Omega Days (Book 2): Ship of the Dead (20 page)

With Brother Peter in the lead, they climbed, rising steadily from the depths of the ship. They were low on ammunition, some down to a handful of shells or a single magazine. Xavier was armed only with a fire axe he took from a wall bracket. They killed the zombies they encountered, thankfully as singles or in pairs—a mob would snuff them out—and kept moving. Each successful kill cost ammo, however, bringing them closer to being completely defenseless.

They moved vertically up the port side of the ship, taking whatever stairways they could locate, and finally reached the 03 Gallery Deck, just below the flight deck. Here they found no more stairs leading up, and so they pushed forward.

This level of the ship was different from the others, not necessarily cleaner—there was still battle damage and dried gore on the deck—but somehow more squared away. Xavier thought it had a familiar feel but couldn’t identify it at first.

Xavier looked at the hatches they passed, each painted with a logo like medieval coats of arms:
Black Knights
,
Death Rattlers
,
Blue Diamonds
,
Argonauts
. He saw
Grey Wolves
, the
Screaming Indians
, and the
Wallbangers
. Boards mounted to walls displayed columns of information, like types of aircraft and incomprehensible tangles of acronyms and abbreviations, like
Teceleron
and
Heltraron
. He stared at the logos, so colorful and out of character for a military operation, where things were usually stark and bare bones. It felt almost tribal to him, and then he realized what they were. Squadron designations. These were places for officers, and in particular, the naval aviators for which this ship had been built. The elite, and therefore allowed special privileges.

But there weren’t any corpses in flight suits slouching through these passageways. According to Rosa, the aviators would have all departed when the ship reached Hawaii, and that was a good thing. Had they not, then this was where they would be lurking, and a handful of shotgun shells and a fire axe would not have been enough to keep them at bay.

Officer spaces or not, Xavier thought, the lighting here was just as inadequate as it had been below, and the stench of rotting meat was no less pungent. There were still dead things in this place and so the group moved slowly, nerves strained to the breaking point as they approached each hatch and intersection. Rosa picked up on the tension.

“We need to rest,” she whispered to Xavier. “We can’t go on like this, we’re going to get careless.” Her eyes were still burning from exposure to jet fuel.

Xavier nodded and touched Peter’s shoulder. The man jumped as if hit with an electric shock, and he whirled with the shotgun. Xavier caught it by the barrel and forced it away. Peter didn’t fire.

“Easy,” said the priest.

Peter peered at him for a long moment as if trying to remember who he was, and then lowered the weapon.

“We need to find a safe place to hole up for a while,” Xavier said. “Let’s start looking for one.”

Peter’s face flashed a brief expression of annoyance, and Xavier saw it. Once again he was struck with the thought that he knew this man somehow, had seen him before. But where?

Peter stepped aside so that Xavier could take the lead, and the big man did, holding his axe in both hands and squeezing his eyes tightly, trying to shake off the dry burning affecting him too. He led the group down a passage, pausing once to prod at a corpse on the deck—a middle-aged officer with a bullet hole in his head—to be certain it was harmless. A short while later he froze when he saw a dead sailor lurch crossways to their corridor beneath a pool of light, unaware of their presence and quickly moving out of sight.

Ten more minutes of creeping brought them to a broad intersection of corridors, with angled walls at each corner forming an octagon. Set in each angled portion was a window and counter, each with a roll-down security gate firmly closed over the opening. Stenciling on the walls proclaimed these to be the squadron shops. Beyond the gates, shelves of merchandise could be seen in the gloom: mugs, T-shirts, patches, all bearing the emblems of the carrier’s air squadrons.

“Anyone want a souvenir?” Lilly whispered.

The others decided that stalking the hallways of a dead aircraft carrier would provide memories enough.

Just beyond the shops, the gray tiles underfoot changed to blue. Rosa pointed at the tiles. “This means that we’re in officer and combat country now.”

Twenty more feet forward brought them to a space with a ladderway on the left and a mahogany door on the right. Xavier stared at the fine wood, so out of place among all the gray steel. He thought it looked like something that belonged in a library or the private study of a banker. A brass plate next to the door read
Jacob Beane, Rear Admiral
.

Xavier pushed at the door with the head of his axe, and it swung open.

It was one of the ironies of sea life that, especially among officers, the higher one’s rank, the more spacious and well-appointed the quarters one received, but because of the increased responsibilities, the less time the occupant had to spend there. Admiral Beane’s quarters were first class.

The center of the space was a briefing room and private mess filled with a conference table, leather chairs, and sofas. The admiral’s small, personal galley was to the left, his actual quarters and head on the right. Both the briefing room and bedroom were carpeted and fitted with wood paneling, and high-quality, solid wood furniture was tastefully matched to framed oil paintings of warships at sea. Brass featured heavily in the décor.

Someone had died in here.

There was a broken lamp, bullet holes in the paneling, gunfire splinters along the length of the conference table. A large, rusty patch stained the thick gray carpet.

“This will do,” said Xavier, as Tommy secured the door with the deadbolt before he and the other hippies went off to raid the admiral’s galley. They returned with bottled water and boxes of crackers, as well as a brick of moldy cheddar cheese, from which they pared away the green.

“The admiral had lots of fresh fruits and perishables,” said Lilly, making a face. “You don’t want to open the fridge.”

They ate in silence and then muscled a heavy credenza in front of the door before seeking out places to sleep. The hippies took the bedroom while Brother Peter curled up on a short leather sofa near the door, and Rosa and Xavier dropped onto a long leather couch, sinking into its cushions.

The priest couldn’t remember being so tired, not even after a long match in the ring, pounding and getting pounded back. He now knew what it meant to be tired to the bones, and yet, as much as he desired it, sleep was elusive. Instead his mind gnawed at the magnitude of what it would take to reclaim this massive ship from the dead. They had only been at it for a day, and already their numbers were down by a third, their ammunition all but gone. He wondered if the other groups were faring better. Had any of them even put a dent in the thousands of creatures infesting this floating maze?

“You know who he is, don’t you?” whispered Rosa.

Xavier was pulled from his thoughts. “Who?”

She tilted her head to the figure on the couch across the room, already still and snoring. “You were staring at him.”

“Was I?” Xavier shook his head. “I didn’t realize.”

She nodded, keeping her voice low. “It took me a while to figure it out, because now he looks just like any regular guy who needs a shave. He’s different without all the glitz, but it’s him. I just now got it.”

Xavier wasn’t following. “Who? What are you talking about?”

Rosa lifted her index finger and pointed at the sleeping man. “That’s the Reverend Peter Dunleavy. Brother Peter, to the faithful.” Her lip curled when she said his name, as if she had tasted something foul.

Xavier stared at the man, who was sleeping with his back toward them. “
That’s
Brother Peter?” He had to force himself to keep his voice down. “I thought he was in prison.”

“He should be,” Rosa said. “As big a fraud and crook as Bernie Madoff. Prison’s too good for him.”

Xavier nodded slowly. Now he remembered the man from television, a well-groomed holy roller with an international following, wealthy beyond reason. Brother Peter, his ministry called him, a slick, charismatic showman peddling salvation at an affordable price. Except it had all come crashing down: charges of tax fraud and illegal real estate deals, witness tampering and money laundering. There had also been claims of inappropriate sexual behavior and even outright rape. Xavier couldn’t remember all the details, despite the media’s ceaseless attention to the scandal. For Xavier, Peter Dunleavy had been like any of the other celebrities caught up in corruption and vice, desperately insecure people in need of constant attention, who permitted their private lives to be plastered all over the tabloids for the world to see. They were like background noise. It wasn’t that Xavier bore them any ill will or resented their money and fame. It was simply that he had difficulty mustering much sympathy for the dramas of the rich and famous when he was dealing with people who didn’t know where they would find their next meal or were afraid to fall asleep next to a violent spouse.

“I met him once,” Rosa said, still whispering and looking at the sleeping man. “About a year and a half ago, at the club where I was dancing. He was wearing sunglasses and a fake mustache so no one would recognize him. There were two big thugs with him.”

“If he was in disguise then, how did you recognize him now?”

“Because I took off his disguise.” She smiled thinly.

“What happened?”

“He watched the dancing for a while,” Rosa said, “me and some of the other girls, then he sent one of his thugs to talk to us, tell us who was watching and that he liked what he saw. The reverend had picked out his favorites and wanted us to go back to his hotel with him in his limo. Some of the girls agreed.”

Xavier looked at her.

Rosa shook her head sharply. “I’m a lot of things, Father, but I’m no whore. I told his thug to go get fu . . . to get lost.”

Xavier smiled. “I know you’re not, Doc. And I’ve heard the word
fuck
before.”

She blushed. “Yeah, well, not from me while I’m talking to a priest, you haven’t.”

“Go on.”

“So the good reverend gets annoyed that I turned him down and walks up to me. ‘I’ll make it worth your while,’ he says, and then he squeezed my breast. I slapped the glasses off his face and tore that stupid caterpillar mustache out from under his nose. I think it took some skin with it. He squealed like a little girl.”

Xavier struggled to control his grin, and it was not so much for the picture she created as the moment of delight he saw in her eyes. He was chuckling as he spoke. “What did the reverend do?”

Rosa crossed her arms. “He ran out to his limo. I ran to the back, and his thug tried to follow me, but our bouncer, this huge guy named Shy, made him change his mind.”

Xavier glanced at the man. “He doesn’t seem to have recognized you yet. That’s surprising. That’s a pretty memorable moment.”

Rosa’s face darkened. “I’m not surprised. He’d been drinking, and when they do that, most men turn into assholes who think they can do and say whatever they want to the girl on the stage. Besides, I’ll bet he’s cruised so many strip clubs that all the faces just run together.” She looked away.

The priest was silent for a moment and then patted her leg. “That was another life, Doc. There’s no shame, and there’s nothing you need to go back to.”

Rosa looked at him and shook her head slowly. “No shame, huh? Father, you are the strangest Catholic I’ve ever met.”

“Amen.”

Her index finger came up again and she pointed, her voice dropping so low that Xavier had to strain to hear her. “You want to watch out for him. He’s no good.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” the priest said. “Try to get some sleep.”

Rosa faded out a short while later, but it was a long time before Xavier was able to escape into his own dreams. When he did, he found them populated by endless corridors and shadowy, moving figures.

Time had become an intangible thing down here in the dark. They might as well have been underground. A digital clock on the wall of the berthing space read 03:15, but the numbers meant little to Evan Tucker. His sleep had been restless and sporadic, and now he simply lay in the bunk, looking out toward the hatch where Stone, the seventeen-year-old, was standing watch. The sound of deep breathing came from around him, and Evan envied the others their ability to rest.

Calvin hadn’t said much after he put Freeman down, and Evan learned from the whispers of the other hippies that the two men had been friends for over twenty years. Evan tried not to think about this new heartbreak added to the existing load on Calvin’s shoulders, and he had taken charge of the group, leading them on through Second Deck.

They had all entered the ship practically staggering under the weight of extra ammunition, and already more than half had been expended. Although they had not run into another swarm as they had back at that lethal intersection, the dead remained plentiful on this deck, and the group left a trail of bodies as it pressed forward.

Staring at the bottom of the bunk above him, Evan thought about their journey. They encountered and shot down three sailors outside the ship’s post office, and two more near a long bank of satellite phones. Half a dozen zombies had to be hunted down amid the giant washers and dryers of an industrial laundry, a frightening cat-and-mouse game that ended with the big, white machines punched through with bullet holes and smeared with dark blood and rot. Fortunately, the only casualties had been the already dead.

As they had moved forward, Evan couldn’t help but be impressed not only with the size of the carrier but with the attention to detail and the facilities put in place to make the ship a true community. There was a general store, a gym, a large rec room with books and Ping-Pong and TVs with video games hooked to them, a barbershop, and a library. The librarian was a rotting sailor in his thirties still wearing wire-rimmed glasses, and Stone blew his head off. There were restrooms and water fountains, private quarters for the ship’s senior officers and department heads, and larger berthing spaces for the enlisted men. It was one of these spaces that they had chosen as their place to hole up for the night.

The enlisted berthing accommodated sixty sailors, the bunks arranged in stacks of three, each with a privacy curtain, a reading lamp, and a storage locker nearly identical to those issued in high school. There was a large head with showers and rows of toilets and urinals, and a small common area with a table, chairs, and a wall-mounted TV. From all that Evan had seen on board
Nimitz
, each berthing was a cookie-cutter replica of the next.

Sleep wasn’t coming, so Evan sat on the edge of his bunk instead. He wondered how the other groups were doing, who had been lost, and if anyone was even left alive. Was coming here worth the price? He still believed it was. The concept of an unreachable island fortress was sound, and just from what he had seen so far, the many amenities and the presence of power, made the aircraft carrier a prize worth fighting for. They weren’t soldiers, as someone had pointed out, and how long could they expect to live if they were constantly running and scavenging? There were children, people with disabilities, and even those strong enough to run would tire. They were already tired, running out of everything, including hope.

Evan looked around at the berthing compartment. Even something as simple as a bed in a safe room was a dream for most of them. The ship would provide safety, food, and shelter from both the elements and the new species of predator hunting them at every turn. And to Evan, the aircraft carrier represented more than a defensive position and satisfying their basic needs. It represented the chance at life.

He thought of the people in Calvin’s Family, of the new people they had met and joined with. He thought of Maya. Life. A chance to close your eyes and sleep without fear, to laugh without attracting monsters, to make plans for tomorrow. The chance to raise children out of reach of the horrors, and to love again.

Nimitz
had to be cleared, he thought. There was no other option, and no price too high. In that moment he decided that he was no longer hopeful, that was a weak word. He was resolved.

Evan rose and joined Stone at the hatch, the only way in and out of the berthing space. A handful of light bars cast the sleeping compartment in gloom, and beyond the hatch was a long, dark corridor leading to a lit intersection. A sentry would see danger coming well before it arrived.

“Can’t sleep?” Stone asked.

“I’m tired, but I’m having trouble settling down,” Evan said. “Doesn’t make much sense just to lie there.” He looked at the boy. “How are you doing? Want to grab some sleep? I’ll take over.”

Stone shook his head. “I’m good. I figure I’ll let everyone sleep for another couple of hours.”

Evan smiled, remembering what it was to be seventeen: tireless and indestructible. He also knew that when the kid finally did sleep, he would drop into a ten-hour coma from which nothing could stir him.

“How are you holding up with all this?” Evan asked.

Stone shrugged the strap of the assault rifle higher onto his shoulder. “I’m cool with it. I’ve been killing them since this all started, so it’s no big deal.”

Evan had heard that Stone was one of the best shots in the Family, and calm under pressure. He would probably have made an excellent soldier, and was about the right age for it.

“What was
your
first one?” Stone asked. “The first drifter you killed, I mean.”

Evan looked down at his scuffed motorcycle boots. “A little girl in Napa Valley. I threw up afterward.”

Stone chuckled. “Mine was a park ranger. It looked like a bear had been at him, and his skin was all gray. At first I thought it would feel kind of good, what with the way rangers always used to hassle us for camping, always moving us on. It didn’t, though.” He looked out the hatch. “Then I was waiting to feel bad about shooting him, but that didn’t happen either.” He shrugged. “They’re just things. It doesn’t bother me.”

Evan wished he could be as pragmatic as this boy, and at the same time he felt sorry for a childhood that had been snatched away so abruptly.

“Where are your parents?” Evan asked. The Family was large, and even after all the time he had spent with them, he still didn’t know everybody.

“They died when I was thirteen,” Stone said, not taking his eyes off the corridor. “Drunk driver got them. I was lucky I wasn’t in the car.”

“I’m sorry,” Evan said. God, how disingenuous that sounded. And yet it was an automatic when you heard something like that.

Stone didn’t acknowledge it. “Cal and Faith pretty much took me in, everyone did, but especially them.” He was quiet for a while. “Faith was a nice lady. I feel bad for Calvin; he’s lost so much.”

Evan said nothing.

Stone’s mood suddenly brightened. “You’re a lucky guy, you know it? With Maya, I mean. She’s terrific, and beautiful too.”

Evan saw the little crush, and it made him smile.

“You guys got into a fight about who was coming to the ship, huh?”

“How do you know about that?” Evan said, frowning.

Stone laughed softly. “Man, there are no secrets in the Family. It was the right thing to do, though, having her stay back with the others, look out for her brothers and sisters.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Evan said. “I’m scared for her back there. I wish she had come.”

“No, you don’t really want her in this place.” It wasn’t a question. “She’ll be okay. She’s tougher than she looks.”

“I know it,” said Evan.

The younger man looked at him. “Why did you come? You could have stayed back there. Hell, you and Maya could have split at any time.”

The writer sighed. “It’s hard to explain. I used to think being on my own was the best way, but now I feel differently. It’s like I belong to something now, like I actually matter.”

“You do,” said Stone. “Everyone likes you, and everyone trusts you. Plus it’s really obvious that you and Maya should be together.”

“If she ever stops being mad at me,” Evan said.

“She’s got a temper like Faith did,” Stone said, “but she’ll get over it. You two will be fine.”

They watched the corridor in silence for a while.

“Mostly I think I came along for Calvin,” Evan said at last. “He’s lost so much, like you said, and he’s willing to risk his life to make a sanctuary for the people who love him. How can you not follow someone like that?”

Stone looked at Evan and nodded. “That’s why I came.”

“Calvin’s a good leader.”

“I didn’t follow him, Evan,” said the seventeen-year-old. “I came for you.”

Evan started to slowly shake his head.

“You’re part of the Family,” the boy said, “and as much a leader as Calvin. If anything ever happened to him, you’d be the man.”

“How can you say that? You’ve all been together for so long, and I just wandered in from nowhere. Like you said, I could take off at any moment. That’s not a leader.”

“But you didn’t take off,” said Stone, “even when a lot of people would. You’ve stuck your neck out how many times, always on the front lines, never hiding. You think things through, you make good decisions. Sounds like a leader to me.”

Evan shook his head. “Calvin is a leader. He cares about people to the point he’s willing to die to keep them safe.”

The corner of Stone’s mouth lifted in a little smile. “And you’re not? Then why are you here?”

Evan didn’t have a response.

Stone leaned against the bulkhead, watching out the corridor. “Calvin is like a father to everyone, certainly to me. But sometimes fathers die. Sometimes they just get too old or too tired to carry on. I get that, but I think a lot of people just assumed he would be around forever.” He crossed his arms. “The Family never really had a number two. Dane was cool, but he was too flaky. Faith could have probably stepped up, and Little Bear too, but you could tell they wouldn’t have wanted the responsibility.” He shrugged. “I don’t think any of us noticed there was no one to take over the Family until you showed up and made us realize it was you.”

Evan began to protest, but Stone shook his head. “People trust you, man. They listen to you. Ask anyone,” he said. “Ask Calvin.”

They stood watch and spoke no more, Evan thinking about what the young man had said, less frightened about the responsibility of leadership than he thought he would be. He had told Stone the truth; he felt like he finally belonged somewhere, and it was that which gave him an odd sense of calm.

The rest of the group began to stir around 5:00
A.M.
People took advantage of the nearby head, ate a light breakfast, and counted their rounds of ammunition. Nervous looks were exchanged when the final count came in.

Ten minutes later, Calvin led them back out into the ship.