Reanimators by Peter Rawlik

to stare at Port Clarence. The sun had broken to the east, and the dawn revealed a city devastated. Smoke billowed from four different fires, and crowds of the infected dotted the dock and the shoreline. Somewhere a church bell rang. “Not that it makes a difference, but we’re loaded with cocoa, and headed for ad-Dar al-Bay.”
    Englehorn asked, “Where?”
    The gruff sailor adjusted the handkerchief that he wore around his neck and waved for them to follow him. “Ad-Dar al-Bay,” he repeated. “It’s a city in Morocco; you might know it as Casablanca.” With that the mate led them below deck and to their quarters.
    Once Englehorn and Allnut had departed, the two doctors made it their first priority to clean and suture Muñoz’s wounded neck. Torres treated the area with alcohol as a preventative for infection, and then while Muñoz bit down on a leather belt, closed up the wound with some silk thread from his medical kit. After they were done, the two men stripped and tossed all their clothes out the porthole. They scrubbed themselves as best they could with rubbing alcohol, and then changed into clean clothes from one of the packs. Muñoz had lost a significant amount of blood and was extremely tired. Torres forced him to drink several glasses of water before injecting him with a sedative, a new drug at the time from Bayer called Luminal. After that Muñoz fell into a deep sleep.
    When Muñoz next regained consciousness, it was evening and he was ravenously hungry. Thankfully Englehorn had been kind enough to bring the doctors an evening meal, a stew of some kind, salty with a meat that was tough and reminded Muñoz of both chicken and crab. Englehorn said one of the mates had shot a crocodile and the ship’s cook was busy smoking the flesh, but the organs had been turned into the stew.
    The men asked their young friend about the ship, which the sailor was happy to report seemed well run and amicable. The captain was a tough man, who didn’t tolerate laziness or drinking. Men under his command were expected to work for their pay, but the wage was fair and the crew seemed to at least respect the man. Allnut was the first mate, but he spent most of his time in the engine room working on various pieces of equipment. Englehorn had been assigned the duties of cabin boy, cleaning up after the captain and crew, and running menial errands for whoever needed them. That he was more than qualified for the position, and was capable of much more, made no difference to Bull, and the captain made it clear that the young man was not to take on any jobs other than those he was assigned.
    As for their former home, ships and soldiers had been dispatched from the mainland, and there were radio reports of intense fighting and shelling. A blockade had been set up, effectively placing the island under quarantine. With this news all three agreed that they had made the right decision, but secretly Muñoz knew that Torres had doubts, that the Adventura could be a plague ship, and that the most likely carrier on the entire boat was Muñoz himself. Determined to protect the rest of the crew, as well as the next port of call from infection, Torres decided to quarantine Muñoz and keep close tabs on the rest of the ship.
    Over the next several days Muñoz’s wound healed nicely, but he began to ache at his joints and he had a low fever. Fearing that he might succumb to the virulent frenzy that swept through Port Clarence, Torres kept his partner sedated using the Luminal liberally. The rest of the crew showed no sign of medical problems, save for those normally associated with running a ship, and Torres soon ingratiated himself with the men by tending to their various wounds and injuries as best he could. Though the crew had grown comfortable with their two passengers, the captain had concerns and Muñoz was unfortunate enough to overhear a conversation between Torres and Allnut that warned the doctor that if Muñoz began to exhibit any