Dead Sea (10 page)

    My lungs burned, and my legs were starting to feel like rubber. It felt like I'd been running for hours, and in truth, I had. Since leaving the kids' apartment, we'd been on the run, chased by one zombie after another without a chance to catch our breath. I was amazed the kids were holding up as well as they were. Personally, I felt like dropping. Mitch was panting, too. He'd seemed like he was in good shape. I wondered just how heavy his backpack was and what he had inside of it.

    Tasha turned around and raised her pistol. I guess she'd wanted to take a shot, lessen the pursuit. But instead of doing that, she froze, staring at the onrushing corpses.

    "There's so many. Look at them all."

    She didn't sound afraid; just stunned.

    I nudged her. "Keep running, Tasha. Don't look back anymore. Just run."

    Three mangled corpses lunged out of the shrubs in front of the Sylvan Learning Center building. Mitch snapped off three shots, dropping them before they could cut us off.

    
Three down,
1 thought.
How far can we get before the rest of them catch us?

    I had four bullets left-one for each of us, if it came to that.

    Mitch darted down an alley between a travel agency and a Whole Foods grocery store.

    "This way," he called.

    "No," I insisted. "We have to head for the harbor. That way takes us back into the ghetto."

    "Hope you're right." He paused. "I'll lay down some cover fire."

    Mitch changed course and followed us, now bringing up our rear. His heavy biker boots pounded the pavement, his footfalls punctuated with pistol fire as he chose targets over his shoulder. It was like pouring a glass of water into the ocean. The creatures continued their slow-moving charge.

    
They don't get tired,
I thought.
We're staying ahead of them, but they're like the goddamned En-ergizer Bunny. They keep going and going and going. But we don't. Sooner or later, we ain 't gonna be able to run any more. And then they'll catch up…

    Malik and Tasha pulled ahead of me. I stared at the backs of their heads and shifted my grip on the rifle. Could I do it? If it came down to it, could I shoot them, shoot Mitch, and shoot myself? I didn't know. And then it didn't matter.

    Because we found salvation.

    We rounded the corner. The National Aquarium was on our left and the Hard Rock Cafe and Barnes and Noble store were behind us. In front of us, tied up along the waterfront, was the
USCGC Spratling.
I'd expected that, of course, but what I hadn't counted on was that the ship was apparently operational. Seemed that way from where we stood. The lights were on, the engines thrummed, and there were people onboard it-living people, not zombies. They moved too fast to be dead, and some of them carried guns. Several of them were casting off the big ropes that kept the ship tied to the cement pier. Heavy chains clanked as the anchor slowly rose out of the dark water. One man leaned over the railing and shouldered his rifle, bringing down a corpse on the steps of the Barnes and Noble.

    "Holy crap," Mitch panted. "We're saved…"

    He'd pretty much summed it up.

    We stood there sweating and gasping for breath, momentarily forgetting about the zombies and the inferno behind us. Tasha began to cry. I put my arm around her, and then realized that I was crying, too.

    "They're casting off," Mitch shouted. "Come on!"

    We stumbled after him, with the dead right on our heels and the flames consuming everything in their path. The stench of decay grew stronger, which meant the zombies were closing the gap.

    Mitch waved his arms, pistol still clutched in one hand. "Hey! Over here. Hey, onboard!"

    If they saw us, the crew gave no indication of it. Maybe from that distance, they thought we were just four more zombies. Two more of the big ropes were hauled onto the deck, and the anchor completed its ascent with a thunderous clang. The engines roared louder and the water at the rear of the boat began to churn.

    "Motherfuckers!" Mitch hollered. "Wait for us! Over here. Wait!"

    A steel gangplank connected the ship to the concrete walkway. My stomach sank as I watched them begin to raise it.

    "They're leaving," Tasha whimpered. "They're leaving without us. Why don't they wait?"

    I stopped running, raised my rifle into the air and fired off all four rounds.

    That got the crew's attention.

    Immediately, all hands on deck turned in our direction. We still weren't close enough to make out their expressions, but I can guess what they were. Because when I turned around to see how close our pursuers were, I screamed. Before Hamelin's Revenge, Baltimore had a population of just over 700,000 people. Now, with the exception of the people on the ship, it looked like all of them were dead-and coming for us. I don't know if it was the fires or just the sounds of us fleeing, but the zombies' numbers had grown during the chase. Every mobile corpse in the area seemed to now be converging on our location. Not just humans, either. There were animals in the mix, too. Lots of dogs and rats. Another creature stepped out of the throng. A tiger. A dead fucking tiger. Probably escaped from the Baltimore Zoo, and was now prowling around the city.

    "Fuck me running," I whispered. Then I turned and chased after the others. "Mitch, I'm gonna need more ammo again."

    "Yeah," Malik echoed. "And I'm gonna need another grenade."

    Another human zombie emerged from behind a trash barrel, cutting us off from the ship. It wore the bloodied remains of a blue work shirt. Something moved beneath the fabric, almost as if he were pregnant. The creature took another step and the shirt parted. Where his stomach had once been, there was now a hollow cavity, empty-except for the dead rat squirming inside it. Mitch fired one shot into the abdomen, pulverizing the rat. Then he drilled another round into the zombie's head.

    "Drop down, now!"The command came from the
Spratling,
the speaker's stern and impatient voice magnified through either a bullhorn or public address system. Whoever he was, the guy was in no mood to mess around. We did as he said and dropped to the ground, flat against the concrete pier. A volley of shots rang out as the ship's crew opened fire. The entire harbor echoed with gunshots. Bullets slammed into the cement and blew out the windows of the nearby buildings as the shooters found their range. Behind us, we heard wet meat slap against concrete as the dead fell.

    When the volley ended, the voice boomed, "Get up and run. Quickly. We can't wait for you."

    Each of us found our second wind, and we sped toward the ship. I spared one quick glance over my shoulder. The next wave of creatures was clambering over the ones on the ground, but it was slowing them down. Although the human zombies had trouble getting around their fallen comrades, the animals were quicker. The dead rats scampered over their bodies and swarmed after us. The tiger charged forward, faster than the others.

    We reached the pier's edge and dashed up the gangplank. Steel banged beneath our feet. As we crossed the threshold, Mitch saluted a pudgy older man in a coast guard uniform. The man had a pistol holstered on his hip.

    Mitch grinned. "Permission to come aboard, sir?"

    "Permission granted. Now get the hell out of the way."

    I recognized the man's voice as the one who'd given us the warning. I stuck out my hand. "Thanks for saving us. My name is-"

    "Mister, I suggest you find a safe place for yourself and these kids and stay there. There'll be plenty of time for introductions later, if we survive this.

    And if we don't, then I don't need to know your name anyway."

    He brushed past me and began shouting orders.

    Malik and Tasha glanced around the ship in amazement. People ran all over the decks, some of them armed and shooting at the zombies, others helping get the ship underway. I noticed that except for the man who'd spoken to us, none of them wore uniforms, but instead were dressed in civilian clothes. Many of them seemed unsure what to do, and kept shouting questions.

    "This isn't a crew," I whispered to Mitch. "They're just like us-survivors."

    "Maybe they're all reservists," he said.

    "No. They're confused. And look at the hair lengths on some of them. That ain't military regulation."

    "Well, get the kids to a safe spot. I'm gonna see if I can help. Find out what's going on and who exactly our saviors are."

    "Be careful."

    "You too."

    I guided the kids over to a wall-what sailors call a bulkhead. There was another walkway above us and it provided a sort of roof over our heads. We leaned up against the steel bulkhead and watched as the people around us prepared to cast off. There were two ropes left and a swarm of undead rats climbed up them. Mitch and another man leaned out over the railing, shooting the rats off the ropes one by one. One of them reached the top and scurried over the railing. A third person stepped forward and pushed it back into the water with a mop. Before the rest of the creatures could reach the deck, the ropes were loosened and dropped into the black, dirty water. The rats fell with them.

    And then we began to move.

    "Full ahead," the man in the uniform bellowed. "Take us out, just like I showed you. I'm on my way up."

    It was a really weird sensation. Felt like we were standing still and the land was moving. We cruised farther out into the bay, leaving the harbor and the city behind us. The zombies stood on the pier watching us go. Some of them stepped forward, plummeting over the side and sinking beneath the surface. The others simply stared, their faces expressionless-except for that look of constant hunger. I wondered about the ones that had fallen into the water. Zombies didn't need to breathe. Didn't require oxygen. They were dead. So what was to stop them from hunting along the bottom of the Chesapeake Bay the same way they hunted through the city's streets? Couldn't they just walk along the bottom, feeding off fish and crabs until they reached the ocean itself? And then what? Sharks versus zombies? The image was ridiculous, but what if? What if…

    What if Hamelin's Revenge spread to the sea life?

    "They can't reach us now," Malik shouted. "Nothing can get us out here!"

    Tasha hugged him and he hugged her back. Both of them smiled. I turned back toward the land and watched the city burning. Stared at the orange-and-red skyline. By morning, there would be nothing left. Baltimore would be a smoldering pile of ashes. Port Discovery and the section of the city that housed popular bars like Ramshead and Howl at the Moon were obscured by smoke. The trade center and the Harbor Place shops belched flames. Yesterday, the skyline had been made up of tall buildings: offices, parking garages, banks, muse urns and apartment complexes. Now, it was composed of towering torches, each of them a blazing inferno. The city skyline looked like a row of Roman candles. And below them, growing smaller with every minute as the
Spratling
picked up speed, were the dead. The people onboard the ship cheered as we left the harbor. There was lots of hugging and clapping and fists in the air-a real celebration. And when the Domino Sugar factory exploded a few minutes later, we even had our own fireworks. Flaming debris rained down from the sky, splashing into the water.

    "I'll tell you one thing, kids."

    Tasha looked up at me. "What's that, Mr. Reed?"

    "Lamar. Call me Lamar."

    "Okay. What are you thinking, Lamar?"

    "That this was the longest getaway I've ever seen."

    "Doesn't matter," Tasha said. "We're safe now. Like Malik said, they can't get us out here."

    The dead watched us leave. More of them tumbled into the water. Birds squawked above us. The sky was full of smoke, obscuring the moon and the stars. The ocean itself seemed lifeless. No fish leaping from the water or dolphins following the boat. Just the waves, and even those seemed small. The ship's engines throbbed as we picked up speed. The bay's surface was black, but the full moon lit a silvery path for us. The flames reflected off the waves. Then a cloud passed over the moon and the gradually lights vanished. Under the cover of darkness, we sailed out onto a dead sea.

    

    

    

    I don't remember much about that first night onboard the
Spratling.
We were all dehydrated, exhausted, and stressed from our ordeal, and after a while, things just kind of blurred together. When the ship was safely away from the city, and far enough out into the Chesapeake Bay that the fires were just a dim glow on the horizon, everyone relaxed a little more. But there was still a lot to do. Mitch and I had to find sleeping quarters for the kids-the older man in the coast guard uniform called them "berthing areas"-and a place for ourselves as well. We ended up together in a room with six racks- bunk beds-three on each side. The mattress on each rack lifted up to reveal a small, narrow storage space. Each of us also had a small footlocker to store things in. We didn't have many belongings. I pulled out my wallet and my keys and put them inside a locker. It seemed weird. Might as well have tossed them over the side for all the good they'd do me now. The keys were all for a life I'd left behind, a life I'd never return to. And the wallet was empty- no pictures, no money. I'd never had much use for snapshots. And money? Well, I'd never had much of that, either. And now, I didn't need them. What good was money when there was nothing to buy? What good were photographs of friends and family when all of them were dead? I didn't have many people that I cared about, but those I did I could remember in my head. If I looked at their pictures now, I'd just see them as zombies.