Dead Sea (16 page)

    "Virginia Beach is a possibility" Chief Maxey corrected. "Down from the tourist area, there's a stretch of national forest. There's a small station there we could try."

    "What's up north?" Runkle asked.

    "The Isle of Wight." Chief Maxey traced the coastline with his finger. "And up in Delaware, there's Rehobeth Beach, Bethany Beach, and South Bethany-all of them are going to be packed with zombies."

    Turn said, "What about the lighthouse at Fenwick Island? That should be fairly deserted. I think the lighthouse itself is on automatic, so there'd only be a maintenance man, if anyone."

    "That's a long way to go," Chief Maxey sighed. "We're closer to North Carolina and points south. I think we should consider one of those or the station near Virginia Beach-keep Fenwick as a last resort. Maybe we could try one of the islands off the Carolina coast."

    "I don't know, Chief," Turn said. "Those islands are all inhabited, and they had regular contact with the mainland, which increases the chances of infection. 1 think Fenwick Island is our best shot."

    While they were talking, I noticed a little red dot on the map, positioned farther out in the Atlantic Ocean. It looked like it had been drawn with a dry-erase marker.

    "What's this?" I asked, pointing to it.

    "Oil rig," Chief Maxey grunted.

    I was surprised. "There are oil rigs off the East Coast?"

    "Sure," Turn said. "There wasn't a lot of drilling going on off Florida because of political stuff, but there are lots of operations elsewhere in the Atlantic. Most of them are way off shore. The one you're pointing at is a jack-up. It's mobile, which is why we drew it on the map in erasable marker. That was its last known location."

    "What's a jack-up?" Basil asked.

    Hooper grinned. "It's when I run up to Lamar and jack his ass up."

    "You're welcome to try," I said, keeping my voice low and steady. Things had not calmed between us since our initial introduction. He thought I was an Uncle Tom and had since learned that I was gay- two strikes against me. In turn, I thought he was a lazy, ignorant, punk-ass motherfucker.

    "I'd like to see him try it, too," Mitch said.

    "Ya'll are tripping," Hooper muttered, backing down. "I'm just fucking around."

    "A jack-up is a shallow water rig," Turn explained, ignoring Hooper. "Basically, it's just a big barge with a drilling rig and living quarters attached to it. The oil companies float it wherever they need to drill and then there are literally jacks that extend down, raising the platform and stabilizing it on the surface. It's a little smaller than a full-blown drill ship. They've got motion compensating motors and all that shit. But anyway, yeah, they're out there. Not just confined to the Gulf. The oil companies are forever drilling test wells just to see what's down there beneath the ocean floor."

    Mitch asked aloud what I had been thinking. "So why couldn't we just go to that rig?"

    "There would still be zombies," Chief Maxey said. "Even a small platform would have a crew. The company man, the tool pusher, driller, derrick man, floor hands, cooks, and roustabouts. Unless they evacuated the crew before everything on the mainland collapsed, they'd still be there."

    "Yeah," Mitch said slowly, "but they wouldn't necessarily be zombies. If they had no connection to the mainland, then there's no way they'd have caught Hamelin's Revenge. You've got to be exposed to it-bitten or come into contact with infected blood-to turn into one of them, right? Only thing that could get them would be the birds and the fish, and neither of them are carriers. Those crews could still be alive. They could help us."

    "He's got a point, Chief," Turn said. "In the Gulf, it's pretty common for shrimp boats and the like to pull up and trade their catch for diesel. Stands to reason the same would go for Atlantic platforms. We could trade for supplies. They'd probably welcome us, especially now."

    "But we don't have anything to trade."

    "We've got transport," Turn said. "I doubt the oil company is sending a helicopter to pull them off the jack-up anytime soon. But we can. We're their ticket off the rig."

    "Okay," the chief argued, "but what if they don't want to leave? What if they'd rather stay? Then what? What else do we have to trade?"

    "The women," Runkle suggested. There was no hint of humor in his voice. The guy was serious.

    We stared at him in disbelief.

    "Fuck that," Hooper said. "The women are ours. We ain't trading them. Need them for breeding purposes."

    "What the fuck is wrong with you two?" Mitch slammed his palm down on the map. "Do you hear yourselves? You're talking about fucking slavery- like the women onboard are something to be used for barter or a harem."

    "You mean they ain't?" Hooper grinned wide enough to expose his missing teeth.

    My hands curled into fists. I kept them at my sides. It was hard to do. I noticed Mitch tense up, as well. He was shaking with anger and his face turned red. Chief Maxey interrupted, defusing the mounting tension.

    "Knock it off, all of you. Officer Runkle. Mr. Hooper. While your contributions to this ship are valuable and needed, I won't stand for that nonsense. I don't ever want to hear either of you talk like that again. Not while you're on my ship. Do I make myself clear?"

    Hooper shrugged. "Whatever, man. I was just fucking around."

    "You've been doing that a little too much," Turn said.

    "Runkle?" Chief Maxey glared at him. "Do you understand me?"

    Runkle nodded, but said nothing.

    "So what's the plan, Chief?" Turn turned back to the map. "We need a decision."

    "We'll try for the small station near Virginia Beach-the one surrounded by the national forest. It should be fairly deserted. If we have no luck there, then we'll consider Mitch and Lamar's suggestion and try the oil rig. Fair enough?"

    We all agreed that it was. Then we began planning the expedition. According to Chief Maxey, we'd have to take the lifeboat into shore, because the water at the station was too shallow for the
Spratling.
After some discussion, we decided that six people should be enough to make up the shore party. That would leave enough space in the lifeboat to haul back supplies. Chief Maxey and Turn were the only two people onboard qualified to operate the lifeboat, so Turn was picked to go ashore. Mitch, Tony, and Runkle volunteered right away. Hooper reluctantly agreed to go as well.

    "We need one more," Chief Maxey said. "Basil, how about you? Want to join the shore party?"

    Basil looked startled. "Me? Why?"

    "You've got National Guard training. It would be helpful."

    "Yeah," Mitch agreed. "You know how to use a firearm, right?"

    "L-look," Basil stuttered, "thanks for the vote of confidence, but I can't do it. No way. I just spent the last two weeks hiding out in a fucking restroom stall at the Baltimore Zoo. I barely made it out alive. There's no way I'm going back into that shit again."

    "Pussy," Hooper teased. "Chicken shit motherfucker."

    "Fuck you, man!"

    Basil charged him, fists raised, jaw clenched. Runkle stepped out of the way. He looked eager to see them fight, and he licked his lips. Turn and Chief Maxey intervened, stepping between them. Basil tried pushing past the chief, but Maxey refused to budge.

    "Come on, pussy," Hooper shouted. "What you got for me, huh? You ain't got nothing. Bring it. I dare you. Fucking bring it."

    Turn shoved Hooper backward. Hooper took a swing at him but Turn sidestepped. Suddenly, Mitch had his pistol out of the holster and pointed at Hooper's head.

    "Back the fuck down." He motioned with the pistol barrel. "Right now."

    Hooper's eyes grew wide, but he backed down. "You gonna pull a gun on me?"

    "Sure looks that way, doesn't it?" Mitch turned to the chief. "See why it's a good idea not to lock up all the guns?"

    Chief Maxey wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand and then stubbed out his cigar. "I don't give a shit who is at fault here. Each and every one of you will stand down right now, or I'll throw you all in the brig. This is not a democracy, goddamn it, and I am in charge. What is wrong with you? Fighting? Pulling guns on each other? If I'd have known it was going to be like this, I would have left all of you back on the pier."

    "I'm sorry." Mitch holstered his weapon. "Didn't think you'd want your first mate getting the shit beat out of him."

    "Thanks," Turn muttered.

    "I'm sorry, too," Basil said. "But I'm not going ashore and I don't care what anyone thinks. I can't do it."

    "Why?" Tony asked. "What happened to you at the zoo, man? We've all been through shit. What's your story?"

    Basil shuddered. "You don't want to know."

    "Yeah," Tony said. "I do want to know. Think we
deserve
to know. Every one of us on this goddamn shore party is risking our necks for the lives ofeveryone else on this ship. I think you owe us an explanation why you can't do the same-especially since you'll benefit from the raid, too."

    Basil didn't respond. He walked over to the round window, put his hands behind his back, and stared out at the sea. When he finally spoke, we had to strain to hear him.

    "I always loved the zoo. It was my favorite place to go when I was a kid. I grew up in Glen Burnie. Every weekend, I used to beg my parents to take me. We went maybe four times a year. When I became an adult, though, I got one of those lifetime memberships and went every chance I got. At least once a month. And when my wife and I first started dating, I used to take her to the zoo, too. She loved it as much as I did. I proposed to her in front of the monkey exhibit. It was our place, you know? Every couple has a place. Ours was the Baltimore Zoo."

    None of us spoke. The only sounds were the constant cries of the seagulls and Tony's lighter as he lit another cigarette…

    "So," Basil continued, "we've got a good life. I'm doing Web stuff for Northrop. My wife, Kelli, is working for Southwest Airlines at BWI. We've got a nice house in Glen Burnie, near where we both grew up. Everything's fine. Then her period is late. She takes one of those home tests where you pee on the stick, and it says she's pregnant. And then, along comes Hamelin's fucking Revenge. You guys remember how it was, when it first started. It was happening elsewhere. Localized. New York City is a long drive up Ninety-five, right? It wouldn't spread to here. But it did. The last time I saw Kelli was when I left for work. She was going to be late coming home that night. She had a doctor's appointment after work- they were going to tell her if the pregnancy test was correct or not. I got home and made dinner for us. Even stopped off at the store and got a bottle of that sparkling cider, because if she was pregnant, I didn't want her drinking wine. Lit some candles and then I waited. She called from the car-the cell phone connection was bad. She was on the inner loop of the beltway, stuck in traffic. There was some kind of accident with an ambulance. She wasn't hurt, wasn't even involved, but the highway was shut down and she couldn't go anywhere. That was the last time I talked to her."

    "The inner loop," Mitch whispered. "Wasn't that where the-"

    Sniffing, Basil nodded. His voice was choked with emotion. "Yeah. There was a zombie in the ambulance. It got free. Killed somebody. More zombies came out of the woods and onto the highway. You all saw the footage on WBAL. My wife was there."

    "Sorry to hear that," I said, and I was. Basil had been kind of a jerk in the short time I'd known him, but still-you don't wish ill of someone when he's telling you how his wife died.

    "I didn't know," he said. "I kept looking for her on television. Kept looking for her car as the news chopper did flybys, but I didn't know what had happened to her. Her cell phone wasn't working. Kelli never came home. I waited all night but she never came home. I fell asleep around four in the morning. When I woke up, I thought she'd be there. She wasn't. I tried calling in sick to work but by then all the phone lines were down. So, I decided to find Kelli myself. Figured I'd check the highway and if I didn't have any luck there, then I'd check with the hospitals. Hopped in the car and made it to the highway before the National Guard turned me back. I got caught in the detour and ended up downtown. After that, I went to the zoo. You've got to understand-I couldn't find her. Thought that maybe she was looking for me, too. So I went to the zoo and I waited. It was closed, but I hopped the fence and waited for her to show up. She never did. She's out there somewhere still, along with our baby."

    "Basil," Tony said. "I'm really sorry that happened to you and your wife, man. Seriously, I am. But that doesn't explain why you're afraid to go ashore. You need to pull your weight if you're gonna be part of this group. I lost my whole fucking family. I had to smash my daughter's head in with a goddamn shovel…"

    His voice cracked. Basil looked at him with red-rimmed eyes.

    "At least you know what happened to them. I don't. I have no idea! Do you understand what that's like? I hid in a restroom at the zoo. It was too late to leave-the zombies had already broken in. You can't imagine it. I know, I know. All you guys hid out, too. All of you saw zombies. But you didn't see anything like what I saw. The animals… the elephants and the zebras and the monkeys. They all turned. The rats got through the bars of their cages and attacked them and then they turned into zombies. They rotted inside their cages. And the lion, when it got loose…"

    Runkle frowned. "There was a zombie lion on the loose?"

    Basil nodded his head. "Yeah. Some gang members let it loose. I think they were looking for somebody. They had guns, and I didn't have shit, so I hid from them. I heard one of them say they'd let the lion out of its cage by accident. And then it showed up and it was horrible. The way it smelled… the sounds it made. How it looked. While the lion was killing them, I managed to escape. I ran…"