and Flavio, with others close behind.
A splash of stars filled TJ’s field of vision; her head had struck the steel exterior ship-wall.
What just happened? she wondered. The dementeds weren’t supposed to move that way. They weren’t supposed to react so quickly.
Her legs were above her in an awkward position, her body contorted at an odd angle. She swung her feet down and around until they slapped the floor.
Droplets of liquid slid down her face. Blood? A disconnected set of her fingers wiped above her brow, her wet fingertips held up for inspection and confirmation that it was only her sweat. It was hot down here... At the same time, rather than the expected feelings of fatigue or injury, she felt invigorated. More so, she was enraged and ready to do battle, more than any time in her life.
The engine room roared its unstoppable rumble all around her—a mind-numbing rattle that infuriated her even more. And with this was a chorus of other sounds too: screams, growls and grunts, all coming from the horde attacking and the two men now fighting this band of dementeds. She glared at the hubbub like she wasn’t a part of this, but her mind still analyzed her best target.
Upon seeing the big one beat down on Wasano with its giant paws, this vision lit a fire under her. She resolved then that they would lose, and therefore she would lose, if she didn’t immediately help.
She quickly pulled herself up, using her elbow, already hooked around a cross-beam. The wooziness was sudden and struck all her senses. And yet she fought through it. Oddly enough, there wasn’t any pain. Shouldn’t I be in pain?
Before all of this, if her head had connected as solidly, she would have just stayed down and taken her time, making sure she didn’t have a concussion—she was most certain that she did now, and yet she should have had deep flashes of pain. She felt none and had no worries about this or any of the other injuries she must have sustained. Instead of pain or worry, she was filled with more overwhelming waves of irrational anger: killing and maiming were the only things that seemed to offer her comfort. She would oblige these feelings.
Right beside TJ was a fire extinguisher, as if the ship handed it to her. She grabbed it, hoisted it high, and focused her sights on the biggest demented. The beast towered over the much smaller security man, who would lose this battle in seconds. She sprang forward, almost fell over before straightening herself up, and rushed to the back of the horde, ready to strike.
When she reached the group, she pile-drove the extinguisher’s hefty base into the first demented she came upon—one away from the big one—striking the back of its head. She knew she hit hard, because she felt the crack through the extinguisher, and watched the demented crumple to the floor.
She lifted the extinguisher up high once again, intending to now target the largest demented’s head. Using the unconscious body of the one she’d knocked out as a vault, she catapulted herself up and came down on her target, striking its head with much more violence than the last one.
Her body rattled back, and she landed on her feet directly behind the giant. The huge demented stopped, but didn’t fall. It swung around and glared at her, as if the horrendous knock on the head was but a light slap from a fly-swatter. It fixed its red eyes upon her and howled a spittle-laced blast of air into her face.
~~~
“We’ll be approaching the Nordeste Bank at any moment,” boomed the captain over the radio microphone. This was an announcement to Wasano and his team to let them know they needed to do whatever they could to get to the engine shut-offs immediately. It was also meant for Ágúst, in hopes that he would chime in and let them know how he was doing on the anchor. Finally, he wanted to update Jean Pierre and Jessica too, even though they were busily working on a different console, with Buzz over the radios adding some instruction—they were onto something, but Jörgen feared none of it would matter. They were all just about out of time.
Jörgen had finagled the stabilizers to steer them slightly north, toward the Nordeste Bank, but with half the resistance offered by one stabilizer, they were picking up speed again. If the engines didn’t get shut down and the anchor dropped properly, they’d only have one option left: they’d have to brace for impact.
“What’s their status, Dr. Simmons?” he asked.
“They’re still stuck battling with the parasitics,” Molly stated in her measured tone, eyes drilled into the big TV screen tilted from the far wall. It was far enough away that Jörgen couldn’t see each of the little screens within a screen clearly. “I still don’t see the officer by the anchor-thing.”
Hans watched attentively from the entry of engineering, his back to the door. Earlier, he had been asked by the captain to check the door and make sure it was locked. The captain didn’t—for good reason—trust that the man had properly secured the door after Wasano, Flavio and TJ had left. Hans had simply glanced at the door, assumed it was good, and then flipped around so he could watch what was happening next on the large monitors, and the console where the captain was working. His brother Franz was busying himself in another seat next to the captain, disinterested.
Jörgen furiously typed in commands. He still wasn’t able to wrest control of the helm,
and was fearful of turning off the automatic systems because they were the only ones running. He just didn’t know what the hell was going on with the controls. There was a loud bang beside him. He stopped, fingers poised over the keyboard, and glared at Franz, who was spinning himself around in circles in the leather chair beside him, like some little kid bored to be visiting his father’s office during Take the Brat to Work Day.
“Oops, sorry.” Franz shot a demure glance at the captain. He rapped his feet onto the floor and stared at the screens in front of him. A red blinking light attracted his attention. Franz knew he probably should say something to the captain, but was fearful of garnering more ire. He’d already been a nuisance. A second red light started flashing in unison with the other.
~~~
TJ shot a glance at both men: Wasano was now swinging his large flashlight at other dementeds, connecting with one, and Flavio was knocking one wiry demented away with his wrench, while thwacking another with his work-glove weapon. Other dementeds attempted to push through openings in the melee to get at the only two non-infected people there. But there were too many for them to handle.
She glanced back at the big tree-of-a-demented, roaring at her, unfazed by her strike. She wished that she were battling an overweight blob of a passenger, rather than...
That’s when it hit her. A latent memory flashed in her mind, back before she had become. It was a classic sci-fi movie called The Blob. Its star, Steve McQueen, used the cold of a fire extinguisher—like the one she held—to stop the blob. He froze the blob so that the other characters could get away. Maybe this would work too.
She flicked the safety pin out, clutched the handle, pointed the hose and squeezed. A white spray of liquid billowed out, splashing the giant demented directly in the face.