Only the Dead Live Forever (7 page)

Brad let out a
sigh of relief just as the primals in the lift began to moan. Brad stepped
forward angrily and put his rifle into the small gap between the lift and the
deck, ready to engage.

“Hold your
fire!” Sean yelled.

“What?” Brad
said, looking back.

“Save your ammo,
they can’t get up here and we don’t want to rupture anything that will burn
down there with wild shots,” Sean answered.

Brad nodded
back, but kept a nervous eye on the lift, trying to see the monsters’ faces
hiding in the shadows.

Sean turned back
to Tony. “How the hell did the lift come up if it was locked out?” Sean asked.

“Someone … or
some
thing
…  had to have toggled the override below and pressed the lift
button!” Tony stuttered.

“What the fuck?
They’re pushing buttons now?” Sean asked.

“It’s the only
way. Chief, you saw them call it back down! Those things are getting smarter,”
Tony gasped.

“Okay, are there
any more lifts?”

“No Chief, this
is the only one.”

“Okay, listen
up. Tony? Clean up that mess; I don’t want those cut wires starting a fire.
Swanson? You and Bill back to the power house; get this place online and get
the water running. Craig? You and Wilson keep your eyes on this lift. I want
the two of you patrolling between here and the stairway. The rest of you help
me get Ben back to the lounge,” Sean barked. “Any questions? No? Good, move
out!”

13.

Ben’s arms had
been restrained and his legs bound together, but his head and torso were still
free. They’d retrieved a mattress from one of the beds upstairs and laid him
out on the lounge pool table to try and make him more comfortable. Sean was
standing next to Ben, monitoring his breathing and heart rate. Nelson was
asleep on the sofa. The officers had gone back outside to supervise the cleanup
and security of the deck.

They’d hoped
that the quick treatment of the wounds would save Ben but, as the clock ticked,
they watched the infection take hold. The fever hit and Ben began to sweat
profusely. The wounds turned dark then began streaking. Ben was coherent at
first but as panic set in they gave him more morphine to relax. He slowly fell
asleep, fading in and out of coherence.

“I’m thirsty,
Chief,” Ben’s weakened voice rasped. He had been slipping in and out of
consciousness, probably from the fever, but also the morphine.

“Here you go,
buddy,” Sean said, putting a bottle to Ben’s lips.

Ben eagerly
drank from the bottle before coughing and putting his head back down.

“Did the
medicine work, Chief? Am I going to be okay?” he asked.

Sean looked down
at Ben’s battered face. The scratches had begun to turn a deep purple, even
though Brooks had soaked them with alcohol and packed antibiotic cream into
them. The infection had still taken hold. Ben’s temperature had been rising at
least one degree every thirty minutes. Sean looked across the room to Brooks,
who was sorting through a box of medical supplies that had been scavenged from
the platform’s infirmary.

“Yeah, you’re
going to be fine. You just need some rest, okay?” Sean lied.

“Okay Chief,”
Ben answered before turning his head to the side and closing his eyes.

Feeling Sean’s
stare, Brooks took his attention from the box and frowned at Sean before
shaking his head. Brooks went back to his task of sorting through the box,
pulling items and stuffing them into his aid bag. Sean turned his attention
back to the Marine, adjusting his sheets and trying to make him more
comfortable.

Quickly Ben
turned his head back towards him and struggled to sit up. “Chief!”

“Whoa relax,
son. What is it, Ben?” Sean asked.

“Chief, please
make sure I don’t turn into one of those things, please, Chief.”

“Don’t worry
buddy, we’re going to take great care of you. Just get some rest now.”

Ben relaxed and
once again turned his head to the side and closed his eyes.

“Brad, can you
take over? I need to get some air,” Sean asked.

“Sure, I got it,
Chief,” Brad said, leaving his place at the back of the lounge.

Brad looked Ben
over. Ben was unconscious now and sweating profusely. The scratches on his face
were darkening, the deep purple outline spreading. The wounds on his arm had
been covered, but dark red and blue lines streaked up from the bandaged limb.
It was obvious that Ben was now infected. There would be no saving him.

Sean walked over
to Brooks and whispered something to him before he left the room.

“It’s too bad,
bro,” Brad said as he used a damp cloth to cool Ben’s forehead.

“Too bad my ass!
This was completely avoidable,” Brooks said. “No excuse for us losing this
kid.”

“It is what it
is, Brooks. We have to just keep moving forward,” Brad replied flatly.

Brooks shook his
head, then pulled a large syringe from his aid bag and a couple of unmarked
glass bottles.  He drew the fluid from both bottles into the syringe and
injected it into a vein on Ben’s good arm. He then secured the syringe in an
empty water bottle before tossing it.

“Can you stay
with him, Brad? I’m going to give his buddies an opportunity to say good bye;
it won’t be long now ... Be careful, I just gave him a dose big enough to kill
a horse, but who knows how the virus works,” Brooks said.

Brad nodded as
Brooks left the room. He put his hand on Ben’s chest and felt his labored
breathing. It had been almost three hours since he had been attacked.

Brad heard the
door swing open behind him. Swanson entered the room with Wilson and Craig.
They were shaken but tried to hide it. There were no tears. The weeks of
constant death and attacks had desensitized them to the agony of losing a
friend.

“How is he?”
Swanson asked.

“He only has a
short time left. We gave him an overdose of diamorphine. He won’t wake up,”
Brad answered.

“Good, he
deserves to die a Marine and not as one of those things,” Wilson said.

Brad felt the
movement of Ben’s chest stop; he slipped a hand to his wrist and couldn’t find
a pulse. Cautiously they all stepped back from the table and waited for the
reboot.

Brooks and Sean
came into the room and joined them around the table. Wilson woke up from his
nap and sat up, feeling the somberness of the room. Brad shook his head at Sean
and Brooks. Brooks came forward and also checked Ben for a pulse. When he
failed to find one he held his hand to Ben’s chest, then shook his head and
moved back against the wall.

Sean came
forward and removed Ben’s dog tags. He handed them to Swanson.

“This is what
happens when we fuck up. We got lazy, we assumed the deck was secure, and we
didn’t pay attention to the small details. This doesn’t happen again. Get your
friend cleaned up and prepare him for burial. Our work day isn’t finished yet,”
Sean said.

Sean placed his
hand on Ben’s chest for a moment, then pulled the sheet gently over his head
before stepping away and walking outside. After stopping to pat the sheet, Brad
and Brooks followed Sean through the door.

14.

Brooks and Brad
followed Sean back to the control room, and found him standing below the hatch
to the observation tower. The hatch dogs were securely in place, but there
didn’t appear to be any physical lock to prevent them from opening it. Sean
looked over to Brooks and nodded. Brooks raised his weapon and pointed at the
hatch.

Sean carefully
climbed the ladder to the top and began to un-dog the latches. They each freely
opened with a slight metallic clang. The final latch clanged free and Sean
looked back at Brooks and again nodded. He bent his legs and shoved the hatch
up, throwing it open until it locked into place, then dropped back down the
ladder and moved to the side to give Brooks a clear shot.

Brooks kept his
weapon pointed at the now open compartment, trying to see inside. After a few
tense moments, Sean drew his sidearm and again climbed the ladder. When he
reached the top, he disappeared into the tube that led to the compartment.
There was a large crash and a bang. The sound echoed down into the space below.

Brooks quickly
jumped forward, grabbed the ladder and began to climb.

“Calm down ...
It’s okay … Dammit … I just banged my head. I’m fine, guys.” Sean yelled down.

Brooks looked
down at Brad still standing on the deck. Brad tried to hold back but finally
lost it and burst into laughter. Brooks couldn’t contain himself and gave out a
large belly laugh.

“Glad you
assholes think that’s funny, now get up here!” Sean yelled down the ladder.

They found
themselves in a small square room. The walls angled up on each side and were
topped with large tinted-glass windows. The wall was cased with a desk and
workspace, which was topped with an assortment of radios and computers. Located
high in the air just above the height of the helicopter pad, they had an
expansive view of the platform.

“Do you know how
to use this stuff?” Brad asked, pointing at the radios.

Sean reached
down and picked up a handset. He powered up a radio and hit a scan button.
“Looks like a basic setup, shouldn’t be too difficult to use,” he said.

The radio
stopped its scan and they heard static and a broken noise. It was hard to tell
if they were hearing just static or a garbled voice. Sean pressed the scan
again, but it never stopped and looped back through to the garbled frequency.

“Mayday, mayday,
mayday, any station,” Sean said into the handset. When he released the handset
they heard the same garbled static.

“Sounds like
there’s nothing out there, and whatever is on this station is probably high
powered and blocking the freq. Let’s set up a radio watch; maybe we’ll get
lucky,” Sean said.

Brad was looking
through the drawers of the workspace and found a large, clothbound book. He
opened it and looked inside. “Hey check this out. It’s a logbook,” he said as
he flipped through the pages.

Sean and Brooks
turned and leaned over the book. All of the entries were handwritten in dark
ink. Brad turned through the entries page by page until, more than halfway
through, the text changed. Instead of generic entries about dial readings and
counters, there were more detailed journal entries.

“Look at the
writing. Instead of operator entries, the platform manager has taken over the
log,” Brad said.

Sean looked at
the entry on the page and pointed at the number. “That was over thirty days
ago; right about the time of the outbreak,” he said.

Moving his
finger down the page, Brad found the first detailed entry and began reading.

Log Date 214:

First Officer
J.C. Sharif Assumes the Log.

08:00 - The
resupply ferry did not arrive. Men are angry and ready to return home. The
satellite television is reporting news of riots and violence on the mainland.
PAK-PETROL said they will give us detailed information later and reschedule the
ferry.

17:00 - We were
contacted by PAK-PETROL Corporate. Our resupply ferry has been delayed. Problem
is at the mainline Karachi ferry station, described as mechanical in nature.
They will notify us when the ferry is back online.  The men doubt this as
family members have relayed news to us of a pandemic hitting the mainland,
people are getting sick. We think Corporate is keeping us in the dark so that
we will keep working and not abandon the platform.

Log Date 215:

14:00 -
Satellite TV is showing worldwide martial law in effect. People are rioting and
attacking anyone. Citizens are warned to stay indoors, stay away from hospitals
and avoid city streets. Corporate denies the reports and says news of violence
is exaggerated; Corporate promised the ferry will be coming soon.

Log Date 216:

06:00 - We
picked up radio traffic from the cargo ship ‘Chang’ this morning. Chang warned
us to turn away any unknown vessels. They had spotted a ship dead in the water
and boarded it. The crew of the disabled vessel attacked their boarding party.
They sought help from the Coast Guard but were turned away and warned not to
approach the coastal waters.

10:00 - We have
halted production as our storage containers are now full.

12:00 - One of
the engineers was able to contact his family with the satellite phone. Family
said that hospitals are shut down. The cities are overrun with rioters. The
Pakistani Army has been mobilized and is threatening nuclear retaliation
against India for inciting violence against the people. This all makes no
sense.

Log
Date 217:

08:00
- We have depleted fresh rations, we have thirty plus days of canned goods,
desalinization is working normally, the satellite TV is broadcasting on a loop,
we have not been able to reach anyone on the satellite phone. The men are
panicking.

14:00 - Message
from Corporate received via UHF, the ferry station has been closed. We have
been told to hold out and await transport. The men are restless and threatening
desertion.

Log Date 218:

05:00 - Ten men
deserted the platform today and fled in the small boat. A note found in the
boathouse said they were returning to their families.

08:00 - Fishing
vessel approached the sea deck. They requested permission to dock. The security
team met and escorted them onto the first deck. Our doctor inspected the crew;
they were hungry and dehydrated but no visible signs of illness. The Captain of
the fishing boat said that the mainland ports are all closed. He was forced to
seek refuge in blue water. Coast Guard ships are firing on anything that
approaches the shore. We have allowed them refuge; we may need their vessel if
the ferry does not arrive.

14:00 - We were
approached by a small craft from the Pakistani Navy. The five man crew were
injured and seeking medical attention. We brought them to the infirmary for
treatment by the doctor. They had visible wounds, cuts and scrapes and were
suffering from high fever. During the night the crew became agitated and
attacked and killed the doctor and our medic. We locked them in the infirmary.
They are contained but cannot be reasoned with.

Log Date 219:

10:00 - We have
been boarded by Pakistani Navy war ship. They have taken control of the
platform. When informed about their crew members in the infirmary, a team was
dispatched to take care of them. They executed the sick crew members and
disposed of the bodies over the rail.  Pakistani Navy has commandeered the
bottom two decks. All of our team members have been ordered to occupy the top
deck only.

Log Date 220:

12:00 -
PAK-PETROL Ferry arrived today with crew members from other platforms. Instead
of taking us home they are seeking refuge on the platform. A large United
States Navy war ship has attached to the platform. U.S. Military helicopter
dropped off American Military to platform. We have been ordered to surrender
control of operations to the U.S. Military. We have nowhere to go.

15:00 - U.S.
Military has ordered all non-essential team members to report to lower decks
for evacuation processing. Only Engineers and those required to maintain
platform life support will be allowed above the second deck. Log closed.  J.C.
Sharif.

Brad finished
reading the handwritten pages and took a step away from the desk. He turned to
look out of the observation window that overlooked the platform. The ocean had
a calming effect. The hot sun was burning down on the deck outside, and he
could see the men working, cleaning the deck, and patrolling. Brad looked back
down at the desk and Sean closed the journal.

“What the hell
are we going to do, Chief?” Brad asked.

“I’m not sure,
Brad. Let’s get one of the Marines to sit on this radio. We need to get a
planning session together with the officers. This place might start feeling
cozy after a couple of days, but we can’t stay here. Our focus has to be on
leaving.”

Brooks stood up
from the log book and clipped his MP5 back onto his body armor. “Sounds good,
Chief. I’ll get one of the guys trained on these radios and we can all meet up
on the helipad in a couple hours. I say the sooner we get out of here the
better.”