The Infected Dead (Book 2): Survive For Now (23 page)

The dogs flew through the opening in the window and began ripping the infected dead apart. The infected had numbers by far, but they were slow and clumsy. By the time they could react to a dog, they were already being pulled to the floor. The noise level increased as the dogs barked with each attack, running from one body to the next. The infected were making a groaning noise that reminded me of the first days of the spread of the infection, but I had never heard it like this.

At times one of the dogs would let out a yelp when an infected dead would get lucky and its teeth would find flesh, but the yelp would immediately be followed by a renewed fury of snapping and barking as the dogs would get even for being bitten. There were still eight dogs attacking when the horde of infected had been reduced by half, and when one of the dogs finally went down, there were no more than twenty-five still on their feet.

I crossed over to the stairs where the Chief and Tom were keeping their eyes on the barricade. If any of the dogs decided they wanted living flesh, they needed to be dropped fast. We didn’t need to find out what would happen if one of us was bitten by a dog that had just been biting the infected. There really wasn’t much doubt, but we didn’t think we could turn these dogs into pets anyway, and they weren’t going to let us get back to the plane. They were doing us a huge favor, though.

I moved up next to Tom and asked him how he was holding up.

“Worried about Molly,” he said. “She must be wondering why we’ve been gone so long.”

“You’ve taught her the new rules well, Tom. I’m sure she’s okay,” I said.

Tom gave me a slight nod of appreciation, but I could see the worry on his face as he took aim at something below.

“Down to twelve infected,” said Kathy.

One of the dogs looked up and saw her and immediately charged toward the barricade. We were all amazed to see the powerful animal easily clear the tables, chairs, and bodies at the bottom. It had moved so quickly that Kathy never got off a shot, but Tom was ready for it. The dog was almost on him when he pulled the trigger. He didn’t have time to be sure that dog was dead because a second had jumped over the barricade right behind the first. The Chief got that one, and I heard Kathy open fire.

In the end there was one infected dead that was trying to crawl over bodies to reach us. It was almost pathetic to watch the effort it was making when there had been at least a hundred of them when the fight started. The four of us gathered at the railing and looked down at the remaining infected dead. It had been a young woman, and she was wearing the remains of hotel uniform. She had probably been on the staff of waitresses and had been offered some overtime wages to stay and take care of the stranded rich people. Her own family probably never knew what had happened to her, and if they were alive, they were somewhere holding out hope that she was okay too.

The Chief walked over to the bar and looked through the remaining bottles of liquor.

“I can’t believe this,” he said.

He was studying labels with admiration. “I was only hoping to find something decent in their leftovers, but there isn’t anything over here that isn’t the best in its class.”

He set up a row of glasses and poured two fingers of Royal Salute into each of them.

“My friends, that was too close,” he said. “Let’s drink one of these together and then get the hell out of here.”

We each picked up a glass and studied the golden liquid.

“What is this stuff?” asked Kathy.

“In my opinion, this is the best Scotch whiskey in the world, and it probably went for about twenty-five dollars for a glass this size in this bar,” he said.

We all downed our glasses, and even though I couldn’t tell a good whiskey from a can of Dr. Pepper, I was willing to take the Chief’s word for it.

Kathy said, “Chief, do me a favor and bring back as much of that stuff as you can carry. When we get back to Mud Island I want to get drunk with you on something that tastes this good.”

The Chief wasn’t going to argue with her about it and happily stashed several bottles in the supply bag he had brought along for the spare parts he hoped to find. It was when he remembered why he had the bag with him that he lost the cheerful look he had gotten when drinking the Scotch.

The Chief asked, “Has anyone else wondered how those eight Rottweilers stayed alive in that maintenance building so long?”

Up until this point, I don’t think anyone had time to even consider it. We had been too busy running for our lives and then defending ourselves in the resort bar. When the Chief brought it up, you could tell it scared Tom the most because Molly was only about a hundred yards past that building. He grabbed his rifle and started down the stairs.

“Hold up, Tom,” yelled Kathy. “We have to make sure nothing is still biting down there.”

Kathy caught up with Tom and pulled out her machete. As soon as she moved the first table, hands started reaching for her from the tangled mess. She swung several times, removing hands but looking for the faces that went with the hands. There was such a mixture of bodies that she couldn’t tell the infected dead from the really dead.

We joined her and began working our way toward the nearest door. Each one of us had to dodge at least one bite and then dispose of the biter so the others could get by. Eventually we made it to the broken window and stepped through one at a time.

We heard Molly screaming before we saw her. She was backing away from the open door of the maintenance building, and out of the darkness of the big open door we could see a large group of infected dead shambling toward her.

“Run, Molly!” we all seemed to be yelling at the same time.

Kathy put one knee on the ground to steady her aim and sighted on the infected closest to Molly. She was an expert shot with a hand gun, but she was beyond deadly with a rifle. She squeezed the trigger, and the first one went down.

Tom was running ahead of us, and was going to cross into Kathy’s line of fire, so she had to keep moving at an angle to him to get off each shot. Molly had been too afraid to run, and even though Kathy wasn’t missing with a single shot, more and more of the infected were pouring out of the building.

“Where are they all coming from?” she shouted. Even as she yelled the question she took shot another infected in the head.

“The water,” yelled the Chief. “They’re walking up the boat ramp.”

Molly finally overcame her fear and began running toward her father. As a professional baseball player in good condition, he closed the gap in a hurry and scooped her up.

The Chief and I weren’t right on Tom’s heels, but he was close enough to understand when the Chief yelled at him to keep going. Instead of running back toward us with Molly, he ran at an angle past the maintenance building in the general direction of the seaplane. Kathy would run to adjust her angle on them and then drop to one knee again. She was eventually in a position where she could make a run for the plane, too.

All three of us reached the dock in time to see Tom balancing on a pontoon and pushing Molly inside. I think we collectively held our breaths thinking a hand would grab him from below the pontoon, but he climbed in after Molly without giving us a scare. As we jumped down onto the dock and ran for the plane, I noticed that there were fewer faces looking up at us from the water. Apparently, once the boat ramp became an open door, they were drawn in that direction.

I helped the Chief cast off from the dock to get the plane out into deeper water. Up on the stretch of land between the dock and the maintenance building was a tremendous horde of water soaked infected dead, all moving in our direction. I jumped onto the passenger side pontoon and climbed into the seat. The Chief started the engine, and it was music to our ears when it roared to life, but he didn’t back the plane away yet. We were just bobbing on the lake about twenty feet from the dock.

As the first of the infected began arriving on the dock and walking toward us, I saw what he was doing.

“Sort of ironic, isn’t it?” asked the Chief.

He didn’t even have to finish what he was saying. The infected were already falling off of the dock into the water, right where they had started from. The Chief waited until a large number of them had stepped over the edge before he began to back away just a bit, and they still followed.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” I said.

“What’s that?” asked the Chief.

“The infected aren’t afraid of anything, so why didn’t they walk into the maintenance building before we opened the door? I know they would have been walking right into all of those teeth, but there were only eight of them. Sooner or later the dogs would have died from exhaustion if not from being overwhelmed.”

The Chief had spent most of his life around water, and he obviously had a history with seaplanes, so whatever explanation he gave, I could live with it. Kathy and Tom had nothing to offer, and Tom was still having a whispering exchange with Molly, probably about leaving the plane. I wasn’t sure he was interested in an explanation no matter what it was.

“I can make a couple of guesses,” said the Chief, “but that’s all they would be.”

Kathy said, “Lay it on us, Chief. It’s not like we have a clue, and it was bothering me too.”

“Well,” he started, “the infected were the food source for those dogs. We know that much. I’m going to guess they haven’t been in the maintenance building this entire time. I think they were put in there recently. Maybe there were three or four more of them when they were first locked inside. Whatever length of time they were in there, they were half crazy just to get out, and they were just a bit overweight from lack of exercise. That would explain why we were able to reach the hotel before they caught up with us.”

“What about the infected?” I asked. “Why did they wait until we opened the door before they started walking out?”

He answered, “I have two guesses for that question, Ed. One, there’s something that was only allowing them to get into the maintenance building one or two at a time, and the dogs could handle that traffic. It might be something as simple as them piling up on the ramp to where more couldn’t get by except one at a time. Second, and I think this is the most likely explanation, the building was dark, so the infected in the water didn’t see a reason to walk up the boat ramp. Remember, it’s not like they were wandering around out in the lake looking for a way out. When the door opened, the noise of the door, the barking of the dogs, and the big rectangle of light that suddenly appeared over their water kingdom all attracted them to the boat ramp. Since they follow each other, the lake was giving up its dead.”

As far as Kathy and I were concerned, that was a perfect explanation, and it made the whole thing seem even more ironic as we watched them drop off into the water once again. The Chief rotated the plane until we were facing a long stretch of deeper water and began to coast forward.

Chapter 9

Friends and Enemies

Jean didn't know what deck her room was on. She just knew she was somewhere on the ship. There was no porthole, so the light came from a single fluorescent bulb in a recessed fixture. She was used to small accommodations on ships, but this wasn't a cruise liner, and she didn't think they would give her a stateroom. She also didn't know how long she had been a captive since there was no way to tell time. It could have been an hour or it could have been four. No one had come to see her yet. There was no food or water offered, and there was no toilet.

"This really must be a short-timer jail," she said out loud.

As if she had caused it, the door opened just as she finished her sentence. A man wearing an officer's uniform stepped into the cramped room with two armed guards in tow.

"Here it comes," thought Jean.

One of the guards bumped into the officer from behind, and he turned to look at the man. He barked something in Russian, and the two guards got out of the room as quickly as they could. The officer swung the door shut and turned to face Jean.

Jean asked, "Did you think I was going to jump you when you came into the room? Did they tell you I was tall and athletic or something?"

Jean was just under five feet tall, and she didn't weigh one hundred pounds soaking wet. He was likely to suffer more injury from a paper cut when she wasn't carrying her machete.

The officer glanced toward the door and said in perfect English but with a distinctive Russian accent, "No, they did not say you were tall and athletic. All they needed to say was there is a pretty American woman on board. Everyone volunteered to guard you just so they could get a look. I didn't even realize those two clowns were still behind me."

Despite her predicament, Jean wanted to laugh. Or maybe it was because of her predicament. She was so afraid of being tortured for information about her friends that she hadn't considered the possibility they might be civil. She studied him from her cell. He was young for an officer in the Russian navy, maybe only around forty years old. He had a slight build with thinning brown hair that he pushed back from his forehead with one hand. Not the mean looking Russian bear she had expected.

"My name is Abram Aristov," he said. "I am the captain of this vessel. May I know your name, please?”

Jean didn't think it would do any harm, so she told him her name.

"So, Jean Mitchell, what were you doing on the dock of this tiny piece of mud and trees?"

Jean thought it was ironic that he came so close to the name of the island. Since it had only been recently named, it wasn't listed on any of the charts they had in their shelter. She had been trying to think of a believable explanation for what she was doing on the island, and she did her best to pull it off.

She said, "I saw this island from over by the jetty, and I waded over at low tide. There was this houseboat, and I was so amazed that I had finally found a safe place to stay. Then I saw the wires across the dock, and I thought that was so dumb to put bombs out for those dead people and to blow up your whole dock in the process."

Aristov looked at her with a neutral expression but there was a hint of belief. "So, why did you put the dummy wires across in place of the trip wires?"

"Wouldn't you?" she asked.

She said it in such a matter of fact tone, that Aristov had to admit anyone with half a brain would have done it. "So, you didn't want anyone to know you had been there, but did you not plan to stay in the houseboat? That is what you call that floating home, yes?"

"Not right away," she said. "I didn't see anyone around, so I figured I could camp on the island for a couple of days and watch the houseboat to see if anyone was already living there. That was a nice boat parked next to it, too."

Jean almost said something about the Russian corvette not being visible from the dock, but she stopped herself in time. She wasn't supposed to know there was a Russian ship parked in the moat.

"Captain Aristov, where am I?" she asked. "You said that you were the captain of this vessel, but you didn't say where this vessel is or how I even got here."

"That is for another time," he said. He didn't sound rude or angry that she had asked a question. It was more like he had bigger things on his mind.

Jean thought this might be a good time to not ask any more questions. Captain Aristov looked like he was thinking about something else. After all, he couldn't really suspect that she had been living in a super shelter only a hundred or so yards away. It wasn't really so strange to find an American survivor in America.

"What do you know of this sickness?" he asked? "This thing that makes dead people try to bite living people."

"I know that it's the end of the world as we know it," she said. "I haven't seen anyone get bitten and then live, and after they die they get back up and try to bite you, too. I know that you can only kill them by shooting them in the head or hitting them in the head with something heavy. She left off the part about the machete so he wouldn't know she had any actual experience.”

He looked bothered by her answer, so he studied her for a moment then said, “Do you know where this sickness began? Have you heard anything that may be useful for the treatment of this sickness? Is it always fatal?”

Jean knew what he was struggling with. He had several crewmen on board who had been bitten when they went diving to see what their anchor was stuck on. They were probably in some tiny little sick bay, and soon every one of them was going to die, wake up again, and start biting the nearest shipmates.

Jean stopped herself just short of telling him she was a nurse. The last thing she wanted was to be ordered to tend to the injured men. Instead, she told him she had started out on a cruise ship, and that they tried to control the spread of the infection unsuccessfully. In the end, she was the only survivor that she knew of.

Captain Aristov was studying her again, as if he was running some kind of personal lie detector test on her. She considered the possibility that he really didn’t know what to do about her, his anchor, and his injured crew members. Jean did her best not to break eye contact with him as he continued to gaze at her through the bars. She also resisted the temptation to try to engage him in conversation. He obviously was preoccupied with his own problems, and what he was hoping for was answers, not more questions.

“Captain,” she said, “what’s happening? Why did your men capture me, and why do you have me in this cell?”

Jean figured those were the questions anyone would ask, and she couldn’t just keep staring back at him, so she needed to keep asking him something. She also needed to keep from asking him about things she wasn’t supposed to know, and the best way to do that was by asking about those other things.

After a minute, Captain Aristov let out a sigh, and his shoulders slumped. “I do not know what to tell you, Jean Mitchell. We have many problems, and I do not know what to do about any of them.”

“Am I one of your problems, Captain? If so, you could just let me go.” She figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.

Captain Aristov gave her a faint smile and said, “I do not know what to do with you, Jean Mitchell, but I will not let you go just yet.”

Jean tried not to look too disappointed, but she was. She knew from past experience what was going to happen if they didn’t just do the humane thing and put those bite victims out of their misery. It could not be controlled once it got started, and she didn’t want to be here when it did.

“Tell me, Jean Mitchell, if you were bitten by one of the sick people, what would you do?”

She could tell he really meant it, and she didn’t want to answer too fast or too slow. So, she took a deep breath and let it out the same way Captain Aristov had when he sighed.

“I wouldn’t want to turn into one of those things. I wouldn’t want to be like them. I have thought of your question many times, Captain Abram Aristov, and I would hope there was someone I care about who would help me to end it.”

“And if they didn’t, Jean Mitchell?”

“Then I would do it myself,” she said, “because if I didn’t do it, then I would become one of them, and I would bite someone I love. It doesn’t stop just because it’s someone you care about.”

Captain Aristov looked like he was going to say something else but stopped himself. He had been leaning up against a bulkhead, but now he pushed himself to a standing position and put his shoulders back. He looked more resolute, as if he had decided what he should do about his problems.

“Captain, you have someone on your crew who has been bitten, and you don’t know what to do. Am I correct?”

Jean phrased it as a statement because she felt like he wouldn’t answer, and it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out why he was asking her what she would do.

“Yes, Jean Mitchell, someone on my crew has been bitten, but what would you say to the rest of your crew if you told them you were going to kill six of their comrades?”

“Six……you have six crewmen who have been bitten, and you have them on board? Tell them the truth, Captain. Tell them that a bite is a death sentence. Tell them anything you want to, but don’t tell them you can save those men, because if you do then you are sentencing the entire crew to death.”

It probably came out a bit more forcefully than Jean intended, but she was beginning to think Captain Aristov needed a reality check. He had to know by now what was happening, and he had to know by now the consequences of being bitten.

“Captain, I’m sorry for you and your men. I really am, but can you tell me something?”

“Maybe, Jean Mitchell, it is time for no more questions.”

He started to leave, but Jean asked before he could open the door. “Have you been at sea this entire time? Don’t you know that you can’t do anything to save people who are bitten?”

The shoulders slumped again, and he turned to face her. Jean didn’t know why, but he answered her question.

“We are not an ocean faring vessel, Jean Mitchell. We are more like your Coast Guard ships. We came to America for a goodwill tour. We were stopping at your port cities and meeting Americans. I must say, we have been pleasantly surprised by the reception we have received. Our countries……we have not been always such good friends, so we thought there may be some anger toward us. We were docked in Norfolk when the sickness began. We saw friendly Americans being killed by the sick people as we pulled away from the port. There were American Navy ships leaving as we did, and they did nothing to help, either.”

“Captain, you knew what would happen and so did the US Navy. If one crewman gets bitten, everyone will die on board if you let him stay, and that mean you also couldn’t save those civilians.”

This time Captain Aristov didn’t pause when he began to walk out. Jean thought she had gotten through to him, but she couldn’t be sure because he didn’t even look at her. She turned back to the farthest corner of her cell and was just about to sit down when the door opened again. This time it was a young enlisted man who looked like he was still a boy. He came over to the cell and handed Jean a bottle of water and a bowl of something that smelled delicious. Jean didn’t even know she was hungry until she smelled it.

He said, “Captain Aristov told me to tell you he will let you go after he has dealt with the other problem you discussed.” His English wasn’t quite as good as the Captain’s, but it was pretty good. He was also being very polite and respectful.

Jean thanked him and gratefully accepted the soup. After he left, she went back to her corner and tasted it. She had to admit, it tasted as good as it smelled, and she greedily ate ever drop. She was licking the bowl and wishing the young man would come back so she could ask for more when she heard the gunshots and the shouting. She froze and listened carefully for a clue about what had happened. She didn’t think Captain Aristov would dispose of his problem by shooting the crewmen. Something a little more humane like a needle with a morphine overdose would be better.

She thought she heard someone go by outside the door, and she definitely heard someone scream. Her worst fears were just starting to overcome her when the door opened part way. At first she thought someone was just taking a peek at her out of curiosity, and then she realized what it was. It was an infected dead. It uttered a low moan and started to come into the room. Jean shrunk back into the corner of her cell as far as she could go. She had tears streaming down her cheeks because she knew this meant the Captain had waited too long.

Just as the infected started toward the cell, the Captain appeared behind it. He was injured and had blood running from a cut on the side of his head. He reached into the small room and grabbed the infected by the back of the shirt collar. Captain Aristov practically jerked the infected off of its feet and dragged it from the room.

He pushed the former shipmate to the deck outside the room and quickly said, “I am so sorry, Jean Mitchell. I should have let you go before it was too late. You would not make it to shore now. If we do not see each other again, I hope you find a way to escape from here.”

Captain Aristov pulled the door shut hard, and Jean heard it lock. She knew he wasn’t locking her in as much as he was locking them out. Either way, she knew she was going to die in that dark cage.