Outbreak (Book 1): Emerald City (21 page)

CLARK

"Damn. Where is everyone?" Clark asked as he followed Rocha out through a door from an abandoned corridor and onto a lower deck of the cruise ship.

“Hell if I know,” Rocha replied over his shoulder. “I have to admit, I don’t get it. Usually survivors want to be found. They leave clues and shit so people like us can find them. Stuff I wouldn’t hesitate to follow. It’s not like when I was in Iraq. We were dealing with opposing forces that had been known to use clues and directions against us by turning the information around, leading our troops into ambush sites. But lurkers? They don’t care. It’s not like they got the brain capacity to pull off tricks anyways. They just want to find something to eat.”

Speaking of eating …
Clark suddenly had an idea. “Hey, maybe that’s it,” Clark said. “You think there is a kitchen or something around here? The survivors would need food to hold out these last few months.”

Rocha snapped his fingers and looked back at Clark. “Smart guy! There has to be,” Rocha said and began to look around the deck. After a second, he waved for Clark to follow.

Clark came over and saw a sign for the cafeteria. "Good work," he said and they followed the directions to a kitchen. Inside they found the signs of survivor activity they had been looking for. The place was a mess of broken crates and open cupboards. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Clark said.

“Damn straight,” Rocha said. “These broken locks are dead giveaway. I’ve never met a lurker smart enough to look for food that way. A couple months back, Mathews and I got assigned to clear out a dried salmon factory. There was salmon hanging from the rafters and the lurkers in there ignored it all.”

“Not too smart,” Clark said.

“Nope,” Rocha agreed. “But you know what? I think the lurkers like to chase their kill first.”

Clark knew there was no scientific evidence which supported what Rocha had just said but Clark did not like the idea just the same. Not at all. “Let’s see what else we can find,” he said, changing the subject.

“Don’t forget to keep a watch on our backs,” Rocha warned and started looking around. “There has to be something here which will help us find where the survivors are hiding.” Clark nodded in agreement and looked around.

What is that?
Clark thought as his eyes fell on a strange opening. "Hey," he said to Rocha. "Over here." Clark saw an open food elevator with access to the floors below. There was a rope made from bedsheets knotted together like some kid trying to escape from his upstairs window. "Going to trust that rope?" he joked.

"Not in a million years," Rocha said and took off his backpack. “I’ve got a hundred feet of climbing rope in here though that I do trust. I don’t know how far that elevator goes, but this has to be long enough.”

“We're not … I mean, you want … we’re going to go down
there?
”

“Damn straight,” Rocha replied. “This is the best clue we’ve got. Don’t sweat it. It’ll be just like the helicopter, but in a smaller space. I’ll go first. Keep an eye out while I figure out where to tie this rope off.”

Clark stood guard as Rocha secured one end of the rope to a pipe under a sink and dropped the other end down the elevator shaft. Clark saw Rocha staring at him. “What?” he asked.

Rocha unsnapped the chin strap on his helmet and took it off. “Here,” he said and tossed it to Clark.

“What’s this for?”

“I don’t want you falling and cracking your head open,” Rocha said as he clipped the climbing rope into his Swiss seat.

“Don’t you need this more than me?” Clark asked.

Rocha gave Clark another look. “I doubt it,” he said and climbed into the elevator. “Going to be a bit cramped,” Rocha said. “Shit. I don’t even have room to work my rifle.”

“We could find some stairs,” Clark suggested.

“Nah, it’s good. We just have to make this quiet. Think stealth mode.” With that, Rocha began to slowly repel down the shaft. Clark watched and Rocha made it look easy enough. Once the soldier reached the bottom, he unclipped from the rope and gave Clark a thumbs up.

Good Lord, what the hell am I doing here?
Clark wondered as he put on Rocha’s helmet and set the face mask into place. Seeing no better options, he clipped onto the rope, looked around to make sure there were no infected sneaking up on him, and climbed into the elevator shaft. Rocha had been right, it was cramped.
How the hell Rocha fit in here is beyond me,
Clark thought and began to shimmy down the rope. Reaching the bottom was surprisingly uneventful and Clark found himself in some kind of ship’s pantry. Unfortunately there was nothing to indicate where the survivors had gone from there.

“Now what?” Clark asked.

“Back to room-by-room,” Rocha said.

Shit
, Clark thought but followed Rocha’s lead out of the ship’s pantry. As they worked, Clark could not believe the amount of cabins and employee quarters on the cruise ship. After thirty minutes, they still had not found any sign of the survivors. Clark was frustrated that all they had accomplished was exterminating a handful of infected who were stumbling around the hallways. “I need a break,” Clark finally admitted.

“Damn straight,” Rocha said. “I have no idea where the hell everyone is at. I don’t even know any more if we should be looking up or down.”

Clark glanced through an open door into a room with a balcony. “In here okay?” he asked and Rocha led the way inside.

“Clear,” Rocha said, so Clark closed the door behind them and Rocha took out his satellite radio. Clark stood at the balcony and drank water from his canteen while Rocha called Command.

“What’s up?” Clark asked when Rocha was done.

“Just checking in,” Rocha said.

“That’s it?”

“No,” Rocha said. “Command said they were short on chopper support so if we get into trouble, we need to plan on holding out on our own for a while.”

“Fantastic,” Clark said. He did not like the news, but he knew the military was struggling just like everyone else. Still, it did not mean he had to like it. He was tired and felt like they had been going in circles. He started to sit down on the couch in the room.

"Don’t get comfortable. Our mission is still to find the survivors,” Rocha said.

Clark swore under his breath, but stood back up. “Okay, but where?”

“Let’s head back to where we started," Rocha suggested. “Maybe we missed something.”

"Whatever," Clark said and went to open the door to the hallway.

“Check that door before you open it,” Rocha said.

“Got it,” Clark replied and opened the door just enough to look outside and make sure no infected had snuck up on them. Nothing. He opened it the rest of the way and looked in both directions. Still nothing.
Where the hell is everybody?
he wondered and stepped into the hallway. Rocha skirted past him and they worked their way back in the direction of the ship’s pantry. Clark was quickly turned around.

“Did we come this way?” Clark asked.

“Nope. I thought we’d go the long way,” Rocha said. “Don’t worry about it. We’re almost there.”

Fabulous,
Clark thought. Suddenly Rocha stopped and pointed. “Hey,” Rocha said. “What’s that door?”

Clark looked and saw a door labeled ‘Theater’. “I don’t know,” he said.

“Think maybe it’s what we have been looking for?”

“Yeah,” Clark said. “Maybe the passengers all congregated in the ship’s theater auditorium!”
It would be big enough,
he thought and he adjusted his helmet so he could see better through the mask. He walked to the door and looked it over. It was a big heavy double door and he reached out to turn the handles.

“Check the door!” Rocha shouted, but it was too late. The double doors opened towards Clark and a wave of infected poured through the opening. Clark caught a glimpse of dozens of them as he fell under the onslaught and was pinned to the ground. He screamed in terror as the infected stomped, bit, and clawed at his suit. He tried to roll over and stand up, but they were piled on top of him. He felt them pulling one of his boots off, so he kicked blindly. One of the infected crawled on top of him and tried biting at the helmet’s face mask. It growled at him and puked blood onto his mask, blinding Clark with the gore.

Clark screamed as panic swelled in his chest. The clawing and biting hurt bad, even through the shark suit. His mind spun …
how long will the shark suit hold? Will my mask block the virus?
He had screwed up and the mistake was going to cost him his life.
I’m a dead man
, he thought. The only thing he could do now was make sure the infected did not get to Rocha.

“Rocha!” he screamed. “Run for it!” Instead of fighting the infected all over him, he grabbed at them to keep them from getting past. Suddenly an explosion went off in the direction of the theater and Clark felt the floor shake beneath him. He felt pawing at his face and a hard bite on his shoulder. The weight of the pile of infected on top of him was crushing the breath out of him. He heard another explosion and then the
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
of Rocha’s machine gun. Suddenly the weight on his right arm was gone and he wiped at the blood on his face mask. He could see through the streaks of blood that Rocha was still standing in the doorway, shooting down the infected just as fast as he could aim and pull the trigger.

“Run you stupid son of a bitch!” Clark yelled, but Rocha ignored him. Clark looked down at an infected lying across his legs and chewing at his boot. “Get off me!” he screamed and punched the infected in the side of the face. The monster rolled off of him a moment before one of Rocha’s bullets blew away the top of its head.

“Move!” Rocha yelled and ran over to pull Clark to his feet. Clark glanced back to see a vision straight from hell. Hundreds of corpses filled the theater’s seats. Those who had not died from the virus were now climbing over chairs and jumping from the balcony levels of the theater as they stormed at the two of them. Rocha lobbed a grenade into the room and a cluster of infected turned and chased after it. Clark watched as they piled onto the explosive like football players going after a fumble during a playoff game.
Whomp!
the grenade went off and blew the cluster of infected into gore.

“Fire your weapon,” Rocha ordered.

“What?” Clark asked. His mask was still covered in blood and his ears were ringing.

“Your gun!” Rocha yelled as he shot two more infected. “Cover us! I need to reload!”

“Oh!” Clark said and pulled his pistol out of the holster on his leg. If Rocha was going to stop shooting to reload, Clark knew he had to hold back the tide of infected long enough for Rocha to change out the magazine on his machine gun. There were still a lot of them coming, so Clark aimed at the head of the closest infected and squeezed the trigger. The gun bucked in his hand but the shot went straight and he killed the infected.
I can do this,
he thought and kept shooting until Rocha pulled on Clark’s shoulder and led them away from the theater. As they stepped away from the double doors, Clark tripped over his own feet, stumbled backward and fell down just as two infected charged him. Rocha slapped the bolt closed on the side of his machine gun and shot them both in the head. Clark sat on his ass and kicked the infected’s dead bodies back through the doorway.

“Move,” Rocha said and Clark slipped his legs out of the way just as Rocha slammed the doors shut in the face of more infected. Clark’s heart pounded in his chest and he sucked wind.

“Oh, that was horrible!” he wheezed, pulling off his helmet and mask. Tossing them aside, he rolled to his knees and puked. After a minute, Rocha helped him to his feet.

“Well, now we know which way the survivors didn’t go,” Rocha said.

Clark could not help but bark out a laugh. “Yeah, and now we know where all the damn infected have been hiding.”

“Are you bit?” Rocha asked.

Good question
, Clark thought and held himself still. He was in pain just about everywhere, but it was dull pain, like he had been hit by a truck. He rolled his shoulder and fingered the thin chain mail to look for a hole in the mesh. “I think I’m okay,” he said.

“Ingest any fluids?” Rocha asked.

“No,” Clark said. “The pukes all mine.”

“Good,” he said. “The mask is a biohazard now, so you’ll have to leave it. Probably best leave the helmet too.”

Clark nodded and tried to wipe his hands on his pants, but he was a mess.
Do not touch your face,
he thought.

“Hey,” Rocha said looking around again. “I think I know what this room is now. I’ll bet it is to support the theater when they have a show going.”

It made sense to Clark. “I’ll bet you’re right,” he said. “Like for when the guests want something to eat while they’re watching the show.”

“Exactly.”

Clark began to put it together. “And when they were all watching a show or something, I’ll bet one of the people working in here was sick.” He looked around at all of the empty shelves. “And before they knew food in this room was contaminated they served it to every damn person in that auditorium. I’ll bet they all caught the disease on the same night.”