the prepped helos were out of my line of sight, as were the SEALs and my friends. Sporadic popping sounded in the darkening afternoon, evidence of a renewed defense of the choppers. Somewhere, a door had apparently been overwhelmed or forgotten.
“Wish I could say likewise,” I said, lowering my pistol. My eyes searched the room, sweeping over the consoles and the various banks of electronics. Four bodies lay sprawled on the deck, all with devastating trauma to the head. Two other forms lay slumped over the panels of dials and gauges in the front of the compartment, both bearing the unmistakeable evidence of having been shot in the back of the head while performing normal operations.
I shivered then, imagining the scene. The reports filtering back to the Captain that the virus was on board and had infected those who he believed had been immunized; realizing that all six crewmen on the bridge had been given the shot, and taking it into his own hands to neutralize the potential threat. But somehow, he had been bitten nonetheless. It was poetic.
“You look surprised, Michael,” he said, using my first name. Momentarily I had flashbacks to grade school and I had a brief feeling of unreasoning fear, as if I were in trouble.
I shook off the feeling and watched him carefully.
“Not entirely,” I responded, moving to my left, toward the large table with the flat map illuminated. “I imagine that they were infected, and you took ... steps ... to deal with them.”
“You’re not going to find what you’re looking for,” he said coyly, eyes rolling uncontrollably from left to right as he laughed. His voice had gotten higher and faster. His hands were twitching on the arm rests. As his arms thrashed against the chair, and his head lolled from side to side, I discarded the pretext and crossed the room to his chair.
“Where’s the blue vial? You know you fucked up big, and your only shot at making it right is giving it back to me before this ship goes down with the cure!” His eyes weren’t focused, and had sunk slightly into his sockets. His pupils were dilated and seemed to have lost some color, red rimming the whites and giving him an excited, slightly drugged out look.
Laughter was the only retort.
From below, the volleys of gun fire intensified and then stopped. The ship took a sudden and abrupt plunge forward, slanting the deck further toward the sea, as the front of the flight deck neared the cusp of the thrashing waves.
Suddenly, the sound of the wind against the windows of the bridge rose, and the metal seemed to vibrate violently. Heavy thumping resonated in my chest as a large gray shape lifted past the large windows and into the afternoon sky. A second shape soon followed.
Black-clad forms hung from the open windows, automatic weapons at the ready. They disappeared, quickly clearing the dangerously yawing bridge. I sprinted to the windows across the heaving deck, realizing that my rides had just departed. I looked down to the flight deck, cursing as I watched the creatures pour from the open hatch below.
I was out of time.
I ran back to Allred, jamming my pistol against his temple and screaming.
“Where is the fucking vial, Captain? I know you don’t have much time until you go the way of the goddamn zombie, so just redeem yourself one tiny little fucking bit. Where is it?”
Finally, his eyes seemed to track.
They locked on my own, as he whispered harshly, spittle flying freely from his rage-inspired lips.
“You. You did this. You brought that goddamned virus on board my ship, and you have the temerity to lecture me, boy? I follow orders for a living, son. I spent my life protecting this nation, and was flying sorties into Baghdad when you were still popping pimples in junior high school. So you know what, movie star? You can go to hell.”
He coughed wetly.
“But I hope I get there first, because I will be waiting for your ass with a red hot pitch fork, you cocky son of a bitch.”
He
“Wish I could say likewise,” I said, lowering my pistol. My eyes searched the room, sweeping over the consoles and the various banks of electronics. Four bodies lay sprawled on the deck, all with devastating trauma to the head. Two other forms lay slumped over the panels of dials and gauges in the front of the compartment, both bearing the unmistakeable evidence of having been shot in the back of the head while performing normal operations.
I shivered then, imagining the scene. The reports filtering back to the Captain that the virus was on board and had infected those who he believed had been immunized; realizing that all six crewmen on the bridge had been given the shot, and taking it into his own hands to neutralize the potential threat. But somehow, he had been bitten nonetheless. It was poetic.
“You look surprised, Michael,” he said, using my first name. Momentarily I had flashbacks to grade school and I had a brief feeling of unreasoning fear, as if I were in trouble.
I shook off the feeling and watched him carefully.
“Not entirely,” I responded, moving to my left, toward the large table with the flat map illuminated. “I imagine that they were infected, and you took ... steps ... to deal with them.”
“You’re not going to find what you’re looking for,” he said coyly, eyes rolling uncontrollably from left to right as he laughed. His voice had gotten higher and faster. His hands were twitching on the arm rests. As his arms thrashed against the chair, and his head lolled from side to side, I discarded the pretext and crossed the room to his chair.
“Where’s the blue vial? You know you fucked up big, and your only shot at making it right is giving it back to me before this ship goes down with the cure!” His eyes weren’t focused, and had sunk slightly into his sockets. His pupils were dilated and seemed to have lost some color, red rimming the whites and giving him an excited, slightly drugged out look.
Laughter was the only retort.
From below, the volleys of gun fire intensified and then stopped. The ship took a sudden and abrupt plunge forward, slanting the deck further toward the sea, as the front of the flight deck neared the cusp of the thrashing waves.
Suddenly, the sound of the wind against the windows of the bridge rose, and the metal seemed to vibrate violently. Heavy thumping resonated in my chest as a large gray shape lifted past the large windows and into the afternoon sky. A second shape soon followed.
Black-clad forms hung from the open windows, automatic weapons at the ready. They disappeared, quickly clearing the dangerously yawing bridge. I sprinted to the windows across the heaving deck, realizing that my rides had just departed. I looked down to the flight deck, cursing as I watched the creatures pour from the open hatch below.
I was out of time.
I ran back to Allred, jamming my pistol against his temple and screaming.
“Where is the fucking vial, Captain? I know you don’t have much time until you go the way of the goddamn zombie, so just redeem yourself one tiny little fucking bit. Where is it?”
Finally, his eyes seemed to track.
They locked on my own, as he whispered harshly, spittle flying freely from his rage-inspired lips.
“You. You did this. You brought that goddamned virus on board my ship, and you have the temerity to lecture me, boy? I follow orders for a living, son. I spent my life protecting this nation, and was flying sorties into Baghdad when you were still popping pimples in junior high school. So you know what, movie star? You can go to hell.”
He coughed wetly.
“But I hope I get there first, because I will be waiting for your ass with a red hot pitch fork, you cocky son of a bitch.”
He
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