The Raven (A Jane Harper Horror Novel) (22 page)

For God’s sake.

I get a good look at his tear-filled blue eyes. No signs of a parasite, but that’s how Nate started, too. “Have you been bit?”

His eyes widen. “Zombies! I knew it!”

I don’t correct him, but I do point my gun at his head.

“No!” he shouts. “I haven’t been bit!”

“Do you remember everything?” I ask, lowering the gun. “Have you had any blackouts? Any missing time?”

“No, nothing like that, I swear.” He points at the turquoise design painted on the hull of the
Poseidon Adventure
. “I hid in the laundry room for two days. When things quieted down, I came here. Thought they wouldn’t think to look for me here.”

The first thing I realize is that Steven somehow thinks this is about him. Might be some kind of twisted survivor’s guilt. But that’s not what stands out the most. “You hid in a laundry room, and you’re wearing this.” I look over his outfit. “Why?”

With a huff, he tears off his frilly sleeves. “Happy?”

“Not in the slightest,” I say. The sound of approaching Draugar grows louder. I hear the pop of gunfire in the distance. Assault rifles. Handguns. A shotgun. Chat time is over. “You know your way around the
Poseidon
?”

“Yeah,” he says with a nod. “Been with the dance crew for three years.”

I point my gun at him again and then waggle it at the chain stretched out between the ships. “Get moving.”

He looks at the chain and then at the Draugar waiting below with fear-filled eyes. “I—I can’t.”

I sigh. “Go. Now. Or I’ll shoot you in the knee and leave you here.”

I think he’s about to argue the point, but he proves himself to not be a complete idiot by moving to the anchor chain. Whether I shoot him or not, if he stays here for another minute, he’s zombie food. While Steven works his way out onto the chain, dangling just a foot above the outstretched arms below, I target several Draugar coming at us.

Steven lets out a yelp every time I pull the trigger, but he keeps moving. By the time I slap in my last remaining magazine, he’s halfway across. Despite his frail personality, he’s lithe, muscular, and agile. With his legs wrapped around the chain, he pulls with his arms, sliding quickly across as deftly as any marine. If he wasn’t gussied up like a peacock, the Colonel might even approve.

The chain is thick and will no doubt hold us both, so I tuck my gun into my pants, wrap my cloak over my waist so it doesn’t hang down too low, and slide out onto the chain. Unlike Steven, I
have
done this before, and despite his head start, I make such quick time that I’ve nearly caught him by the time he reaches the container
ship. Climbing aboard from the anchor chain is awkward but made easier when Steven helps pull me up.

“Thanks,” I say, and then, “Shit!” I put my hand atop Steven’s shaved head and push him down before jumping back. The lunging woman topples over Steven’s back and face-plants on the steel deck with a crunch that I think must be her teeth.

Steven is quick to his feet, kicking away from the zombie-woman. His eyes look like they’re about to explode out of his head, but his tightly pursed lips contain his scream—that is, until I take the woman’s hair, lift her head up, and slam it into the deck over and over until I feel her skull give in.

With the nasty business finished, I turn back to Steven and find him gazing at me like I’m frikken Genghis Khan reborn. “Zombies, remember? No reason to hold back on the already dead.”

“Yeah, but, couldn’t you have just tossed her overboard or something?”

I glare at him. “I have anger issues. Plus, they’ve killed a lot of my friends.”

This seems to strike a chord. His fear slips away, replaced by a scowl. “Mine, too.”

Movement behind Steven catches my attention. A mob of Draugar lopes toward us. The way Steven’s mouth drops a little when he looks over my shoulder tells me the situation behind me is similar.
The container ship is overrun
, I think, and then I notice that while I still hear the occasional rattle of automatic gunfire, I haven’t heard a handgun or shotgun in a few minutes.
Did they make it off the ship, or were they overcome?

“This way!” Steven says, proving useful. He’s halfway up a ladder attached to the side of a six-foot-tall container. When he nears the top, he has to leap across to the ladder attached to
the end of the container above, but he manages the jump with ease. I follow him up and slide on top long before the horde reaches us.

A field of containers stretches out before us. It’s a vast flat space the size of a football field cut down the middle by a six-foot divide. Relief floods me as I see Willem, Jakob, and Talbot standing on the far side of the divide, but my elation is short-lived. They’re not just standing there, they’re waving at us. Frantically. And shouting something.

Run.

I look back and see at least fifty zombies barreling toward us, white eyes, white tongues, and all. And there are more coming, pouring out of the broken bridge windows above the containers. The worst part is that their formerly incoherent moaning has become a long, drawn-out word, spoken lustfully. “Jaaaane. Jaaane!”

W
hy do they have to make this personal?
Fine. I killed one of the Queens. I get it. But why bother with the personal taunts?
They’re afraid
, I remember. Of me. They’re trying to freak me out. Make me screw up. If there is a Queen on board, it’s probably aware of my progress. The question is, will the Queen find a hole to hide in, or will it fight to the end?

There’s only one way to find out, of course, locate the Queen and kill it. Again.

To do that, I need to survive the next thirty seconds.

The horde closing in on us is moving quickly, but the living dead aren’t exactly spring chickens. They’re strong, sure, but a little less limber than they might have been in life. Of course, these Draugar are primarily seafaring blokes—sailors, fisherman, whalers, though I now see the occasional tourist mixed in—and many of them are seriously injured. In fact, it seems like most of them are injured. And I mean hacked, cut, or broken. Not just bites.

Where are all the people who just got bit and turned?

A question for another time. I’m about to tell Steven to run, but the flamboyantly clad man is already dashing across the field of containers, trailing a rainbow blur like a human Nyan Cat.

I give chase. The containers beneath our feet boom like war drums with each footfall but do little to drown out the incessant calling of my name.

Like a gazelle born to jump—or a dancer born to dance—Steven leaps out over the six-foot divide and manages to make it look good. Willem helps slow him on the other side.

“Jane!” The voice is right behind me. I don’t look. Can’t. A single misstep could cost me my life, and the gap is just ten feet away. I see Talbot raise his pistol—the peacemaker—so I expect the report. The high-pitched buzz of the bullet narrowly missing my head, not so much, but I hear a splat that sounds like a watermelon meeting its end at a Gallagher show and know that the nearest zombie has been dispatched.

And just in time. My injured leg protests as I leap over the divide, pulling a shout from my mouth. But then I’m airborne, soaring over a twenty-foot drop. I glance down and see a mob of Draugar. Their white eyes track my progress across the space, mouths open, tongues squirming, arms outstretched.

My foot falls short and catches on the container’s side. Lunging with my arms, I pitch forward. Jakob is there. His big arms catch me, scoop me up, and deposit me back on the container in time to see the rushing horde fall into the gap like a waterfall of undead lemmings. Not one of them attempts to jump the divide.

Most fall straight over the edge, dropping atop the throng below. My ears fill with the sound of snapping bones and a wet splatter of skulls striking the deck below. Some of the Draugar are moving fast enough that they smash their faces against the metal container below my feet. One is even high enough that he attempts to clamp down on the container’s edge, but his teeth shatter and he falls with the rest.

“They’re intelligent,” I observe. “But they’re not quick.”

“Must take them time to transmit thoughts,” Talbot adds. “Makes ’em slow.”

“But they’re good at the long game,” I say. “Maybe better than us.”

“Then we stay unpredictable,” Jakob says.

I think about the
Raven
. How we drove the ship into the side of the floating island and stormed aboard. We’ve got unpredictable down to a science.

With the immediate threat writhing on the deck twenty feet below, I turn to find Willem holding Steven at arm’s length, holding the man by his throat.

“Who is this?” he asks.

“My
name
is Steven!” He squirms to get away but can’t move. Steven might be cut and fit, but he’s fairly small when compared to the big Viking historian.

“Wasn’t talking to you,” Willem says, tightening his grip. Steven winces and stops fighting.

“He’s okay,” I say. “A little too”—I wave my hands at the man like he smells foul—“you know. But he’s not infected. No missing time.”

“Why’s he gussied up like my favorite lure?” Talbot asks.

“I’m a dancer,” Steven says when Willem lets him go. He rubs his throat. “I worked on the
Poseidon
.”

“Good,” Jakob says. “He can show us around.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Steven asks. He’s clearly not thrilled about my choice in raiding party companions.

Jakob levels his shotgun at Steven’s stomach. “You don’t have a choice.”

“That’s enough, macho men,” I say, placing a hand on the shotgun and pushing it down. “He already doesn’t have a choice.”

Steven is about to complain, but I cut him off. “Look around, Tinker Bell, you’re on a floating island populated by zombies in the middle of the North Atlantic. We’re the only people for a hundred miles who have weapons and a boat that can get us the hell out of here.”

His eyes light up at this news. I point toward the
Raven
as distant gunfire erupts. The black hull of the large whaling ship is easy to spot, as are the two people at its bow, cutting down a still-growing gathering of zombies. The bodies piling up below the raised hull will soon make a convenient ramp. We need to hurry.

But movement beyond the
Raven
catches my attention. The ocean is alive with whales, walruses, and porpoises. Untold numbers of them. Even if we do make it back to the
Raven
, I’m not sure we’ll be able to escape.

“Look,” I say, “whether or not Jakob here puts a round in your head, if you don’t come with us, you’re a dead man. Personally, I’d prefer the bullet to being eaten. Or becoming one of them. I’m not going to lie to you. Your odds of surviving the day”—I note the darkening sky—“or night are slim. But on your own, you’re basically just a bedazzled snack.”

I don’t wait for him to show he’s convinced. He really does have no choice. I head for the starboard side of the freight vessel.

“Can I at least have a weapon?” Steven asks.

I stop and look at the others. There’s no way in hell any of them are going to give up their guns or blades. As a matter of fact, I won’t, either. I dig into my pocket and pull out my Taser. “Just press the two metal prongs against the target and push the button.” I depress the trigger and let him see the small arc of electricity.

“That’s it?” he says with exaggerated abhorrence.

“Maybe you’d like a demonstration?” I ask, taking a threatening step toward him.

He raises his hands. “No, no. It’s fine.”

I hand him the weapon. “If you can, zap them in the head.”

He forces a shit-eating grin.

T
hree minutes of climbing and zombie killing later, we reach the main deck of the
Poseidon Adventure
and climb over the rail. A vertical conga line of zombies is still ascending the ladder behind us.

“Where is everyone?” Willem asks.

The main deck is covered with a chaotic mass of deck chairs and the occasional bloodstain, but there isn’t a Draugr in sight. Not even a body.

“They could be belowdecks,” Steven says. “The
Poseidon
is easily big enough to hold everyone. They could just be sitting in their rooms, waiting for someone to come along.”

“How do we get to the fuel tanks?” Jakob asks.

“Fuel tanks?” Steven repeats. A flicker of concern lights his eyes, but he answers. “Second deck. Amidships. But we have to pass through the passenger decks to get there. If I was right about the zombies being—”

Jakob nods. “Take us there—wait, take us to maintenance first. We need to pick up a few things first.”

“You guys are crazy,” Steven says. “You know that, right?”

“We’re the only people here,” I say, raising my eyebrows and offering an exaggerated nod that says something close to
No shit
.

He sighs and heads for a nearby hatch. “This way.”

“Wait,” Jakob says and points toward the ship’s bow. “That way.”

For a moment, I think Jakob is accusing Steven of leading us astray, but then I understand. He’s thinking about the long game. If the Draugar can’t figure out what we’re up to, then they can’t block us. Won’t make much of a difference if Steven is right about the majority of zombies being belowdecks, which makes sense since we’ve only seen a few hundred tops.

Steven leads us to the bridge and opens the door, treating us to some raw evidence of the carnage wrought on the ship’s passengers.

Intestines hang around the high-tech bridge like garlands. Dark brown splotches of old blood coat the computer systems, floor, and bridge windows, blocking the view. The smell is something like a sewer full of old pennies, which is actually a nicer way of saying shit and blood. Despite the gore, there isn’t a single body. They’ve either been removed or just got up and walked away after the parasites tended to their ruined bodies.

Still, with zombies after us, who cares about the stench? Steven lets out a whimper but doesn’t say a word. Jakob is the first to step inside, followed by me and Willem. Talbot gives Steven a little nudge. He’s staying behind our guide, probably to make sure he doesn’t bolt.