HAYWIRE: A Pandemic Thriller (The F.A.S.T. Series Book 2) (49 page)

The plasma lance fell lifeless from his hand.

Bolton fell lifeless to the deck.

Only then did Forest see the enormous whaling harpoon jutting from Bolton’s back.

Sergeant King dropped to one knee behind Bolton.

Erin rushed to him.

‘No,’ said King. ‘Get Forest out of there. Quickly.’

Erin rushed forward and began using an old flintlock pistol to break the glass pinning Forest into the cabinet.

‘Bolton,’ Christov yelled into his radio. ‘Bolton, answer me!’

No one answered.

The only person he could reach was his pilot on the stern helipad.

Christov watched the smoke rising from the helicopter he’d landed on the bridge. Now Christov only had one helicopter left.

Bryant. Ben Bryant did that.

Christov knew because Bryant had also turned the ship around to reach the lifeboats. Christov almost threw his radio at the wall in anger. His body had finally recovered from the electric shock to discover he’d lost a helicopter, he’d lost the bridge, the ship was sinking and he couldn’t reach anyone by radio.

Now the deck under his boots was tilting.

Seriously tilting.

Only one security officer had survived the ice bar skirmish. He’d been covering the exit. Christov was lucky to have survived himself.

‘Clear our path to the helipad,’ Christov ordered the man. ‘Right now. Go!’

The gunman dashed off.

All my other men must be dead. Dead at the hands of the Marines or the infected passengers.

Christov pressed the radio to his forehead, thinking.

I can salvage this. I know I can.

He blocked out the sounds of the ship creaking around him.

I’ve got it,
he realized.
I know how to hurt those bastard Marines and that bitch who electrocuted me.

Relief swept over him.
I know how to get the acid drive back.

Ben Bryant had made it possible. Bryant had solved Christov’s problem by turning the ship back toward the lifeboats.

Christov had always planned to shred the lifeboats’ passengers into shark bait. He still had one long-range attack chopper at his disposal.

When the ship sank, the Marines would be forced onto the remaining lifeboats.

All the lifeboats would be at Christov’s mercy then. If they didn’t return the acid drive, he’d start blasting apart lifeboats full of healthy passengers.

The Marines will give me the acid drive then
.
Once they see the civilians being torn to shreds in the lifeboats. They won’t have a choice.

Christov just needed to reach his helicopter.

He took off running.

The ship warped and groaned around him.

Bolton had performed a masterful job. Everything that had happened on the ship would soon be buried on the sea bottom.

Bolton would be hard to replace, but once Pharmafirst made the billions and billions of dollars Christov knew it would, he’d no longer need men like Bolton.

Their first billions would be made using the drug as a weapon, but the real money would come when Christov found someone to replace Elizabeth.

Then he would have the power to hurt and heal at the same time.

Pharmafirst would control both ends of the market.

His research would go mainstream.

Pharmafirst would become untouchable.

Christov started to leap another corpse in the hallway. The man wore a security uniform.

Christov barely recognized his face.

This is the man I just sent ahead to clear my path to the helicopter.

Christov froze.

Blood still seeped from dozens of holes in the man’s body.

I didn’t hear gunfire
, thought Christov, bending to check the corpse.

It looked like a swarm of gigantic wasps had stung the man to death. At least sixty or seventy puncture wounds covered the man from his forehead to his knees.

What the hell did this to him?

From a hole in the man’s neck emerged a piece of string. Blood-soaked string. The string emerged from the dead man’s neck, ran up the corridor and disappeared into a cabin.

...click...click...

Christov heard the sound. He looked up the corridor toward the cabin.

...click...click...click...

He raised his flame-pistol and advanced, following the string.

Almost at the door, he glanced down.

That’s not string,
he realized.
That’s wool. Blue wool.

When he looked up, he discovered who owned the wool.

He’d never seen a more ghastly transformation in his life.

Originally the woman must have been ninety years old.

She no longer looked like a woman.

Now she resembled a giant praying mantis insect. Her bone-thin arms clutched two long knitting needles. She held her arms up like a praying mantis ready to strike. Her grey frizzy hair made her head too large for her body.

Blood soaked her nightgown from collar to hem, sticking to her skinny frame like folded wings.

Christov lifted his flame-pistol. He didn’t fire. At this range, with her so close, the chemical could splash back and ignite them both.

The woman attacked like the insect she resembled, with blinding speed. Her knitting needles sped at Christov’s neck.

Christov had seen what those needles could do. He dropped his flame-pistol and caught her wrists a moment before her body slammed against him. She struck him with the force of someone three times her size.

Christov wasn’t ready for that.

He tumbled backward, holding her wrists apart as they landed.

Christ. She’s on top of me!

Her too-large head shot forward. Her few remaining teeth sunk into his chin.

She’s biting me! She’s biting my face!

Christov instinctively released her wrists and shoved her away, using his boot to propel her even further.

The woman hit the deck and seemed to bounce.

She bounced straight back at him.

This time she flew with the knitting needles spearing toward his head.

The fury on her face made it clear she intended to pierce his eyeballs, drill through his brain and wedge the needles inside the back of his skull.

Christov already had his trench knife out. He punched his knife into her arms. The metal hand guard smashed her arms aside. He heard fragile bones snapping.

The impact knocked the woman off him.

She landed beside him, flat on her back.

Before she recovered, Christov rolled sideways and plunged the blade down through her skinny chest.

For all her fight, her body offered no resistance. Christov’s knife speared through her heart and into the deck.

The knife vibrated in his hand.

Christov stared at it.

That’s her heart. Her heart is pumping so fast it’s shaking my knife.

Christov actually felt her last few heartbeats through his knife handle.

In death the woman still resembled an insect, but now she looked like a museum specimen pinned down for display.

He yanked his knife free and grabbed his flame-pistol.

Standing, he noticed the deck had tilted even further.

Justin, Craigson and Myers climbed steadily up the ship toward the staff lifeboats.

That’s where Mom will be heading. That was our plan all along.

Justin felt the deck growing steeper every minute. He stopped to catch his breath in the aquarium viewing lounge.

Nothing was flat anymore.

He braced himself on a leather couch bolted to the deck. When he wasn’t bracing against a doorway or a piece of furniture, he needed to constantly lean into the deck and tense his legs.

Discreetly he pulled Christov’s acid drive from his pocket and checked the countdown:

Remaining Time: 00h:22m:51s

In twenty-two minutes this thing will self-destruct,
thought Justin.
Christov must be going crazy.

Christov would be growing more desperate by the minute. Desperate and dangerous. Christov scared Justin more than the crazies did. With the ship sinking, everyone still alive was being pushed in the same direction.

Maybe that was his plan. To herd us all together.

Justin couldn’t help but feel the acid drive was counting down to more than just its own destruction. There was no way Christov would leave without the drive.

Justin glanced around for the Marines. Craigson was leaning into the wall for balance, studying an evacuation map.

Myers offered Justin water from his canteen.

‘How much further?’ Myers asked as Justin took a sip.

Craigson pointed up the sloping deck.

‘One more intersection. At the top of this corridor we turn right to reach the outer deck and the staff lifeboats.’

Justin knew that reaching the viewing lounge meant they had just one more stretch of climbing before they reached the lifeboats.

‘Listen,’ said Justin.

‘The ship is straining to hold together,’ said Craigson.

Justin shook his head. The explosion had shocked all three of them. Since then, the ship had been making terrible noises around them non-stop.

This sounded different.

He knew the sound too well.

He pointed up the deck. ‘I can hear crazies. A bunch of them.’

Craigson and Myers fell silent.

‘He’s right,’ confirmed Myers.

Craigson pointed his hockey stick up to the next intersection. ‘I think they’re blocking our path.’

‘We don’t have time for this,’ hissed Myers.

‘Wait,’ said Justin, hearing the crazies getting closer. ‘I’ve got an idea.’

Myers and Craigson listened to Justin’s plan.

‘I can’t think of anything better,’ said Myers.

Craigson shook his head. ‘It’s too dangerous. If you start running down the deck, you won’t be able to stop until you hit something solid. Like a wall. Our orders are to keep you safe, Justin, not break every bone in your body.’

‘I won’t run,’ said Justin. ‘I’ll jog and then slide on my jeans.’

Myers nodded at Craigson. ‘That could work. You saw him in the food court. He knows what he’s doing. He’s faster than you and me.’

Justin nodded.

‘It won’t work,’ said Craigson.

The ship groaned loudly around them. The deck shook under their feet. A framed painting fell off the wall and began bouncing down the corridor.

‘We don’t have time,’ Justin decided. ‘I’m doing it.’

He began climbing up the corridor again. Neither Marine tried to stop him. Halfway up, he glanced back.

The Marines had disappeared.

His leg muscles burned as he reached the top of the corridor. He grabbed the corner and peered around the intersection.

Sunlight.

That’s the outer deck. I see a lifeboat!

Between him and the lifeboat loitered four crazies. They were staff members. Entertainment staff. Justin recognized them. He’d heard them playing their instruments around the ship. Their warped and dented instruments now looked like weapons. They all wore purple sequined tuxedos.

They were closer than Justin expected.

Too late now.

‘Hey!’ Justin yelled at the ship’s jazz band. ‘Your music sucks!’

The insane musicians spun toward Justin like four hunting dogs detecting game.

They charged.

Justin spun and retreated awkwardly back down the sloping deck. He tried to jog. It didn’t work. The angle was all wrong.

The crazy musicians reached the intersection faster than he’d expected.

They were right behind him!

Holy crap. I have to run!

Justin had no choice.

He leaned forward and ran.

In seconds he was hurtling down the corridor faster than he’d ever run in his life. He almost missed his mark on the carpet.

‘Now!’ he shouted.

From cabins either side of the corridor, Craigson and Myers sprung out and attacked the crazies running past. Myers swung at the man wielding the French horn. He struck the man’s face so hard that his baseball bat splintered apart. The man performed an airborne backward somersault. His French horn hit the ceiling. He landed and rolled in a floppy pile of limbs.

Craigson struck the saxophone player’s shins. The man tumbled forward, crushing his saxophone into the floor with his face.

Craigson barely had time for a second attack. The next two crazies were already hurtling past the Marines.

Craigson thrust his hockey stick across the hallway, trying to intercept both crazies with one attack.

The trombone player ducked Craigson’s stick.

The trumpet player didn’t.

The hockey stick slammed into his chest. Purple sequins exploded off his suit. He slammed down backward, landing with a sickening crunch on his neck.

Justin saw all this happen in less than a second.

I need to stop!

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t drop and slide on his jeans. Craigson was right. All he could do was speed up.

His upper body began tilting over his legs.

He windmilled his arms, trying not to topple forward as he rocketed into the viewing lounge.

Leather couches blocked his path.

Holy crap, I’m falling!

Two meters before he slammed into a couch, Justin jumped.

He twisted in the air.

He hit the couch with his body fully outstretched, flying backward, using the couch’s backrest like a safety net.

CRASH!

If the couch cushioned his impact, Justin barely felt it.

The couch wrenched up under him, tearing its two front restraining bolts from the deck. Just as Justin realized the couch wasn’t tearing completely away from the deck, he spotted the trombone player.

The man wasn’t trying to stop.

He lifted his trombone and jumped.

He flew straight at Justin.

He was going to crush Justin with his own body.

Justin couldn’t get up in time. He couldn’t dive away.

All he could do was roll.

As the man flew toward him, Justin rolled off the couch. Midair, their bodies grazed past each other.

The man crashed onto the couch as Justin landed on the deck. He struck the couch feet-first like a human spear.

Justin heard his legs breaking before the couch tore completely from the deck. The couch and the trombone player rolled down the corridor together until they smacked into the wall at the bottom.

The Marines reached Justin in seconds, checking him for injuries.

‘I’m all right,’ said Justin. ‘It just knocked the wind out of me.’

‘Good work,’ said Myers, helping Justin stand.

‘That didn’t go as I expected,’ admitted Justin, looking at the purple sequins all over the carpet where once there’d been a couch.

‘It never does,’ said Craigson. ‘No plan survives contact, but we’re standing and they’re not. Come on. We can’t stop or the water will catch us.’

‘Look,’ pointed Myers.

Justin glanced at Myers, then at the aquarium’s observation window. The giant loggerhead turtle hovered in the water, watching them.

Myers moved over to the glass. ‘It’s that turtle again. The one from the atrium. This is the third time I’ve seen him. He’s following us.’

‘There could be dozens of turtles,’ said Craigson.

‘No, I recognize his face,’ insisted Myers. ‘He knows something’s wrong. He’s following us.’

‘Come on,’ repeated Craigson.

Myers waved to get the turtle’s attention.

‘Swim up,’ he yelled through the glass. He pointed upward. ‘Keep swimming up!’

The turtle turned and dove down deeper.

‘No. Up!’ Myers yelled. ‘Swim up! Up!’

‘He has to swim up eventually,’ said Justin. ‘He breathes air.’

‘And so do we,’ said Craigson. ‘So let’s get to that lifeboat.’

Coleman pushed Neve with all his strength.

He’d come to his senses with Neve dragging his body from a small freight elevator.