Rotter Nation (15 page)

“Give me your weapon,” she said to Doreen.

Doreen handed over the M-16A2. Sandy banged the stock against the handle several times until it snapped off and the door popped open. She handed back the weapon and peered inside. It contained medical supplies such as gauze, scissors, suturing kits, and hypodermic needles. Her interest focused on a row of pre-filled syringes on the top shelf. Scanning the labels, she said, “Bingo.”

“What did you find?” asked Tiara.

Sandy pulled out the syringes and slipped them in her jacket pocket. “Morphine.”

She had removed a handful of needles and was sliding them into her pocket when all hell broke loose.

Natalie stood on the main deck of the yacht, watching the fuel line pulse as the transfer took place. She checked her watch. They had been pumping gasoline for close to fifteen minutes. She wished the process would go faster because she hated being immobilized. The roar of the pump’s engine blasted through the yacht’s open engine room hatch and could be heard for miles. At least if anyone tried to approach the yacht, they would see it in plenty of time to respond.

The creaking from the cutter caught her attention because it sounded out of place. Natalie listened carefully. After a few seconds, she heard it again. Only now it sounded more like a moan. She ran to the access ladder leading up to the Coast Guard cutter’s main deck and began to climb. Halfway up, a loud thud came from the vessel. Reaching the gunwale, Natalie peered over and scanned the deck. Another noise caught her attention, this time distinctly a rotter. The combined moan of several of the living dead washed over her from above. Looking up, Natalie saw five of them centered in the open hatchway of the container vessel. Even worse, they had spotted her. She realized that they must have been trapped aboard the container vessel, and had been attracted by the roar of the pump. One stumbled toward her, dropping the fifteen feet to the main deck of the cutter with a thud and a crack of bones. Two others dropped out of the hatchway, with more rotters filling the empty space behind them. One crawled around the rear mount for the catamaran, pulling itself along on decayed fingers and dragging a severely distorted leg behind it.

Natalie climbed back down to the yacht and raced over to the engine room hatch. She yelled down to Stephanie. “We’ve got rotters! We need to stop refueling now!”

“All I need is ten more minutes and we’ll be topped off. Can you give me that long?”

Another three rotters tumbled out of the open hatch. “I’ll do what I can,” Natalie said.

Ari raced to the end of the flying bridge. “We’ve got fucking rotters pouring out of the container vessel.”
“I know. Give me your M-16A2.”

“It’s down below.”

Fuck.
“Okay, get ready to haul ass out of here. Once they’re done refueling, start the engines.”

“Roger that.” Ari darted back to the console.

Natalie searched for a weapon, and found a crowbar that had been used to pry open the engine room hatch. Grabbing it from off the deck, she raced to the access ladder and climbed onto the cutter.

By now, three disabled rotters crawled across the deck toward the yacht. Natalie stepped over to the first, raised the crowbar above her head with the straight end pointed down, and drove the metal tip through the back of its skull. She felt the tip scrape against the metal deck. Placing one foot against its shoulder for leverage, she yanked the crowbar free. Chunks of gore stuck to the metal. Whipping it to the side to clean off the excess, she disposed of the next two crawlers in the same fashion.

So many rotters had fallen from the container vessel that they formed a living dead pile on the main deck. The broken bodies of the first to tumble out cushioned the fall of the latter, and these landed intact. They crawled and stumbled along the pile, eventually reaching the main deck and staggering to their feet, where they closed in on Natalie.

* * *

The constant thudding on the main deck attracted Emily’s attention. “Josephine, do you hear that?”

“What?”

Another thud. “That?”

“I do now. What is it?”

Emily stepped over to the hatch and pushed it open. A rotter in gore-laden overalls stood ten feet away on the stern. It glanced over and, upon seeing Emily, snarled and lumbered toward her. Two others, one in a tattered Coast Guard uniform and the other naked from the waist up with most of the flesh chewed off if its chest, staggered along behind it.

“Fuck!” Emily slammed the hatch. It would not close all the way because of the fuel line. Clutching the handle, she held the hatch in place. Three pairs of dead hands clasped the outer rim, attempting to pull it open. Emily leaned back, using her weight to hold it shut, and shouted over her shoulder to Josephine.

“I need some help here!”

* * *

Natalie knew she could not take on the rapidly-increasing horde of rotters with a crowbar. Yet if she retreated and allowed those things to get aboard the yacht, they were all screwed. Looking around for a solution, she saw it in the stairs at the rear of the superstructure leading up to the pilothouse. Maybe she could lead the rotters away and give the Angels enough of a chance to finish refueling and get off the cutter. Jumping over the corpse of the rotter whose brain she had just scrambled, Natalie pushed past the closest one and ran halfway up the stairs, and then spun around. The horde crowded around the superstructure, stumbling over each other to get at their meal. One by one, they found their footing and began climbing.

Natalie carefully backed up, making sure to stay several feet ahead of the rotters.

* * *

Even with Josephine’s added weight, they couldn’t keep the door closed. The rotter in gore-laden overalls widened the opening enough to slip his arm through, and eventually pushed through his upper torso. His teeth snapped shut inches from Emily’s face. She leaned back and crouched down, giving herself more leverage.

“Go check and see if the other hatch is unlocked,” she ordered Josephine.

“You can’t hold them by yourself.”

“I can hold them for a few seconds. We need to get out of here.”

Josephine grabbed her M-16A2, rushed over to the starboard hatch, and spun the handle. It popped open. Josephine stuck out her head, scanned the deck, and called to Emily. “It’s clear.”

Emily let go of the handle. With nothing lodging him in place, the overalls rotter fell forward onto the deck. The other two pushed their way inside. Emily did not have a chance to reach for her weapon, and instead ran backwards as the two rotters clutched for her. Josephine stepped in front of Emily and fired off two three-round bursts, blasting their heads across the bulkhead. Emily rushed back to grab her M-16A2. The overalls rotter reached out and wrapped its fingers around her ankle, pulling itself toward her. Josephine stepped forward, placed the barrel of her semi-automatic rifle against the back of its head, and fired a single round. A pool of gore exploded out from underneath the rotter’s face. Emily kicked away the lifeless hand and the two women raced out the opposite hatch.

Josephine paused. “What about the fuel line?”

“Nothing we can do here, honey. Ari’s pumping it from the yacht. We’ve got to get out of here before we’re trapped.”

The two Angels made their way aft to the access ladder, passing by the horde of rotters swarming around the stairs to get at Natalie. Both women swung over the gunwale and descended to the yacht.

Five rotters from the horde noticed the two women and moved away, staggering toward the gunwale.

* * *

Sandy had dropped the pre-filled syringes into her pocket when gunfire echoed through the cutter.

“What the fuck is that?” asked Tiara.

“Nothing good.” Sandy raced down the corridor toward the stairwell with the other Angels close behind.

* * *

Down below, Sarah, Amy, and Katie also heard the shots. They stared at each other without saying a word. None of them had to. They knew that the situation had just gone to shit. As one, they turned and headed back to the main deck.

* * *

Natalie quickened her pace when the first rotter reached the top of the stairs, making sure to keep plenty of space between them. She maneuvered between the bulkheads until reaching the edge and then back stepped. The rotters continued to follow, arms outstretched and fingers grasping. She led them past the pilothouse toward the forward section of the deck, and glanced over her shoulder for the forward ladder. She suddenly realized the fallacy of her plan. The only way off this deck was the set of stairs crammed with the living dead. She continued to back away. Once she had lured them as far toward the bow as possible, she would jump down to the main deck and rush back to the yacht.

Natalie backed into a metal object jutting up from the deck. She glanced over her shoulder, and her eyes lit up. A tripod extended from the deck, the top portion covered by a tarpaulin. Grabbing one end, she pulled the material up and forward, revealing a .50 caliber machinegun with an ammunition box mounted on one side. She lifted the lid, relieved to find it filled with rounds. Natalie grabbed the machinegun and swung it around toward the approaching rotter horde, pulled back the charging handle, and wrapped her hands around the firing grips.

Dear God, let this motherfucker still work
.

Natalie placed her thumbs on the hinged trigger mechanism and squeezed.

A string of .50 caliber rounds eviscerated the first three rotters.

* * *

Ari watched the action from the flying bridge of their yacht, cursing herself for becoming lackadaisical. If she had her M-16A2 on deck with her like she should have, she would have been able to provide fire support for Natalie. Now she could only watch her friend face a rotter horde with nothing but a crowbar. She couldn’t go below and get her weapon because that would mean abandoning her post, which would be disastrous when they had to get out of there in a hurry.

She saw Emily and Josephine exit from the fuel storage area and retreat back toward the yacht. Once the two women had climbed over the gunwale, she breathed a sigh of relief. At least they made it out safely. Ari then noticed the five rotters stumbling toward the yacht. The first, wearing a Coast Guard uniform ripped open at the chest, moved so fast it toppled over the gunwale. Ari rushed to the edge of the flying bridge and yelled, “Get out of the way!”

Before either woman could react, the rotter slammed into Emily, knocking her to the deck. It sunk its teeth into her right shoulder, trying to rip through the leather jacket. Josephine grabbed the rotter by its hair and yanked. Its hair came off in a massive clump, tearing off a chunk of skin that clung to the strands like soil on grass roots. She tossed it aside and wrapped her hands around the front of its neck, pulling with all her strength. The Coast Guard rotter released its grip and the two fell backwards, with Josephine slamming into the deck so hard it knocked the wind out of her. Momentarily stunned, Josephine couldn’t fight back when the rotter rolled over onto her and crawled toward her neck.

Ari abandoned the flying bridge to help. Rushing down to the main deck, she kicked the rotter in the side of its head. It stared up at her and snarled. Ari kicked it again, this time in the face. Teeth and chunks of skin splattered across the deck as the rotter toppled over onto its back and off of Josephine. Ari grabbed her friend by the collar and dragged her away.

A second rotter with half its right arm missing tripped over the cutter’s gunwale and crashed onto the deck. Slowly and awkwardly, it rose to its feet and staggered toward Ari and Josephine. The Coast Guard rotter rolled over onto its stomach and dragged itself toward Emily.

* * *

Even over the drone of the fuel pump, Stephanie heard Ari shouting, followed seconds later by the thump of something hitting the deck above her. Grabbing an axe off of the workbench, she made her way topside, exited into the main cabin, and stepped out onto the deck.

The Coast Guard rotter had just reached Emily and clawed at her leather pants, while the one-armed rotter closed in on Josephine and Ari. Brandishing the axe like a baseball bat, Stephanie charged the second one. When she got close enough, she swung. The blade landed on the left side of the rotter’s head, cleaving four inches into the skull. A spray of congealed blood and brain matter erupted from the back of its head, and both eyes popped loose from their sockets. It went limp and dropped to the deck, yanking the axe from Stephanie’s hand. She didn’t have time to dislodge it.

Stepping over to the Coast Guard rotter, she kicked it in the chest with enough force to roll it off of Emily. Grabbing the stunned woman, Stephanie dragged her to the other side of the deck and released her alongside Josephine, then crossed back over to the rotter. Its mouth frantically bit at the air. Stephanie stood beside it. It grabbed at her pants leg, trying to get a grip on the leather. She glared down at the rotter.

“Eat this.”

Stephanie raised her boot and slammed it into the rotter’s head. Its jaw shattered with a loud crack, although the remnants of its mouth still moved. She stomped on its head repeatedly, each blow more violent, deforming its features and breaking off chunks of skin and bone. Finally, its head exploded across the deck, and the body went limp.

Ari stepped over and touched Stephanie’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I am now.”

Above them, the other three rotters moaned and leaned over the gunwale.

Stephanie walked over to the one-armed rotter and grabbed the axe handle. The blade wouldn’t dislodge. Shoving her foot against its neck, she held the head in place and twisted the handle, cracking the skull. The blade slid free and she handed the axe to Ari.