Dead America - The Cargo Ship (Outer Banks Tales)

0:00Dead America, Tales of the First Month. The Cargo Ship by Derek Sladen, Chapter 1, Day 0, 413 AM Captain Hodges gripped the nylon strap above his head, swaying with the motion of the cargo plane as it cut through the pre-dawn darkness. The drone of the engines filled the cargo hold, making conversation nearly impossible without shouting. His five rangers sat across from him, their faces barely visible in the dim red lighting. The plane banked hard to the left, causing Sergeant Turner to curse and tighten his grip on the seat. Turner had a decade of experience under his belt, but that didn't make flying in a cargo plane any more comfortable. Anyone have any idea what this is about? Private Simmons shouted over the engine noise? He was the youngest of the group, only 22, with barely two years of service. Corporal Ward shook his head. Negative. Just got dragged out of bed and tossed on a plane. Must be important.

1:02Private Crawford added, drawing straws for who gets to clean the latrines doesn't usually involve air transport. Private Rose sitting at the far end of the row leaned forward. Where's the rest of the squad? Morgan, Benson, Rivera, and Taylor should be here. Different assignment maybe, Turner offered. Command doesn't usually split us up though. Hodges checked his watch, 413 AM, whatever was happening, it was serious enough to pull them from their bunks in the middle of the night and fly them halfway across the country. Could be a drill Crawford suggested. Remember that time in Kandahar when they woke us up claiming insurgents had breached the perimeter? This feels different, Hodges said, speaking for the first time since they'd boarded. Nobody's laughing. The plane suddenly lurched downward, the change in altitude causing their ears to pop, minutes later the wheels touched down with a screech against the tarmac. Welcome to Norfolk gentlemen, the loadmaster announced, moving to lower the rear ramp.

2:03Command wants you moving, ASAP. As the ramp descended, Hodges could see that the base was alive with activity. Vehicles darted back and forth across the tarmac and soldiers hustled between buildings with purpose. Flood lights illuminated the entire area, turning night into day. Something's definitely up, Turner muttered, this is way too much activity for this time of night. A staff sergeant rushed up to the ramp as soon as it touched the ground. Captain Hodges, General Cortez is waiting for you, follow me sir. The six rangers grabbed their gear and double-timed it across the tarmac. The activity around them was frantic, with equipment being loaded onto trucks and soldiers moving with urgency rather than the usual military precision. Christ, it looks like an evacuation. Ward observed quietly. The staff sergeant led them to a building on the far side of the airfield. Inside General Cortez stood over a table strewn with maps and documents.

3:04Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and his uniform was in a state of disarray, as if he had thrown it on while running out the door and not having the time or caring to get it straightened out. While other officers huddled nearby, speaking in hushed, urgent tones. Captain Hodges, General Cortez said straightening up. Thank you for coming so quickly. Dismiss your escort please. Hodges nodded to the staff sergeant, who saluted and left the room. The six rangers stood at attention, waiting. At ease, Cortez said, gesturing for them to gather around the table. He looked each of them in the eye before continuing. What I'm about to tell you, doesn't leave this room, is that clear? Yes, sir, they responded in unison. A few hours ago, the brass was made aware of a biological attack on our country. Cortez began, his voice steady but grave. It appears to be targeting individuals with type A blood, causing extreme flu-like symptoms and death within approximately 72 hours of exposure.

4:07Hodges felt his stomach tighten, sir, what kind of biological attack? Should we be breaking out the hazmat suits? Not unless you have a type blood captain, Cortez said as he rubbed the side of his head for some relief from the pressure that had been building up for hours. The poor bastards who were infected with whatever this bio-agent is finally pass. They don't stay dead, Cortez continued. They re-animate shortly after expiring and become extremely violent, attacking anything that moves. They can only be stopped by destroying the brain. The room fell silent, private Simmons laughed nervously, then stopped when he realized no one else was joining in. Sir, with all due respect, this sounds like Turner began. I know exactly what it sounds like, Sergeant, Cortez cut him off, but I assure you this is very real and it's happening right now all across the country. How widespread is it, Hodges asked? It started in Texas and spread damn near halfway around the world before we even knew it existed.

5:08The upper brass hasn't been the most forthcoming when it comes to the details. But from everything I've been able to gather, by the time the sun comes up the world is going to look a lot different than it did when the sun went down. General Cortez said, pausing for several moments so that his words could really sink into the men. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Captain Hodges broke the silence in an attempt to get back on task. What's our mission, sir? Cortez pointed to a satellite image of a residential neighborhood. We need you to secure this man and bring him to the docks. He placed a photograph on the table showing a weathered man in his fifties with a captain's hat. This is Captain Barrett Jones. He commands the cargo ship Barber's gift. We're loading that ship with supplies, equipment, and personnel for evacuation. Evacuation to where, sir? Ward asked. Of sure for now, eventually we'll establish a secure location, but that's need to know, and apparently I'm not in that illustrious group.

6:10Cortez tapped the photo. Jones knows every inch of that ship, and we've only got a skeleton crew of about 30 sailors. We need his expertise. What about manpower from our end? Best guess another 20 or 30 are going to be along for the ride, but most won't have naval experience. Hodges studied the satellite image. Once the situation in the neighborhood, unclear. We've had reports of disturbances in the area, but nothing confirmed. We need to assume hostiles are present. Cortez rubbed his forehead. You have just under two hours to complete this mission and return to the docks. I need that ship out to sea before the sun comes up. The fleet is going to be casting off after that, so I need you ahead of the traffic. Sir, if I may, Turner said, why isn't the regular base personnel handling this? Cortez looked up his expression grim. Most of them don't know what's happening, and we intend to keep it that way as long as possible. And they don't know, Crawford asked incredulous?

7:10The majority of our personnel here have families either on base or nearby. If they understand the full scope of what's happening, many will abandon their posts to save their loved ones. We can't afford that. Cortez looked directly at Hodges. You and your men were chosen because you have no local connections and can be trusted with the truth. Hodges processed this information, understanding the cold logic behind it even as he recognized its cruelty. What about civilians, sir? Are we evacuating them, too? We're taking essential personnel only, Captain. Our priority is maintaining military capability. Cortez's voice was flat, as if he'd already had this argument with himself and lost. Since we're secure, we can organize rescue operations for survivors, assuming there are any. The general's statement hung in the air, creating a sense of unease amongst the Rangers. Most civilians would be left to fend for themselves, and from the sounds of it, their odds of survival weren't great. Any questions, Cortez asked?

8:12What if Jones doesn't want to come with us? Rose spoke up. Tell him that he doesn't have a choice. Bring him in willing or not, Cortez looked down at his watch. Cortez is running out. Hit the armory on your way out. The quartermaster has been instructed to give you whatever you need. Sir, yes, sir, Hodges responded, saluting. The others followed suit. Good luck, Captain. Cortez returned the salute. The fate of a lot of people depends on your success. As they left the building, the Rangers remained silent, each processing what they'd just heard. Each man had seen combat in the sandbox over the years, but this felt different. A lot different. He was serious, Simmons finally said as they approached the armory. This is really happening. Seems that way. Turner replied, his usual confident demeanor subdued. The quartermaster didn't ask questions when they arrived, simply unlocking the cages and stepping aside. The Rangers moved methodically, selecting weapons and ammunition with practiced efficiency.

9:16Each man stocked up on ammunition, taking double the normal load out of assault rifle magazines. Turner chose a similar load out, but added a shotgun. For close encounters, he explained to no one in particular. Ward, the team's explosives expert, gathered blocks of C4, detonators, and additional specialized equipment. He hoped that they wouldn't need it, but didn't want to get caught with his pants down if they did. Think we'll need this much firepower for a simple extraction? Crawford asked, checking the action on his rifle. After what the general just told us, Turner replied, I'd take a tank if they'd let me. Podge's surveyed his team as they finished gearing up. Despite the absurdity of the situation, they moved with purpose. They're training kicking in automatically. They were professionals and they had a mission. Everything else could wait. Listen up, Hodges said, his voice low but commanding. I know what we just heard sounds insane, but our job hasn't changed. We go in, we get the target, we get out, everything by the book.

10:18What about civilians, Rose asked? If we encounter people who need help. Hodges hesitated, mission comes first, but we don't leave people to die if we can help it. The others nodded, seemingly satisfied with that compromise. A ride should be outside Hodges continued, two SUVs according to the general. Ward, you're driving the first vehicle with me and Turner. Rose, take the second with Crawford and Simmons. Yes sir, they responded. Hodges adjusted his gear one last time, checking that everything was secure. The weight was familiar, comforting almost. Whatever waited for them out there, they were as ready as they could be. Mount up, he ordered heading for the door. It's time to roll, chapter two. The two SUVs rolled through the deserted streets of Norfolk, their headlights cutting through the pre-don darkness. In the lead vehicle, Captain Hodges sat in the passenger seat, his eyes scanning the road ahead. The streets were eerily quiet, with only the occasional flutter of movement in the shadows.

11:19Each time, Hodges would tense, his hand instinctively moving to his weapon before realizing it was just trash blowing in the wind, or stray animal darting for cover. Corporal Ward gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white with tension. Quiet out there, he said, breaking the silence that had settled in the SUV. Too quiet, Sergeant Turner replied from the back seat. Should be some early risers by now. Joggers, shift workers, something. Hodges checked his watch, 5.07 AM. The sky was beginning to lighten ever so slightly, the deep black giving way to the faintest hint of dark blue on the eastern horizon. Norfolk should have been stirring to life, but instead, it felt like a ghost town. Maybe they know something we don't, Ward suggested, slowing the SUV to navigate around an abandoned shopping cart in the middle of the road, or maybe they're all infected. Turner said, the word hanging in the air. Hodges shook his head. If that was the case, we'd be seeing them.

12:21The general said they'd become violent, right? They'd be out in the streets. Unless they're still in the flu stage, Ward countered. 72 hours, he said. Hodges ran a hand over his face, feeling the stubble that had accumulated since his last shave. Christ, this feels like a bad movie. I've seen this one, Turner said, trying to inject some levity into the situation. The black guy always dies first, so I'm screwed. Ward let out a short laugh. Nah, you'll make it. It's the handsome young guy who buys it. Simmons is toast. I heard that Simmons voice crackled through the radio from the second SUV, and I resent it. Everyone knows the comic relief survives. Keep the chatter down, Hodges ordered, though there was no real heat in his voice. If gallows humor helped them cope, so be it. The GPS on the dashboard beeped, indicating they were approaching their destination. Ward slowed the SUV as they turned on to a residential street lined with modest single-family homes.

13:24Most were dark, but a few had lights glowing from within. People getting ready for work, unaware of what was coming. That's it, Hodges said, pointing to a two-story house with blue siding halfway down the block, number 1540. Ward pulled the SUV to a stop in front of the house, and the second vehicle pulled in behind them. The neighborhood was quiet, almost unnaturally so. No barking dogs, no distant traffic sounds, just silence. Turner, ward, you're with me," Hodges said, unclipping his seatbelt. He keyed his radio. Rose, Crawford, Simmons, stay with the vehicles. Keep your eyes open. Copy that, Rose's voice came back. We've got your six. The three soldiers exited the SUV. Their boots crunching on the asphalt as they approached the house. A neatly trimmed lawn led to a small porch with a wooden swing. The windows were dark, but a faint light glowed somewhere deep within the house. Think he's awake? Turner asked quietly.

14:24About to be, Hodges replied. They climbed the steps to the porch, and Hodges wrapped his knuckles hard against the door. When there was no immediate response, he pressed the doorbell, hearing it chime inside. Still nothing. He pounded again, louder this time, and then repeatedly jabbed the doorbell. Come on, he muttered. Just as Hodges was about to signal Ward to break down the door, the porch light clicked on, bathing them in a harsh yellow glow. A gruff voice called out from inside. Who the hell is it at this hour? Captain Barrett Jones, Hodges called back. This is Captain Hodges, United States Army Rangers. We need to speak with you immediately, sir. It's an emergency. There was a pause then the sound of multiple locks being undone. The door cracked open, revealing a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair and the weathered complexion of someone who'd spent decades at sea. He wore flannel pajama pants and a faded navy t-shirt, his expression, a mixture of confusion and irritation.

15:26What kind of emergency requires waking a man at five in the morning? Jones asked, but before he could get an answer, Hodges shouldered his way inside, followed by Turner and Ward. Hey, you can't just... I apologize for the intrusion Captain Jones. Hodges said his tone making it clear he wasn't actually sorry. But time is of the essence. The military is commandeering your cargo vessel, the barber's gift, and your presence is required at the docks immediately. Jones stood in the middle of his living room stunned. The interior of the house was neat and comfortable, with nautical themed decorations and family photos covering the walls. A stack of books sat on a coffee table next to a half-empty glass of water. Commandeering, what the hell for? Jones demanded. I'm not scheduled to head back out for a few weeks. Those plans have changed, Hodges said flatly. I'm not at liberty to discuss the details, but this comes from the highest levels. You need to grab whatever's important to you,

16:27clothes, medications, personal items. You won't be returning home for some time. Jones stared at him, then a Turner and Ward, who had positioned themselves near the room's exits, their posture alert and ready. The gravity of the situation seemed to sink in. If I'm not coming back, then my family is coming with me, Jones said firmly, my wife and daughter. It's not part of the mission parameters. Hodges cut him off. Then screw your parameters, Jones shot back. We're a package deal. You want me, you take them too. He crossed his arms, his stance echoing years of command experience. Hodges weighed his options. The mission was to bring Jones in and they were already burning precious time. Fighting over this would only delay them further and who knew what was happening out in those streets. Fine, Hodges conceded, they can come, but they need to be ready in five minutes. We don't have time to waste. Jones nodded, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

17:27I'll get them. What is going on down here? A woman's voice interrupted. They turned to see a woman in her late 40s standing in the doorway, wrapped in a bathrobe. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes were red-rimmed with exhaustion. Barrett, who are these men? It's okay, Barbara, Jones said, moving to her side. They're from the military. They're some kind of emergency and they need me at the ship. Barbara looked at the arm soldiers in her living room with growing alarm. What emergency? What's happening? Ma'am, we need your husband's expertise. Hodges explained, softening his tone slightly and apparently you and your daughter will be joining him. Please pack essentials only, clothes, medications, anything you can't live without for a while. We need to leave as soon as possible. Barbara's eyes widened. Leave. We can't leave. Missy is sick. She's been in bed with the flu for days now. The three rangers exchange quick glances, alarm evident in their eyes. The flu, Hodges asked his voice carefully controlled.

18:30What kind of symptoms does she have? High fever, chills, body aches, Barbara replied. She finally fell asleep about an hour ago. I've been up all night with her. When did she first show symptoms? Hodges pressed, stepping closer. About three days ago, Barbara said. It started with a headache, then got worse. The doctor said it was just a nasty flu strain nothing to worry about. Three days, Hodges felt his stomach drop. If General Cortez was right, the girl was nearing the end of the 72 hour window. I'll need to keep my voice down. Barbara continued oblivious to the tension her words had created. She needs her rest. I'm afraid you and your daughter can't come with us after all. Hodges interrupted. His decision immediate. We can't risk infection spreading among the crew. Infection? Jones repeated. His eyes narrowing. It's just the flu. Those are my orders, Captain Jones. Hodges said firmly. No one with any illness can be brought aboard.

19:31It's a matter of operational security. Jones looked at his wife, then back at Hodges. The two captains stared at each other, a silent battle of wills. Finally, Jones walked over to his wife and leaned in for a tight embrace. Call Carlos. Jones said just loud enough for his wife to hear but not the soldiers. Tell him what happened here and that he's needed at the ship. Do whatever he tells you. Jones stepped back from his wife, looking her in the eye to make sure she understood the importance of his request with a slight nod she spoke. Barrett, Barbara started, her voice breaking. It'll be fine. Jones assured her, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. I'll be home before you know it. Take care of Missy. Hodges watched this exchange with suspicion. Jones had gone from adamantly insisting his family come along to calmly accepting their separation too quickly. Something wasn't right, but they didn't have time to dig deeper.

20:31We need to move, Hodges said. Captain Jones, get what you need, two minutes. Jones nodded and disappeared upstairs, returning moments later with a small duffle bag and a leather jacket thrown over his pajama shirt. His face was now composed, almost resigned as he kissed his wife one more time. I love you, he told her. Remember what I said. I will, she promised, tears in her eyes. The four men exited the house, making their way back to the waiting SUVs. As they approached the vehicles, private rows stuck his head out of the window of the second vehicle. Captain, I've been seeing movement through the houses across the street. Rose reported, his voice low. Figures moving between yards. Jones stepped forward. Probably just the neighborhood kids. They've been playing ding-dong ditch at all hours lately. Parents can't seem to control them. Hodges caught Rose's eye and gave a slight nod, signaling him to go along with the explanation. There was no point in alarming Jones anymore

21:32than necessary, not until they were safely at the docks. Right, Rose said after a brief hesitation, just kids. Let's move, Hodges ordered, opening the rear door of the lead SUV for Jones. Captain, you're with us. Jones climbed into the back seat next to Turner, clutching his duffle bag to his chest. His face was a carefully controlled mask, but his eyes darted around, taking in every detail. The soldiers tense postures. They're fully loaded combat gear, the way they scan the streets. He wasn't buying the story, but he wasn't asking questions either. Hodges got into the passenger seat and Ward started the engine. As they pulled away from the curb, Hodges caught a glimpse of Barbara Jones standing in the doorway, watching them leave. He thought about the sick girl upstairs, unknowingly approaching a transformation that would turn her into something inhuman. He forced the thought away. They had a mission to complete. The docks are northeast of here,

22:33Jones said, breaking the silence. Fastest route this time of mourning would be down Hampton Boulevard. Noted, Ward replied, adjusting their course. As the SUVs accelerated through the empty streets of Norfolk, Hodges couldn't shake the feeling that they were driving away from one nightmare and straight into another, chapter three, five, 12 a.m. Darkness still enveloped the streets of Norfolk as the two vehicle convoy raced toward the docks. In the lead SUV, Corporal Ward pushed the speedometer higher than was prudent, the urgency of their mission overriding caution. Captain Jones sat silently in the back seat, his expression unreadable as he stared out the window. Occasionally, his eyes would dart to the rear-view mirror as if hoping to catch one last glimpse of his home though it had long since disappeared from view. How much further to the docks, Hodges asked, breaking the silence? About 10 minutes, if we keep this pace, Jones replied, his voice flat, assuming the roads are clear.

23:33They look empty enough, turn or observe from his position beside Jones. Too empty if you ask me. They were approaching a commercial district, a strip mall stretching out on either side of the road. Most of the businesses were dark and shuttered. A hair salon, a Chinese restaurant, a discount clothing store. Up ahead, the massive silhouette of a super center loomed against the night sky. It's parking lot eerily empty except for a few vehicles parked near the front. There's usually traffic here, even at this hour. Jones noted, delivery trucks, night shift workers heading home. Turner shifted in his seat. Guess everyone got the memo to stay inside. What exactly is going on? Jones asked, leaning forward. And don't give me that need to know bullshit. You're taking me away from my sick daughter. I deserve the truth. Hodges exchanged a glance with Turner, weighing how much to reveal. Before he could decide, Ward swore loudly, jerking the steering wheel hard to the right. Shit, watch out.

24:33A figure had rushed out from between the buildings, sprinting directly into their path. Despite Ward's evasive maneuver, they felt a sickening thump as the SUV clipped the person. Ward overcorrected sending the vehicle into a skid. The tires lost traction, and the SUV spun wildly, slamming sideways into a light pole with a deafening crash. Metal crumpled, and the airbags deployed with a bang. For a moment, everything was still. The silence broke in only by the hissing of the damaged engine and the ringing in their ears. Everyone OK? Hodges called out, pushing the deflating airbag away from his face. I'm good, Turner responded, shaking his head to clear it. Fine, Ward muttered, though blood trickled from a small cut on his forehead. Jones let out a pained grunt as he rubbed his shoulder. I'll live. Ward tried to restart the engine. It coughed once, twice, then died with a final mechanical wheeze.

25:33We're not going anywhere in this. Two gunshots cracked through the air outside, followed by a third. Hodges instinctively reached for his rifle, checking that it was still secure. Captain Jones stayed in the vehicle, he ordered, then turned to the others. Turner, Ward, on me. The three rangers exited the disabled SUV, weapons at the ready. The second SUV had stopped 30 yards back, and private rows stood in the middle of the road. His assault rifle aimed at a crumpled form on the pavement. Clear, Rose called out. His voice steady, despite the adrenaline pumping through him. Hodges approached his soldier, motioning for him to lower his weapon, report. Subject ran at our vehicles at full sprint, Rose said, maintaining his professional demeanor. After you hit it, got back up immediately and charged again. I put it down with extreme prejudice, sir. They all turned to look at the body. It had been a teenage girl, maybe 16 or 17, dressed in flannel pajamas. Half her face was missing from Rose's shots,

26:35but what remained showed vacant, clouded eyes, and grayish skin. A massive blood stain covered the front of her shirt, already dry and crusted. Jesus, Ward whispered, taking a step back. It's just like the general said. She was someone's daughter. Turner said quietly. His voice tinged with a mixture of horror and sadness. Hodges crouched beside the body, careful not to touch it. The girls fingernails were broken and bloody. Her hands stained with what looked like dried blood. Not all of it was hers. Look at her shirt, he said, pointing to the crusted stain. This isn't from Rose's shots. She was already injured, fatally, I'd guess. And yet she was running, Turner noted, the implications hanging heavily in the air. The sound of running footsteps drew their attention. Rifle snapped up, only to lower again as two soldiers in full combat gear appeared from the direction of the super center. Friendlies, one of them called out, holding up a hand.

27:36The newcomers approached cautiously, lowering their weapons when they recognized Hodges' ranger insignia. Private Nelson Sir, the first soldier introduced himself slightly out of breath. He was younger than Hodges had expected, barely old enough to buy a beer. We heard gunshots. Are you all right? We're intact. Hodges replied, gesturing to his team. But our vehicle is done for. Nelson nodded, glancing at the wreckage. We're almost finished loading supplies at the super center, heading to the docks in about 15 minutes if you need a ride. That's convenient, Turner said, a hint of suspicion in his voice. Lucky timing, sir, Nelson agreed, either missing or ignoring Turner's skepticism. We've been at it since 3.30. Boss has us clearing out as much non-perishable food and medicine as we can carry. Hodges looked back at the damaged SUV where Captain Jones was still waiting. Rose, take the second vehicle and get Captain Jones to the docks immediately. The rest of us will catch a ride with Private Nelson's team.

28:38Yes, sir, Rose replied, already moving toward their intact SUV. Simmons Crawford, you go with Rose. Hodges added, keep your eyes open. There may be more of these people out there. Copy that Captain, Crawford acknowledged, scanning the surrounding darkness with his rifle at the ready. Hodges retrieved Jones from the wrecked vehicle, quickly explaining the change in plans. The ship captain's face was pale as he glanced at the dead girl on the pavement. But he didn't ask questions as he was ushered into the waiting SUV with Rose, Crawford, and Simmons. We'll be right behind you. Hodges assured him as the vehicle pulled away. Its tail lights quickly disappearing into the darkness. When it was out of sight, Nelson gestured toward the super center. This way, sir, we've got two trucks loaded and a third about half full. Hodges Turner and Ward fell in step alongside Nelson and his partner as they headed back toward the massive store. The parking lot was eerily quiet. Their footsteps echoing in the empty space. Do you know what the hell is going on, sir?

29:40Nelson asked. His voice low enough that his partner wouldn't hear. Command pulled us out of bed a little after midnight, told us to load up as much food and medicine as we could and get to the docks. No explanations, just orders. Hodges considered his response, remembering the generals warning about keeping the truth contained. I'm as much in the dark as you are, private. With all due respect, sir, that's bullshit. Nelson replied, then quickly added, sir. You rangers don't get called in for grocery runs. We're here on an extraction mission. Hodges said, which was at least partially true. Everything else is above my pay grade. Some kind of biological threat, isn't it? Nelson pressed. That's why we're taking all the medicine. And that girl back there? She wasn't normal. Was she? Before Hodges could respond, the roar of an engine cut through the night. A battered pickup truck screeched into the parking lot, break squealing as it came to a stop directly in front of them. A heavy set man in his fifties leapt out.

30:41His face contorted with rage. That's far enough, the man shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at them. You've got no right. No god damn right. Nelson sighed. That must be the store owner, Mr. Hoffman. The manager called him in a panic once we started clearing the shelves. What the hell are you people doing? Hoffman demanded stomping toward them. I got a call from my night manager saying soldiers were ransacking my store. This is theft, plain and simple. Hodges stepped forward. His hands raised in a placating gesture. Sir, I understand your upset. Upset, upset doesn't begin to describe it. Hoffman interrupted. His face flushing and alarming shade of red. You can't just walk in and take whatever you want. Who's in charge here? Who's your commanding officer? Sir, this is an emergency requisition. Hodges explained calmly, falling back on his training for dealing with civilians. You'll be fully compensated for everything we take. If you'd like, you can send an invoice to General Cortez

31:42at Norfolk Naval Base, adding in a premium for the inconvenience. I don't want money tomorrow. I want my merchandise today. Hoffman shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. What kind of emergency justifies stealing 15 shopping carts full of groceries in the middle of the night? Nelson shifted uncomfortably beside Hodges. It's actually 23 carts now, sir. Hoffman's eyes bulged. 23, are you out of your damn minds? Mr. Hoffman, I understand this is irregular, but I assure you it's necessary. Hodges tried again. When this is over, you'll understand why. When what is over, Hoffman interrupted stepping closer. What aren't you telling me? Is it terrorists? Is something happening? Before Hodges could formulate a response, Turner and Ward tensed beside him. Captain, we've got company, Turner said, his voice tight. Multiple hostiles approaching from the east side of the parking lot, Ward added, raising his rifle.

32:44Hodges turned to see a group of figures emerging from the darkness, moving with the same unnaturally focused gate as the teenage girl had. There were at least eight of them spread out across the parking lot and closing in fast. Mr. Hoffman, get inside the store now, Hodges ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. I'm not going anywhere until Hoffman began, but cut off as the first shot rang out from Nelson's partner. His eyes widened as he finally noticed the approaching figures, and he bolted for the store entrance disappearing inside. Former perimeter Hodges commanded, moving to take cover behind a parked car, Turner and Ward flanked him, while Nelson and his partner took up positions a few yards away. The creatures came on undeterred by the armed soldiers. Hodges held his fire, waiting until they were within 15 yards. Fire, he ordered. The parking lot erupted with gunfire. Hodges aimed for the head of the nearest infected, dropping it with a single shot. To his right, Turner and Ward did the same.

33:46Their precision making quick work of three more. Nelson and his partner were equally effective, eliminating another two with well placed shots. One goal remained, staggering toward them with relentless determination. On impulse, Hodges shifted his aim, placing around directly into its chest. The creature didn't even flinch, continuing its advance without breaking stride. Damn, Hodges muttered, adjusting his aim upward and placing a bullet squarely between its eyes. The infected dropped instantly, crumpling to the pavement like a puppet with cut strings. When it was clear no more were coming, the soldiers cautiously approached the bodies, keeping their weapons ready. Headshots only, Hodges confirmed, crouching to examine the nearest corpse, just like the general said. It had been a middle-aged man in a business suit. His once professional appearance, now marred by blood and filth. His neck bore a series of deep bite marks, the flesh torn and mangled. This one too, Turner called, kneeling beside another body,

34:47a woman in hospital scrubs. Bite marks on the arm and shoulder. And this one, Ward added from a few feet away, looks like multiple bites on the forearm and hand. So it's transmitted through bites, Turner concluded, looking up at Hodges. The infection spreads that way. Looks like it Hodges agreed standing up, which means we need to be even more careful. One bite and you just might join their ranks. Nelson and his partner exchanged alarmed glances. Sir, Nelson said hesitantly, if these people are infectious, shouldn't we be warning civilians, evacuating them? Hodges thought of the general's explanation, how most soldiers would abandon their posts if they knew the truth. And if Captain Jones family left behind with a ticking time bomb, that's above my pay grade private. He replied, his voice heavy, our orders are to get to the docks with as many supplies as possible. But sir, people are going to die, Nelson pressed, his young face twisted with concern.

35:50My family lives three blocks from here, my little sister. Nelson Hodges cut him off, his tone firm, but not unkind. I understand your concern, but right now our mission is to get those supplies to the docks. That's how we save lives. Nelson looked like he wanted to argue, but seemed to think better of it. Yes, sir. Hodges checked his watch. 524 AM, they were already behind schedule and who knew how many more of these creatures were wandering the streets of Norfolk. Let's help get those trucks loaded, he said, turning toward the super center, the faster we move, the faster we get to the ship. As they approached the store entrance, Hodges couldn't shake the image of Captain Jones' daughter, sick and bed, the clock ticking down on her transformation. If what they had seen was any indication, the girl would soon become like these creatures, mindless, violent, beyond saving. And she wasn't the only one. How many more were out there in homes across Norfolk, unknowingly in the final hours of their humanity?

36:51How many families would wake up to find a loved one, transformed into a monster? The thought made his stomach churn, but he pushed it aside. They had a mission to complete. Double time, he ordered picking up the pace. We need to move, chapter four. The convoy of trucks from the super center rumbled through the darkened streets of Norfolk, headlights cutting through the darkness. Captain Hodges sat in the passenger seat of the lead vehicle with private Nelson at the wheel. Turner and Ward had taken positions in the back of the truck, weapons at the ready should they encounter more of the ghouls. They were approaching the docks now, the massive shipyard looming ahead, the road sloped downward, giving them a clear view of their destination, and the chaos unfolding at the main gate. Muscle flashes punctuated the darkness, accompanied by the crack of gunfire. Hold up, Hodges ordered, raising his hand. Nelson eased off the accelerator, bringing the truck to a stop about a hundred yards from the checkpoint. The trucks behind them followed suit.

37:52What the hell is happening down there, Nelson asked, straining his eyes to see what those muscle flashes were firing at. Hodges leaned forward, struggling to see through the windshield. Several shadowy figures were moving erratically near the gate, while uniformed personnel fired from protected positions. Even from this distance, Hodges could tell the soldiers weren't just shooting to warn. They were aiming to kill. More of those things, I'm guessing, he replied. Jesus, Nelson muttered, whatever this is, it's spreading fast. Before Hodges could respond, a spotlight flicked on at the checkpoint, sweeping across the road until it found their convoy. After a moment, it began blinking in a deliberate pattern. Does that mean stay back or come forward, Nelson asked? The light continued its pattern, then swept in an arc towards the gate, as if beckoning them forward. I think they want us to approach, Hodges said, take it slow, be ready to reverse if I say so.

38:52Yes sir, Nelson replied, easing the truck forward. As they drew closer, the gunfire at the checkpoint ceased. By the time they reached the gate, the engagement appeared to be over. The soldier waved them through, while others dragged bodies away from the entrance. Nelson slowed the truck as they passed through the checkpoint, giving Hodges a clear view of the aftermath. Six bodies lay on the ground, all civilians in various stages of dress, night clothes mostly, and all with catastrophic head wounds. Their unnatural gray skin and blood-crusted clothes confirmed what they were. Christ, Nelson whispered, unable to tear his eyes away. What's happening to these people? Hodges watched as a squad of Marines used a tarp to drag one of the corpses away from the road. I can't tell you exactly, Nelson, but it's going to be bad. Real bad. The road opened up, revealing the sprawling dockyard. Cranes loomed overhead like skeletal giants, and cargo containers were stacked in neat rows. In the distance, the barber's gift waited at the pier,

39:53a modest-sized cargo vessel with workers swarming over it like ants. Even at this hour, the docks buzzed with activity. Trucks and forklifts moving supplies, soldiers patrolling the perimeter, sailors preparing the ship for departure. As they pulled up near the gangway, a red-faced sergeant appeared, waving his arms and shouting over the din. Keep it moving, around the back, we're loading through the rear cargo doors. Nelson looked to Hodges for confirmation, but the sergeant had already spotted them and was making his way over, still shouting. Are you deaf? I said around the corner. Hodges opened his door and stepped out, cutting off the sergeant's tirade. Turner and Ward hopped down from the back of the truck. Their presence immediately registering with the sergeant. His demeanor changed instantly when he noticed their Ranger tabs. Captain Hodges, he asked his voice dropping to a respectful tone. That's right, Hodges confirmed. Sergeant Williams, sir, the man said, offering a crisp salute. They told us to expect you.

40:54Your men arrived about 10 minutes ago with Captain Jones. Hodges returned the salute. Good, where are they now? Control deck, sir. Williams replied, pointing towards the center of the ship where a multi-level structure rose above the main deck. Captain Jones insisted on inspecting his vessel. Your men went with him. Hodges nodded, we'll join them. Have these trucks unloaded as quickly as possible. The general wants us underway before the sun comes up. Yes, sir. Williams replied, turning back to direct the convoy around the stern of the ship. Hodges' turner and ward made their way up the gangway onto the main deck. The barbarous gift was an older vessel, but well maintained. Its hull showed signs of countless ocean voyages, weathered paint, patches of surface rust, but it was structurally sound. Sailors and dockworkers moved with purpose across the deck, securing cargo, checking equipment, and preparing for departure. Quite the operation, turner remarked. Watching as a pallet of medical supplies was winched aboard.

41:56They've been at it for hours. Ward added nodding towards several exhausted-looking soldiers taking a brief rest near the railing. Look at those guys. They're dead on their feet. Hopefully not as dead on their feet as those things running around, turner added with a smirk. Keep your voice down, Hodges warned, glancing around. Remember, most of these people don't know what's coming. They made their way along the outer railing, following Williams' directions. The ship was a hive of activity, with every available space being utilized for storage, crates of food, medicine, ammunition, and building supplies were being secured in every corner. This isn't just an evacuation, turner said quietly. They're planning for the long haul. Hodges didn't respond, but a new turner was right. The quantity and variety of supplies indicated that the military didn't expect to return anytime soon, if ever. They reached the staircase leading up to the control deck, a series of metal steps zigzagging up the side of the central structure. As they climbed, the activity below spread out

42:58beneath them like a diorama. From this height, they could see beyond the ship to the lights of Norfolk, still mostly dark at this early hour. By tomorrow, Hodges thought grimly, those lights might never come on again. At the top level, they found the control room, a large, glass and closed space filled with navigation equipment, communication consoles, and monitoring stations. It was significantly warmer than the deck below, the air close and tense. Inside, Captain Jones was in the middle of a heated exchange with Rose, Crawford, and Simmons. The ship Captain's face was flushed with anger. His finger jabbing at Rose's chest as he spoke. And if you think I'm gonna just sail away without knowing why, you're out of your goddamn mind. Jones was saying as Hodges entered. The three Rangers looked relieved at the arrival of their commanding officer. Jones turned his eyeer immediately towards Hodges. There you are, he snapped. Maybe you can tell me what the hell is going on. These boys of yours are tighter lipped

43:59than a clam and a vice. Hodges surveyed the room, noting the uncomfortable looks on his men's faces. Rose, Crawford, Simmons, go help with the preparations. We need to be ready to sail as soon as possible. The three Rangers nodded gratefully and filed out. As they left, Jones called after them. Find Carlos, he should be on board by now. Tell him I need to speak with him immediately. When the door closed, leaving just Hodges' turner ward and Jones in the control room, the ship Captain turned back to Hodges, his expression thunderous. Now you listen to me, Captain. Jones began, his voice low and intense. I've been dragged from my home in the middle of the night, separated from my family, and ordered to sail my ship out to sea with no explanation whatsoever. I've watched your men shoot down civilians in the street. I've seen military personnel looting stores, and now he gestured towards the window where workers were loading crate after crate onto the deck below. I'm watching them fill.

45:00My ship with supplies we don't need. We've already got a hold full of merchandise that hasn't even been unloaded yet. Jones stepped closer to Hodges, his eyes narrowed. So unless you start leveling with me right now, I'm gonna spike the engines and scuttle this ship. I don't care what they do to me afterward. Hodges held the man's gaze, searching for any sign that he was bluffing. He found none. Jones was dead serious, and given his position as the ship's captain, he could absolutely follow through on his threat. With a sigh, Hodges turned to Turner and Ward. Give us the room. The two Rangers exchanged a look, but complied, stepping out onto the deck and closing the door behind them. Hodges moved to the window, looking out over the docks in the city beyond. How much should he tell Jones? How much did the man need to know? There's a virus he began, his voice measured. It originated in Texas, but it's spreading rapidly across the country. It causes flu-like symptoms followed by death within approximately 72 hours of exposure.

46:03Jones listened silently, his arms crossed over his chest. But that's not the worst part, Hodges continued. The infected, they don't stay dead. They reanimate and become extremely aggressive. They attack anyone they encounter, and their bites seem to spread the condition regardless of blood type. You're describing zombies. Jones said flatly. Hodges turned to face him. Trust me, I know how it sounds, but you saw them yourself, that girl in the road, the people at the gate, they're dead, but still moving, still hunting, and they can only be stopped with head trauma. Jones paced across the control room, running a hand through his hair. And the military knew about this? That's why they've been evacuating? Selected personnel only, Hodges confirmed. Essential military and civilian experts, plus supplies will need to establish a secure location somewhere that isn't here. And everyone else, Jones asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

47:05Left to fend for themselves, Hodges admitted, for now at least, the hope is that once we're established, we can organize rescue operations. Jones stopped pacing, his expression hardening. And my family, you knew my daughter was sick and you still left them behind. If what you told us is true that she's been showing symptoms for three days, then your daughter is likely infected with this virus. Hodges said quietly. How in the holy hell would you know that? Jones yelled out, a splash of worry holding firm on his face? What's your blood type? Hodges asked matter of factly, confusing the ship captain. What does that matter? Please answer the question. What's her blood type? She has a type blood. But again, why does that matter? The ship captain asked. A sense of dread beginning to overtake him as he saw Hodges' wints at the answer. I'm sorry, Jones, but the virus targets people with a type blood. In a matter of hours, she's going to pass away and become Hodges trailed off,

48:07not needing to finish the sentence. Jones fell silent. His face unreadable. He turned away, staring out the window towards the city lights. The silence stretched between them heavy with unspoken thoughts. I wish I could have told you, but I had my orders and they were to get you here at all costs. Jones must have seen the conflict on Hodges' face because his expressions soften slightly. You were following orders. I get that. But my wife and daughter are going to die because of those orders. I'm sorry, Hodges said, knowing the words were inadequate. Jones was quiet for a long moment, then straightened his shoulders, his face resolving into a mask of professional detachment. Well, what's done is done. Can't change it now. Captain Hodges was momentarily startled by the sudden change in tone coming from Jones, finding it out of place, pushing it to the side he pressed on. So you'll get the ship out to see? I'll do my job, Captain. Jones replied his voice flat,

49:09not because I agree with any of this, but because it's the only way I'll stay alive long enough to make the people responsible, pay for what they've done. The threat was thinly veiled, but Hodges let it pass. Jones had every right to his anger, and if they survived what was coming, maybe he'd even get the chance to act on it. Fair enough, Hodges said, extending his hand. Thank you, Captain Jones. Jones regarded the offered hand for a moment before accepting it, his grip firm, but cool. Let me know when we're ready to depart. I'll make sure things are good to go on my end. Chapter five. The first rays of dawn peeked over the eastern horizon, casting a golden glow across the water. The barber's gift cut through the waves at a steady pace, heading south toward coordinates known only to the military brass, and it was debatable if they even knew. The Norfolk coastline had long since disappeared behind them, swallowed by distance and the curvature of the earth. Below decks, the ship buzzed with subdued activity.

50:10In the center of the storage area, a makeshift mess hall had been established. Folding tables and chairs arranged in neat rows, surrounded by stacked crates and pallets of supplies. The smell of cooking food wafted through the air, a stark contrast to the sterile industrial atmosphere of the rest of the cargo hold. Align had formed at the front, where a sailor operated four camping stoves simultaneously, each one containing a different type of soup or stew. It wasn't fancy, but it was hot, and after the night they'd had, nobody was complaining. Private Simmons Crawford and Rose stood at the front of the line, trays in hand. Their assault rifles had been stowed in the sleeping quarters at the bow of the ship, deemed unnecessary now that they were out at sea. Each man still carried his sidearm, a concession to the uncertain times, but the atmosphere was noticeably more relaxed than it had been on shore. What's on the menu today, chef? Rose asked the sailor manning the stoves. The cook, a weathered man with four arms like tree trunks,

51:12gestured to his setup, got beef stew, chicken noodle, vegetable, and something the label claims is clam chowder, but I ain't vouchin' for that. I'll take the beef, Simmons said, holding out his bowl. Chicken for me, Rose added. Crawford was about to order when someone approached from behind. Morning, Hank, the newcomer greeted the cook. Any of that beef stew left? Always got some for you, Carlos, Hank replied, ladling a generous portion into the man's bowl. Carlos was mid-forties, Hispanic with salt and pepper hair and the sturdy build of someone who'd spent a lifetime doing physical labor. His clothes were rumpled as if he'd slept in them and dark circles ringed his eyes. You're the captain's right hand man, Simmons said, recognizing the name. Jones was looking for you earlier. Carlos nodded, not making eye contact. Yeah, that's me. You cut it pretty close getting on board. Crawford observed, studying the man's to shoveled appearance.

52:13We were about to cast off without you. I was held up in town. Carlos replied, his tone clipped, got attacked by those things on my way to the docks. The three rangers exchanged glances, knowing full well what those things were. You saw the zombies? Rose asked quietly, glancing around to make sure no civilians were within earshot. Carlos's hand tightened around his bowl. Is that what they are? Zombies? Like in the movies? Something like that? Crawford said, watching Carlos' reaction carefully. There was something off about the man's demeanor. He seemed tense, distracted. You okay, man? Simmons asked. You look like you've got something on your mind. Carlos managed a weak smile, just tired. It's been a long night. Almost didn't make it here. Well, you're safe now, Rose said, clapping him on the shoulder. Nothing can get us out here. Carlos flinched at the contact, further raising Crawford's suspicions. Right, Carlos mumbled, safe.

53:15Vegetable for you, Hank asked Crawford, breaking the awkward moment. Yeah, sure Crawford replied, still watching Carlos. The sailors behind them were getting restless, so Simmons tapped Crawford on the shoulder. Come on, let's find a seat, I'm starving. The three rangers moved to a table in the corner, carrying their trays. Carlos remained at the front, collecting his food, and avoiding eye contact with the rest of the mess hall. That guy seemed spooked, Simmons said, as they sat down. Can you blame him, Rose replied. Those creatures are nightmare fuel, and if he got attacked on the way here, he's lucky to be alive. Crawford watched as Carlos took his bowl to a far table away from everyone else. Something's not right with him. You're seeing ghosts Crawford, Simmons said, digging into his beef stew. The guy's probably just processing what happened. We all are. Speaking of processing, Rose said, lowering his voice. Have you seen all the stuff they loaded onto this ship?

54:16I saw the entire pharmacy section that Super Center in plastic bags back there. I passed a container full of gardening supplies. Simmons added, seeds, soil, tools, enough to start a farm big enough that it would put my families to shame. They're planning for the long haul, Crawford said, forcing himself to focus on the conversation instead of Carlos. I don't think it's just for a temporary evacuation. The three fell silent. The implications hanging heavy in the air. The world they knew was changing forever. Right beneath their feet. Where do you think we're headed? Simmons finally asked. Could be an offshore flotilla, Rose suggested. Navy probably has ships all up and down the coast gathering survivors. Or Cuba, Simmons said with a half smile, just roll up and surprise the hell out of them. More likely some uninhabited island, Crawford countered, somewhere we can set up a self-sufficient base without worrying about those things washing ashore.

55:17As they speculated, Crawford noticed Carlos rising from his seat. The man had devoured his food in record time and was already heading back to the serving line for seconds. Even more strangely, after getting another bowl, he immediately motioned for a third, balancing both carefully as he slipped quietly out of the mess hall. Now where's he going, Crawford muttered, pushing his chair back? Simmons reached out grabbing his arm. Let it go, man. Maybe he's taking food up to the captain. With two extra bowls, Crawford asked skeptically. Maybe he's just hungry, Rose suggested. Guy looks like he has an eaten in days. Crawford pulled his arm free. I'm just going to get a refill. Simmons and Rose exchanged exasperated glances, but didn't stop him this time. Don't go starting trouble, Simmons warned. We've got enough to deal with. Crawford nodded and made his way to the front of the mess hall, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Simmons and Rose weren't watching too closely. Near the entrance, two guards were chatting quietly.

56:19Their side arms holstered, but visible. Crawford made eye contact with them, motioning them over with a subtle gesture. Something wrong, private? One of the guards asked as they approached. Maybe Crawford replied quietly. The captain's man, Carlos, he just left with three bowls of food looking nervous as hell. Something's off about him. The guards exchanged glances, their expressions turning serious. After what they'd witnessed in Norfolk, no potential threat could be ignored. Where'd he go, the second guard asked? Crawford gestured toward the aisle running along the mess hall, down that way, toward the cargo containers. We'll check it out, the first guard assured him. Thanks for the heads up. The two guards moved off. Their previously casual demeanor replaced with alert professionalism. Crawford watched them go, then returned to his table, trying to appear nonchalant. Everything okay, Rose asked as he sat down. Jess PG Crawford replied, digging into his soup.

57:19The two guards moved quietly between Rose of shipping containers. The space was dimly lit with shadows filling the narrow corridors between the stacked metal boxes. They spotted Carlos up ahead, walking purposefully along the main aisle before making a turn down a side path. What's he doing down here, the first guard whispered? Crew quarters are on the other side of the ship. Let's find out. The second guard replied, drawing his flashlight, but keeping it off for now. They moved to the corner where Carlos had turned, peering around cautiously. 30 yards ahead, Carlos stood in front of an open container. The three bowls of food balanced carefully in his hands. He glanced furtively in both directions before stepping inside, pulling the door partially closed behind him. A moment later, a muffled sound reached the guards, something between a cry and a whimper. What was that? The second guard asked his hand instinctively moving toward his holstered sidearm. Maybe he saw us and is trying to spook us.

58:20The first guard suggested, though he didn't sound convinced. They waited, listening. The sound came again, followed by a wet, gnashing noise that set their teeth on edge. This doesn't feel right, the first guard muttered. Let's check it out. Cautiously, they approached the container. Their footsteps quiet against the metal deck. The door hung open a few inches, a sliver of darkness within. As they drew closer, the gnashing sounds grew louder, accompanied by a soft growling that raised the hair on the backs of their necks. The first guard reached the door first, signaling his partner to stay back as he withdrew his flashlight. With a deep breath, he pushed the door open wider and shown the light inside. The beam cut through the darkness, illuminating a scene straight from a nightmare. Carlos lay on the floor, his throat torn open, blood pooling beneath him. The bowls of food were scattered around him. Their contents spilled across the metal floor.

59:22And feeding on his still twitching body were two figures. A woman in her late 40s and a teenage girl, both with the pallid skin and vacant eyes of the zombies they'd encountered in Norfolk. Their clothes were soaked with blood. Their mouths and hands crimson as they tore flesh from the dying man. Holy hell, the first guard began fumbling for his sidearm. The sound caught the attention of the zombies. The woman, who might once have been attractive with shoulder-length dark hair now matted with blood, looked up from her meal, her dead eyes fixing on the guards. Beside her, the teenage girl's head snapped around, a chunk of meat falling from her mouth as she snarled. Gun, get your gun! The second guard shouted, reaching for his own weapon. But he was too slow. The woman launched herself from her crouch within human speed, crossing the distance in a heartbeat. She slammed into the first guard, the impact driving him backward against a container wall.

1:00:22His flashlight went flying, spinning across the floor and casting wild shadows through the cargo hold. The teenage girl was right behind her, sprinting like an Olympic sprinter before leaping at the second guard. He managed to get his pistol halfway out of its holster before she crashed into him, knocking him to the ground. Her teeth found his forearm as he raised it to protect himself, biting down with such force that he felt bones snap. His scream echoed through the cargo hold, cut short as the girl's next bite tore out his throat. Blood fountened upward, splashing across her face and the metal containers around them. Nearby, the first guard fared no better. The woman had him pinned against the wall. Her teeth ripping at his face and neck while he flailed helplessly. His hand found his sidearm pulling it free, but in the chaotic struggle, he couldn't bring it to bear. The pistol fell harmlessly to the ground, clattering on the metal floor. Within moments, both guards were silent.

1:01:23Their bodies twitching as the zombies continued to feed. The flashlight rolled to a stop against the open container door. It's beam pointing upward and casting ghostly shadows across the ceiling of the cargo hold. In the container, Carlos's body gave a final shutter before going still. Then, almost imperceptibly, his fingers began to twitch again, curling into claws as the transformation took hold. Chapter six. Back in the mess hall, Crawford sat firmly in his seat beside Simmons and Rose. His eyes continually drifting toward the direction where the guards had disappeared. Earth to Crawford, Simmons said, waving a hand in front of his face. Did you find any ghosts out there? Crawford blinked, forcing himself to focus on his soup. What? You've been staring down that walkway like it's going to sprout tentacles. Rose remarked. What's going on with you? Crawford took a spoonful of his now lukewarm vegetable soup avoiding eye contact.

1:02:24Nothing. Bullshit, Simmons countered. You've been acting weird since Carlos walked out of here. Rose studied Crawford's face for a moment, then let out a groan. Please tell me you didn't do something stupid. Crawford remained silent, pushing his soup around the bowl. Crawford, Simmons pressed his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. What did you do? With a defeated sigh, Crawford finally looked up. I might have sent those two guards after Carlos. You did what? Rose hissed, leaning across the table. What the hell were you thinking? There was something off about him, Crawford insisted. The way he was acting, taking all that food. But so what, Simmons interrupted. The guy survived getting attacked by whatever those people turned into in order to get here. He's allowed to be a little weird. You're just looking for trouble, Rose added. We've got bigger problems than some shaken up sailor taking extra rations. Crawford shook his head.

1:03:25You didn't see how he was looking around like he was hiding something. I'm telling you, no, I'm telling you, Simmons cut in, jabbing a finger at Crawford's chest. You need to back off. If Hodges finds out you're harassing Jones' right-hand man, he's not going to be happy. The ship captain is already pissed off enough at us. Fine, Crawford muttered, turning his attention back to his soup. But when those guards come back and report that everything's fine, you can both say I told you so as much as you want. Oh, we will, Rose assured him with a smirk. We'll make t-shirts. Crawford was wrong in big letters across the front with a picture of your paranoid face. Simmons added, grinning. Despite his concern, Crawford found himself smiling at the banter. You two are assholes, you know that? Part of our charm, Rose said, raising his water bottle in a mock toast. The three Rangers continued their meal, the tension gradually easing as they shifted to other topics.

1:04:26Simmons launched into a story about his last leave in Nashville, describing in colorful detail a bar fight he'd witnessed between two cowboys over a mechanical bull. Crawford was so engrossed in the story that he almost missed the movement at the edge of his vision, a figure emerging from the darkness beyond the Messhall entrance. He turned his head just in time to see a woman staggering into the light, her clothes soaked with blood, her movements jerky but purposeful. Even from across the room he could see her vacant eyes and the unnatural gray pallor of her skin. The zombified woman, Barbara Jones, though Crawford had no way of knowing that, scanned the room with predatory focus. Her gaze locked onto a sailor seated with his back to the door, completely unaware of the threat behind him. Look out, Crawford shouted, reaching for his sidearm, but he was too late. The zombie woman sprinted forward with inhuman speed, crossing the distance in seconds and latching onto the back of the sailor's neck with her teeth. Blood fountained from the wound as she tore away

1:05:27a chunk of flesh. The sailor's scream cutting through the ambient noise of the Messhall. More figures emerged from the darkness, the teenage girl, the two guards and Carlos, all with the same dead eyes and blood smeared mouths. They fell upon the closest diners with savage hunger, ripping and tearing at exposed flesh. Chaos erupted instantly. Screams filled the air as people scrambled from their seats, knocking over tables and chairs in their panic. Some reached for weapons while others simply ran. Crawford Simmons and Rose tried to get to their feet, but a wave of fleeing sailors slammed into their table, sending all three of them tumbling to the floor. Crawford felt bodies trample over him as the stampede continued. Boots and shoes striking his back and limbs. A heavy boot caught him square in the temple, sending stars dancing across his vision. Dazed, he rolled onto his back, trying to track what was happening around him. The world seemed to slow down each horrific tablobe stretching out with terrible clarity.

1:06:29Ten feet away, the teenage zombie girl had grabbed a sailor's hand. Her teeth closing around his fingers and biting down with savage force. Blood sprayed as digits separated from hand, the sailor's scream rising above the general cacophony. To his right, a soldier had drawn his sidearm and was firing wildly, more panicked than precise. One round caught a zombie guard in the head, the impact causing the back of its skull to explode outward, showering a nearby sailor with gore. The sailor stood frozen in shock, his face and upper body drenched in blood and brain matter. The soldier, still firing in blind panic, swung his weapon around and squeezed the trigger again. The bullet struck the blood-covered sailor in the chest, knocking him backward. The man looked down at the spreading crimson stain with an expression of pure disbelief before collapsing. Crawford's gaze drifted to the center of the mess hall, where two zombies, one in a naval uniform, the other in civilian clothes,

1:07:30were crouched over a twitching body. Their faces buried in the victim's abdominal cavity as they gorge themselves on entrails. The victim's hand still moved, fingers curling and uncurling as the last vestiges of life drained away. Most disturbing of all were the earliest victims. Their bodies now still and lifeless on the floor, but only temporarily. Even as Crawford watched, one of them began to twitch more violently than sat up, eyes vacant. The transformation had taken mere moments after bleeding out. And seized Crawford's shoulders, shaking him roughly. Rose's face appeared above him, his eyes wide with fear and urgency. Crawford, we have to move, now. Crawford tried to respond, but his tongue felt thick in his mouth. His thoughts sluggish from the blow to his head. Rose pressed his pistol against the zombie's head and fired, the report deafening at close range. The zombie crumpled, but there were more coming, drawn by the chaos and the noise

1:08:30of everyone fighting and fleeing. The gunshot finally jolted Crawford back to full awareness. He shook his head to clear the last of the cobwebs, drawing his own side arm and looking for targets. The mess hall had transformed into a slaughterhouse. Bodies lay strewn across the floor, some still moving, others ominously still. The zombies had multiplied, at least a dozen now, including the freshly turned victims, and were spreading outward, hunting down the fleeing sailors and soldiers. We need to get out of here, Simmons shouted, firing at an approaching zombie. The round caught it in the shoulder, staggering it, but not stopping it. This way, Rose called, pointing toward a side exit. Move! The three rangers began to move, firing as they went. Crawford squeezed off two shots at a zombie that lunged at him, both rounds missing the head, but punching through its chest. The creature barely slowed. Headshots only, Crawford reminded them, adjusting his aim and putting the zombie down

1:09:30with his third bullet. They made it about 10 yards from the mess hall entrance, moving in a tight formation, Rose in the lead, Crawford behind him, and Simmons bringing up the rear. The side passage was darker than the main area, the shadows hiding potential threats. Watch the coroners, Rose called back, his pistol sweeping the space ahead. None of them saw the zombie that rushed from a shadowy alcove to their right. It slammed into Simmons with the force of a linebacker, driving him against the wall with a sickening thud. Simmons, Crawford shouted, spinning around. Simmons' eyes went wide with shock and pain as the zombie. One of the guards they'd sent after Carlos sank its teeth into his neck, arterial blood sprayed across the wall in a crimson arc, spattering Crawford's face and chest. Crawford raised his pistol, but hesitated, unable to get a clean shot due to the blood in his eyes. In that moment of hesitation, more shapes appeared in the passage behind them.

1:10:31Three more zombies moving with predatory speed. Crawford, come on, Rose shouted, grabbing his arm. He's gone. No, Crawford tried to pull away, but Rose's grip was ironed. There's nothing we can do, Rose insisted, physically dragging him away from the scene. We have to move. Simmons locked eyes with Crawford one last time, his expression, a mixture of pain and acceptance. Then the zombie pulled him down, joined by the newcomers in a feeding frenzy. Crawford finally allowed Rose to pull him away, both of them running full tilt down the passageway. Behind them, Simmons' screams gave way to wet, gurgling sounds, then silence. We need to get topside, Rose panted as they ran, find the captain warn the others. Crawford nodded, his throat too tight with grief and adrenaline to form words. They sprinted through the narrow corridors, the sounds of zombie-fueled carnage spreading throughout the ship around them. As they rounded a corner, a piercing whistle

1:11:32cut through the din. Crawford looked up to see two sailors perched atop a shipping container that was sitting alone in the middle of an aisle, waving frantically. Up here, one of them shouted, climb up. The sailors lay flat on their stomachs, extending their arms downward. Rose and Crawford raced toward them, hearing the snarls of pursuing zombies growing closer. You first, Rose ordered, pushing Crawford ahead. Crawford leapt upward, catching one's sailors outstretched hands. With a grunt of effort, the man pulled him up, his partner helping to haul Crawford onto the top of the container. Turning immediately, Crawford reached down for Rose, who was already jumping to catch his hand. Their fingers locked just as a zombie burst from the passage behind them, a crewman with half his face missing, his uniform soaked in blood. The zombie closed the distance with terrifying speed, launching itself at Rose's dangling legs. Its teeth found purchase in Rose's calf, tearing through fabric and flesh with equal ease.

1:12:34Rose led out a howl of pain, his grip on Crawford's hand nearly slipping, but Crawford held fast, even as the zombies wait threatened to pull them both down. Pulled him, Crawford shouted to the sailors who grabbed onto his belt to anchor him. With his free hand, Crawford drew his pistol and took careful aim. The zombie was still latched onto Rose's leg, shaking its head like a dog with a bone. Crawford squeezed the trigger, the round striking the creature directly between the eyes. It went limp immediately, releasing its grip and collapsing to the deck below. With the combined strength of Crawford and the two sailors, they managed to haul Rose up onto the container. He collapsed on his back, gasping in pain, blood pouring from the ragged wound in his calf. Damn it, one of the sailors muttered, staring at the bite. Crawford ripped off his belt, quickly fashioning a tourniquet above the wound. Hold still, he ordered Rose cinching it tight. With the belt in place, Crawford ripped off a part of his shirt, using it as a makeshift bandage.

1:13:36Once it was secure, he gave his friend a pad on the chest before grabbing his hand and moving it down to the wound. Just hold it there until the bleeding stops. Rose groaned as he grabbed onto his injury, muttering under his breath, I'm going to be so pissed if I turn into one of those things. The sailors exchanged nervous glances, but didn't press the issue. Below them, more zombies had gathered, reaching up with bloody hands, but unable to climb the smooth metal sides of the container. We need to radio the bridge, the first sailor said, let them know what's happening. Simmons had the radio Rose said through gritted teeth, nodding toward the passage where they'd left their friend. Crawford stood up, moving to the edge of the container to look in that direction. In the distance, he could just make out Simmons' body, now motionless on the floor, surrounded by feeding zombies. The radio, if it was still intact, was completely inaccessible. We're on our own, Crawford said quietly, the weight of their situation settling over him like a shroud.

1:14:38Below them, the number of zombies continued to grow, their mones and snarls rising like a dark tide, and somewhere above, on the bridge of the ship, Captain Jones and the rest of the crew remained blissfully unaware that their sanctuary had already been breached from within, chapter seven. In the control room of the barbarous gift, the morning sun cast long fingers of golden light through the windows, illuminating the faces of the four men gathered there. Captain Jones stood near the helm, his weathered hands resting on the controls as he guided the vessel southward through calm seas. Captain Hodges, Turner and Ward were spread around the room, gazing out at the endless blue expanse surrounding them. Quite a view, Turner remarked, his eyes fixed on the horizon, where ocean met sky in a seamless line. Oma the perks of the job, Jones replied, a hint of pride in his voice despite the circumstances. No matter how many times I see it, that sunrise over open water never gets old. Hodges nodded in agreement,

1:15:39but his attention was focused on the radio in his hand. He'd been in communication with the Norfolk base for the past 10 minutes, providing updates on their status and receiving what little information command was willing to share. Yes, sir, Hodges said into the handset, were fully loaded, cargo from Captain Jones' previous run, plus supplies from at least six super centers and hardware stores in Norfolk. He paused, listening to the response. I'll have a complete inventory by the end of the day. The others watched as Hodges' expression tightened slightly. Understood, but it would help to know our final destination, he pressed. Another pause. Stay within a few miles of shore, heading south, await further instructions. Got it. Hodges set the radio down on a nearby table with a sigh. No destination yet, word asked. Apparently not, Hodges replied, or at least not one they're willing to share over the radio. Jones raised an eyebrow, seems like a pretty important detail to leave out.

1:16:41The guy I was talking to admitted there in the dark too, Hodges said, there are rumors of a full evacuation across all bases. Word is, they're heading to Kansas. Kansas, Turner repeated skeptically. That's about as landlocked as you can get. Hodges cracked a small smile. I pointed that out. Getting this ship to Kansas might be a bit of a challenge. Not to mention that the boredom of being in Kansas might be more lethal than those things, word added. The humor, grim as it was, provided a momentary reprieve from the tension that had been building since they'd left Norfolk. So, captain, Turner said, turning to Jones, Hodges mentioned you've been sailing for decades. Where's the most interesting place you've been? Jones seemed to appreciate the change in subject. Hard to narrow it down. I've hit ports on every continent except Antarctica. Singapore is always a favorite. The perfect blend of old and new. Cape Town has views that'll make you believe in God. Rios got an energy you can feel as soon as you step off the ship.

1:17:43Any places to avoid, word asked. Plenty, Jones chuckled. But sometimes the worst ports make for the best stories. There was this one time in Manila. A sharp crack cut through the air, the unmistakable sound of a handgun being fired. All four men froze, then rushed to the windows facing the front of the ship. On the main deck below, towards the front of the ship, Chaos was unfolding. Two soldiers stood with their backs to a shipping container, firing at a group of figures sprinting toward them. Even from a distance, the blood stained skin and jerky movements of the attackers were unmistakable. What the hell, Turner exclaimed? How did those things get on board? One of the soldiers held his ground, emptying his magazine into the oncoming hoard. But he was too slow to reload and the creatures swarmed him, dragging him to the ground in a tangle of grasping hands and snapping jaws. The second soldier fired his remaining rounds before turning and making a desperate leap over the railing, choosing the uncertain mercy of the ocean

1:18:44over the certain death approaching him. Damn it, Hodges muttered grabbing the radio. Simmons come in, this is Hodges, what's your status? Over, static was the only reply. Simmons, Crawford, Rose, anyone copy? Hodges tried again, his voice rising with urgency. Nothing. Hodges turned to Jones. I need to get to our weapons. We stashed our rifles in the crew quarters. How do I get there from here? Jones moved quickly to a schematic of the ship mounted on the wall. You'll want to head to the rear of the ship. There's a hatch on the port side. That's left, he added, seeing Ward's momentary confusion. It leads directly to the lower deck where the crew quarters are located. When you hit the bottom floor, move to the other side and you'll find it. How the hell did they get on board? Turner asked, checking his side arm. Maybe one of those things was already on the ship before we left. Ward suggested, hidden in a container or something. Or someone was bitten during the evacuation and brought the infection aboard. Hodges said, doesn't matter now.

1:19:46We need to contain this before it spreads throughout the ship. The three Rangers performed quick gear checks, but their equipment was limited. Just side arms and combat knives. Their rifles, extra ammunition, and tactical gear were all stowed in their quarters below. Captain Jones, Hodges, said, his voice taking on the clipped, authoritative tone of command. Lock yourself in here and don't open up for anyone but us. I'm leaving the radio in case you need to call Norfolk for help. It's already tuned to the right channel. Jones nodded, his face grim. What are you going to do? Find our weapons, locate any survivors and clear the ship, Hodges replied. Standard sweep and clear, room by room, if necessary. There's got to be 50 or 60 people between the crew and military personnel on board. Jones said, plus me, if those things have been loose for a while, the implication hung in the air. If the creatures had been attacking people in the mess hall or sleeping quarters, the casualties could already be significant.

1:20:48And each casualty potentially became a new threat. We'll handle it, Hodges assured him, though his expression betrayed his concern. Lock this door behind us. We'll let you know when we get our gear. We'll try some of my men on the radio while you move. Maybe some of them are still alive and kicking. With a final nod to Jones, Hodges led Turner and Ward out of the control room. They moved cautiously down the staircase leading to the main deck, Hodges in the lead with his handgun aimed forward, Turner and Ward covering their flanks. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, they paused to assess the situation. The bulk of the creatures seemed to be concentrated toward the front of the ship. From their position, they could see figures moving among the shipping containers and equipment lashed to the deck. But none had noticed them yet. Keep it quiet if we can. Hodges whispered, holstering his handgun and drawing his combat knife. Save ammunition for when we really need it. Turner and Ward nodded, following his lead as they moved silently across the deck,

1:21:49using the stacked cargo as cover. They worked their way toward the port side where the hatch to the lower decks awaited. As they ducked behind a large crate, Hodges held up a fist, signaling for them to stop. Around the corner, he could hear the shuffling footsteps and labored breathing of one of the creatures. He adjusted his grip on the knife, then, with a quick hand signal to the others, darted around the crate. The thing, formerly a young sailor with a buzz cut and a now-tattered uniform, turned toward the sudden movement, but Hodges was already on it. He slammed the creature against a nearby container, pinning it with his forearm while driving his knife up through the underside of its jaw and into its brain. The thing went limp instantly. It's dead eyes rolling back, as Hodges eased it to the deck. Check it, Hodges ordered as Turner and Ward joined him. Ward knelt beside the body, examining it quickly. Neck wound, he reported, pointing to a ragged bite mark just above the collar. Looks like someone took a chunk right out of him.

1:22:51I recognize him, Turner said. He was helping unload supplies at the dock, poor kid. They continued toward the hatch, moving silently when possible, eliminating isolated threats with their knives when necessary. They were within 20 yards of their goal, when a shrill cry sounded from somewhere behind them. Turning, they saw three of the creatures sprinting across the deck toward them, drawn by the movement or sound of their passage. It moved with terrifying speed, closing the distance quickly. So much for stealth, Turner muttered, raising his handguns. Make them count, Hodges said, taking aim at the lead creature. The three rangers fired in unison, their shots echoing across the deck. Turner's round caught the lead creature square in the forehead, dropping it instantly. Ward shot clipped the shoulder of the second, staggering but not stopping it. Hodges put it down with a follow-up shot through the eye. The third creature closed the distance as they fired, forcing Ward to sidestep and fire again

1:23:52at nearly point blank range. The creature's head exploded in a spray of blood and brain matter, its momentum carrying the body forward to crash into a pile of crates. More coming, Turner warned, pointing toward the bow where the gunshots had drawn attention. At least five more creatures were heading their way, with potentially more out of sight behind the cargo. Move, Hodges ordered sprinting the final distance to the hatch. The heavy metal door was secured with a wheel mechanism, designed to create a watertight seal. Hodges grabbed it with both hands, grunting with effort as he tried to turn it. The wheel resisted, either from disuse or because it had been deliberately secured from the other side. Cover me, he ordered as Turner and Ward took up defensive positions. The creatures were closing fast, forcing Turner and Ward to open fire again. Their shots were precise, a necessity given their limited ammunition, but there were simply too many targets. For every creature they dropped with a headshot,

1:24:54two more appeared around the stacks of cargo. Any time now, Captain, Turner called ejecting an empty magazine and slapping in his last one. Hodges strained against the wheel, feeling it give slightly. Almost there, he grunted. Ward fired his last round, dropping a creature that had nearly reached them. With a final heave, Hodges felt the wheel mechanism release. He yanked the hatch open, revealing a dark stairwell leading below. Go, go, he shouted, covering Turner and Ward as they slipped through the opening. Hodges backed in after them, firing a few rounds to keep the hoard at bay. As the last creature fell, he pulled the hatch shut and spun the wheel from the inside, securing it just as more of them slammed against the metal door from the other side. The three rangers stood in the dimly lit stairwell, breathing heavily as they listened to the muffled sounds of the creatures clawing at the door. That was close, Turner said, reloading his handgun with a fresh magazine.

1:25:54Too close, Hodges agreed. The stairwell led down into the heart of the ship where the crew quarters and their rifles awaited. But as they stood catching their breath, another sound reached them, echoing through the metal corridors ahead. Moaning, distant but clear coming from multiple directions, chapter eight. Hodges led the way down the metal staircase, each step taken with deliberate care to minimize noise. The emergency lighting cast long shadows across the walls, turning the descent into something out of a nightmare. Turner followed close behind, with Ward bringing up the rear, both men moving with the same cautious precision as their captain. As they descended deeper into the ship's bowels, the sounds from below grew more distinct. Moans that sent chills down their spines, shuffling footsteps that lacked purpose or direction, and intermittent screams that told of ongoing carnage somewhere in the darkness ahead. Those don't sound like normal people.

1:26:55Ward whispered, his voice barely audible over the ambient noises of the ship. Turner shot him a look, no shit. Cut the chatter Hodges ordered, his voice low but commanding, focus. They continued down in silence, weapons at the ready. Hodges carried his combat knife in his right hand, the blade positioned for a quick upward thrust. His other hand rested on his sidearm, a last resort given the noise it would generate. At the bottom of the stairs, they found themselves in a small stairwell room, barely large enough for the three of them to stand comfortably. A single metal door separated them from the main cargo area. Through it, they could hear wet, tearing sounds, punctuated by low guttural moans that were distinctly inhuman. Hodges pressed his ear against the door, listening intently. After a moment, he pulled back and looked at his men. Sounds like one of them, he whispered, doing something I'd rather not think about. Turner and Ward exchanged grim glances.

1:27:57They'd seen enough top side to know what that meant. Let me, Turner said, reaching for the door handle. Hodges shook his head. I'll take point, cover me, but hold position unless I signal. He gripped the door handle with his left hand, knife poised in his right. With practice steadiness, he turned the handle and eased the door open just enough to peer through. The site confirmed his suspicions. One of the creatures was hunched over the body of a fallen sailor, tearing at the man's abdomen with single-minded ferocity. The creature's back was to the door, giving Hodges a perfect opportunity. He looked back at his men and held up one finger, then pointed to himself. They nodded in understanding. Taking a deep breath, Hodges slipped through the narrow opening, stepping onto the main deck as quietly as he could. The ghoul was completely absorbed in its gruesome feast, unaware of the threat approaching from behind. Hodges crossed the short distance in three careful steps, then struck in one fluid motion, driving his knife upward through the base

1:28:58of the creature's skull and into its brain. The effect was immediate. The zombie went limp. Its body collapsing forward onto its victim. Hodges withdrew his knife, wiping the blade clean on the creature's clothing, as Turner and Ward emerged from the stairwell. All three soldiers stood over the grisly scene. The sailor was still alive, barely. His uniform was soaked with blood, his chest torn open. Each shallow breath sent bubbles of blood frothing from his lips. His eyes were wide with terror and pain, silently pleading for help that couldn't come. Jesus, Ward muttered, looking away. Turner kept his gaze fixed on the dying man. We need to be sure. Hodges nodded, understanding. They needed confirmation that their theory about transmission was correct, that bites from the ghoul spread the virus. Nothing we can do for him now, Hodges said, his voice steady, despite the churning in his gut. We wait. The sailor's breathing grew more labored.

1:29:59His eyes gradually losing focus. With a final, wet gurgle, he went still. Seconds ticked by. Ward shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other. The sailor's body jerked violently. His eyes snapped open again, but they were different now, vacant, with no trace of humanity left. The newly turned creature thrashed weekly, pinned beneath the weight of the first corpse. That answers that question. Hodges said grimly. Without hesitation, he drove his knife into the sailor's forehead. The body went still once more. Let's move, he ordered, wiping his blade again. Stay tight, stay quiet. The trio moved carefully through the labyrinth of shipping containers and stacked cargo. The hold was massive, filled with shadows that seemed to shift and move with each flicker of the emergency lights. They advanced cautiously, pausing at each intersection to listen for movement. The crew quarters should be just up ahead. Turner whispered as they crouched behind a stack of crates.

1:31:00Hodges nodded. If anyone's still alive, that's where they'd hole up. If Ward repeated, the doubt evident in his voice. They continued forward, navigating through narrow corridors formed by towering containers. Twice, they had to change course to avoid the sounds of movement ahead. The noises echoed deceptively through the metal corridors, making it difficult to pinpoint their exact source. After what seemed like an eternity of slow progress, Turner pointed ahead. There, the crew quarters came into view, a long compartment built against the hull, stretching about 40 yards. At least a dozen creatures clustered around the entrance, clawing mindlessly at the sealed door. Some pounded their fists against the metal while others simply pressed their bodies against it as if trying to force their way through by sheer mass. Someone's in there. Ward said his voice tight with tension has to be. The three soldiers huddled behind a stack of crates, 20 yards from the nearest zombie.

1:32:01What's the play, Captain? Turner asked. Hodges paused, studying the layout of the cargo hold. The containers were arranged in long rows, creating multiple parallel aisles leading toward the crew quarters. I have a plan, he said at last. I'll move over a few rows, create a diversion, draw them away from the door. Then what, Ward asked? Once they're clear, you two make a run for it. Get to that door, get inside. And you, Turner's voice was tight with concern. I'll outrun them, circle back. You cover me when I get there. Turner and Ward exchanged glances. That's a hell of a run, Turner said flatly. You have a better idea, Sergeant? Turner's silence was answer enough. I didn't think so, Hodges continued. This is an order, get ready. Before they could protest further, Hodges slipped away, moving silently between the rows of containers. He navigated carefully, pausing whenever

1:33:01he heard movement nearby. As he rounded a corner, he nearly walked directly into a lone zombie stumbling between containers. With lightning reflexes, he grabbed it from behind, driving his knife into its skull in a single fluid motion. The creature went limp in his arms, and he lowered it to the ground as quietly as possible. Finally, Hodges reached his position, approximately 50 yards from the crew quarters along a parallel aisle. He could see the creature still clustered around the door and beyond them, the barely visible forms of Turner and Ward waiting for his signal. Hodges took a deep breath, drew his handgun, and fired. The shot echoed through the cargo hold like a thunder clap, impossibly loud after the long stretch of careful silence. One of the zombies dropped, a dark hole where its eye had been. The others turned as one, their vacant eyes searching for the source of the noise. Hodges fired again, and again, each shot found a target, the only one more fell.

1:34:02Headshots were difficult at this distance, especially in the dim light, but it didn't matter. The noise was doing its job. The ghouls began to move, shuffling at first, then breaking into an unnatural run as they spotted him. Some moved with the jerky gate of damaged joints, while others sprinted with terrifying speed. Hodges held his ground, firing two more shots to make sure they were committed to the chase. Through the gaps between the approaching bodies, he could see Turner and Ward making their move toward the now unguarded door. When the first of the creatures was barely 15 yards away, Hodges turned and ran. His boots pounded on the metal floor as he sprinted back through the aisle he'd arrived through. Behind him, he could hear the creatures pursuing, dozens of feet slapping against the deck, wet snarls and moans closing in. Hodges pushed himself harder, his lungs burning with the effort. These weren't the slow, shambling creatures from old horror films. These were fast, driven by some terrible hunger that pushed their decaying muscles beyond normal limits.

1:35:05He risked a glance over his shoulder and immediately regretted it. The ghouls were gaining on him. Their dead eyes fixed on him with terrible hunger. Their mouths hung open, black with old blood. Teeth bared like animals. Hodges faced forward again, focusing on the path ahead. As he rounded the corner that would take him back toward the crew quarters, his foot slipped in something wet. Blood, most likely, he went down hard, his knee slamming into the metal floor. Pain shot up his leg, but adrenaline pushed it aside as he scrambled back to his feet. That brief delay had cost him. The zombies were closer now, close enough that he could smell the blood coming off them. Hodges could see the door to the crew quarters standing open. Ward was in the doorway, waving frantically. 20 yards, he could make it. Hodges pumped his legs harder, ignoring the pain in his knee. 15 yards, 10. The creatures were right behind him now. Their outstretched hands grasping at the air inches from his back.

1:36:06Five yards from the door, Hodges felt fingers catch the fabric of his sleeve. He tried to pull away, but the grip was too strong. One of the zombies had him. Its blood-soaked hand clamped around his forearm like a vice. Hodges' momentum carried him through the doorway, but the creature came with him. Its teeth already sinking into his flesh. He felt a searing pain as the creature tore a chunk from his arm, blood spraying across the wall. Glows it, he yelled to Ward, who was struggling to push the door shut against the press of bodies. The ghoul wouldn't let go of Hodges' arm. Its body wedged in the doorway. With no other choice, Hodges and Ward pulled the creature inside, allowing the door to close behind it. Hodges stumbled backward, off-balance from the pain and loss of blood. The zombie fell on top of him, its weight driving him to the floor. Before he could react, it lunged for his throat. Hodges twisted, and the creature's teeth sank into his shoulder instead, tearing through fabric and flesh. Turner rushed forward, driving his knife into the infected skull.

1:37:09It went limp instantly, collapsing on top of Hodges in a heap of dead weight. Ward fired several shots through the small window in the door, clearing enough space to slam the metal bolt home. The door shuttered as bodies slammed against it from the other side, but it held. For a moment no one moved. The room was silent except for the pounding on the door and their ragged breathing. Then, slowly, all eyes turned to Hodges. He lay on his back, the corpse sprawled across his legs. Blood soaked his sleeve and shoulder, already spreading across the floor beneath him. His face was pale, but his eyes were clear and focused. Turner knelt beside him, capped in. Hodges pushed the dead creature off his legs and sat up, winsing at the movement. It's done, he said, his voice steady despite the pain. We all know what this means. Ward leaned against the wall, his face a mask of shock. But sir, maybe there's no maybe corporal Hodges interrupted. He looked at the bite wounds on his arm and shoulder, then at his men.

1:38:13Despite everything, his voice carried the same authority it always had. The voice that had led them through countless missions. The voice they'd learned to trust without question. Suck it up, both of you, he ordered, climbing to his feet despite the pain. We've got work to do if any of you want to live to see another day, Chapter 9. The pounding on the door continued relentlessly as Turner and Ward exchanged worried glances. Hodges was still on his feet, but blood continued to seep through his uniform, where the zombie had torn into his arm and shoulder. We need to secure this area, Hodges said, his voice strained but commanding. Ward checked the bunks. Turner, take the head and galley. I want to know if we're alone in here. The men nodded, raising their weapons and moving cautiously deeper into the crew quarters. The long narrow compartment was divided into several sections, sleeping areas with bunks stacked three high, storage lockers, a small galley, and bathroom facilities. The minimal lighting cast everything in an eerie blue glow,

1:39:15creating pockets of shadow in every corner. Ward moved methodically through the sleeping area, checking each bunk in the spaces between them. Clear, he called out after a thorough search. Turner worked his way through the galley and the head, weapon at the ready. All clear he confirmed returning to the main area. Hodges had slumped against the wall near the door, his face pale and drawn. He'd pulled out the first aid kit from his pack and was attempting to bandage his wounds, but his hands shook as he fumbled with the gauze. Turner approached and knelt beside him. Let me help with that, sir. I've got it, Hodges snapped but the bandage slipped from his fingers, falling to the floor. For a moment no one spoke. Then Hodges nodded, his jaw tight. All right, make it quick. Turner worked efficiently, cleaning the wounds as best he could with antiseptic wipes before applying pressure bandages. The bite on Hodges' arm was deep, exposing muscle and tendon.

1:40:16The shoulder wound was less severe but still ugly, a ragged semi-circle of torn flesh. That should slow the bleeding, Turner said, securing the last bandage. They both knew it was futile. The wounds would kill him eventually, but not before the virus did its work. Good enough, Hodges said, pulling his tactical radio from his vest. He adjusted the frequency and pressed the transmit button. Jones, this is Hodges, do you copy? Static crackled for a moment before Captain Jones's voice came through. I copy Hodges. What's your situation? We've made it to the crew quarters. Hodges reported his voice steady despite his condition. Currently locked down, but we're surrounded. What's the status top side? Not good, Jones replied. Those things are everywhere. Most of the crew is either dead or he trailed off, leaving the implication hanging. Any survivors? Hodges asked. Got a call from one of my men. He said a few people are trapped on top of a shipping container near the mess hall.

1:41:16They're safe for the moment. The creatures can't reach them. But that's not an ideal situation for anyone to be in. Hodges' eyes met turners. A rescue mission meant fighting their way through God knew how many zombies. We'll find them, Hodges said. What about you? Are you secure? There was a pause on the other end. When Jones spoke again, his voice was lower, more guarded. I'm locked in the control room, not going anywhere. In the control room, Captain Jones released the transmit button and looked up at the reinforced glass window of the door. His wife stared back at him. Her eyes vacant. Her mouth slack. Blood caked the front of her blouse from where she'd been attacked. She pressed her hands against the glass, leaving smeared crimson handprints. Jones couldn't take his eyes off of her. His mind filled with all the memories they had created over the years. Now she stood there, watching him with eyes that no longer recognized him. Occasionally, she would throw herself against the door, testing its strength. I'm not going anywhere.

1:42:17Jones repeated, more to himself than to Hodges. He turned away from the door, unable to look at what had once been his wife. Roger that, Hodges said, lowering the radio. He looked at Turner and Ward. We need to move. There are survivors trapped near the mess hall. But sir, Ward began gesturing to Hodges' wounds. You're, I know what I am, Hodges cut him off. But I'm still your commanding officer and I'm giving you an order. We're going to find those survivors and get them to safety, understood? Ward hesitated, then nodded. Yes, sir. Good. Now gear up. You're going to need everything we've got. They moved to their packs, assembling their equipment. Ward and Turner each took an assault rifle as their primary weapon with side arms as backup. They loaded as many magazines as they could carry, distributing the weight across their tactical vests. Take the spare rifles, Hodges instructed, pointing to the additional weapons they'd brought. Sling them, you might need the extra firepower, or the survivors might need to defend themselves.

1:43:18Turner and Ward each took one of the extra rifles, slinging them across their backs. Hodges checked his own weapon, hands moving with practiced efficiency, despite his deteriorating condition. Sir, Turner said, there's only one way in and out of here, and it's currently blocked by at least a dozen of those things. I'm aware of that sergeant, Hodges replied. He surveyed the room, his mind working through their options. We're going to let them in. Ward looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. Let them in, sir, with all due respect. We create a barricade, Hodges continued, pointing to the furniture scattered around the crew quarters. Stack those bunks and lockers halfway down the hall. We make a funnel, they come in, we cut them down from behind cover. Turner considered it. Could work, they'd be bottlenecked. Exactly, Hodges said. Once we clear them out, you make a run for it. Get to the mess hall, find the survivors, then head for the control room. From there you can radio Norfolk and get a rescue team dispatched.

1:44:22And what about you, sir? Turner asked, the question hanging heavy in the air. Hodges met his gaze steadily. I'm going to buy you as much time as I can. After that, well, you know what needs to be done. A somber silence fell over the group. They all understood the implications. Let's get to work, Hodges said finally. We don't have much time. They moved quickly, dragging metal bunks and lockers into position. Turner and Ward constructed a waste high barrier across the hallway, solid enough to stop the zombies, but still allowing them a clear firing line. Hodges supervised his strength visibly waning as time passed. The constant pounding on the door provided a grim soundtrack to their work. Occasionally, a particularly violent impact would cause the heavy metal to shutter in its frame. That should do it, Turner said, stepping back to assess their handy work. The barricade was crude but effective, a solid wall of metal that would force the zombies to

1:45:22climb over if they wanted to reach the soldiers. Hodges nodded, then moved toward the door. Turner stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. Sir, let me do it, he said. You're in no condition. I'm already dead, Turner. Hodges replied. His voice matter of fact, we both know that. But I've still got a little gas left in the tank. I can do this. Turner hesitated, then stepped back. Yes, sir. Hodges checked his weapon one final time, then took position next to the door. Ward and Turner stationed themselves behind the barricade. Rifles raised and ready. On my mark, Hodges called out. His hand hovered over the door handle for a moment. He took a deep breath, stealing himself. Three, two, one, mark. In one fluid motion, Hodges unlocked the door and yanked it open. The force of the zombies pressing against it sent the door flying inward, and they immediately began pouring into the hallway.

1:46:22Hodges turned and ran. His injuries slowing him down. The zombies were close behind. Their vacant eyes fixed on him, arms outstretched. He covered the distance to the barricade in seconds, diving headfirst over it and rolling to the floor on the other side. Now he shouted, staying low. Turner and Ward opened fire. The narrow hallway became a kill zone, rounds tearing through the zombies as they bottle-necked at the entrance. The first wave fell almost immediately. Their bodies piling up in the doorway. More pushed in behind them, climbing over their fallen comrades, only to be cut down in turn. The noise was deafening in the confined space. The staccato bursts of rifle fire. The inhuman shrieks of the zombies. The wet impact of bullets finding their marks. Brass casings rained down around the soldiers as they fired, reloaded, and fired again. And then, abruptly, it was over. The last zombie fell and no more appeared in the doorway. The sudden silence was almost as disorienting as the noise had been. Clear, Turner called out scanning the hallway.

1:47:24Clear, Ward echoed, ejecting his empty magazine and loading a fresh one. Hodges pulled himself to his feet, using the barricade for support. His bandages were soaked through with blood, and his skin had taken on a grayish pallor. But his eyes were still sharp, still focused. Move out, he ordered. Fast and quiet, head straight for the mess hall. Turner and Ward vaulted over the barricade, stepping carefully over the pile of corpses blocking the doorway. Hodges followed more slowly. His movement stiff and labored. As they emerged into the cargo hold, they paused, scanning for threats. The vast space was eerily quiet, but shadows moved in the distance. More zombies, drawn by the sound of gunfire. Go, Hodges said, his voice weaker than before. I'll cover the rear. Turner looked like he wanted to object, but a sharp glance from Hodges silenced him. He nodded, then turned and moved forward, Ward close behind. They moved as quickly as they dared, weaving between shipping containers and stacks of cargo.

1:48:28They'd covered about 50 yards when movement caught Hodges' eye from the doorway of the crew quarters. A group of zombies emerged from between two containers, moving with unnatural speed toward Turner and Ward. On your left, Hodges called out, raising his rifle. Turner and Ward spun, bringing their weapons to bear, but the zombies were closing fast. Hodges fired, his shots going wide as his vision swam. But the sound was enough to draw the creature's attention. As one, the zombies changed direction, moving toward Hodges instead. He stood his ground, firing again, managing to drop one of them. But there were too many, and they were too close. Keep going, he shouted to Turner and Ward. That's in order. The zombies closed the distance quickly. Their dead eyes locked on him. He grabbed onto the door moments before they arrived, slamming it shut. The bolts slid home with a solid thunk just as the first zombie crashed against the metal. Hodges slumped down against the door.

1:49:28His rifle clattering to the floor beside him. Pain radiated from his wounds, and his entire body felt like it was on fire. But he'd done it. He'd bought his men time. Go get him, boys. He murmured to the empty room. His voice barely audible over the pounding on the door. Chapter 10. Turner and Ward paused behind a stack of cargo pallets, listening to the sounds of the ship around them. The distant moans of zombies echoed through the metal corridors, punctuated occasionally by the clang of something falling or the creek of the vessel, as it rocked against the ocean waters. You think the captain… Ward began, but couldn't finish the thought. Turner's face was a mask of grim determination. He bought us time. That's what matters now. Ward nodded, but the weight of what they'd left behind hung heavy between them. Hodges had been more than just their commanding officer. He'd been their rock, their compass. Now they were on their own, deep and hostile territory. Stay low, stay quiet, Turner whispered.

1:50:29Let's get this done. They moved cautiously through the maze of shipping containers, rifles at the ready. The cargo hold was vast, stretching the length of the massive vessel. Somewhere near the center was the mess hall, and hopefully the survivors Captain Jones had mentioned. A metallic scraping sound froze them in place. Turner raised his fist, getting Ward to hold position. Seconds later, a pair of zombies rounded the corner ahead, shuffling aimlessly through the narrow passage between container stacks. The soldiers pressed themselves against a container, barely breathing as the creatures moved past. One of them, formerly a crewman based on the tattered uniform, dragged a broken leg behind it, bone fragments scraping against the deck with each step. The other was missing most of its face, the exposed jaw working ceaselessly as if still trying to satisfy its endless hunger. When the zombies had passed, Turner signaled forward again. They continued their advance, each step carefully placed to minimize noise.

1:51:32This way, Turner whispered consulting his mental map of the ship, mess hall should be just ahead. They reached a junction between container rows and held up, surveying the open area beyond. What they saw made both men's blood run cold. The mess hall area was a slaughterhouse. Bodies lay scattered across the floor, some still recognizably human, others torn beyond recognition. Blood pooled on the metal deck, reflecting the light like oil on water. Tables and chairs had been overturned in what must have been a desperate attempt to escape. It hadn't worked. Whatever defense had been mounted here had failed, catastrophically. Zombies still milled around the area, at least ten of them, wandering aimlessly or crouched over the remains of handful of creatures that had taken a bullet to the head in the melee. Jesus, word breathed, his voice barely audible. Turner surveyed the scene with tactical eyes. Jones said they were on top of a container near here, keep your eyes up.

1:52:34They scanned the tops of the surrounding containers, looking for any sign of movement or life. The stacks rose 15 to 20 feet high, offering a defensible position if someone could climb up there. But the mess hall area was surrounded by at least 20 different containers, and they couldn't spot anything from their current position. We need to get closer, Turner decided, but we can't just walk in there. Ward nodded in agreement. We need to find a way to let them know that help is here without bringing those things down on us. They withdrew slightly, studying their surroundings for anything useful. Ward spotted it first, a pallet stacked with canned goods, likely food supplies for the galley. He pointed it out to Turner, who immediately saw the potential. Distraction, Turner said, throw one far enough and it might give us a chance to spot them. Ward moved to the pallet and carefully extracted a can of soup, testing its weight in his hand. He looked to Turner, who nodded and pointed to the far side of the mess hall. Taking a deep breath, Ward wound up and threw the can as hard as he could.

1:53:36It sailed through the air in a high arc, eventually crashing against a metal shipping container on the opposite side of the mess hall. The impact sent a loud metallic ping echoing through the hold. The effect was immediate. Every zombie in the mess hall area turned toward the sound, several of them breaking into their unsettling, lurching run. Turner and Ward held their positions, barely breathing as they watched the creatures move away. For several long seconds, nothing happened. Then faintly, they heard a voice. Whereover he air, Turner's head snapped in the direction of the call, several rows back from the mess hall, deeper into the hold. Got them, he whispered toward, let's move. They backtracked quickly, then made their way along a parallel row toward where they'd heard the voice. As they approached, they scanned the tops of the containers, finally spotting movement on one about 30 yards ahead. Or figures crouched on top of a 15-foot container, barely visible in the dim light. Turner recognized two of them immediately,

1:54:40Crawford and Rose from their unit. The other two were sailors based on their uniforms. Turner pulled out his tactical flashlight, flicking it on and off in a quick pattern, three short, three long, three short, the universal SOS. A moment later, one of the figures on the container returned the signal with what looked like a small pocket light. They see us, Turner said, we need to get closer. They advanced cautiously, eventually reaching a container 20 yards from the one where the survivors were stationed. Turner climbed up first, using the corner brackets as handholds, then reached down to help ward up. Once on top, they had a clear view of the other group. Crawford's face showed visible relief when he recognized them. Rose sat on the roof of the container, propping himself up by his elbows, his face, pale and drawn, a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his calf. The two sailors looked exhausted but uninjured. Took you long enough, Crawford called in a hushed voice. Where's the captain? Turner's expression was answer enough. Crawford nodded grimly, understanding without words.

1:55:46What's the situation? Turner asked keeping his voice low. Offered pointed down. Doesn't or so of those things circling the base of this container been here for a while. Can't get down. Rose's bit, one of the sailors added, it's bad. Turner glanced at Rose, noting the gray pallor of his skin. The virus was already working its way through his system. It was only a matter of time. We need to move, Turner said. All of us. Is there a secure location nearby? One of the sailors, younger than the other, spoke up. There's a maintenance room near the bow. It leads to a staircase back up to the deck. How far, Ward asked? 200 yards, maybe less, the sailor replied, but we'd need to get past them first. He gestured to the zombies below. Turner considered their options. Diversion might work. Draw them away long enough for you to get down and make a run for it. What kind of diversion Crawford asked? Not sure yet, Turner admitted. Give us a few minutes to

1:56:47scout the area. They climbed down the far side of the container, away from where the zombies were clustered. Once on the deck, they moved cautiously through the shadows, hunting for anything that might serve their purpose. The ship was eerily quiet as they navigated through the narrow passages between containers. Occasionally, they caught glimpses of zombies in the distance, but managed to avoid detection by freezing in place or ducking into side passages. What about the emergency systems, Ward suggested in a whisper, ship this size must have fire alarms? Turner nodded. Good thinking, if we could trigger one in a different section. He broke off as movement caught his eye. Two zombies had turned into their passage, not 20 feet away. The creatures spotted them immediately, their vacant eyes fixing on the soldiers with terrible hunger. Nives? Turner whispered urgently. Can't risk the noise. They drew their combat knives as the zombies charged. Turner met the first one head on, side-stepping at the last moment and driving

1:57:51his blade up through the underside of its jaw and into its brain. The creature collapsed instantly. Ward wasn't as lucky. The second ghoul barrelled into him with surprising force, knocking him off his feet. His back slammed into the metal deck. The zombie on top of him, its teeth snapping inches from his face. Ward struggled to keep the creature at bay. One hand pressed against its throat while the other frantically sought leverage for his knife. Turner moved quickly, grabbing the zombie by its hair and yanking its head back to expose the base of its skull. His knife plunged in with ease and the creature went limp. Ward shoved the corpse off him, gasping for breath. As he tried to stand, he winced, his hand going to his knee. You okay? Turner asked helping him up. Twisted it in the fall, Ward replied through gritted teeth. I'll manage. Turner gave him a skeptical look but didn't push the issue. They had more pressing concerns. Can you walk? Ward tested his weight on the injured knee and

1:58:53nodded. Yeah, let's keep moving. They continued their circuit around the mess hall area. Ward limping slightly but keeping pace. As they approached from a different angle, they could see the container where the survivors were perched and the zombies circling beneath it like sharks. There, Turner whispered, pointing to a section of the mess hall they hadn't been able to see before, cooking station. Ward followed his gaze. A row of camping stoves was set up along one wall, with large pots still sitting on them. Despite everything that was going on, the flame beneath them continued to flicker, putting a delicious scent into the air. That'll make enough noise, Ward agreed, but how do we knock them over without getting swarmed? Before Turner could answer, the decision was made for them. A zombie emerged from a side passage, barely ten feet away. It's dead eyes locking onto them immediately. Before either soldier could react, it charged, moving with the unnatural speed of the recently

1:59:53turned, moaning loudly. Turner and Ward backed up, but the zombie was too fast. It slammed into a stack of supply crates, sending them crashing to the deck. The noise was like a gunshot in the silent hold. Immediately, moans erupted from all around them. The zombies circling the survivor's container turned as one, their attention drawn by the noise, but others were coming as well, dozens of them, emerging from the shadows between containers, all converging on the mess hall. Damn it, Turner muttered, drawing his rifle. Ward did the same, both men ready for the war that was on their doorstep. They took up position at the edge of the mess hall, using a toppled table as cover. Without hesitation, both men opened fire, taking down the closest zombies. The gunshots echoed throughout the hold, letting every creature that wasn't aware of their presence know exactly where they were. Turner raised his rifle to his shoulder, taking aim at a couple of ghouls emerging from behind a nearby container. Ward did the same beside him. Their movements synchronized

2:00:59by years of training and combat experience. We're burned, Turner called out loudly enough for Crawford and the others to hear. So you guys get moving, Chapter 11. The first shot echoed through the cargo hold like thunder. Turner's rounds struck a zombie square between the eyes, dropping it instantly. Ward fired a split second later, his target crumpling to the deck as the bullet tore through its skull. More zombies poured out from the shadows between containers, drawn by the noise. Turner and Ward maintained their position, picking their shots carefully. The zombies came in waves, sprinting with the unnatural speed of the recently turned. Turner and Ward worked methodically, years of combat training guiding their actions. Each shot was placed with precision, but for every zombie that fell, two more seemed to take its place. Where the hell are they all coming from? Ward shouted over the gunfire. Ward's rifle clicked empty after firing a trio of shots towards a rushing zombie,

2:02:01two rounds finding the ghoul's forehead. He dropped the spent magazine, reaching for a fresh one from his tactical vest. Before he could slam at home, two zombies emerged from between a nearby gap between two containers, closing the distance with frightening speed. Damn it! Ward abandoned the reload, dropping his rifle as the first zombie lunged at him. He pivoted, shoving the creature with all his strength. The zombie flipped over a metal table, buying Ward precious seconds, but the second zombie was already on him, grasping at his body armor with surprising strength. Ward jammed his forearm into the creature's chest, holding it at bay as its teeth snapped inches from his face. The stench of decay filled his nostrils, nearly making him gag. With his free hand, he clawed for his sidearm, finally managing to draw it from its holster. The zombie pushed harder, it's dead weight driving Ward back, forcing him to plant his feet in the ground. He didn't have the leverage for a headshot. Instead, he pressed the barrel of his pistol directly under the zombie's chin and pulled the trigger. The top of the creature's head

2:03:04exploded in a shower of gore and it collapsed at Ward's feet. He spun, pistol raised, but Turner had already dispatched the first zombie with a well placed shot. Thanks, Ward gasped, retrieving his fallen rifle and finally completing the reload. Turner nodded, then turned his attention back to the direction of the container, hoping to spot the survivors emerging any moment now. Crawford gripped the top of the container tightly as he extended his arms as much as he could before letting go. The drop was only a few feet, but he managed it well, immediately pressing his back against the container and scanning for threats. The nearest zombies were 30 yards away, currently focused on the gunfire from Turner and Ward's position. Come on, Crawford called up to the sailors. Now's our chance. The younger sailor descended awkwardly, nearly losing his grip halfway down. Crawford steadied him when he reached the bottom, feeling the man's body trembling beneath his hands. Easy, Crawford said. You're good. The young man's eyes were wide with terror, flinching at every

2:04:07gunshot that echoed across the hold. I can't. I can't do this, he stammered. Yes, you can, Crawford said firmly. Focus on me. We're going to be fine. It was a lie, and they both knew it, but the young sailor nodded anyway, drawing whatever comfort he could from the soldier's confidence. Crawford turned back to the container. Rose, come on, buddy. We've got to move. Above them, Rose dragged himself to the edge. His face was ashen, his movement sluggish. The bite on his leg was still bleeding, despite the makeshift tourniquet and bandage. Crawford knew Rose wouldn't last much longer, but he wasn't leaving a man behind. With the sailor's help from above and below, Crawford guided Rose down the side of the container, when Rose's feet touched the deck he led out an involuntary scream of pain, despite his obvious effort to remain silent. The sound cut through the gunfire like a knife. Several zombies at the perimeter of the mess hall turned, their vacant eyes fixing on the new

2:05:09prey. Crawford cursed under his breath, drawing his sidearm. Stay behind me, he ordered the sailor, and keep Rose upright. The first zombie reached them in seconds, moving with the jerky quickness of a predator that had spotted easy prey. Crawford aimed carefully and fired, catching it in the forehead. It dropped, but a second zombie was right behind it. Crawford's neck shot went slightly wide, grazing the creature's temple instead of hitting dead center. The zombie staggered, but didn't fall, slamming into the young sailor with enough force to separate him from Rose. Before Crawford could fire again, the zombie's teeth sank into man's neck, tearing through flesh and artery in one savage motion. Blood sprayed across the container's metal wall in a crimson fan as he screamed. Crawford didn't hesitate, he stepped forward and pressed his pistol to the back of the zombie's head pulling the trigger. As the creature collapsed, he turned his weapon on the young sailor whose eyes were already glazing over as blood pumped from the gaping wound in his neck. I'm sorry, Crawford whispered and fired once more. He turned

2:06:15back to the container where the older sailor still crouched on top. Come on, Crawford shouted, we have to move now. The older man shook his head, terror etched into every line of his face. I can't, he called back, his voice breaking. I'm staying here. Crawford didn't have time to argue. More zombies were closing in, drawn by the blood and gunfire. He holstered his weapon, hooked Rose's arm over his shoulder and began moving as quickly as the injured man's condition would allow. Just a little further, Crawford encouraged, half dragging Rose between the container stacks. We're going to make it. Behind them, they could hear the moaning and footsteps of creatures in pursuit. Crawford didn't look back, knowing it wouldn't do any good. They emerged from between the containers, the open area of the mess hall now visible. Through the chaos, Crawford could see Turner and Ward still holding their position and cutting down zombies with methodical precision. Hope surged through him. They were 30 yards away. They could make it.

2:07:18Ward, Turner, he shouted, his voice barely audible over the gunfire. Turner spotted them first. Crawford supporting Rose as they staggered into view from between the containers. He tapped Ward's shoulder, pointing. Let's move, Turner ordered breaking from their defensive position. Ward followed both men firing as they went, taking down a couple of zombies in the distance. They'd covered less than 10 yards when the attack came. Three zombies emerged from a side passage behind Crawford and Rose, moving so quickly that neither soldier had time to shout a warning. The creatures slammed into the two men, driving them to the deck with their combined weight. Turner raised his rifle, trying to get a clear shot, but Crawford and Rose were tangled with their attackers. He fired once, dropping one of the zombies with a shot through its temple. But before he could target the others, they had already begun tearing into Crawford, one ripping into his shoulder while the other sank its teeth into his exposed neck. Rose was already down, disappearing beneath a fourth zombie that had joined the frenzy.

2:08:19Blood pooled on the metal deck around them, spreading in a dark stain. Turner stood frozen, rifle raised, but unable to fire without risking hitting his friends. Not that it mattered now. Crawford and Rose were already lost. Their screams echoing throughout the cavernous ship before falling terribly silent. Turner ward shouted, grabbing his arm, we have to go, now. Turner couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene. They had been through thick and thin together over in the sandbox, and now they were just gone. Turner, Ward's voice was more insistent his grip tightening. There's nothing we can do for them. We need to move. Reality crashed back in as Turner spotted more zombies converging on their position, drawn by the fresh kills. He nodded once, lowering his rifle. This way, he said, his voice hollow. The maintenance room should be toward the bow. They retreated into the container stacks, moving as quickly as Ward's injured knee would allow. The zombies followed, but the narrow passages between containers worked to the soldier's

2:09:22advantage, forcing the creatures to come at them in smaller groups that were easier to avoid. Turner took point, navigating through the labyrinth of cargo, while Ward watched their six. The ship's dim lighting cast everything in an eerie glow, creating pockets of impenetrable shadow that could hide any number of threats. The lack of knowing what was ahead of them put both men on edge as they pushed through. Left here, Turner whispered, consulting his mental map of the vessel. The maintenance room should be close, assuming the sailor's directions had been accurate. They rounded a corner and found themselves in a narrow service corridor that ran along the inner hall. Pipes and conduits lined the walls, and the deck plates here were worn from years of crew traffic. There, Ward pointed ahead to a heavy metal door marked maintenance, authorized personnel only. They approached cautiously, Turner checking for threats while Ward tried the handle. It was unlocked. The sound of movement behind them spurred them to action. Turner spun, firing a three-round

2:10:28burst that dropped a zombie emerging from the container stacks. More followed, their moans echoing off the metal walls of the corridor. Inside, now Turner ordered, backing toward the door as he continued firing each shot, finding its mark. Ward pushed the door open, holding it for Turner, who backed through the opening, still engaging targets. As soon as Turner was clear, Ward slammed the door shut, throwing the heavy bolt just as the first zombies reached it. The metal door shuttered under the impact of multiple bodies, but it held firm. The maintenance room was secure, at least for the moment. Chapter 12. The pounding on the crew quarters door had finally stopped. Hodges wasn't sure if the zombies had given up or simply wandered off in search of easier prey, but the sudden silence was almost as unnerving as the relentless banging had been. He sat on the floor, back against the wall, taking shallow breaths to manage the pain radiating from his arm and shoulder. The bites throbbed with each heartbeat, sending waves of

2:11:29fire through his nervous system. But worse than the pain was the heat, his skin felt like it was burning from the inside out, the first stage of the infection taking hold. Not going out like this, he muttered to the empty room, not yet. Using the wall for support, Hodges pushed himself to his feet. His legs felt weak, unsteady, but they held his weight. He stumbled toward the small bathroom attached to the crew quarters, hoping to find something to clean his wounds. The bathroom was sparse, a shower stall, toilet and sink with a mirrored cabinet above it. Hodges caught his reflection in the mirror and barely recognized himself. His face was ashen, a sheen of sweat covering his forehead. His eyes were bright with fever, the skin around them darkening with the telltale signs of the infection. He opened the cabinet and searched through its contents, toothpaste, razors, deodorant, the mundane items of daily life that seemed almost absurd in the current circumstances. At the back he found what he was looking for, a brown bottle of rubbing alcohol.

2:12:34Better than nothing, he said, taking the bottle back to the main room. Hodges sat on one of the bunks and peeled away the blood soaked bandages Turner had applied. The wounds looked worse than before. The edges puffy and inflamed, with dark lines beginning to spread outward like the roots of some toxic plant. He unscrewed the cap on the alcohol and took a deep breath. This is going to suck. Without giving himself time to reconsider, Hodges poured the clear liquid directly onto the bite on his arm. The pain was immediate and intense, like being burned with a hot iron. He hissed through clenched teeth, nearly dropping the bottle as his muscles spasmed. When the initial wave of agony had passed, he repeated the process on his shoulder, this time unable to hold back a strangled cry. The alcohol wouldn't stop the infection, nothing could at this point, but it might help with the pain from the bite, at least once the initial burning subsided. By him a few more precious hours of consciousness, of humanity, before the virus claimed him completely. Once the wounds were cleaned,

2:13:40Hodges rewrapped them with fresh bandages from the first aid kit. The task helped focus his mind, pushing back the fever-induced fog that threatened to envelop his thoughts. What now Captain, he asked himself, surveying the room, final mission. His gaze fell on a small footlocker at the end of one of the bunks. Curiosity, or perhaps just the need for distraction, led him to open it. Inside were the personal effects of one of the sailors, clothes, a dog-eared paperback, a framed photo of a young woman holding a toddler. Beneath these items, wrapped in a t-shirt was a bottle of scotch. Well, hello there, Hodges said lifting the bottle. I'm not sure if you're allowed to be on the open seas like this. Nonetheless, I'll give you a good home. He turned the bottle in his hands, contemplating the amber liquid inside. Alcohol wouldn't help his condition, might even speed things up, but at this point, what did it matter? He found a relatively clean glass on a nearby shelf

2:14:40and poured himself two fingers before thinking it over and pouring an additional two fingers. The scotch burned pleasantly going down, warming his chest and dulling the edges of his pain. Hodges closed his eyes, savoring the moment of respite. He was about to take another sip when the radio on his belt crackled to life. Hodges, you still there? Captain Jones' voice was strained, barely recognizable through the static. Hodges fumbled for the radio, nearly dropping it before managing to press the transmit button. I'm here, Jones. Still kicking, for now. There was a long pause before Jones responded. Yeah. Me too. For now. Something in the captain's tone made Hodges sit up straighter. Everything secure in the control room? Secure. Yeah, Jones' voice was flat, devoid of emotion. Ships locked down, not that it matters much now. Hodges took another sip of scotch, winsing as a fresh wave of pain radiated from his shoulder. Don't talk like that. Sounds like you

2:15:42could use a drink. Found some scotch in one of your sailors' lockers. Good stuff. A ghost of a laugh came through the radio. Has to be McCormick. Always had expensive taste. The laugh faded quickly. So where are you and your men at now? Were you able to rescue the others? I'm hopeful that Turner and Ward were able to get to them. I'm still stuck in the crew quarters. There's just something about being stuck with no hope of escape. It really just humbles you, you know? Hodges couldn't argue with that. True enough, but things could always be worse. How's that? Well, you could be bitten like me, Hodges said, trying to inject some lightness into his voice. At least you're still human. The attempt at Gallows' humor fell flat. Jones was silent for so long that Hodges thought he might have left the radio. Jones, you're still there? She's here. Jones finally said. His voice barely above a whisper. My wife, she's outside the control room door. A chill ran down Hodges' spine that had nothing to do with

2:16:46his fever. Your wife? How'd she get on board? I asked Carlos to smuggle her and missy a board, Jones replied. It's my fault. All of it. I didn't listen to you, and now everyone's dead. It's okay, Jones. Hodges said, but the word sounded hollow even to his own ears. Where's your daughter? A long, shuddering breath came through the radio. I don't know. She never left her mother's side, but with what they've become, she could be anywhere on the ship. Hodges closed his eyes, the weight of the captain's loss hitting him like a physical blow. I'm sorry, Jones. She was reading on the quad. Jones said suddenly, changing course. That's how we met. Spring semester of my sophomore year at college, she was sitting under this big maple tree completely absorbed in some Russian novel I couldn't pronounce. I walked past her every day for a week before I worked up the courage to talk to her. Hodges leaned back against the wall, recognizing that Jones needed to talk, to remember.

2:17:47What'd you say to her? A soft chuckle came through the radio. Something incredibly stupid. I asked her if the book was any good, even though I could see she was halfway through it. She looked up at me with these amazing green eyes and said, I wouldn't have made it this far if it wasn't, would I? Sounds like she had your number from the start. Hodges commented, pouring himself another scotch. Oh, she did. Jones agreed. Smart as a whip, and she didn't take any crap from anyone, especially not some stammering maritime engineering student with a bad haircut. So how'd you convince her to go out with you? I didn't, Jones said. She asked me. Said she'd been watching me watch her for days, and she was tired of waiting for me to make a move. The memory seemed to lighten his voice momentarily. We went to this little Italian place off campus. I was so nervous I spilled red wine all over the tablecloth, thought I'd blown it for sure. But she didn't, Hodges prompted. No, she said it was the most honest first date she'd ever had. No pretense, no trying to be cool,

2:18:51just two people getting to know each other. Jones paused, and Hodges could hear him shifting in his seat. We were inseparable after that, through graduation, through my first assignments at C, through all of it. She waited for me every time I shipped out, and was always there when I came home. Sounds like quite a woman, Hodges said softly. She was, is, Jones's voice caught. 26 years together, built a life, a family. She even started coming on some of the shorter runs with me once Missy started school, said she wanted to understand my world better. He gave a bitter laugh, and this is how I repay her by turning her into one of those things. Hodges sat up straighter, suddenly alert. Jones, listen to me. Is your wife outside the control room right now? She's beautiful, you know. Jones continued as if he hadn't heard. Even now, in her current state, I've never seen anyone so beautiful. Jones, Hodges, said more forcefully. Stay in the control room.

2:19:56That's not your wife anymore. You understand me? That's not her. She's looking at me, Jones said dreamily. I think she knows it's me in here. I think some part of her is still in there, waiting for me. Hodges could hear movement through the radio, the scrape of a chair being pushed back, footsteps crossing a floor. Jones, don't open that door Hodges shouted into the radio. That's an order captain. It's time Jones replied calmly. Time for me to be with my wife. Hodges could hear the metallic sound of a deadbolt being drawn back. Jones, listen to me. That's not your wife anymore. If you open that door, you're dead. I know, Jones said simply. That's the point. Goodbye, Captain Hodges. It's been an honor. Through the radio Hodges heard the door open, followed by a terrible sound. The wet, hungry moans of a zombie in the frantic scuffling of an attack. Jones cried out once, a sound of pain quickly muffled, then came the unmistakable sounds of tearing flesh

2:20:58and breaking bones. Jones, Jones, Hodges shouted into the radio, but there was no response beyond the sickening noises of feeding. Hodges dropped the radio to the bed in frustration, where it bounced a few times before settling in, still transmitting the sounds of Jones's death. He staggered to his feet, ignoring the pain that shot through his body, pacing the room for a moment before picking the radio back up. His finger found the channel selector, switching to a different frequency. This is Captain Hodges is anyone receiving over. He waited, listening to the static. I repeat, this is Captain Hodges is anyone receiving over. Nothing but static answered him. He tried several more frequencies with the same result. He wasn't sure if those alive just didn't have a radio, or perhaps there was simply no one left to hear him. As he lowered the radio, his gaze fell on a panel near the door, a ship-wide intercom system. Hodges stumbled to

2:21:59the panel, fighting the growing weakness in his limbs. The fever was getting worse, making it difficult to focus. He studied the controls, finally locating the transmit button. He pressed it down and leaned close to the speaker. His voice was horse, but firm as he delivered what might be his final message. If there's anybody left alive on this ship, you need to get up to the control deck. Captain Jones is dead, and there's nobody at the helm. Chapter 13. The maintenance room fell silent, safe for the distant moans of zombies on the other side of the door, and Ward's labored breathing as he massaged his injured knee. Turner had found a small first aid kit mounted on the wall and was now wrapping an elastic bandage around Ward's leg to stabilize the joint. How bad! Turner asked, cinching the bandage tight. Ward winced, but shook his head. I'll manage, not like I have a choice. Turner nodded, securing the end of the bandage. The two men sat in silence for a moment, each lost in his own thoughts. The image of Crawford and

2:23:00Rose being torn apart was still fresh in their minds, too raw to process. I should have seen them coming, Ward said finally breaking the silence. Those things that got Crawford and Rose, I had my eyes on them, should have spotted them. Turner leaned back against a tool cabinet. Don't do that, nothing you could have done. Could have fired earlier, could have warned them. Enough, Turner cut him off his voice sharp. We did what we could with what we had. Now we need to focus on staying alive. That's what they'd want us to do. Ward fell silent, recognizing the truth in Turner's words. After a moment, he nodded. You're right. So what's the play? Turner pushed himself to his feet, scanning the maintenance room. We need to get to the control room and let Norfolk know what's happening. With any luck, Captain Jones would have done that already. Yeah, but with the way some of those dispatchers are, if you're not military, they aren't listening to you. Turner replied, Ward nodded in agreement as he extended his arm to be helped up. Turner grabbed

2:24:06on, pulling him back to his feet, giving his partner a second to test his leg before letting go. Once stable, the two of them looked around at their current surroundings. The room was well-equipped with tools organized neatly on pegboards and spare parts stacked on metal shelving. At the far end, opposite from where they'd entered, was another door, this one heavier, with a circular wheel lock. What's through there, Ward asked, standing with only a slight grimace of pain. Turner approached the door, examining the placard beside it. Engine room looks like, might be a way around to some way to get up top. Ward joined him, testing the wheel lock. It turned smoothly and the door opened with a soft hiss of hydraulic seals. Beyond was the cavernous expanse of the ship's engine room, a cathedral of machinery, with massive turbines rising like steel monolists from the floor to the ceiling. The constant drone of auxiliary generators filled the air, a low-frequency

2:25:06hum that vibrated through their boots. Close it behind us, Turner instructed as they stepped through. Don't want any surprises at our backs. Ward secured the door while Turner scanned their new surroundings. The engine room was dimly lit by a smattering of lights, creating pools of shadow between the hulking machinery. Over there, Turner said, pointing to a wall near what appeared to be a control station, looks like a ship schematic. They moved cautiously across the engine room floor, alert for any movement. The map mounted on the wall was a detailed layout of the ship's lower decks, with their current position clearly marked. Here we are, Turner said, tracing their location with his finger, and there's a door on the far side that leads to a service walkway. Follows the hull around to a ladder well that goes up to the main deck. From there, we should be able to reach the control room. Ward nodded, but his attention had shifted to something on the floor. Sarge, Turner followed his gaze to a dark pool of liquid near their feet. Blood, fresh enough that

2:26:11it hadn't fully congealed. Someone came through here recently, Turner said, crouching to examine it more closely, and they were bleeding badly. Ward drew his combat knife, scanning the shadows around them, could be more survivors. Or could be more of those things, Turner countered, drawing his own knife? Let's keep it quiet, no firearms unless absolutely necessary. The two soldiers moved forward quietly, using the massive turbines as cover. The engine room was larger than it had initially appeared, with multiple levels connected by metal staircases and catwalks. Every shadow could hide a threat. As they rounded the second turbine, Turner raised his fist again, signaling Ward to stop. Ward froze instantly, his eyes tracking Turner's line of sight. A lone zombie staggered between two control panels 20 feet ahead, its movements erratic but purposeful as if searching for something. In the dim light, they could see it was wearing the overalls of an engineer. One sleeve torn away to reveal a savage bite mark on its upper arm.

2:27:14Turner motioned for Ward to stay low while he crept forward, knife at the ready. The zombie turned away from them, presenting its back, a perfect opportunity to strike. In three swift steps, Turner closed the distance and drove his knife up through the base of the creature's skull. It collapsed without a sound, and Turner lowered it to the floor to avoid any noise. He was about to signal Ward forward when the ship's speaker system suddenly blared to life, making both men jump. If there's anybody left alive on the ship you need to get up to the control deck. Captain Jones is dead, and there's nobody at the helm. Pudges' voice echoed through the engine room, amplified by the metal walls and machinery. Turner and Ward exchanged shocked glances, but before either could react, the damage was done. The sudden noise had stirred the engine room's other occupants. From the shadows between machinery, figures began to emerge, some stumbling, others moving with frightening speed,

2:28:15and one of the speakers was mounted directly above their position, making them the epicenter of the disturbance. Multiple targets, Ward hissed, drawing his side arm as the nearest zombie spotted them and charged. Turner abandoned stealth, drawing his own handgun and firing at the approaching creature. His first two shots hit it in the chest, staggering it but not stopping it. Move, head for the exit Turner ordered firing again. Ward was already in motion, limping toward the far door they'd identified on the map. More zombies poured from the shadows, drawn by the gunfire and Hodges broadcast, which had finally ended but left a residual ringing in their ears. Turner backed away, firing methodically to slow the horde's advance. Each shot found its target, but for every zombie that fell, two more seemed to appear. They were burning through ammunition at an unsustainable rate. Turner, ward called from ahead, found the door. Turner turned and sprinted after his comrade, the moans of the pursuing zombies spurring him on. Ward had reached a heavy

2:29:19watertight door, similar to the one they'd entered through, but even more substantial. Ward struggled with the wheel lock, his wounded knee limiting his leverage. Turner reached him just as the first zombies closed within 15 yards. Cover me, Turner shouted, taking over the wheel, while Ward drew his weapon. Ward braced his injured leg and took careful aim, dropping the lead zombie with a clean headshot. He fired again and again, each round finding its mark with the precision of a trained marksman. But there were too many, and they were closing fast. Almost got it, Turner grunted, putting his full strength into turning the wheel. The doors seals broke with a hiss of escaping air, and it swung open. Go! Go! Ward backed through the opening, still firing. Turner followed, pulling the door shut behind them, just as the first zombies reached it. The wheels spun as he locked it from their side, the solid thunk of metal engaging, giving them a momentary sense of security. They found themselves in a narrow walkway that ran

2:30:22along the innermost hull of the ship. It was barely wide enough for one person, with pipes and electrical conduits running along the ceiling. What the hell is this place? Ward asked, reloading his handgun. Turner shook his head, some kind of service passage, I think, for maintenance access. They began moving along the walkway, the sound of zombies pounding on the door behind them, fading with distance. You think that was really Hodges on the speaker? Ward asked after they covered about 50 yards. Sounded like him, Turner replied, said Captain Jones is dead. That's not good. You know how to pilot a ship this size? Ward asked, only half joking. Turner snorted. Not a clue, you? Hell no. Biggest thing I've ever driven was a SUV and I scraped the hell out of that. Their banter was an attempt at normalcy, a brief respite from the nightmare they were living through, but reality was never far away. As they approached the end of the service walkway,

2:31:23they found another door, this one a standard hatch rather than a watertight seal. Turner checked it cautiously, looks like it leads to some kind of storage area. I'm not sure where it leads, but I don't see another route. Are you ready? Ward checked his weapon, as I'll ever be. Turner opened the hatch slowly, revealing a darkened space beyond. From the brief glimpse they got, it appeared to be a secondary storage area, smaller than the main cargo hold, but still substantial. Metal shelving units created a maze of narrow aisles stacked with crates and supplies. As the door opened wider, they heard the unmistakable shuffling and moaning that had become the soundtrack to their nightmare. They stepped into the storage area, closing the hatch behind them. The darkness was nearly complete, broken only by thin strips of lighting above. The shuffling sounds were closer now, but impossible to pinpoint in the maze-like arrangement of shelves. Can't see a damn thing, Ward muttered, reaching for the flashlight on his tactical vest.

2:32:24Wait, Turner began, but it was too late. Ward's flashlight beam cut through the darkness, illuminating a trio of ghouls. The three zombies stood not 15 feet away. Their dead eyes reflecting the light like animals caught in headlights. For a split second, nobody moved. Then the creatures charged, moving with haste across the room. Ward fired immediately, his first shot catching one zombie square in the forehead. His second round took down another, but the third was too fast, closing the distance before he could adjust his aim. The zombie slammed into Ward with the force of a linebacker, driving him backward into a shelving unit. Metal groaned as the structure partially collapsed, sending boxes cascading around them. Ward struggled to keep the creatures snapping teeth away from his face, but in the chaos, his guard slipped. The zombie's teeth found Ward's throat, tearing through flesh and artery in one savage bite. Blood sprayed across the creature's face as it pulled back for a second attack. Turner was there in an instant, yanking the zombie off his friend and throwing it to the ground.

2:33:28His pistol barked once, the round punching through the creature's temple. It went still, but the damage was done. Ward, Turner dropped to his knees beside his comrade, pressing his hands against the gushing wound in a futile attempt to stem the bleeding. Stay with me, man. Stay with me. Ward's eyes were wide with shock. His mouth working soundlessly as blood continued to pump between Turner's fingers. Both men knew the truth. The bite was fatal, and even if it hadn't been, the blood loss alone would kill him in minutes. Damn it, damn it! Turner paced in a tight circle, his boot slipping in the spreading pool of Ward's blood. The helplessness was worse than the fear, watching his friend die and being unable to do anything about it. But there was one thing he could do, one final act of mercy. Turner raised his pistol, pointing it at Ward's head. His hand shook slightly, something that never happened in combat. You want me to end it? He asked. His voice barely audible. Ward's eyes focused on him through

2:34:31the pain. Slowly, with obvious effort, he raised his right hand in a half-hearted thumbs-up. Turner nodded, swallowing hard. Goodbye, brother. With a single pull of the trigger, his friend was at peace. Chapter 14. The gunshot echoed through the storage area, fading into a silence so profound that Turner could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He stared down at Ward's body, at the face that had become as familiar as his own, over countless missions and training exercises. Now it was just an empty shell. The person who had inhabited it, gone forever. Turner holstered his weapon with mechanical precision, his movement's automatic while his mind struggled to process what had just happened. In the span of a few hours, his entire unit had been decimated. Hodges, Crawford, Rose, and now Ward, all gone. He was the last one standing, the sole survivor of a mission that had gone catastrophically wrong from the moment they'd set foot on this ship. What the hell do I do now, he muttered to no one? His voice sounding foreign to his own ears.

2:35:38For a brief, dangerous moment, Turner considered sitting down next to Ward's body and simply waiting for the inevitable. Let the zombies come. Let them end this nightmare. It would be easier than continuing alone. The thought lasted only seconds before training and discipline reasserted themselves. He had a mission to complete. Hodges' final order had been clear. Get to the control room, contact Norfolk, call in a rescue. As long as Turner drew breath, that mission remained active. He took a deep breath, forcing his emotions down into a compartment he could deal with later, if there was a later. Right now, he needed to move. Turner approached Ward's body once more, kneeling beside it. I'll see you on the other side, brother, he said softly, patting his friend on the chest. In his heart, he had more words to say, but he knew there would be time to grieve later. He checked his weapons, sidearm still had half a magazine, knife secure in its sheath. His rifle was slung across his back,

2:36:43fully loaded, but best saved for when stealth was no longer an option. He'd lost his pack during their mad dash through the ship, but his tactical vests still contained spare ammunition and a few essentials. Scanning the storage area, Turner spotted what he was looking for. A ladder mounted to the far wall, leading up to a hatch in the ceiling. According to the ship's schematic they'd seen in the engine room, that should lead directly to the main deck. Turner moved cautiously through the maze of shelving units, alert for any movement or sound that might indicate more zombies lurking in the shadows. The three they'd encountered appeared to have been the only ones, but he wasn't taking chances. The ladder was sturdy, industrial-grade steel bolted directly to the bulkhead. Turner began to climb, his muscles protesting after hours of intense exertion and stress. At the top was a standard deck hatch with a wheel lock. He turned it slowly, trying to minimize noise, then pushed it

2:37:43up just enough to peer outside. Daylight assaulted his eyes after hours in the ship's dim interior. He blinked rapidly, adjusting to the brightness as he surveyed what he could see of the deck. The hatch opened near the port side with a clear view across much of the main deck. What he saw made his stomach sink. Zombies wandered across the open spaces between cargo containers, at least a dozen visible from his limited vantage point. Some moved with purpose, others simply milled about aimlessly. All were potential threats, and the deck offered few hiding places compared to the labyrinthine interior of the ship. Turner calculated his options. The control room would be forward and up, requiring him to cross a significant portion of the exposed deck. Direct confrontation would likely be the end of him, as there were too many of them, and gunfire would only attract more. Stealth was his only viable approach. He spotted a row of shipping containers about 20 feet from his position. If he could reach those,

2:38:46they would provide cover for at least part of his journey forward. Turner took a deep breath, then pushed the hatch open fully. He climbed out with deliberate movements, careful not to make any sudden motions that might catch a zombie's eye. Once on deck, he eased the hatch closed to prevent it slamming shut, winsing at each metallic click as the mechanism engaged. The sun beat down from a cloudless sky, making Turner suddenly aware of how long they'd been on this hellish mission. It had been early morning when they'd first boarded the ship, now it was early afternoon, the shadows short and offering little concealment. Turner crouched low, his handgun in his right hand and knife in his left as he made his way to the nearest container. The steel was hot to the touch, baked by hours of direct sunlight. He pressed his back against it, listening for any approaching threats. When he was confident his immediate area was clear, he peered around the corner toward the bow. Three zombies wandered between the containers ahead, blocking his most direct path to the

2:39:48control room. They moved without purpose but would certainly attack if they spotted him. Turner withdrew, considering his options. Taking on three at once with just his knife was too risky. His handgun would be more effective but would alert every zombie on deck to his location. He needed another approach. The outer railing caught his eye. If he couldn't go through, perhaps he could go around. Turner backtracked along the container, staying low and moving to the portside railing. The drop to the water was considerable but that gave him an idea. He returned to the point where he could observe the three zombies, formulating a plan. The zombies were now roughly 20 yards away, still meandering between containers. Turner used his knife to gently tap against the metal container, creating a soft but distinct clink. He kept the touch light, only wanting it to be loud enough for the creatures he had within view to take notice. The effect was immediate. The nearest zombies heads snapped in his direction. Its vacant eyes somehow focusing despite their lifelessness.

2:40:53It led out a guttural moan and charged, the other two quickly following suit. Turner held his ground until the lead zombie was almost upon him, then darted sideways. As the creature barrelled past, Turner planted his palm in the center of its back and shoved with all his strength. The zombie's momentum carried it forward and over the railing without a sound beyond the splash far below. Turner immediately pressed himself against the container again as the other two zombies reached the spot where he'd been standing. They paused at the railing, seeming to search for their vanished prey. Seizing the moment, Turner rushed forward from his hiding place. He slammed into the zombies from behind with his full body weight, driving them toward the railing. Both zombies toppled forward but one managed to twist as it fell. Its dead hand clamping around Turner's wrist with surprising strength. Turner found himself half over the railing, the zombie's weight threatening to pull him into the ocean below. He braced one boot against the

2:41:54lower rail, struggling to maintain his balance as the creature dangled from his arm. Its teeth snapped upward, trying to reach his flesh. With no other option, Turner drew his handgun and aimed it towards the zombie's forehead. The gunshot was deafening in the open air and the creature's grip went limp immediately. Turner pulled himself back onto the deck, breathing heavily. The sound had done exactly what he'd feared. All across the deck, zombies turned toward the source of the noise, their movements becoming more purposeful. Several began moving in his direction, running at alarming speeds. Some which for stealth, Turner muttered, holstering his handgun and breaking into a run toward the control room. He weaved between containers, keeping to cover when possible but prioritizing speed over concealment now. A zombie stepped into his path from between two containers, arms outstretched. Turner didn't slow down, lowering his shoulder and driving into it with enough force to knock it aside without breaking stride. Another lunged at him from the right,

2:42:57Turner ducked under its grasping hands, shoving it hard against a container as he passed. The creature's head cracked against the steel, stunning it momentarily, but not putting it down. More zombies converged ahead, drawn by the commotion. Turner was forced to aim his handgun again, firing twice as he ran. The first shot caught a zombie in the chest, staggering it but not stopping it. The second was more accurate, dropping another with a clean headshot. The stairway leading up to the control room was visible now, maybe 50 yards ahead. Turner pushed himself harder, his lungs burning and legs protesting the sudden exertion after hours of tension and combat. Then the world shifted beneath his feet. The entire ship shuddered violently, the deck tilting several degrees to starboard before leveling out again. The sudden movement was accompanied by a deep grinding noise that seemed to come from the very bones of the vessel. What the hell, Turner gasped, struggling to maintain his footing as the deck continued to vibrate beneath him.

2:43:58Around him, zombies were less successful at staying upright. Several toppled over, their uncoordinated movements no match for the unstable surface. Some fell and immediately began trying to rise, while others lay motionless as if the disruption had confused their limited senses. Turner didn't question the unexpected advantage. He pushed forward using the zombie's disorientation to slip past those still standing and leap over those that had fallen. The grinding noise continued, growing louder as he approached the bow. The ship shuddered again more violently this time. Turner grabbed onto a railing to steady himself, his mind racing, they were miles from shore, there was nothing out here to run a ground on. Something else was happening, something that couldn't be good. The stairway to the control room was just ahead now. Turner took the steps too at a time, driving himself forward despite the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him. At the top he paused, catching his breath and assessing the situation. The door to the control room stood open, allowing him to see a portion of the

2:45:03interior. From his position, he could make out navigation equipment and control panels, but no movement. If Hodges was right and Captain Jones was dead, then the room should be empty, or worse. Turner approached cautiously, his handgun raised, he circled to the side of the door, not wanting to present an easy target if anything waited inside. As he reached the threshold, the ship shuddered again, causing him to grab the door frame for support. What he saw inside confirmed Hodges' grim announcement. Two figures lay on the floor near the main console, apparently thrown there by the ship's violent movements. One wore the uniform of the ship's captain, the other a woman soaked with blood, both had the vacant eyes and gray pallor of the dead. As Turner watched, the two zombies began to stir, slowly pushing themselves up from the floor. The woman, Captain Jones' wife, moved first, her head turning until her dead eyes fixed on him. The captain followed suit, his movements mirroring hers with an eerie synchronicity.

2:46:10Turner raised his handgun, aiming with the calm precision that had been drilled into him through years of training. These weren't people anymore. They were threats, obstacles to his mission, nothing more. Yet as his finger tightened on the trigger, he couldn't help but think of what Hodges had said over the radio. Jones had given his life to be with his wife, even in death. There was something almost poetic about it, in a twisted way. I hope you both find peace, Turner said quietly, before firing twice in rapid succession, chapter 15. The sound of footsteps on the stairs outside snapped Turner out of his momentary reflection. Heavy, uncoordinated footfalls, zombies, drawn by the gunshots. Turner moved quickly to the control room door, slamming its shut and engaging the deadbolt, just as the first of them reached the landing. Through the reinforced glass window, Turner could see three zombies pressing against the door. Their dead eyes fixed on him with terrible hunger. Their hands clawed at the glass, leaving

2:47:12smears of crimson streaking across it. Turner backed away, confident that the door would hold, at least for now. He turned his attention to the control room itself, taking in the complex array of navigation equipment, communication systems, and ship controls. The bridge offered a panoramic view of the deck below and the ocean beyond, giving him a clear picture of the dire situation. Zombies roamed the deck, drawn toward the control room by the sound of gunfire. The ship itself continued to shutter periodically, the grinding noise from below growing more pronounced with each passing minute. Turner spotted the radio on the main console, still set to the ship's internal communication system. He grabbed the handset and switched to the frequency they'd been using earlier. Hodges, Hodges, do you copy this as Turner? For several seconds there was nothing but static. Then a familiar voice came through, though it sounded slurred and distant. Turner, that you, Hodges, asked, I thought you were dead by now. Not yet, Turner replied,

2:48:14relief flooding through him at the sound of his captain's voice. Made it to the control room, Jones and his wife were here, both turned, had to put them down. Good, Hodges said after a pause. Jones deserved better than to stay one of those things. There was the sound of liquid being poured, followed by a soft clink of glass against glass. Cheers to the poor bastard. Are you drinking, sir? Turner asked, though he already knew the answer. Found some good scotch, Hodges confirmed. Figured I might as well enjoy my last few hours of consciousness. How's Ward? Turner's throat tightened. He. He didn't make it either. Got bitten the throat. There was a long silence on the other end. I'm sorry, Sergeant. Hodges finally said his voice softer. Was it quick? At least? Quick enough. Turner replied not wanting to elaborate. Sir, we've got another problem. The ship keeps hitting something. The whole vessel's shaking.

2:49:14Do you have any idea what's going on? The ship shuttered again as if to emphasize his point, more violently this time. Turner had to grab the console to keep his balance. We must be near the outer banks, Hodges said after a moment's consideration. North Carolina coast. They call it the graveyard of the Atlantic. Undersea sandbars that have sunk hundreds of ships over the centuries. My guess is we're running aground. Turner moved to the front windows, grabbing a pair of binoculars and looking out at the horizon. Sure enough, he could see a faint strip of land in the distance, the barrier islands of North Carolina's outer banks. I don't know the first thing about piloting a ship. Turner admitted scanning the bewildering array of controls. Any ideas? Hodges chuckled the sound dissolving into a wet cough. Neither do I. And it wouldn't matter anyway. If we're hitting those sandbars, this ship is already beached, just a matter of time before we stop completely. Turner nodded grimly, though Hodges couldn't see him. What now then?

2:50:17Now, Hodges repeated. Now I get back to my drinking before I pass out for the last time. And you get on the horn to Norfolk and call for an evac. His voice grew serious. It's been a privilege serving with you, Turner. All of you. Get yourself home. Captain Turner began but Hodges cut him off. Good luck, my friend, he said, and the line went dead. Turner stood there for a moment, handset still pressed to his ear, listening to the static. Then he shook himself and switched the radio frequency to the emergency channel used by naval operations. This is Sergeant Turner aboard the cargo vessel Barbara's gift. Do you copy? Over. The response was almost immediate. This is Norfolk Naval Station. We reach you, Sergeant. Go ahead. Turner quickly outlined their situation. The ship running aground, the zombie outbreak, and his precarious position trapped in the control room. I need immediate evacuation, he concluded. I'm the only survivor from my team. There was a brief pause before the dispatcher responded.

2:51:20Understood, Sergeant. We can have rescue assets at your position in approximately three hours. Be advised, however, that due to the hostile situation aboard, we cannot risk a helicopter landing on deck. You'll need to get into the water for extraction. Turner glanced out at the churning ocean surrounding the ship. Not ideal, but better than the alternative. Copy that. I'll be ready. We'll contact you when the rescue team is in range. The dispatcher assured him. Stay safe, Sergeant. Roger that, Turner out. The next three hours were among the longest of Turner's life. He spent them alternating between watching the zombies through the windows and examining the ship's navigation charts to better understand their position. According to the instruments, they were indeed in the infamous graveyard. Their forward momentum steadily decreasing as the hull scraped along the treacherous sandbars below. Occasionally, Turner would try to reach Hodges again, but there was no response. Either the captain had passed out as he'd predicted,

2:52:21or the virus had finally claimed him. Turner preferred to think it was the former. The zombies outside the door continued their relentless assault, pounding and clawing at the glass. It was beginning to show signs of stress, tiny fractures spreading from the corners like spider webs. The door itself remained solid, but Turner knew it wouldn't hold forever. Finally, as the afternoon sun began to dip toward the horizon, the radio crackled to life. Sergeant Turner, this is USS Arlington Rescue Team, do you copy? Over. Turner grabbed the handset. I copy Arlington, ready for extraction. We're approximately 20 minutes out from your position, the voice replied. We'll have a rescue craft ready to retrieve you from the water. Can you confirm your ability to reach the exterior of the vessel? Turner glanced at the door. There were still only three zombies visible through the glass, though he knew there would be more on the deck below. Affirmative. I'll fight my way out if necessary. Understood. Contact us when you're ready to move.

2:53:24We'll be standing by. Turner did a final check of his equipment. His handgun had a full magazine plus one in the chamber. His rifle had enough rounds to clear a path to the railing. It would have to be enough. Arlington, this is Turner. I'm moving out now. Copy that, Sergeant. Good luck. Turner took a deep breath, raised his rifle, and aimed carefully through the door's window. The first three shots were perfectly placed, each finding its mark in a zombie's forehead. The creatures collapsed, but the sound of gunfire drew more toward the staircase below. With the immediate threat eliminated, Turner unlocked the door and moved onto the landing. Two more zombies were already halfway up the stairs, reaching for him with decaying hands. He dropped them both with controlled bursts, then started his descent. More zombies appeared at the bottom of the staircase, drawn by the noise. Turner maintained his discipline, picking his targets carefully, before squeezing the trigger. Each shot found its mark, the zombies falling one after another as he made his way down.

2:54:28As he reached the lower landing, four zombies rushed him from the rear of the ship, moving with the unnatural speed that he had come to load. Turner fired methodically, dropping two with headshots, but his rifle clicked empty before he could engage the others. With no time to reload, Turner threw the empty weapon, catching the nearest zombie across the legs and sending it tumbling to the ground. The last one lunged at him, teeth bared. Turner sidestepped, using the zombie's momentum to throw it off balance, then drew his handgun and put a round through the back of its skull, before popping the fallen one in the head before it could get back to its feet. Turner turned towards the railing of the ship, his handgun raised and ready. More zombies converged from all directions, their dead eyes fixed on the only living target in sight. There was no time for stealth or strategy now, only speed and violence of action. He fired as he ran, each shot deliberate despite his pace. Two zombies went down directly in his path, a third caught around in the shoulder,

2:55:30staggering but not falling. Turner didn't slow down, barreling into it with his full weight and sending it sprawling across the deck. The railing was just ahead now, with open water beyond. Behind him, at least half a dozen zombies gave chase, the faster ones closing the distance with alarming speed. Turner holstered his handgun without breaking stride, knowing he'd need both hands free for what came next. As he reached the railing, Turner planted one foot on the lower bar and vaulted over in a single fluid motion. For a brief suspended moment he was airborne, the blue ocean rushing up to meet him. Then gravity took hold and he plummeted toward the water below. Turner hit feet first, the impact driving the air from his lungs despite his proper form. The cold shock of the water was disorienting, but he forced himself to focus, kicking hard to resurface. As his head broke the water, he gulped in air, treading water while he got his bearings. The barber's gift loomed above him, its massive hall now motionless in the water.

2:56:34Zombies lined the railing where he jumped, their mones carrying clearly across the open water. None seemed inclined to follow him into the ocean, for which Turner was profoundly grateful. He began swimming away from the ship, powerful strokes carrying him through the choppy waves. The weight of his tactical gear made progress difficult, forcing him to shed it. Turner pushed through the fatigue, focusing on putting distance between himself and the night marriage vessel. After several minutes of steady swimming, Turner paused to tread water and look back. The cargo ship was smaller now, though still imposing against the darkening sky. Beyond it, however, he could see something that made his heart leap, a fleet of ships approaching from the east. As he watched, a smaller craft detached from the lead vessel, its engines roaring as it accelerated toward his position. A rescue boat. Turner raised one arm, waving to ensure they spotted him in the fading light. The boat adjusted course, heading directly for him. Within minutes it was alongside,

2:57:38and strong hands were reaching down to haul him from the water. Turner collapsed onto the deck of the small craft, exhaustion finally catching up with him now that safety was in reach. You all right, Sergeant? One of the sailors asked, draping a thermal blanket around Turner's shoulders. Turner nodded. Too tired for words at first. He looked back toward the barber's gift, now silhouetted against the setting sun. Somewhere in that floating tomb were the bodies of his team, Hodges, Ward, Crawford, Rose. Men he trained with fought alongside trusted with his life. Men who deserved better than to die like that. He gave the ship a final nod of respect as the rescue boat turned and accelerated back toward the fleet. Turner turned to look at the fleet they were approaching. At least two dozen vessels, both naval warships and commandeered commercial craft. It looked like they were preparing for war. So where are we headed? Turner asked finally, his voice rough from exertion and emotion. The sailor exchanged glances with his companion

2:58:41before answering. I don't know, Sergeant. But if the news were getting from shoreers in the indication, we are not landing anywhere any time soon. The end. The end. The end. The end.