Only the Dead Live Forever (10 page)

Wilson had his
rifle at the ready and waited for the go signal. Craig was just behind Wilson,
his left hand on Wilson’s back and his rifle in his shoulder. Brad was
staggered just slightly, leaning out with his hand on the door handle ready to
launch it in. “I know what Chief said, but if you have to fire, take the shots.
I’d rather have damaged equipment than lose one of you guys,” Brad whispered.

Before the
Marines could respond, they heard the clang of the engine room hatch and then
the bang as it was thrown open against the deck. “Go!” Brad said as he pulled
down on the handle and shoved the door in.

“Next man in,
right!” Wilson yelled as he cleared the doorway.

“Coming in,
right,” Craig called just behind him as he cut through the narrow doorway and
took a position aiming down the right side of the bridge.

Brad pulled in
just behind them, aiming down the center. The bridge was about fifteen feet
wide and had two large chairs positioned near the steering controls. Brad could
see navigation equipment scattered around the large consoles on the far wall.
Two dead crew members lay on the floor in solid blue jump suits. A small sub
machine gun lay on the deck with an empty magazine lying near it.

Even with the
tinted windows, the sun easily lit the space. Brad gestured for them to move
forward online. He could hear the SEALs moving through the bowels of the ship;
an occasion muffled gunshot or a shout of instruction reverberated up through
the hull. There were two ladders leaving the bridge, one leading aft and the
other in and under the bow.

Both ladder ways
had their hatches open. Brad signaled for Craig to dog the aft hatch so they
could focus their attention towards the bow. Craig pushed the hatch but failed
to close it. On closer inspection, he saw part of a man’s leg blocking the
bottom quarter of the door. Brad moved around the door to look down the ladder
well and into the darkened interior of the ship.

Brad couldn’t
see anything below, but he could hear the echoes of the SEALs’ movements. He
used his boot to kick the man’s leg clear of the hatch, then helped Craig push
it shut and secure its latches. Just as they secured the final latch, they
heard the rapid firing of Wilson’s rifle. Brad turned just in time to see two
crazies already directly in front of Wilson, coming up the ladder and through
the hatch.

Wilson was
firing point blank into a uniformed primal’s chest, but the momentum of a
second primal pushed it forward and onto the Marine. Wilson tripped and fell
onto his back; flailing, he dropped his rifle to the side. Brad lowered his
weapon and fired at the second primal that was now lying across Wilson’s hips.
At the same time, Craig smacked the head of the uniformed creature with the
butt stock of his rifle.

Brad leapt
forward and kicked the second primal hard enough to knock him clear off of
Wilson and back down the stairs. Craig had regained control of his rifle and
fired three rounds into the head of the other primal. He then grabbed Wilson
and dragged him clear of the bow hatch as Brad slammed it shut and locked its
latches.

Wilson was still
on the ground flailing about. Brad grabbed him and tried to calm him as he
inspected his body for wounds. He stopped cold when he saw a large gash going
from Wilson’s right hip and down the side of his leg. Brad ripped the clothing
away to get a better look at the wound. It didn’t look good. Brad could see
deep into the muscle; blood was oozing out and filling the cut.

Brad put
pressure on the area and ordered Craig to give him a tourniquet. Brad ripped
the rest of the clothing away and tried to apply the tourniquet but the
location of the wound made it impossible. He grabbed a bundle of pressure
dressings off of the Marine’s body armor and started packing them around the
long gash. Wilson was still flailing on the deck and screaming.

“They fucking
got me, oh shit they got me, Sergeant they got me,” Wilson screamed.

“No, it’s okay
Wilson. Maybe you cut it on the hatch or when you fell. It’s okay,” Brad said
back, trying to calm the Marine.

“No, he fucking
got me, I felt it. I felt its hands rip at me. He got me.”

“Calm down,
Marine, and let us work. Craig, get down here and put pressure on this wound,”
Brad ordered.

Craig switched
positions and put both hands on the open cut. Brad used his knife to cut more
material from the Marine’s other pant leg. He looked back up at Wilson’s face
just in time to see…

“NO!”

Wilson had drawn
his side arm and had the barrel in his mouth; Brad lunged forward to grab it
just as Wilson pulled the trigger.

Brad punched the
deck before dropping on his back side and sitting flat on the floor. Craig
released his grip on Wilson’s leg and just stared at him in shock. The bridge
was suddenly quiet, the smell of Wilson’s blood and the gunpowder filling the
air. Brad got to his feet and began to walk outside just as someone banged on
the aft hatch. “It’s us, open the hatch,” he heard Brooks yell.

Brad stopped and
walked to the aft hatch and un-dogged the latches to allow the hatch to open.
Without saying a word, Brad turned and walked out of the bridge and back onto
the deck of the ship. Sean followed Brad through the doorway and looked at him.

“Sergeant! Get
back on the bridge and cover your man. Brooks and I will clear the bow,” Sean
ordered.

Brad looked at
Sean with a scowl, then slowly readied his weapon and followed him back onto
the bridge. Brad looked down at the still body of Wilson. Craig and Brooks were
busy moving the primals away from the bow hatch, preparing to open the door.
Once the way was clear, Brooks leaned against the wall and signaled for Craig
to unlock it.

The door swung
out and the two SEALs dropped down the ladder. Moments later he heard them give
the ‘all clear’. Brad reached down and grabbed Wilson by the shoulders. He
asked Craig to help carry him out onto the deck. Craig nodded and let his rifle
hang from the sling as he grabbed Wilson by the ankles and followed Brad
through the hatch.

They sat
Wilson’s body just outside the door on the deck. Brad removed his dog tags and
put them in his pocket.

“This isn’t your
fault, Sergeant,” Craig said.

“I shouldn’t
have taken my eyes off of that hatch. Wilson was my responsibility,” Brad said
quietly.

 “That’s
bullshit! Wilson was supposed to be watching the bow hatch; he got caught up on
us trying to close the other door. He took his eyes off of his area; it was a
mistake and it got him killed. It’s not your fault,” Craig argued.

“Well thank you
for saying so, but it doesn’t matter now; he’s dead and we won’t get him
back.” 

Brad walked
forward toward the bow of the ship. When he got to the front, he looked Swanson
in the eyes, reached out his hand, and gave her the dog tags. She gasped when
she read the name. “Where is he?” she asked, just above a whisper.

“Over there.”
Brad said, pointing down the walkway toward the bridge. “I’m sorry.”

Swanson climbed
to her feet and walked in the direction of the bridge.

18.

There was no
time for mourning. Sean quickly put them all to work preparing the boat for
departure. They dumped overboard nearly everything on the craft that wasn’t
bolted down. Working through the night, they cleaned every crevice with bleach
to remove any contamination that might lurk on a sharp corner. While they
decontaminated, Bill and Tony rigged pallets of supplies that they lowered down
to the ship.

Brooks explained
that the fast attack boat was normally operated by a crew of twenty, but they
would have to make do with six. Tony had turned out to be an expert with the
boat’s large diesel engines; he was able to get the ship’s power on and the
motors purred to life. The diesel engines allowed them to fully power up the
systems on the bridge. Brooks gave the craft a walk down and determined it to
be in good working order.

The sleeping
compartment was filled with goods. They stacked cases of MREs in the bunks, and
cases of fresh water anyplace they could fit them. One advantage to running on
a skeleton crew was that it allowed for more storage space. Brooks estimated
they should have enough food for forty-five days on board; fuel would be the
problem.

The boat had a
range of approximately eight hundred miles on full tanks. They had lowered two
pallets of fuel drums and strapped those to the rear deck. They debated
bringing on more fuel drums, but Brooks and Sean feared overloading the vessel.
They had to be cautious taking the small boat into blue water, so they wanted
it as stable as possible.

Crews had been
selected and assigned responsibilities. Craig would travel in the Black Hawk
with Bill. Tony and Swanson were assigned to the boat’s engine room. Nelson had
an electrical background, so Sean quickly appointed the private as the ship’s
electrician’s mate. Brooks would control the vessel and promised to train Brad
on the ship’s weapons systems as they went. Sean, of course, would be the
chief/captain of the boat.

They made plans
to depart late the following afternoon. Brooks estimated it would take them
close to eighteen hours to complete the five-hundred-mile trip to Masirah
Island. If they left on time and sailed through the night, they should reach
the island at the hottest part of the next day, when any primals that might
occupy the island should hopefully be dormant.

The air crew
made similar preparations. They would hold on station to give the boat a
fourteen-hour head start. If everything went according to plan, they would take
off early the morning after, and would arrive at the island near the same time
as the surface team. Staggering their starts also allowed them to support each
other. If the boat was halfway enroute and the air crew ran into problems, the
attack boat would be the only hope for a water rescue.

By the end of
the day, all of their gear had been pre-positioned on the boat or the
helicopter, leaving only the bare essentials on the platform. Brooks and Tony
had decided to stay the night on the vessel to make sure there would be no
surprises on the next day’s voyage. Sean was running around making final
preparations and plans on how to idle the platform as they left.

Brad was back in
the observation tower. He had been scanning the radio for the last couple of
hours, searching for any signal, but so far had come up empty. The radar scope
had also been blank. Brad stood and walked towards the windows, where he could
see the men making their rounds as they patrolled the decks. After the death of
Wilson, Brad had lost the urge to socialize. He had been focusing on work and
the coming trip instead.

Brad sat back in
the tower’s chair and began slowly turning the tuning dial, still desperate to
find a contact. He heard the door open and shut in the room below. He listened
as the person below walked to the ladder and began climbing into the
observation tower. Brad looked down into the face of Swanson. She grabbed the
top rung of the ladder and pulled herself into the room.

“I noticed you
skipped chow. I brought you some dinner, or at least this place’s version of
dinner,” she said as she sat a covered plate on the desk in front of Brad.

Brad peeled the
foil back from the plate. “Looks like maybe … meatloaf? Well thank you Chelsea,
I didn’t have much of an appetite earlier.”

He took the fork
and took a large bite of the meat. Chelsea walked across the room and took a
seat in an empty chair.

“You okay, Brad?
You’ve been pretty quiet all evening,” she said.

“I’m fine; I
just needed to take a time out. It’s been an exhausting couple of days.”

Chelsea looked
at the radios and reviewed the pages in the log book. “You pick up anything
else?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Nope, scope has
been clear and not a peep on the radio. It’s damn quiet out here … I’m so ready
to leave this place,” he said with a sigh.

“Me too, I can’t
wait to get going.”

“So what are
your plans? Where is home for you, Chelsea?”

“Home? I don’t
really know any more. I lived with my mom and sister in upstate New York before
I joined the Corps, but last I heard New York is gone.”

“I’m sure your
family was evacuated; you’ll find them,” Brad said.

“Yeah, maybe …
What about you Brad, what will you do?”

“I hadn’t
thought much about it. I left a group of people back in Afghanistan. My first
priority is to get them home. After that, I don’t know, I’m guessing the Army
will have plans for me. I have family in Michigan, but I don’t know where
things stand at home; I haven’t been able to reach them since before the
outbreak.”

Their
conversation was suddenly interrupted by the sound of gunfire. Brad jumped up
to look through the observation window. He could see Craig standing with his
rifle at his shoulder, firing rounds into the stairway on the storage deck.
Captain Bradley was next to him with his M9 drawn and also firing. Bill had
fallen in behind them holding a fire axe.

“What the hell
is going on?” Brad said.

A siren began to
blast.

“That’s the
automated alarm, something is wrong with the platform!” Chelsea exclaimed.

They heard the
radio squawk. Brad grabbed the handset and looked at the channel. It was Brooks
on the boat below.

“This is the
tower, go ahead,” Brad said into the handset.

“What the hell
is going on up there? The primals are going nuts down here.”
Brooks said over
the radio.

“I don’t know,
looks like they are attacking at the stairway. I need to get out there and
help,” Brad answered.

“What the fuck …
something is going on; there is oil pouring from the second deck. Tony said he
thinks the purge valves must be open.”

“
Okay, I
understand. I have to go; I have to find Bill,”
Brad said, putting down
the handset and picking up his rifle. “Let’s go, Chelsea, we need to get out
there.”

They slid down
the ladder and back into the control room, quickly bursting outside and onto
the deck. The sun had gone down, and the cool night air was filled with the
sounds of gunfire and primal moans. Brad ran the walkway with Chelsea close
behind him. When they arrived at the stairway to the second deck, they found
Sean and Craig firing directly into it. Captain Bradley and Bill were just
behind them, trying to force obstacles back into the barricade.

Brad ran forward
and positioned himself next to Sean. He could see that the barricade below had
collapsed onto the second deck. The pallets and crates they had stacked days
earlier were harmlessly falling down the stairs, providing the primals a clear
path to attack.

“What’s going on
here?” Brad yelled to Sean.

“They are going
to breach, Brad, unless we plug this hole in a hurry. Somehow the sneaky fucks
managed to take down the barrier without us knowing,” Sean said.

Bill came up
behind them on a small fork truck. He pressed another crate into the stairwell,
temporarily closing the gap. Craig shifted positions and continued to shoot
into the mass below them while Brad ran to the fork truck and waved his hands to
get Bill’s attention. Bill noticed him and cut the engine so he could hear.

“Bill, Tony said
that the purge valves are open. Oil is pouring out onto the lower decks!” Brad
yelled.

“No fucking way
… Chief! We have to get the hell out of here now!” Bill yelled. “If those
valves are open, any spark could set this place off.”

“Any spark?”
Sean asked.

“Yeah
any
spark; like the ones coming out of your rifles,” Bill replied.

“Craig! Cease
fire!” Sean yelled just as more of the barricade collapsed. They could hear the
primals at the bottom of the stack tearing away at the crates and pallets,
trying to break through. “Captain Bradley, get your people airborne now. Brad,
get Chelsea and Nelson to the boat, I am right behind you,” Sean commanded.

“Who will
operate the crane, Chief?” Chelsea asked.

“You don’t need
the crane, slide down the damn rope! Now hurry, we’re running out of time,”
Sean barked.

Brad grabbed
Chelsea by the wrist, dragging her behind him. “Where’s Nelson?” he yelled.

“He had the late
watch; he would have been off to bed early and may still be in the living
quarters.”

“Hurry! Follow
me,” Brad said just as they heard another crash and more of the barricade
collapsed. They ran to the lounge and swung open the door. They found Nelson
running down the hallway towards them.

“I heard the
alarm, what’s going on?” he asked.

“No time, follow
us, we are abandoning the platform!” Brad yelled.

“Wait … I have
to go grab my kit,” Nelson yelled back.

Chelsea reached
forward, grabbed Nelson and shoved him towards the exit doors. “You have your
rifle, Marine, that’s all you need, let’s go!”

Brad led the
way, running down the walkway back toward the storage deck. He could hear the
whining of the Black Hawk’s engines as it powered up. The primals were
screaming and there followed a flurry of activity on the deck below them. Brad
rounded the corner and saw a cluster of primals just coming over the top of the
barricade. Brad raised his rifle and fired into them.

He knocked the
first two back but more filled the space. He ordered Chelsea and Nelson to run
to the rail and get down to the boat. Chelsea hesitated, but turned and ran
toward the railing. Brad moved farther away from the stairs in the direction of
the railing, firing back as he went. More broke through and Brad took a knee
and fired faster into the mass breaking through the stairway. For every one he
hit, two more came over the crates searching for a handhold.

Brad looked to
the railing just as Nelson clipped onto the cable and began the descent down.
He watched as Chelsea hooked on to the cable and waited her turn to slide down.
Another crash at the barricade turned his attention back to the primals. More
of the crates had fallen and now there was a clear opening in the stairwell.
The primals began filling the void two and three at a time. Brad fired quickly
but he wasn’t keeping up with the flood.

They broke
through and charged at him. Brad fired several rounds, knocking many of them
back. His bolt locked to the rear and he quickly ejected the magazine, keeping
his eye on the sights to watch them bear down on his position. They were too
close; he prepared to draw the S&W Sigma pistol. Suddenly Sean was standing
over his shoulder; firing in full auto, sweeping the mass and pushing them
back.

Brad
re-holstered the Sigma and finished reloading his M4. He raised the rifle and
started firing again as the mob rebounded. A full mass was now breaching the
stairs. Sean ordered Brad to leave.

“Nah, I’m not feeling
up to running today, Chief,” Brad said as he leaned forward and continued to
fire at the closing mass.

Sean’s MP5 went
dry and he pulled his sidearm, continuing to shoot into the closing wave. “It’s
been a pleasure to serve with you, Brad!” Sean yelled out as he killed two of
them that had closed to within ten meters.

Brad saw them
get closer and readied himself for the impact of the charging creatures.
Leaning forward, he steeled his mind for the inevitable. He planned his demise
in his own thoughts, everything slowing down. He knew he had ten, maybe twelve
rounds left in the M4 and then he would have to draw his pistol. Fifteen shots
– they would be on top of him by then. He would draw the karambit, that’s how
he would go, slashing and killing with his fists.

Brad fired the
last round in the M4; he let the rifle hang from its sling and reached for his
sidearm just as the deck in front of him exploded. Sparks of metal and fire
filled his view as the primals were vaporized. He could feel the heat from the
flames. Dazed, he realized that he’d been thrown backwards against the deck;
looking into the sky, he saw the Black Hawk helicopter floating over his head.
The helicopter’s mini-gun was firing at full speed into the stairwell.