Only the Dead Live Forever (2 page)

“Hey, is that
you guys?” he heard Mr. Douglas call out.

“Yeah, can you
open the damn door?” Brad said back.

He heard the
officers drag the furniture out of the way and then they pulled the door open. Brad
moved to the side and let Sean move through first, as he was still leading the
way for the female. Then Brooks moved forward and into the lounge. Brad took
one last look down the hallway before he slipped into the room to secure the
door and help Brooks barricade it.

3.

They had the
female Marine lay down on one of the long sofas that had been pushed against
the wall. Once the sense of security finally hit her, she quickly collapsed and
fell asleep. She was young, maybe mid-twenties, and she was small, barely over
five feet, a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. Once she had fallen asleep,
Brooks gently inspected her for bites or scratches. Her uniform was filthy and
torn, but she didn’t appear to have any open wounds.

“She looks okay
Chief, probably dehydrated though,” Brooks said quietly.

“Okay good,
thank you for taking care of that. So what do you think, you want to go back
upstairs, continue the recon?” Sean asked.

“Hell no, Sean! Let’s
wait until she wakes up and gives us some info on what’s going on here. It’s a
damn murder house up there,” Brad said.

“I just don’t
feel good not knowing what we are sharing a building with. From the outside, it
looks like there are no more than three, maybe four floors on this structure. I
think it would be better if we could clear it. Especially since nothing or no
one appears to know we’re here,” Sean said.

Captain Bradley
stood and walked to the corner of the room to join the discussion. “That
assumption makes no sense, Chief. The Black Hawk would have rattled this place
coming in, and there's no way nothing heard it. If I had to guess, I’d say
there’s a mess of them hiding behind a door someplace, just waiting for you to
open it.”

“No, you can’t
go,” the Marine said, struggling to sit up.

They all stopped
and turned to look at her. “Oh, you’re awake. How are you feeling?” Brooks
asked.

“I’m a bit
groggy and I feel like I got hit by a truck,” she said. “Do you have any
water?”

Brad walked
across the room and reached into his pack, then handed her a bottle of water. She
quickly twisted off the cap and guzzled down the entire bottle.

“Whoa, take it
easy! We got to make that stuff last,” Brad told her.

“Don’t get stingy,
Army, there are pallets full of water out on the storage deck,” she spat back.

“Oh yeah? You
want to go walk out there and grab some, Marine?”

“Oh … well, I
guess you have a valid point there. So, ahh … any food?” she said as she put
the cap back on the bottle.

Brad reached
back into his pack and started opening his last can of the Afghan slop, which
brought a smile to the faces of Sean and Brooks.

“What is that?” she
asked.

Sean stepped
forward and sat on a chair across from her. “Don’t worry about it, you’re going
to love it, Corporal Swanson,” he said.

“How did you
know my name?” she demanded.

“It’s written on
your uniform, Corporal. You want to tell us what happened here?” Sean asked.

Brad finished
opening the can, stuck his MRE spoon into the top of the mix, and handed it to
her. “Sorry I can’t heat that up for you, but trust me, it won’t improve the
taste anyhow.”

Swanson took the
can and scooped a large portion into her mouth before pausing. They thought she
was going to turn green and spit it out, but after an uncomfortable silence she
began to chew, then grudgingly took more. “This really is horrible, so thank
you for sharing it with me,” she said sarcastically.

Sean gave her an
impatient look. “Back to where we left off. What is going on here, Corporal?”

“They must have
gotten in on the PAK-PETRO boats. I don’t know; it was in the middle of the
night. I was sleeping in my cell when it started. Sergeant Johnson woke me up,
told me to grab my kit because we were leaving.”

“What do you
mean, leaving?”

“He said the
platform was breeched and we needed to fall back to the Edwards,” Swanson said.

“Edwards?” Sean
asked.

“The USS Edwards,”
she explained, “It’s a submarine tender. It’s been tied up here for a couple of
weeks. We’d been replenishing it, getting ready to make a cruise back to the States.”

“Okay, so then
what?”

“I grabbed my
gear and joined him in the hall. All of the housing cells are on the third deck;
everyone was running around suiting up and heading below. There was a lot of
screaming coming from the lower decks. Sergeant Johnson led the way, and when
we made it to the first floor it was chaos. That’s where they had gotten in. Our
Marines were fighting hard, but most of them had already closed in on us and
they were inside …” She paused; a haunted look came across her face. “It was hand-to-hand.”

“What did you
do?” Sean probed.

“They were
already through the lounge and into the hallway. One of the Marines in the
middle of it managed to lock the lounge door, but too many of them had already
gotten in. Sergeant Johnson and I tried to make it back to the third level but
someone had secured the doors at the bottom of the stairs and they wouldn’t
open them.”

“So you got
caught in the middle?”

Nodding, she
continued. “We ran back to the second floor stairway … they were pouring in up
the stairs … we fell back into the hallway. Johnson was firing at them,
knocking them down, but there were just too many,” she said as her voice started
to crack. “He shoved me into the office and told me to barricade the door.”

“And?”

“I locked the
door … I pushed the desk against it and hid. I heard them coming for him. He
fought them, and I heard him scream … it took a long time … but they didn’t
leave, they started pounding on the office door, they broke the glass and tried
to get in. I fired my rifle till it was empty, then I reloaded and fired more. When
my rifle was done, I fired the pistol. I ran out of ammo and waited for them to
come in after me … but … but something happened … They were distracted. I heard
them crash through the doors and go up to the third deck. They never came
back.”

“Do you know
where they came from?”

“No! I told you
already! I was asleep. Some of the men were yelling and blaming it on PAK-PETRO,
since they own and operate these oil rigs. They had been pulling people back
from the other sites all month, consolidating them here … waiting for the main
evacuation order.

“Everyone is
supposed to get checked for bites and scratches, but sometimes people get
through the cracks. We’ve found primals turned in their cells before, screaming
and trying to get out … Plus there are a lot of people in the ships moored
below and on the first level; they don’t get checked till they get to the second
deck.”

 “Another
classic cluster fuck,” Brooks said in frustration. “Who was in charge of
security here?”

“Officially the
Marines were, but there were only twenty-five of us. There were over five
hundred people on the platform plus I don’t know how many on the ships. And we
aren’t grunts; most of us are wrench turners and technicians. We had to trust
the locals to do most of the security since we were only in charge of the top
deck. PAK-PETRO ran the lower two decks with the Pakistani Navy; they have a
few boats down there.
Our
Navy never left their ships, they just plugged
into the platform for shore power.”

“So to sum it up,
we have no idea what’s going on anywhere on this platform, how many infected there
are, or how many survivors,” Sean grunted.

4.

They sat in
silence and tried to digest the bad news. Swanson was asleep again. They still
had plenty of questions for her, but Sean didn’t see any point in beating her
up all night. They were locked into the lounge, but still felt uneasy when they
stared at the door that led into the building, not knowing what waited for them
on that third deck.

Brad had
collected his gear and was back in the overstuffed chair in a corner. He had
broken down his rifle and was meticulously cleaning it. Brooks distracted
himself by doing the same in the opposite corner of the room. Sean lay down to sleep
on a pool table; the pilots were already sleeping against the front wall on a
pile of sofa cushions that they had bunched together. The emergency lighting
was still working, but they had no idea how long the batteries would last.

Dawn came slowly;
the rain was still coming down hard. The grey gloomy light was just beginning
to pierce the glass windows in the door when Sean got to his feet and peeked
out of the glass. Looking both ways as best he could, he seemed satisfied that
the immediate outside was clear.

“Brooks, Brad,
why don’t you two start suiting up,” Sean said.

“What are you
thinking, Boss?” Brooks asked.

“I want to take
a quick look around so we can get our bearings. We also need to pull the gear
and ammo from the Black Hawk,” Sean answered. “Captain, you two stay here with Swanson
and hold the fort. We won’t be long. Keep an eye on those doors.”

“Okay, can do,
Chief,” Bradley answered.

The team suited
up and gathered at the double doors. Sean pulled the bolt back and slowly
opened the right side, slicing his viewpoints until he had a full view of
everything to his left. Then Brooks eased open the opposing door and sliced to
the right. When they were confident the way was clear, the left door was closed
and they slid outside before closing the right door behind them. They heard the
officers latching the door locked.

They stood tight
against the wall, looking in all directions. The rain was still coming down
hard but the thunder had faded. They could hear the waves crashing against the
ships and the pylons below. Normally, the ships would have untied and taken the
storm in open waters instead of being thrashed against the platform, but there
must not have been anyone to pilot them.

Sean looked down
at the deck and grimaced. “I hope those vessels aren’t doing permanent damage
to the structure. We’re in bad enough shape as it is.”

Brooks lifted
his rifle and scouted the area beyond the building with his optics. “I don’t
see any movement, Chief, and the far walkway looks clear.”

“We don’t have
the manpower to leave a guard here to cover our six, so we’ll just need to keep
our heads on swivel,” Sean warned.

They turned and
slowly patrolled toward the helicopter pad, stopping often to listen and check
their back trail. It was hard to hear anything through the pouring rain and the
sounds of the water beating off the steel buildings. The floor was made up of rigid
steel grates; even so, it was hard to see through the tangle of pipes to the
working spaces below.

The path back to
the flight deck was clear; they could just barely see through the rain to the
landing. Blowing rain was washing across the metal deck grating. The winds rolled
the wash up and blew it across the deck at them. They were already soaked in
the chilled water. Brad had removed his goggles and was wearing a fleece watch
cap. He held his rifle at the ready and tried to stay in position just behind
Brooks as they slowly made their way down the walkway.

They reached the
landing and, after a brief pause, Brooks made the turn around the corner, with
Sean and Brad behind him. They found the helicopter just as they had left it. They
moved about the landing pad and used the elevated position to survey the
platform. Even in the stormy conditions they were able to see a great deal more
than they had the night before.

They could
clearly see down onto the storage deck where a large number of crates and
plastic containers were neatly stacked in rows. There were obvious signs of a
battle on the deck. The dead were scattered about and concentrated near a hasty
barricade, close to what appeared to be another staircase leading to the second
deck. There were two other metal buildings on the two remaining corners of the
platform; one appeared be a control building containing large windows, and the
other was only a two-story with no windows.

The southwest
apron of the helicopter pad leaned out over the edges of the platform. By
pushing up against the railing, they were able to see hundreds of feet below to
the crashing sea. There was no large submarine tender as the Marine had
suggested. They could see a couple of Pakistani-flagged fast attack boats, a
few tugs labeled with the PAK-PETRO logo, and a larger civilian fishing boat. All
of the vessels appeared to be dead in the water and were taking a beating in the
storm.

Sean tried the
satellite phone; even though he was pulling a strong signal, he couldn’t get an
answer. Frustrated, he powered it down and stowed it back in his assault pack.

They opened the
doors to the helicopter, quickly loaded the large rucks onto their backs, and
stacked up to make the return trip to the lounge. Brooks was partway down the
stairs to the first landing when his fist shot in the air. Brad struggled to
kneel on the uneven surface of the stairs, battling the weight of his pack as he
strained to turn his head to see what had alerted Brooks. Far in the distance
he spotted it.

“Oh fuck,” he
gasped.

There was a
small pack of ten to fifteen primals gathered below them near the entrance to
the lounge. So far they hadn’t been alerted, or they would have been moaning. The
team froze on the stairs and watched the pack. The primals had gathered outside
of the lounge. One of them seemed to be the leader. It was larger than the rest
and wore part of a Marine Corps utility uniform. Its face had been torn open
above the cheekbone, and a large portion of its scalp was missing, but it didn’t
seem at all bothered by the wounds. It slapped at the steel doors of the
building but quickly lost interest and started to make its way closer to the
team’s current position. Quickly and quietly they backtracked up the stairs and
to the landing pad.

“Stay quiet. If
we start a fight, we have no place to fall back to,” Sean whispered.

When they returned
to the pad, they silently dropped their packs and laid flat on the deck, trying
to hide. They could see through the drainage slots in the decking to the
walkway below. The primals were still moving slowly along the path, presumably following
the leader that had been pounding on the lounge door. The rains were still soaking
everything, but the primals seemed unaffected by the downpour. When they made
it to the landing they stopped and appeared to contemplate climbing the stairs.
The primals stirred back and forth as they decided on a path. The leader lashed
out at another member of the pack with a screech, and they moved on towards the
storage deck.

When it was
again clear, the three men stacked back up and moved down the stairs. At the
landing, they quickly checked for signs of the pack and thankfully found none. The
primals seemed to have moved on beyond the storage deck. The team quickly
rounded the landing, headed down the final steps, and back to the lounge. They
moved past the double doors and waited. Sean tapped a pre-arranged code at the steel
door and waited for a response from inside. Brad had moved past the entrance
and was covering forward, while Brooks was still looking through his rifle back
toward the stairs to the landing pad.

Brad stepped
away from the wall and turned to look back at Sean. Sean was visibly frustrated,
tapping at the door in the code and waiting for the officers to unlock it. He
paused, and hearing no response, tapped again. Brad shook his head, then turned
back to the front … and gasped in shock.

He found himself
face to face with one of the largest primals he had ever seen. Before Brad
could raise his rifle to fire, the primal lunged at him. The impact of the
thing and the weight of his pack threw Brad hard to the ground.

They landed
awkwardly on the deck. Brad fell crunched against his large rucksack in a half sitting
position, with the primal grabbing at his clothes. Brad grabbed its neck;
pushing it away with his right gloved hand, he buried his thumb into the soft
tissue of its chin while his fingers gripped its throat. His free left hand was
battling with the primal for wrist control as he wrapped his legs around the
creature and tried to pull it tightly into his guard; locking his legs, he then
held on for dear life.

At the sound of
the commotion, Sean turned. Afraid to fire a shot and risk hitting Brad, he
leapt past them and threw himself onto the back of the creature, placing it
into a strong rear choke hold. Sean had the choke in deep and was pushing the
thing’s head forward for all he was worth. With the down and forward pressure
relieved from him, Brad was able to dig a heel in to the creature as he
maintained control of the primal’s left arm. He rolled hard and pulled himself
into a sloppy arm bar. Not waiting for a tap, he applied maximum pressure and
felt the elbow joint break and dislocate.

Without the
strength of both arms, the primal fell flat on its face with Sean still
securely on its back, its last good arm wildly flailing. Brooks grabbed Brad by
the straps at the top of his pack and pulled him away from the beast. With the
tight choke applied, the primal was unable to scream or moan. Sean applied more
and more pressure but the creature failed to die. Finally, Sean crushed its
wind pipe and rolled hard; the creature’s neck made an audible crack as its spine
was broken. Sean held tight as the primal’s body stiffened violently, then went
slack.

Sean slowly
released his grip from the primal and rolled away from it. He looked down and
saw that its eyes were still following him with a hateful glare. Even with its
windpipe crushed and its neck and spine snapped, the primal still was looking
to fight. Brooks pulled a small suppressed MKII pistol from his pack and placed
it against the creature’s head, then fired a single shot.

Suddenly the
door opened and Captain Bradley looked out. “What the hell are you guys doing
out here making all of that noise?” He stopped and looked down at the dead
primal, and both Brad and Sean still sitting on the deck. “Oh! Well hey, come
on guys, get back inside before more of them come.”