Desolate – The Complete Trilogy

Robert Brumm Jr.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

www.robertbrumm.com

v 1.1

This book is intended to be read by adults and may be unsuitable for children under 17. Contains indecent language and descriptions of graphic violence.

Copyright 2013

Robert Brumm

DeadPixel Publications

Desolate – The Complete Trilogy contains all three books of the Desolate series:

Desolate: Original Publication Date August 4, 2011

Desolate 2 – Exposure: Original Publication Date July 7, 2012

Desolate 3 – Redemption: Original Publication Date March 9, 2013

You may click on the links above to skip to the part you wish to read.

This book is dedicated to my boys, Keegan and Holden. Maybe one day they’ll get around to reading it.

Part One - Desolate

1

If one were to fly a plane over the South Shetland Islands, just off the northwest side of the Antarctic Peninsula, one might notice a small horseshoe shaped island nestled in between the larger islands in the chain. Thousands of years ago, a massive volcanic eruption collapsed the volcano’s summit. The caldera was flooded and created a bay within the remaining land.

This island was once home to a thriving community of seal hunters in the 1820s. By the early 1900s, seals were nearly hunted to extinction, so the hunters turned to whaling. In 1910, a whaling station was constructed near the protected waters of the bay where whale carcasses were boiled down to extract the valuable oil within. The rich waters surrounding the island rewarded the workers well, and soon a small town grew between the black sand beach and glaciers looming in the hills above.

As isolated as the island was, it could not hide from the depression of the 1930s. The price of whale oil plummeted and the workers struggled to turn a profit. Most of the residents left the island in search of work back in the civilized world. A stubborn minority stayed behind and patiently waited for better times while hunting Chinstrap penguins to keep from starving over the long winter months.

In 1941, the volcano erupted again. It destroyed most of the small whaling town and killed over half of the remaining residents. The island was finally abandoned once and for all. The rusty remains of the oil tanks along the shore and a handful of crumbling foundations is all that is left today.

If one were to continue to circle the island in the plane, one would notice the permanent glaciers that cover over half the island. The other half is covered in black volcanic sand and rock, penguin and kelp gull feces, and scraggly moss and lichen. It is an ugly and inhospitable land. One would quickly lose interest and change the course of the plane to a more appealing location.

Howard Bell saw none of these things because he arrived to the island by boat. He stood on the deck waiting to disembark with a few dozen men. It was cold. He was no stranger to cold being from Wisconsin, but he was wearing clothes barely suitable for an air conditioned office.

“All right ladies! Fall in line and get on my ass! Anybody falls behind, anybody pulls any shit, and I will introduce you to Little Billy here!” The speaker was a large man dressed in a parka. He gripped and caressed a club that must have been Little Billy. Besides him, a few other men dressed in the same fashion stood by holding shotguns. The guns may have also had clever names but there were no introductions yet.

The shivering men followed the well-dressed guards off the small ship which had been their home for the last several weeks. Like all the other convicts, Howard started the journey by slowly heading to Miami by bus. It stopped in various cities and towns, picking up more cons along the way. He was pulled off the bus, pushed on to a shabby looking ship, and was locked into one of the cells below deck.

The ship headed south through the Caribbean toward South America. As the ship sailed closer to the equator, the cell became unbearably hot and humid. Howard shared his cell with five other men. They slept on dirty mats on the hard deck and squatted over a hole when they needed to relieve themselves.

The ship made several stops along the way as it hugged the continent’s shore. In Sao Luis, Rio de Janeiro, and Montevideo, the convicts were allowed out of their cells to the upper deck. They helped haul supplies to and from the ship and were hosed down with salt water afterward to wash the sweat and grime from their bodies.

After the ship left Uruguay and sailed further south, the temperature dropped considerably. For a while, it was downright comfortable, but it soon turned bitter cold. Howard sat on his mat shivering and wishing for the delicious warmth of the Caribbean. Finally, the ship reached the final destination and soon he discovered what real cold was like.

The official name of the installation on the island was the International Experimental Rehabilitation Facility. Everybody that lived on the island simply referred to it as the farm.

Nobody was quite sure how it came to be known as the farm, as there were no similarities to an actual farm whatsoever. It was just a handful of ratty buildings in the middle of nowhere. Isolation was the main crop of the farm and the inmates didn’t need to do much to keep the crop thriving.

The facility was a collaboration between the United States and United Kingdom. The two countries acquired the island under the blessings of the Antarctic Treaty System to create an isolated prison colony where they could send the worst men society had to offer. All inmates had at least one life sentence without the possibility of parole. The farm not only provided extreme isolation from the rest of the world, but also acted as a deterrent for other would-be bad guys. Straighten up or freeze your ass off at the farm for the rest of your life. The long-term goal was a nearly self-sufficient outpost of exiles with low cost to the taxpayers. There was hope that eventually, with proper guidance and resources, the prisoners would develop a society on the island unlike traditional prisons. The inmates would govern themselves and find a way to survive with little help from the outside world. Ultimately, the government wanted to be able to drop off new convicts and wash their hands of them. Survival of the fittest. The new men would need to adapt quickly and find their place in the little island nation of criminals.

Escape was not a concern. The island was under constant satellite surveillance and any suspicious sea or aircraft would be intercepted courtesy of the RAF. The Mount Pleasant air base on the Falkland Islands was just minutes away via fighter jet. Any man foolish enough to try the five mile swim to the nearest island wouldn’t get far in the icy water.

The farm was just over ten years old when Howard and his peers arrived. Concerns in Washington and London were growing and it was becoming clear the experiment was not going as planned. The inmates seemed no closer to self-sufficiency than they were a decade ago.

Howard trudged along with the others led by Little Billy and his friend a quarter mile inland to the farm. The first thing he noticed was the pair of guard towers looming over both sides of the compound. Each held a guard and a powerful spot light mounted on a fifty caliber machine gun. The guns weren’t used to discourage escape since there was no place to escape to. They simply stacked the odds against the inmates in case of an uprising. Each gun had full coverage of the camp and could rain down lead up to 2000 yards away. The thin aluminum walls of the barracks offered no protection from the powerful rounds of the fifties.

The inmates were led out of the cold and into a room in the main administration building. They were told to shut up. Line up. Eyes forward. A large man entered wearing a clean and wrinkle free uniform with three chevrons on the sleeve indicating his rank of sergeant. He stood for a moment eyeing the convicts for drama.

When he finally spoke he did so with a powerful voice, each word slow and deliberate. “My name is Sergeant Vincent Cottrell and as you may have already guessed, I’m in command of the guards in this facility. I assume you all have names as well, but I don’t give a shit what they might be. You were sent to me because you’ve committed crimes against society. A society that you will never be a part of again. The farm is not a pleasant place to live for convicted felons. The United States of America and Great Britain gave me this job to see to it that it stays that way. And I take my job very seriously, I shit you not.”

The con standing next to Howard found that last bit amusing and he let out a little snicker. Cottrell simply stopped talking, sighed, and looked at the ceiling. Within a second, two guards were on him, beating him with their clubs. He collapsed to the floor and screamed as they delivered blow after blow. They skillfully struck with just enough force not to break the skin or any bones. He would receive no permanent damage, just weeks of recovery from swollen lumps and painful bruises. The guards stopped at the same time and looked to their sergeant for guidance, who told them to get the piece of shit out of his sight. They uncurled the con from his fetal position and dragged him from the room.

Cottrell continued. “I’d like to thank that young man for demonstrating a very valuable lesson. I will not take shit of any kind. My men will not take shit of any kind. Your welfare is not a great concern to me.” He paced the floor, stopping in front of Howard. “If I had my way, I’d use my sidearm to put a bullet into each of your heads and end your worthless lives right now. It sickens me to share the same planet with you. However, I also share this planet with bleeding heart lefty do-gooders that might consider that cruel and unusual punishment.” The guards took their cue and laughed at their sergeant’s joke. The inmates did not.

“You will find no bleeding hearts here. If you do as you are told, and don’t attract my attention, we’ll all get along just fine. Attracting my attention means you’ve made the mistake of deciding to become a troublemaker.” He pointed to the door. “When that boy gets out of the infirmary, feel free to ask him if he regrets that decision. Do I make myself clear, convicts?”

One of the guards stepped out in front of the inmates and screamed his best drill instructor scream. “When the sergeant asks the convicts a direct question the convicts respond by saying YES SIR!”

The convicts muttered the required response out of unison.

“The sergeant can’t hear you!”

“YES SIR!”

“All right then, gentlemen,” Cottrell said. “Welcome to the farm.”

2

After the pep talk from Sergeant Cottrell, the convicts endured the typical procedures of any prison welcoming ceremony. They stripped off their clothes and showered in cold water. They were poked and prodded by a doctor, their body cavities were searched, and their arms and asses were pumped full of inoculates. They were issued denim shirts, pants, a pair of leather work shoes, gloves, and a thin hooded parka.

On the way out the door they each received a wool blanket and were told which barracks to go to. Howard and the other convicts he came with were split up and he found himself outside alone. The guard simply pointed to the building and told him to find an empty bunk.

Howard slowly walked across the empty yard and glanced up at the closest tower. He could make out the shape of the guard on duty, no doubt watching him. He didn’t expect to suddenly be alone like this and his imagination and anxiety ran wild. What kind of scene would he be walking into?

He felt so weak and scared. Not exactly a man built for prison life, Howard barely tilted the scales at a hundred and sixty pounds and was just shy of five foot eight. He was not physically gifted in any way, had never been a fight in his whole life, and hated confrontations.

He had been in solitary lock-up in Miami for a few days before shipping out. On the way to the bus bound for the docks, a trustee pulled him aside. “Get ready white boy. Them big niggas at the farm gonna screw yo scrawny white ass real good.” At the time, he thought the trustee was just having fun with him but now he wondered. Was prison rape common or just something they liked to play up in movies? He’d never spent any time in general population before getting shipped out so he’d spent little time with other prisoners.

Howard reached the door and stood there for a moment. If it wasn’t so damn cold he probably would have stalled for a little while longer. He took a deep breath and stepped through the door. The first thing that hit him was the smell. It was sweat and dirt, piss and bad breath, dirty clothes and dirty beds, all rolled up together in a brick wall of funk. But it was warm. Not kick off your shoes and read the paper warm, but at least it was slightly better than outside.

For a few moments he couldn’t see anything after stepping out of the glaring sunshine. As his eyes adjusted, he made out rows of bunks and men among them. Some were lying down, others were sitting alone or in a group. A bunch of them were lounging around the single stove in the middle of the floor. Since there were no windows or electric lights, a few skylights made of translucent plastic let in what little light there was.

He stood there and didn’t make eye contact with anyone as he felt dozens of eyes boring into him. Nobody spoke, they just stared indifferently. The only sound was the wind hitting the side of the building.

Hey, dumbass. Don’t just stand there. Do something! Find an empty bunk like the guard said.

Howard stepped forward on wobbly legs, desperately trying to look cool, tough, and relaxed. He realized he’d been clutching his blanket close to his chest like a teddy bear so he loosened his grip and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Oh yeah, I’m a real bad ass. They’re going to kill me.

At last, he found an empty bunk and sat down. The man across from him got up and darted over. “Wot the gypsy nell ya think yer doin’ China?  That uncle ned ain’t yours ta be sittin’ on.”

“Um, I..”

“Wot’s the matter, dummy? Don’t ya understand the dolly dimple English?”

Howard cleared his throat. “The guard outside said I should find an empty bunk.”

Another man rose from his bed and came over. “Don’t mind him, mate.” He sat down and put his arm around Howard. “He’s forgotten the proper way to meet and greet the new gents. Say, that’s a nice blanket you’ve got there. Mind if I take a gander?”

A large black man crossed the aisle and joined the party. “Man, I know you ain’t just said that. You know damn well I got first crack at the new fish this time ‘round.” He snatched Howard’s blanket off the bed. “You won’t be needing this, man. New fish don’t need no new blankets. You still all toasty warm from the boat ride down, ain’t that right?”

Howard opened his mouth to object but only a pathetic gasp escaped his dry mouth.

“That’s right, motherfucker. This here is my blanket.”

The black man went back to his bunk leaving Howard sitting there with a stupid look on his face. The two British guys left him alone now that the prized blanket was gone.

Howard’s eyes started to burn and water and he thought for a terrifying moment he might cry. Wouldn’t that be just great? Everybody just saw him get his blanket stolen without any kind of resistance at all and now he was about to sob like a thirty-year-old baby. He was dead.

Not knowing what else to do, he stretched out on the bunk and stared off into nothingness. The excitement of the new arrival passed and the men around him started back up their conversations, card games, and whatever else they did to pass the time.

Howard turned his head and saw a guy a few beds down staring at him. He was sitting on the edge of his bunk with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. He had long, greasy looking hair, a scruffy beard, and bright blue eyes.

When Howard met his gaze he made no attempt to look away or pretend he wasn’t staring. Howard quickly turned over and thought of what the trustee told him about his scrawny white ass.

A bell outside started ringing causing everyone to stand up and head for the door. Nobody said anything to Howard, so he got up and followed the others outside.

Howard followed the trail of inmates across the yard and into the mess hall. It was a gloomy building pretty much the same as the barracks, except it was a little bigger and had picnic tables in lieu of bunks. Howard waited in line to receive an aluminum tray containing a hunk of fatty meat, a hard biscuit, some beans, and a cup of watered down and tepid coffee.

He took his tray and  looked around the room, feeling like a kid in high school. He surveyed the tables which were clearly divided into groups sticking to their own kind - blacks, Hispanics, white power skinhead types. He didn’t see the scared-first-day group. Somebody bumped into him from behind and he took a few steps, scanning the faces, trying to recognize one of the guys he’d arrived with. He finally found a table with only two men and sat down at the far end. They glanced at him and continued their conversation.

Okay, not so bad. Just like in high school. Steer clear of the jocks and don’t do anything stupid in front of the girls. One of the guys at the table leaned over a ripped a loud fart. Well, a little like high school, anyway. He poked at his meat trying to figure out which species it actually came from. Rat, horse, or shoe would have to be a pretty good guess.

“Looks pretty shitty now, but in a week you’ll have that whole tray inhaled before you sit down.”

Howard looked up and realized it was the longhaired guy from the barracks talking to him.

“Ah, yeah I guess so.”

“Not much for words are you, boy?” He sat down, slamming his tray on the table. “I was watching when Rover took your blanket. You gotta learn to stand up for yourself, man.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Howard. “I guess I wasn’t really expecting that to happen.”

“Well, consider that a lesson. Try to be ready for anything.” He held out his hand. “Name is Carl O’Donell.”

“Howard Bell.”

“Looky here, Howie. I been here only about a month now, so you ain’t much greener than me. The way I see it, we should kinda team up, look out for each other. What you say to that, boy?”

“I guess that sounds okay.” Howard wasn’t so green not to be suspicious of this guy. He’d seen enough prison movies where a con will be nice to a new guy only to make him his bitch.

“Damn right it’s okay. New guys like you and me gotta stick together. This place ain’t no picnic, that’s for damn sure.” He shoved piece of meat in his mouth.

“If the niggers or spics don’t get you the goddamn queers will. And don’t get me started on the Brits. Trash, every one of ‘em. Talking with that cockney slang and shit. Pip pip. Cheerio. Fucking faggots, every one.”

Howard sipped at his coffee. Great. His only friend was a racist psychopath. Things were really starting out great. Only about fifty years to go.

“You’re lucky y’all got here on our day off or they’d send you out to work right away.”

“Work?”

Carl looked up, surprised. “Yeah, work. You think we just lay round all day, Howie?”

“What kind of work is it?”

“Bullshit is what kind. They got us digging in a goddamn mine right in the side of that ridge out back.”

“What sort of mine?”

“Platinum. Can you believe that? Ain’t nothing but snow and bird shit on this rock but underneath we’re sitting on a fortune.”

Howard bit into the mystery meat and quickly took a gulp of coffee to help swallow the grisly hunk. “I never heard anything about mining going on down here. I thought we were supposed to be trying to live off the land building some kind of prison utopia.”

“Well you thought wrong, son. The way I heard it is a while back some of the cons got to digging in the ridge for some heating project or what not. All the lava and shit underground from the old volcano made them think maybe they could tap into a geyser or whatever.

“Turns out what they did tap into was a nice little platinum vein instead. Warden went ape shit and got some mining expert in here to set up shop and that’s all we’ve been doing since. Only he’s too cheap to get us some real equipment. We’re in that tunnel all day busting our asses with picks and shovels. Old school shit.”

“Sounds like a blast,” said Howard.

“Oh yeah, it’s a blast all right. Bullshit is what it is.”

Howard managed to get most of his meal down while Carl continued on about his views of queers and niggers and some lady back home named Della. It was almost dark when he and his fellow roommates got back to the barracks. With no electric lights inside, the inmates went to bed as soon as the sunlight was gone.

Howard curled up the best he could to try and stay warm since Rover had relieved him of his blanket. He let out a sigh and closed his eyes. As usual, his thoughts turned to The Day. If Howard Bell could have one wish, it would be to somehow go back in time to The Day and talk some sense into the lunatic that caused all this mess.

3

It was June eighteenth. It was an easy enough date to remember since it just happened to be exactly one year to the day since Gina left him. At first it had almost been a relief. With her gone, there was no reason to hide, no reason to make excuses, no reason to hold back. Howard left work at five. By a quarter after he was through the front door. By five thirty, his first beer of the night was gone.

For a while he made it work. Somehow he managed to get up every morning and go to work, get the rent in the mail, and get the bills paid. As the weeks and months drifted by, he watched as six pack a night Howard Bell turned in twelve pack a night Howard Bell. It didn’t bother him when he first noticed screwdriver before work Howard make an appearance. By the time flask of Jack in the car during lunch hour Howard arrived it was too late.

It caught up with him eventually. Suspicions and rumors at work were confirmed the day he backed the forklift he was driving into a rack. It tipped over and crashed to the floor, just barely missing the quality department manager as she walked by. They sent him to the clinic for a mandatory breathalyzer and urine test which both came back positive. By the time he got home, a voicemail message from his boss made it clear he wasn’t welcome back.

Howard spent the next three days on a bender of epic proportions. Looking for sympathy, he made a couple drunken calls to Gina that degraded into ugly shouting matches. The more he drank and the more he stewed in his bitterness, the more he blamed Gina for his troubles.

His ex was only part of the problem, however. There was one man ultimately responsible for his downfall and that was Steve Creighton, manager of warehousing and logistics at Willmar Industries. Steve always had it out for him. Anybody else wouldn’t have fired Howard over the forklift incident, he was certain of it. Steve had been waiting years for a good excuse to get rid of him.

If that prick wouldn’t have cost Howard his job he could have gotten his act together. Probably cut back on his drinking, maybe save up a little money and get a better place. Gina would see how much he’d grown. Maybe the two of them could have worked it out.

Now all that was gone. Gina hated him more than ever, he had thirty seven dollars in the bank, no food in the kitchen, and he was over two weeks late on the rent.

On June seventeenthat 11:37 P.M., Howard broke the seal on his last can of Blatz in the fridge. As the can grew lighter he realized there was only one thing left to do before he hit bottom and lost everything. He needed Steve Creighton to pay for ruining his life.

4

If he was going to do it right he’d have to get a gun. Who wouldn’t be scared shitless looking down the business end of a gun? A knife just wouldn’t do the trick and he wasn’t big enough to be physically imposing. No, he’d have to have a gun. He’d shove it in that bastard’s face and watch him shit his pants and beg for mercy.

Oh God, please no. Don’t hurt me Howard. I’ll do anything thing you want, just please don’t hurt me!

Yes, it would be sweet.

The problem was, Howard didn’t own a gun. He hadn’t fired one since his dad tried to introduce him to hunting when he was twelve years old. He shot a couple dozen rounds from a .22 and tried a shotgun once or twice. He even shot a deer with his dad’s old lever action .30-30. He cried. He sobbed like a baby after he watched the deer try to stumble forward on dying legs and fall to the ground. It lay there bleeding and dying and staring at him. His dad said it was okay, that he shouldn’t feel bad, but Howie knew that his dad was secretly disgusted with him. He was disgusted that his only son cried like a girl after he got his first kill when he should have been proud.

After that, Howard never went hunting with his dad again and his dad never asked him to. He didn’t care for hunting and didn’t even like guns or shooting at all, but he was at least thankful that his old man was a hunter. A hunter has lots of guns.

With the last can of Blatz long gone, Howard got in his car and carefully drove the three miles to his parent’s empty house. Arthur Bell and his wife Betty had retired a few years ago. With their newfound freedom, they spent a lot of time traveling in their new Winnebago Adventurer. They were currently on a tour of the Pacific Northwest.

Howard let himself into the house and headed down to the basement. In his dad’s workroom he reached for the key on top of the gun cabinet and opened it. Inside was a wide assortment of rifles and shotguns. He looked at the old .30-30 that still brought back shameful memories of that day back in November years ago. A long gun like a rifle or shotgun wouldn’t do the trick. It would be too hard to conceal.

He crouched down and opened the metal lock box at the bottom of the cabinet. Inside was one of Arthur’s most valuable possessions, his government model M1911 Colt .45 Automatic. He brought it back after his tour in Vietnam and only took it out to fire at the range a couple of times a year.

Howard looked at the box of .45 ACP cartridges next to the case. Should he load the gun? He hadn’t thought of that before. What if the bastard didn’t get scared right away and didn’t take him seriously? He could fire a shot into the ceiling. That would definitely get his attention.

He released the magazine and fed seven shells into it. He saw an extra mag in the box and loaded that one too. Better safe than sorry.

He tucked the gun under his belt like they do on TV and headed upstairs to the kitchen. In the cabinet above the fridge he found an unopened bottle of Black Label. He spent the rest of the night drinking in his dad’s favorite chair watching infomercials.

At 8:00 A.M. he got in his car and drove to Willmar Industries. Creighton didn’t know it yet, but that bastard, that arrogant little prick, was about to get a visit from a very pissed off ex-employee.

5

A dirty hand clamped over Howard’s mouth and something sharp poked into his throat. It took him a second to realize where he was, but he had no idea what was happening. He could make out a face above him in the dim light of the barracks. It was the crazy Briton who had yelled at him for sitting on the bunk. He hissed at him in the darkness, inches from Howard’s face. His foul breath almost made Howard gag.

“Don’t make a thumb-suckin’ sound or I’ll cut yer billy goat and do wot I cheese anyhow. I’ll be takin’ your ones and twos and anythin’ else I see fit.”

Howard just stared at him.

Losing his patience, he explained again to Howard. “Your shoes. Give me your bloody shoes. Slip them off real nice and quiet like.”

He released his grip from Howard’s mouth and let him sit up so he could untie his laces. Howard could now see what poked at his throat. It looked like a piece of bed spring sharpened to a fine point. He slipped off his shoes and handed them over.

“There’s a good lad. You got any fags, I’ll be taking them too.”

“I don’t smoke.”

“None of you yanks smoke no more, I swear,” he glanced nervously around the room and attempted to lower his voice some more.

“Listen Junior, I just happen to run this bloody place so’s I do wot I please. I may as well be walking bare foot in me sorry pair so I earned these shoes. You start any trouble and me and mine will work you over real proper. Got it?”

The shadow of a man rose behind the shoe thief and knocked him to the floor. It was Carl O’Donnell.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing you little piece of shit?”

“You got me all wrong mate! I weren’t doing nothing at all!”

Carl jumped on top of him and punched him over and over again in the face.

“It’s okay Carl, take it easy.” Howard jumped up. “You’re going to get us in trouble!” Carl kept pummeling him as Howard tried to pull him off.

All the commotion got the attention of a couple of guards outside and they pierced the darkness of the room with their powerful flashlights.

The guards produced their billy clubs and took turn bludgeoning Carl, who gave no notice to the guards and continued his beating. He finally gave up and fell to the floor.

Most of the other inmates stood by, watching the entertainment.

“All right, everyone back in their beds or I’ll whack the snot out of every one of you motherfuckers!” One of the guards pulled out a pair of flex cuffs and secured Carl.

“I got him for ya buddy,” said Carl through his bloody lips. “Like I said, we got to stick together.”

One of the guards kicked him hard in the ribs. “Shut the fuck up, piss hole!” He turned to the two closest inmates and pointed to the unconscious shoe thief on the floor. “You and you. Carry this pile of shit to the infirmary.”

He raised his voice to yell at the rest of the convicts. “I don’t even want to know what these two perverts were up to! If I hear so much as a wet fart slip out of this place I’ll have both gun towers empty their drums into this dump.”

With that, they led Carl out the door into the night. The inmates returned to their beds and so did Howard. He found his shoes on the floor and put them back on before going over to the shoe thief’s bed and taking his ratty blanket.

Only about fifty years to go.

6

Howard felt as if he’d just nodded off when the barracks door slammed open and flashlights filled the room with light again.

“Drop your cocks and get your asses out of bed,” a guard shouted. “We got work to do!”

The grumbling inmates slowly rose from their cots and shuffled to the door. Howard followed and lined up in the frigid yard. The sky was slowly turning gray as dawn broke over the camp.

“All accounted for, Chief,” said a guard to the one in charge.

“Okay, let’s move out!”

The inmates marched under the leadership of several armed guards out of the camp. Several minutes later they reached the ridge Carl had spoken of. They stopped outside a large hole carved into the hillside near a crudely constructed shed. One of the guards opened the padlocked door and started handing tools to the inmates as they filed by. Most of them received large picks while every third or fourth inmate got a shovel. Howard received the latter.

They walked into the dimly lit cave, provided by propane lanterns. It was still cold in the tunnel but at least it offered relief from the bitter wind outside. The inmates with the picks started working at the end of the tunnel and Howard soon caught on to the task at hand. There wasn’t much to it. The men with picks hacked away at the dirt and rock and the diggers like Howard moved in and shoveled it into carts. The platinum deposits were separated and placed in different containers. When the carts were full, three men pushed them out of the mine and dumped the contents into the large pile by the entrance. All the while, the sullen guards watched intently with their rifles and shotguns at hand. The guards got bored just standing and watching so they passed the time by yelling at the workers they deemed not pulling their share.

Howard tired quickly and soon every muscle in his body protested. His hands grew raw from the rough wooden handle of the shovel. It didn’t take long before one of the guards took offence from his efforts.

“Damn boy, we came in here today to work. You think you’re on vacation?” He slapped Howard on the back of the head causing him to drop his shovel. The guard became instantly enraged.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, butterfingers? Are you trying to break my shovel?”

Howard picked it back up and attempted to gather the rocks on the tunnel floor. The guard kicked the shovel from his hand and pushed him to the ground.

“I asked you a question, you piece of shit!”

“I wasn’t trying to break it, sir.” Howard slowly started to get to his feet.

“Then what’s your problem? You’re moving slower than frozen monkey spunk.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just not used to this kind of work. I’ll try harder.”

The frown on the guard’s face disappeared “Oh right, you’re one of the news guys aren’t you? I remember you getting off the boat yesterday.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what son, what was your name again?”

“Howard.”

“Howard, right. Tell you what Howard, since you’re new and all we’ll take it easy on you for now.” He placed his hand on Howard’s shoulder. “Hell, most of these boys have been digging in this tunnel for months and have worked up some endurance. Ain’t that right boys?”

The working inmates acknowledged in unison.

“Why don’t you just have seat and take break for a while. The rest of the boys will understand.” He started to walk away but then stopped and turned.

“Tell ya what though, I’ll need somebody to make up for the lost time while you’re resting. One of these boys will have to work twice as fast. That makes sense, don’t it Howard?”

Before Howard could protest the guard continued. “I’ll let you decide who to pick. After all, I’m just a screw and you’re one of the fellas. You have a better idea who the right man for the job would be.”

Most of the inmates stopped working and looked at Howard. The guards grinned and chuckled amongst themselves.

“Oh, I get it,” the guard continued. “You’re worried about stepping on some toes. Why don’t you just whisper the name in my ear?” He leaned in and put his ear next to Howard’s mouth.

“Big Wilber? I’m sure Wilber would be happy to oblige. Wilber! You heard the man, get cracking. Your buddy Howard over here needs you to work double time so he can take a break and get some rest.”

Big Wilber wasn’t one of those ironic nicknames like a fat guy named Slim. He was big as a mule and gave Howard a look that promised there would be hell to pay that night in the barracks.

Howard didn’t have the guts to protest any further so he sat helplessly on the floor of the cave while the rest of the inmates slaved away. The guards rode Big Wilber’s ass relentlessly to get him to work faster.

Eventually, Howard was told to get back to work and the day dragged on. The inmates worked at a steady pace and the guards continued to abuse them verbally and physically.

After a few hours, one of the privileged inmates who worked in the warm comforts of the mess hall delivered lunch. Everyone received two biscuits, a cold sausage link, and a tin cup full of water. The inmates sat on the cold ground and ate in silence for ten glorious minutes.

Howard wolfed down the meager lunch with great enthusiasm. He remembered what Carl had said about inhaling his tray before he sat down. That would be an understatement. The biscuits and sausage only made his hunger worse and he dreamed of what would be served up in the mess that evening.

He couldn’t help wonder the fate of Carl. The guy was obviously a nut, but he had saved him from getting his shoes stolen. Howard hoped he would be back soon to protect him from Big Wilber.

Howard manned his shovel and worked the best he could for the rest of the day. Having satisfied themselves at his expense, the guards left him alone.

Finally, when the guards decided it was time to quit, the weary inmates trudged out of the hole and back to camp. Howard sat alone in the mess hall gulping down the same meal as yesterday as Big Wilber and his cronies eyeballed him. He was too exhausted to care about what Wilber may have in store for him. Logic would say Howard didn’t do a damn thing to make the guard single out Wilber. Would he realize that? Howard didn’t think so. Big Wilber didn’t look like the type to hold logic as a high priority.

7

Julie the receptionist looked up, surprised to see Howard stumble through the door. His breath reeked of booze and his words were slurred.

“Hi Julie. I want to talk to Steve. He’s here, right?”

“Howard, what are doing here? Are you crazy? You’re going to get in trouble.”

Howard put his finger to his lips and slowly pulled the gun out. Her eyes widened and she gasped but didn’t scream. Good old Julie, he always liked her. Anybody else probably would have shrieked and dove under the desk.

“You should leave,” he whispered. He couldn’t believe how calm he was. The Colt felt great in his hand and he felt strong and confident. Julie just stared at him.

“Now. Leave now. Go!”

She nodded and headed for the front of the office, picking up speed to almost a run as she crashed through the front door.

Howard slipped the gun back under his belt and quickly walked into the office area. Steve sat at his desk shuffling some papers while Howard stood in the doorway waiting to get noticed. He almost turned around and ran. What was he doing? He just showed his gun to Julie. She was probably sitting in her car talking to the 911 dispatcher on her cell phone right now.

Steve looked up and did a little double take. “Howard?”

“Hi Steve.” Howard entered the office and closed the door. His calmness was back.

“What do you think you’re doing in here? You have no right to just barge in...”

Howard pulled the gun from his pants and held it out in front of him. He didn’t aim it at Steve, just held it pointing at the floor to get his attention.

“Jesus Christ! Of all the stupid…Howard give me that thing. You’re going to shoot yourself in the foot.”

Things were quickly going downhill. Wasn’t Steve supposed to be shitting in his pants about now? Howard pointed the gun at Steve’s head. His hand started to shake.

“You’re not the one in charge here, Steve. I am. So just calm down and don’t do anything stupid.”

“I can see you’re drunk. Why am I not surprised?” Steve stood up, pushing his desk chair off to the side. “And you’re telling me to not do anything stupid?”

“Shut up!” Howard raised his left hand trying to steady the gun. He could hear voices on the other side of the door as the curious cubicle dwellers no doubt saw what was going on through the window.

“This is pathetic, even for you. I know you don’t have the guts to shoot me.” He lifted the handset and dialed 911. “Maybe some time in jail will finally help you get your shit together.”

“Put the phone down,” his voice cracked. “I’m serious, I’ll shoot you!” Howard’s eyes started to water. Why wasn’t this going like he had planned?

“I’ve got a lunatic with a gun in my office,” Steve said into the phone. “His name is Howard Bell.”

Howard swatted the phone out of his hand and Steve went for the gun. They wrestled over the Colt with the desk in between them. Steve easily overpowered Howard and both men lost their balance and crashed to the floor. Steve pinned Howard beneath him but couldn’t pull the gun from Howard’s grip. Several men from the office stood in the doorway, debating if they should help their coworker or run to safety.

The gun fired just inches from Howard’s face, temporarily blinding him from the muzzle flash. The report from the shot in the tiny office felt like hammers hitting his ears. The upper half of Steve’s head evaporated into a red mist of blood, bone fragments, and gray matter. His lifeless body fell onto Howard.

The heroes in the doorway ran the other way with the rest of the screaming office staff. Howard pushed the body off him and slowly got to his feet, looking out the window as two police cruisers screeched to a halt in the parking lot outside. He stumbled out of the office on wobbly legs as the last of horrified workers ran out of the front door. Howard ran to the nearest cubicle and crouched down by the desk. He rubbed his face and his hand came away red from Steve’s blood.

“Oh shit,” he murmured to himself. “Why did he do that? Why wasn’t he scared?”

He slowly stood up and peered over the top of the cubicle. Several cops were already through the front door with their weapons drawn. Howard ducked down and stared at the floor. Adrenaline flooded his system and he fought back the incredible urge to jump up and run for the back door. The only thing he could hear was the pounding of his heart and the ringing in his ears.

Indecision crippled him as the seconds ticked by. Drop the gun and stand up, hoping the cops wouldn’t gun him down or make a run for it?

Someone jumped out from the cubicle in front of him and Howard panicked, reacting with his trigger finger. It was Sal Hernandez from customer service. The bullet hit him in the thigh and he collapsed, screaming on the floor.

Howard stood up and immediately heard a cop yell at him to freeze. He spun around with his gun raised and the cop fired, missing Howard by inches. He yanked wildly at the trigger as he turned to run, still firing blindly at the cops behind him. Howard almost tripped over Sal as he stumbled for the back door.

He sprinted down the alley behind the building as the emergency alarm wailed behind him, reaching the receiving dock just as a Speedee Courier delivery van pulled up. The confused driver got out of the van and froze in place when he spotted the gun in Howard’s hand.

“Get out of the way!” Howard pointed the gun at the terrified driver. He put his hands over his head and kneeled on the ground, mumbling a prayer.

Howard jumped into the running van and yanked it into gear. The van lurched forward and smashed into the fence across the alley. He backed up and got it under control before speeding down the narrow roadway. He glanced into the rear view mirror and made out at least three police cruisers closing in on him.

When the delivery van left the alley and entered Dakota Drive, Howard had it up to over fifty miles an hour. Jessica Anderson was driving a Toyota directly in the path of the van. Jessica had just left Willmar Industries after picking up some cash from Eric Anderson, one of Howard’s ex-coworkers in the shipping department. Jessica thought it would be a nice day to take their two kids to the zoo and Eric left that morning with all the weekly cash in his wallet. Little Brian turned two the previous week and Sophie was only four months old. Brian and Jessica were killed instantly as the delivery van smashed into the tiny hatchback. Baby Sophie would hold out for another three days before passing away in the pediatric intensive care unit with Eric by her side.

Howard was ejected through the windshield on impact and sailed over the mangled car to the other side of the road. He lost consciousness as the sound of wailing sirens grew closer.

8

“If it weren’t for them goddamn niggers at Quentin I never would have ended up in this shit hole in the first place,” said Carl.

“Uh, huh.” Howard stared absently at the back of the prisoner in front of them as they marched to the mine. A guard had brought Carl back to the barracks that morning just before Howard and the others headed out for work in the tunnel. Carl didn’t mention where he had been or what happened, but his face sported fresh cuts and bruises.

Howard was relieved the night passed with no incidents from Big Wilbur but his mood was sour. The gravity of his situation was finally starting to take hold and depression washed over him like an oppressive blanket.

“Had to kill two of ‘em when they jumped me in the showers,” Carl continued. “Goddamn nigger queers, can you believe that shit?”

“Uh huh.”

They walked toward the mine as Carl continued the story of his actions that earned his trip to the island. Howard was lost in thought, thinking about his own story. The vivid dream from the night before still spun through his mind.

He remembered sitting through his trial listening to the terrible things he had done and feeling as if it were somebody else they were talking about. The district attorney claimed Howard Bell murdered his ex-boss, a police officer, a mother, and two young children. Howard still couldn’t believe it. He had been someone else that day. That person killed all those people and maimed poor Sal Hernandez. And now he had to pay for that man’s day of insanity. He would pay for it with the rest of his life.

The DA held the better hand at the trial than his own lawyer did. Howard’s clean criminal record didn’t stand a chance against Officer Kane’s twenty five years on the force. Kane and his wife were in the process of planning their retirement to Wisconsin’s north woods. A bullet to the face from Howard’s gun as he ran like a coward ended those plans.

The jurors had their minds made up even before the DA held up pictures of little baby Sophie. Temporarily insane or not, a victim of alcoholism or not, Howard was a monster that deserved much worse than what he dished out. Since the state of Wisconsin could not put him to death, it would do the next best thing and send him to the International Experimental Rehabilitation Facility.

“That’s why I had to beat the shit out of Reg,” Carl said. “You and me got to stick together, Howie.”

“What?”

“I said, that’s why I had to put the hurt on ‘ol Reg. Goddamn boy, ain’t you ever paying attention to what’s going on?”

“Sorry,” Howard said. “My mind is somewhere else. Who’s Reg?”

“That’s the name of that skinny little twerp who was aiming to steal your shoes.”

“Oh, right.”

Another day working in the mine started out as any other. Howard was on pick-ax duty and Carl worked right alongside him flapping his gums the whole time.

A few hours into the day, Howard noticed some commotion further down the tunnel. Several of the other workers stood around a section of the wall investigating something out of the ordinary.

One of the guards noticed their slacking. “Goddammit, what’s the hold up? Who told you maggots to stop working?”

“We found something, Boss,” one of them said. “Something buried in the rock.”

“I don’t give a fiddler’s fart if you found King Tut’s tomb. You cocksuckers better get back to work.”

“He’s right, Boss,” another worker added. “You better have a look.”

The guard reluctantly sauntered over and Howard took a chance to sidle his way closer to discovery. A smooth metallic surface of something larger hidden by the rest of the wall stood out against the dirt and rock.

“I’ll be damned.” The guard took off one of his gloves and rubbed his hand over the metal. Thoughts of buried treasures and riches no doubt danced through his mind.

“Well, don’t just stand there, keep digging. I want to know what the hell we’re dealing with here.” He noticed the rest of the workers had stopped their duties in curiosity. “Get back to work! We ain’t taking no break here!”

Howard and his partners turned back to their tools as the few men by the thing in the wall carefully scraped and picked at more of the rock surrounding it.

After an hour of digging, more of the metallic surface was unveiled and an even more important discovery was made. A seam of some sort, not much more than a paper thin crack, appeared on the surface. After cleaning and dusting with the men’s gloves, they realized the seam formed the shape of a door. It was cocked at a twenty degree angle to the floor of the tunnel.

By this time, Howard had quietly worked his way into the small group working around the object and nobody seemed to notice. “Looks like some kind of doorway.”

“No shit it’s a door,” said the guard. “You don’t have to tell me that.”

“Yeah, but a door to what?” asked one of the others. “What kind of door is buried underground?”

“Maybe it was some kind of missile silo or underground base,” suggested Howard. “You know, like from the cold war?”

“Look at this.” One of the men brushed away the final chunk of dirt next to the door. “I think I found a switch to open it or something!” As he continued to wipe away the fine dust lodged into the cracks, a lever of some sort was definitely starting to take shape.

One of the other guards came over to talk to his comrade. “Hey Dan, it’s getting to be about quitting time. What do you want to do? I think we better go back and tell the warden.”

Dan the guard rubbed his chin in thought. He didn’t want to report the finding to the boss only to be pushed aside and not get proper recognition. If he played his cards right a bonus or promotion might be in store.

“Naw, I don’t think we want to be talking to the warden just yet, Steve. I want to know for sure what we’re dealing with here. Listen, you take the men to the mess, I’ll stay here with three or four of them, and we’ll see if we can’t figure out this door.”

“They’re gonna be asking what happened to you.”

“Just say these boys were lipping off so I made them stay in the hole until supper was over. Hell, I don’t know Steve, make something up.”

“All right Dan, if you say so.”

Steve the guard ordered the men out of the tunnel for supper and Howard was relieved to find himself as one of the chosen to stay. He was starving but curiosity about the door had him as hooked as the others.

They carefully picked away the dirt from the mechanics of the lever until it looked suitable to give it a try. Howard and the others turned to the guard who watched them intently with his shotgun at the ready.

“All right boys, somebody give that thing a tug and see if it works.”

Howard grabbed a hold of the lever and pulled. At first it didn’t want to budge. After giving it a two handed try and a third hand from one of the others, the lever finally started to give. They moved it all the way to the bottom position and stood back. Nothing happened.

Howard was just about to say something when he heard noises on the other side of the door. The seal broke with a soft hiss and a half-inch gap suddenly appeared. Howard and the others looked at each other but didn’t say anything. They turned to Dan the guard.

“Push it open,” he said barely above a whisper. Burt Westle placed his hand on the door and gave it a push. It moved back a few inches and slid to the side like a closet door.

The blackness inside offered no details until a faint light flickered on somewhere within. Within a few seconds the lights were at full efficiency. “I’ll be damned,” muttered Dan.

9

Warden Matthew Scott removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Just what exactly are we dealing with, Corporal?”

“Sir, you got me,” Dan said. He shifted his weight in the chair and gripped the rim of his hat on his lap. “If I would have to take a guess, I uh…”

“Yes?”

“Well, now don’t hold me to this, but it looked like some sort of spaceship.”

“A spaceship?” Sergeant Cottrell asked. “Are you shitting me?”

“Calm down, Sergeant,” the warden said. “Let the man speak.” Cottrell grunted in disapproval and leaned against the wall next to the warden’s desk.

“Yes, Sir,” Dan continued. “It looked like some sort of hallway you’d see on one of those Star Trek shows. I didn’t do nothing but stick my head in and take a quick look, but that’s what I first thought of. I could be wrong, of course.”

The warden removed a cigarette from his pack and lit it. “What exactly did you see besides the hallway?”

“Not much. Just a couple doors on either end, lights on the ceiling, that’s about it. Whatever it is, looks like it’s been there for an awful long time. The air inside was stale as hell and it was pretty dusty. That’s when we high-tailed it back here.”

The warden inhaled deeply from his cigarette and exhaled it through his nose. He turned and looked out the window for a moment before speaking. “Sergeant Cottrell, I’d like to get a better understanding of just exactly what it is buried in the ridge. I’d like you to put together a small team to investigate it.”

“With all due respect Sir, don’t you think we should tell the feds about this first? I mean, we’re just a prison camp and I don’t know the first thing about any spaceships.”

“Do I need to remind you two why we’re digging in that hole in the first place? How do you suppose we explain that?  Besides, this is my island. Not the feds. I’ll decide what action we take. Is that clear?”

“Yes Sir,” Cottrell said, embarrassed to get corrected in front of one of his men.

“Look, if you’re worried about safety, just send in a couple inmates first. If they come out okay then we can have a closer look.”

10

Howard was chosen to go through the door because he was one of the men who opened it. Carl was along simply because he happened to be sitting with Howard when the guards came. Howard and Carl were issued powerful flashlights and a small two-way radio. The guards had their usual assortment of small arms. Not so much to keep Howard and Carl under control, but mostly for what might be beyond the door.

Cottrell studied the door for the first time and seemed unimpressed. “Get your asses in there and see what you can see,” he told the pair of prisoners. “Bell, you give me a holler on the radio and let me know if you think it’s safe in there.”

Howard nodded. Carl smiled at Cottrell. “Wish us luck.”

“Move yer ass.”

Howard and Carl stepped through the door and on to the slanted walkway. They slowly moved down slope to the closed door at the end of the hall, shining their lights on a red button next to the door.

“Seems simple enough,” Howard whispered.

“Yeah, but what the hell is on the other side? Wish them screws would have lent us a piece or two.”

Howard reluctantly pressed the button and the door swiftly slid to the side out of sight. They stepped into a large room that appeared to be some sort of laboratory.

“Holee shee-it,” Carl muttered.

Broken glass, equipment, and instruments were scattered everywhere. Large cages lined the side of the room. They carefully stepped through the debris and looked into each one. The first two were empty but the third cage held something.

“Goddamn, what is that thing?” Carl asked.

Howard had no answer so he just stared at the creature inside. It had obviously been dead for quite some time. The torso was about the size of a full grown pig, its skin grey and shriveled. Four thick and stubby legs pointed to the ceiling. Massive dull claws protruded from its flat feet. Howard bent over and pointed his flashlight at its face. Empty eye sockets, the eyeballs undoubtedly rotted away long ago, stared back at him. They were the size of billiard balls.

“Howie, come take a look at this one.” Carl pointed his light into the cage next to him. It held something that looked similar to a cockroach, only it was as big as a tortoise. Another cage held a carcass of something that wasn’t as tolerable to decay as the other two creatures. All that remained was a heap of bones and fur in the corner of the cage. “Maybe they were like us. Some sort of prison ship, ya know?”

“I dunno.” Howard studied the rest of the room with his flashlight. “Looks to me like they were specimens or something.” Shattered tanks on the other side of the room held strange skeletons of aquatic creatures.

“Bell, O’Donell, what the hell is going on in there, dammit?”

Howard jumped at the radio squawking in his hand. “Uh, nothing Sergeant. We’re just looking around. Everything is okay, so far.”

“Well hurry up, we’re freezing out here.”

“Poor baby,” said Carl. “Come on, man. “Let’s see what’s behind this door. Stinks in here.”

They left the lab and walked deeper into the craft. Off of the main hallway they found several rooms that appeared to be sleeping quarters and a storeroom full of containers smashed open and in shambles. At the end of the hall they walked through the open door to the bridge, finally confirming the fact that it was some sort of craft.

Two bodies were still strapped to the cockpit seats. A third body was sprawled on the floor under a heap of broken computer equipment. The control panels and windows in front of the pilots were crushed from the impact of the crash.

They carefully crept closer to the bodies for a closer look. They were the size of an average person and wore uniforms and gloves made of a strange material. Both wore helmets with clear face shields. Howard aimed his light on one of their faces and saw the mummified skull behind the clear plastic. It had a narrow face with large eyes, no nose, and a small mouth.

Carl touched the helmet of the body closest to him. The head crumbled from the torso and tumbled to the floor.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Poor bastards.”

“Bell!”

“Yeah. We’re here,” he said into the radio. “I guess it’s safe to come in now.”

“We’re on our way.”

“What do you make of it?” Carl asked.

“I don’t know. This thing must have crashed a long time ago. It probably got buried when the volcano erupted.”

“Yeah,” Carl said absently. “You know, maybe this is our ticket out of this hell hole. Shit, they can’t keep a prison camp on an island with a crashed space ship. This place will be crawling with scientists and reporters. They’ll have to move us somewhere else.”

Howard could hear the enthusiastic discussion of the guards down the hall. “Come on, we better go.”

A search of the rest of the craft didn’t explain much more. They found more equipment and storage but many of the other doors in the ship were locked or broken and they were unable to get past them. When Cottrell was satisfied, they headed back to camp to report the findings to the warden. Howard and Carl returned to their barracks to tell their story to the curious bunkmates.

11

It waited a long time to make sure the strange ones were finally gone. After years of sleep, the lights and noises stirred it. It slowly uncurled beneath the pile of debris and left the corner of the room. It moved slowly on unsteady legs, stiff and sore from the long hibernation.

It slowly crept to the open door and peered out into the dark tunnel, sniffing the cold air. Such strange smells. Smells of flesh. Sleep had made it weak, but soon it would find strength again. Soon it would be time to hunt.

12

Dr. Gordon sat in front of the warden’s desk, nervously puffing on his cigarette. The warden entered the office and sat down. He took his glasses off and rubbed his face.

“How bad is it? No bullshit.” He looked exhausted.

“I honestly can’t say,” said Gordon. “I’ve never seen anything this bad. We lost twelve more this morning and a few in the infirmary probably won’t last through the rest of the day. Nothing I’ve tried has worked.”

“And you don’t have any idea what it is yet?”

Gordon snuffed out his smoke and shook his head. “The symptoms don’t relate to any infection I’m aware of. Cholera, Smallpox, Ebola, even the plague. Matt, this is serious. I need help. Two of my trustees are sick and the quarantine just isn’t working.”

“We still can’t get through to the mainland. My communications man says there was one hell of a storm at the relay station in Santa Cruz. That would explain the lousy weather we’ve been having.”

“What about the next supply ship?” asked the doctor.

“It’s not due for over a month.”

“I don’t even know if there’ll be anybody left by then. Every man that’s shown symptoms so far has died. Every one.”

“Do what you can for now,” said the warden. “We’ll keep trying the radio and I’m sure we’re bound to get through any minute now. If there’s anything else I can do in the meantime just let me know.”

The doctor sighed and got to his feet. “What I need is a proper hospital and staff to help.”

“Close the door on your way out, please.”

Gordon left the room and the warden opened his bottom desk drawer. He took out the satellite phone and absently ran his finger over the keys. The bit about the storm in Santa Cruz wasn’t a lie, just a fortunate coincidence. Nobody in the camp knew about the satellite phone besides him. All he had to do was press a few buttons and he could be connected to Washington in seconds.

He put the phone back in the drawer and locked it. Up until the discovery in the mine, things had been going extremely well. His contacts in Buenos Aires were buying all the platinum he could send them and still asked for more. After months of meticulous planning he had it all worked out. The supply ship captains gladly accepted their bribes, his guards all got their piece, and the camp supplied a bountiful supply of slave labor. Best of all, the warden’s accounts in the Caymans continued to grow and his retirement was so close he could almost taste it. All because of that beautiful rock priced at eighteen hundred dollars an ounce.

He could easily alert the press and take full credit for the space craft discovery, however it would raise far too many questions. He could also make a call for help and get the sick men airlifted out. Again, too many questions.

Eventually, the warden decided to wait it out and hope for the best. Despite the doctor’s grim assessment, he felt optimistic the quarantine would eventually hold and work in the mine would continue. He had come too far to consider otherwise.

When the platinum vein went dry he would blow the tunnel and collapse the mine, burying the space craft for good. A flying saucer might be one of the most important discoveries in history, but in the end, Warden Scott decided his own financial independence was a higher priority.

13

As more men grew sick, Howard and Carl’s celebrity status as the men who searched the ship quickly faded. The mining stopped so the men had no work duties during the day and they stayed in the barracks. At first, it was dismissed as a bad outbreak of the flu, but when men weren’t returning from the infirmary, the inmates got concerned and rumors spread like wildfire.

The symptoms started out like a bad cold accompanied by frequent nose bleeds. After a day or so of fever and congestion, the patient took a considerable turn for the worse. His neck grew dark and swollen and his coughs more thick and moist. His high fever drove him into a state of delirium  as his bowels and bladder betrayed him, followed by coughing out generous amounts of blood and phlegm. A day or two later, the hemorrhaging began and the victim drown in his own blood-filled lungs.

In just barely over a week, the farm fell into a state of anarchy. The disease made no distinctions between inmates and guards. Both sides grew sick and died.

The scared and sick inmates stormed the infirmary in vain for help they wouldn’t receive. They were turned back by beatings and shootings from the guards. As the number of guards diminished from the sickness, a group of rebels tried to take over one of the guardhouses. They managed to kill the two weakened officers inside, but the whole building was riddled with bullets from one of the gun towers. Twelve men were instantly slaughtered. The guard who pulled the trigger in the tower put the barrel of his sidearm in his mouth barely an hour later. He felt sick that morning and when his nose started bleeding he knew it was only a matter of time before he experienced a miserable and painful death.

As a final blow to the men who thought they might actually make it, a fire started in the mess hall. The building burned to the ground along with the camp’s food and water supply.

Even the mighty Warden Scott and Sergeant Cottrell fell to the mysterious disease. Deeming themselves as the two most important men on the island, they abandoned their men and responsibilities and barricaded themselves in the warden’s office. All seemed well until Cottrell started showing symptoms. Scott panicked and ran from his office with the satellite phone. His internal debate was over, he’d call for help and worry about the consequences later. But before he could even turn the phone on, Scott was greeted by a mob of inmates in the yard. The warden was spared from the disease. He was beaten to death instead.

As for Howard, he felt completely fine except for being hungry, cold, and scared out of his mind. When things started to get bad, Carl made a suggestion. Hide out in the spaceship. It was actually a good idea and Howard was surprised that Carl had thought of it. The barracks weren’t safe anymore and the ship just might have been their best bet.

“We can probably close the door behind us and lay low for a while,” Howard said. “We don’t have any food, though.”

“The hell with food, those screws are crazy. I seen one of them start to shoot everybody, sick or not. I think it’s just a matter of time before they come in here and start blasting.”

“Wot are you blokes planning?” Reg the shoe thief sat down on Carl’s bunk. “I’ll tag along too, eh?”

“Piss off,” said Carl. “You can stay here and rot as far as I’m concerned.”

“Come on mate, no hard feelings. You boys can trust me.”

“Take it easy Carl,” said Howard. “You feeling okay, Reg?”

“Never better. I reckon you fellas can use a man like me.”

“Okay.” Howard looked around and lowered his voice. “We’re going to hide out in the ship for a while until things blow over.”

“For christsake, Howie.” Carl fumed. “Don’t you remember what this little prick tried to do to you? What the hell you telling him for?”

“Settle down, red neck.” Reg jabbed his finger at Carl’s chest. “Let the boys with a proper brain discuss business over here.”

Carl raised his fist and Reg flinched, practically hiding behind Howard.

“Dammit, guys, knock it off,” said Howard. “We have enough to worry about without this stupid bickering. Reg, can we trust you or not?”

“No problem, mate. Like I said before, you boys can use a guy like me.”

“Yeah, whatever. And you know Carl will beat the shit out of you again if you’re lying, right?”

Carl smiled and cracked his knuckles.

“All right then, we make a break for it tonight after it gets dark.”

They slipped out of the barracks once it was dark enough to cover their movement and found the mine unguarded. The man in charge of keeping curious inmates away from the ship no doubt left his post long ago to go die somewhere else. They closed the door behind them and took refuge in the crew’s quarters where they were somewhat comfortable. The faint power supply of the ship kept the interior lit and at least they were warm.

They waited for two uneventful and boring days. Nobody came looking for them. Eventually their empty stomachs and parched throats took their toll and the three men carefully walked to the end of the tunnel.

They strained their eyes and ears at the buildings of the farm nearly a quarter of a mile away. A few thin trails of smoke rose from different parts of the camp. They couldn’t make out any other movement or sounds.

“What do you think, Howie?”

“Well, we can’t stay here much longer, that’s for sure,” replied Howard.

“I’m starving for real, that’s what’s for sure,” Reg added. “I say we creep in real quiet and have a look about.”

They walked back and found the camp mostly in ruins. Bodies were everywhere. Some of the buildings were burned and destroyed. Most of the dead were covered in blood from their hemorrhaging lungs. Carl found the warden with most of his face caved in and let out an obnoxious laugh that irritated Howard.

They checked all of the barracks and didn’t find one survivor.

“Jesus Mary,” muttered Reg. “Can we be the only ones left?”

14

Howard, Carl, and Reg approached the guard house. The door was locked so Carl picked up a shotgun from one of the dead guards in the yard and used the butt to smash the doorknob to pieces. The door appeared to be barricaded with furniture from the other side and it took all three of them to finally push it open.

The building was empty except for four guards who locked themselves in before they got sick and died. Besides the mess of the bodies, it was heaven. The three inmates ran from room to room laughing and giggling like kids at Christmas. They marveled at all the luxuries they had been without for far too long. Central heat with a thermostat set at a toasty seventy degrees. A huge fireplace and stacks of firewood. Real beds with mattresses, pillows, and blankets. A shower with hot water. A kitchen and pantry packed with food. Beer, whisky, music, videos, cigarettes, porn, real clothes - it was almost too much to bear.

For the next several hours they basked in all of it. They took hot showers and dressed in clean guard uniforms. They stuffed themselves silly with as much food as they could hold and then ate some more. They weren’t even bothered by the corpses scattered about the building. After the excitement died down they simply dragged them out the door and into the frigid night they vowed never to return to.

“I tell ya fellas, this is the life,” Carl said. He had his feet up on the table, hands on his belly, and a cigarette hanging from his mouth. A cowboy hat he borrowed from a dead guard sat low on his head, almost covering his eyes. “If I’m gonna get sick at least I’ll be able to do it in style and with a smile on my face.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Howard said. He found a pipe and some tobacco and lazily puffed away. “I think it’s obvious the three of us have somehow been spared by the disease. None of us have shown any symptoms at all.”

“Yeah well, ain’t we the lucky ones then,” Reg said.

“Yes sir,” Carl said dreamily. “We are sittin’ as pretty as posies.”

“For a week or two anyhow. Then I reckon they’ll put a bullet in our heads and nuke the bloody place off the map.”

Carl’s dopey grin turned into a confused frown. “Whadda ya mean Reg?”

“The next supply ship is bound to show soon, right? You think when it docks they’ll just send us back to the barracks and chew us out for not behavin’?”

“He’s right, Carl. This whole place is crawling with that disease or virus or whatever it is. They’ll probably take samples from the dead and destroy the camp.”

“What about us?”

“That’s what I don’t want to wait around and find out,” Reg said.

“What are you suggesting?” Howard asked. “That we escape?”

“It’s the only way. We’ve got plenty of shooters and we could take them by surprise. We could jack the ship and be in Argentina or Chile in a few hours.”

“I don’t like it,” said Howard. “I can’t see the three of us taking over a whole damn ship.”

“What if we stay and show them the spaceship?” Carl said. “Hell, we’d be famous. Not only could we take credit for finding the ship but we’re the only goddamn survivors in this dump.”

Howard laughed. “Look, I’m no conspiracy theorist but I have a feeling a space ship filled with intergalactic specimens and a virus that kills everyone it infects is something the government is going to keep under its hat. I think Reg is right. They’ll test the shit out of us to see why we’re immune and then keep us quiet for good.”

“Look mates,” said Reg. “All I know is I’m wearing clean underdrawers and I’m on me way to getting pleasantly spitty. Fuck it then. I says tonight we live the good life and no worries about the rest of that shit until tomorrow. Savvy?”

“I’ll drink to that.” Carl raised his beer for a toast. “You sure you don’t want a cold one, Howie?”

“No thanks,” Howard raised his can of Pepsi. “That’s what got me into this mess in the first place.”

“More for me and Reg then. Cheers.”

The lights went out.

“What the hell?”

“Generator must have shut down,” said Howard. “Did anybody see any flashlights before?”

“There’s got to be one somewhere.”

Howard fumbled for the cigarette lighter on the table and used it to offer some meager light. “There’s probably a supply room or something in the back. I’ll take a look.”

He slowly walked with the hand cupped flame through the dark guardhouse. At the back of the building he found what he was looking for, a door marked STORAGE.

Howard pushed open the heavy door and a foul odor hit his nose. His thumb slipped off the lighter and it fell to the floor. God, what was that stench? He crouched down in the darkness and felt on the floor for the lighter. The floor was wet and sticky.

“Howard!” Reg shouted from the other side of the building. “We found a torch in the kitchen.”

“I’m over here,” he shouted. “Hurry up, I can’t see a damn thing!”

Reg and Carl walked down the hall accompanied by a bright dancing beam of light. Howard had his back turned to the open door of the storage room.

“Good. I guess we’ll have to go outside and check out the generator. It’s just probably out of gas or something.”

Carl and Reg didn’t reply. They were too busy looking into the storage room behind Howard.

“What?” Howard turned around and discovered what the sticky wetness on the floor was. It was blood from the poor guard lying on the floor. His entire torso was cut neatly down the center and his ribcage was severed in the middle and pulled apart. All of his organs were gone. Heart, lungs, everything. The only thing that remained was the severed end of his large intestines, leaking feces, blood, and bile into the empty body cavity.

His face was frozen in a look of pain and bewilderment, his eyes gazing at the ceiling. In his right hand he clutched a blood covered M4 carbine and empty shell casings littered the entire floor of the room. Next to his body were two empty thirty round magazines.

“Oh my god,” Howard finally said. Reg pointed the flashlight around the room.

“Christ, bloody bullet holes everywhere. Even in the ceiling. Who was this bloke shooting at?”

“Whoever it was, I don’t think he got ‘em,” said Carl. “Poor bastard. That’s a rough way to go, even for a guard.”

Howard pointed at the back of the door. “Look, most of the bullet holes are in the door and around the frame. He must have been making his last stand in here before he was killed.” He ducked back in the hallway, away from the stench. “Come on, we have to get the generator going. We’ll figure all this out after the lights come on.”

They found another flashlight and some emergency candles in the storage room. With the candles going and a good fire burning in the fireplace, the main room of the guardhouse was almost cozy.

Howard still yearned for the bright lights provided by the generator though. He gathered his courage and put on one of the heavy guard parkas and some boots.

Carl held out a handgun he had found. “Better take this, just in case.”

Howard looked distastefully at the weapon and shook his head. “That’s okay, I don’t really do guns any more. I’ll only be a minute.”

“You want me to come with?”

“That’s okay,” Howard slapped Carl on the shoulder. “If I’m not back in ten minutes call the cops.”

Howard opened the door and stepped out into the night. Despite wearing real clothes and shoes instead of the dirty rags he’d worn for weeks, the night was still incredibly cold. The wind slapped at his face while he slowly made his way through the snowdrifts to the back of the building.

When he turned the corner he could make out the large shape of the generator a few feet away from the guardhouse and heard the motor running. When the lights went out he figured it just ran out of fuel. With everybody sick there would have been nobody keeping an eye on it the last few days. He used the weak beam of the flashlight to look for any clues but everything looked normal, as far as he could tell. The hell with this, it was too damn cold. He’d run back inside and take another look at it in the morning. They’d just have to make do with the fireplace for the night.

Howard turned to head back the way he came when something caught his eye. Several depressions in the snow that might have been footprints before the wind got to them were near the generator. He followed the cable sticking out of the generator with the flashlight beam and solved the mystery of the blackout. The power cable that was supposed to deliver power to the building was severed. It wasn’t a clean cut like you’d see from a wire cutter or a saw. It was shredded and ripped apart.

He spun around at a noise he thought he heard behind him and saw nothing. The flashlight only revealed snow and darkness beyond the reach of the beam. He switched it off and crouched down, waiting for his eyes to adjust. If someone was out there, they would stand out against the light snow. He saw the silhouette of the mountains at the edge of the valley against the dark sky but nothing else. What was that noise? He could have sworn it was right behind him. All he heard now was the wind, generator motor, and his heart thumping in his ears. Howard clicked on the flashlight and hauled ass back to the front door.

Carl was adding logs to the fire and Reg sat at the table taking a pull from a bottle of scotch.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Howard stomped his feet, shaking off the snow. “The generator is still running but there’s something wrong with the cable. It’s all torn up and I don’t think we can fix it.”

“How could that happen?” Carl asked. “You sure we can’t fix it?”

“Yeah, pretty sure.” Howard took off his coat and draped it on the back of the chair. He felt a lot better now that he was back inside.

Reg felt uneasy. He probed the room with his flashlight and noticed something in the far corner. Puddles on the floor. He pointed the light to where Howard had just been standing. The snow from his boots had melted and made the same kind of puddles.

“Bloody hell. I think there was somebody else in this room after the lights went out.”

15

They checked all the rooms and locked the doors and windows. Besides the puddles, there were no other clues of anybody else in the building. They decided to have one person stand watch while the other two slept, just to be sure. Reg took first watch and sat by the fire with a loaded shotgun on his lap.

Sometime after dawn, the shotgun slipped off of Reg’s lap and hit the floor, startling him awake. He must have dozed off. Lazy wankers didn’t even notice, they just kept on sleeping in their cozy beds. Well, no need to let them know he knocked off. He’d just say he decided to let them sleep, is all. He got the fire going again to chase away the morning chill in the room and took a leak. The daylight coming in through the windows made him feel a lot better.

Reg looked across the yard at the shitty barracks he’d slept and lived in for the last two years. God, he was glad to be out of there. Once all his mates started getting sick it was even worse than usual. Each building held around thirty men. It was crammed with bunks and a few tables and not much else. It was rubbish when everyone was healthy, but when they started crapping and yakking in their beds? Bloody nightmare, that.

At first, the bosses had them help the sick ones to the infirmary but when it got full, they had to stay in the barracks. Pretty soon they were just left to die in their beds, bloated and stinking and moaning. The doc and the orderlies were some of the first to go down so there was nobody to help them. After a while, the stiffs were stacked in a big pile in the infirmary and when that got to be too much trouble they were dragged outside and left there to rot.

When the inmates noticed the guard population was thinning out, they knew it was their chance to take advantage. That’s when things really got rough. The guards were bastards but at least they kept order. After all of his mates died, Reg laid low until he worked his way in with the two yanks. He didn’t trust them but they saved his dangly-bits by letting him come along to the ship. If it wasn’t for that, he’d surely be dead.

He walked over to the table in the middle of the room and picked up the bottle of scotch he’d been working on the previous night. His head was pounding and a pull from the bottle would put it at ease. Hair of the dog. It slid down his throat like liquid fire, filling his belly with a satisfying warmth. Too long, too goddamn long without a drink. If it weren’t for all the shenanigans last night he surely would have drunk himself into an early grave. He took another drink and sighed. “But what a bloody way to go,” he muttered to himself.

Reg lit a fag as he walked walked back over to the window. The buzz from the bourbon and tobacco stirred desires he thought had left him after years of oppression and suffering. He absently rubbed the inside of his arm with his fingers. The needle tracks had long ago faded into scars too small to be noticed by anyone but himself. If only he could spend the rest of the day on the nod. But the chances of finding any brown sugar around the camp were slim to nil and he knew it.

He looked over at the infirmary and an idea trickled through his aching head, past his heroin daydreams. Last year he developed a nasty case of kidney stones. The pain was so severe the guards were finally convinced he wasn’t bullshitting to get out of work and sent him to the infirm. He was in such agony and making such a fuss that the doctor shot him up with Dilaudid before he could give him a thorough examination. Bloody Dilaudid, what a delicious treat it was. All his pain and worries and transgressions were washed away by that wonderful little vial drip, drip, dripping into his IV.

There had to be some nice narcotics left in the infirmary somewhere. He tiptoed over to the room where the yanks were sleeping. Still no stirring. He’d have a quick run over, check the supplies, and be back before they even knew he’d left.

Reg slipped on his boots and quietly opened the door. He ran as fast as his frail legs could go across the yard towards the infirmary. Booze was all right, but even if he drank a whole bottle, it would just make him want it more. If he couldn’t mainline some smack, a hefty dose of Dilaudid might do the trick. He knew they was fucked anyhow. Whatever got to that poor cock in the supply room would surely be back for them. Damned if he’d be sober for it.

He reached the infirmary and placed his hand on the door. The adrenaline was wearing off and the cold was setting in. What was he doing? He realized he’d forgotten the shotgun back at the guard house. He had to look in there but he would have felt a lot better with that bloody twelve gauge in his hands.

Reg pushed the door open, his hopes quickly fading as the room came into view. The place was a mess and it was obvious all the useful equipment and supplies were already picked clean. He walked through the carnage looking for any stray pill bottles or vials but couldn’t find anything stronger than aspirin.

He was just about to say the hell with it and leave, when he heard a sound coming from the back room. Sounded like silverware or metal instruments being moved around. Reg opened his mouth to shout out if anybody was there and snapped it shut again. Did he really want to know who was in there? Did he want to know who sabotaged the genny and left the puddles on the floor?

His feet slowly shuffled to the door. He knew he should turn around and slowly creep outside. He’d grab the shotgun and the yanks and come back to investigate. His feet didn’t listen.

There was definitely somebody in there. The clinking noises stopped but he could sense movement on the other side of the door. He quietly got down on his hands and knees and tried to look under the door. Nothing.

There was about an inch of space between the bottom of the door and the floor. He could make out a few broken bottles and some surgical instruments scattered about. A shadow moved into view and a foot appeared just a few inches from his face.

Reg’s heart decided to stop beating and his mouth opened to produce a silent scream. The foot didn’t belong to a man. It was a hoof unlike any he’d ever seen before. Instead of being attached to an ordinary hairy animal leg, it was covered in scales.

The doorknob turned.

Reg scrambled to his feet and started for the door. His feet, which seemed to have a mind of their own, were betraying him once again. This time they just didn’t want to move fast enough.

He heard the door burst open behind him and the hoofy scaly thing coming after him. Whatever it was moved much faster than he did. As he reached the door he knew it was too late. The only thing Reg had time to do was turn around and get a quick look at the thing chasing him.

16

Howard and Carl stood in the doorway staring at what was left of Reg on the floor. After they woke up, they searched each building for him and made a grisly discovery in the infirmary. He was dead. Neither of them had any medical training, but when a person is cut in half at the waist, it’s pretty obvious he’s not in stable condition. The torso half of Reg was missing all of its entrails. Like the guard in the storeroom, his body cavity was completely empty and the organs were nowhere in sight. Howard was reminded of the generator cable. Reg wasn’t sliced in half by a blade; it looked like he was grabbed by both ends and pulled apart.

“We better get back to the guard house,” Howard said. “Whatever did this can’t be too far away.”

They entered the guard house and found it in shambles. It seemed no corner of the building was left untouched. All the windows were smashed and the outside door was ripped off the hinges. The furniture was destroyed and the food was scattered about the kitchen.

Carl picked up an empty bottle and hurled it against the wall. “Son of a bitch! What in the hell are we going to do now? Somebody is royally fucking with us. We weren’t gone for more than fifteen minutes.”

“Take it easy, Carl. We need to find someplace safe. I don’t know who killed Reg and trashed this place, but I think you’re right. They’re definitely messing with us. They knew we were safe and comfortable in here and now we can’t even close the door.”

“And just where are we supposed to go? I ain’t hiding back in that ship.”

“Let’s just get out of here,” replied Howard. “They know we’ll have come back to the guard house and I feel like a sitting duck.”

The shotgun Reg dropped earlier was smashed to bits and the M4 from the dead guard in the storage room was missing. The only weapon they had to defend themselves with was the Glock 21 handgun Carl had tucked in his waistband.

They went to the warden’s office which was also in shambles but only because the state of his office cleanliness wasn’t a very high priority once his inmates and guards started dying on him.

“I was in here after I beat the shit out of poor Reg.” Carl stared at the messy desk. “The screws worked me over real good and put me in the hole. When I got out, the warden brought me in here to lecture the shit out of me. I saw a map of the island in a stack of papers here somewhere.”

They shuffled through the mess on the desktop and drawers until Howard found the map. He studied the crescent shape of the island. The farm was near the southern shore of the bay. On the north shore was an area labeled Old Whaling Village and on the west coast Howard saw a small mark labeled Amundsen Research Installation (U.S.).

“Hey Carl, take a look at this. Did you know there was a research installation on this island?”

“No, Sir. I figured we were the only ones to be crazy enough to be on this rock. You think anybody is there?”

“I don’t know. But even if there isn’t, it’s probably a hell of a lot safer than here.”

Carl’s face lit up. “And if anybody is there, we got these guard uniforms on. They won’t know we ain’t real screws.”

According to the scale on the map, the research station looked to be about eight or ten miles away. They would have to navigate over Stonethrow Ridge and what appeared to be about three miles worth of glacier before getting to the western coast. From there, they could just follow the rocky shore to get to the research station.

Carl fashioned a crude pack out of a pillowcase and shoelaces and they supplied themselves the best they could. They filled it with a jar of peanut butter, four slices of bread, half a chocolate bar, and three water bottles. He was able to stuff in a canvas tarp to use as a makeshift shelter, just in case.

They headed out of the camp and walked in the general direction of the research station. Although it was cold, Howard guessed it was under twenty degrees, they were dressed well in guard parkas. The sky was overcast but dry.

Stonethrow Ridge on the map was home to the platinum mine. They walked past the tunnel and started to climb. According to the map, the ridge peaked at six hundred feet. The brittle ground crumbled away from their hands and feet as they slowly made their way up.

After about an hour of climbing, Howard and Carl finally got to the top of the ridge. They paused to catch their breath and surveyed the land before them. At the bottom of the ridge lay the massive glacier they would have to cross, but at least it looked relatively level and smooth from there.

“Not too bad, hey Howie? Just like walking over a frozen lake.”

“Don’t be too sure,” replied Howard. “I’ve seen enough TV and movies to know we’ll probably run into some crevasses. I think they can get as wide as a hundred feet. It could take hours to try to find a way around. And that’s if we don’t fall into one and break our necks.”

“Shit, man. You got a knack for pissing on my parade.”

Howard wasn’t listening. He had turned around and was looking at the farm below in the distance. Even though they’d been walking and climbing for over an hour, the camp was still close enough to see clearly.

“What’s the matter?” Carl asked.

“Look,” Howard pointed his finger.

Carl squinted at the buildings in the distance and spotted what Howard was looking at. Sitting on the roof of one of the barracks was the form of something. It could best be described as “something” because it definitely wasn’t human. It just sat there, watching them.

“What the hell is that?” Howard whispered.

“I don’t know. Too far away to make out.” Carl felt the reassuring bulge of the .45 tucked away underneath his parka. The thing quickly jumped off the roof and out of sight.

17

Howard and Carl slowly made their way down the other side of the ridge and reached the glacier below. What looked smooth from the top of the ridge, turned out to be a seemingly endless stretch of hills and valleys made of dirty ice. As they navigated over the slick ridges and around cracks in the ice, the wind picked up from the west and blasted them mercilessly with cold, damp air.

At around ten o’clock, daylight started to fade. They came across a small crevasse five or six feet deep and made camp at the bottom. They unfolded the tarp and sat huddled underneath, trying to keep warm, as they ate a few of their provisions.

“You know,” Carl said as he put a finger full of peanut butter into his mouth, “before my daddy died he always told me I’d burn in hell if I didn’t give up my evil ways and repent to the Lord. This is one time I hope that bastard knew what he was talking about.”

“Why’s that?” Howard took a sip of water and slowly chewed a piece of stale bread.

“Burning for all eternity sounds pretty damn good after freezing my ass off all day.”

Howard chuckled as he finished off his half of the chocolate bar. “When Satan pokes you in the ass with his pitchfork it probably won’t even hurt because it’ll still be frozen solid.”

“They’ll probably kick me out cause I’ll be the only one in hell enjoying myself.”

The two prisoners dressed in dirty and damp guard uniforms sat together under their tarp. Their chuckling turned into giddy laughter as the Antarctic sun slowly headed for the horizon. The wind from the west gained force as a steady mixture of sleet and snow pounded the glacier.

18

Dawn broke a few hours later as Howard and Carl got up from under their tarp. It was a miserable night to say the least. Both of them had lost all feeling in their feet and were afraid of what they might look like. They spent the night shivering under the canvas, not quite awake, not quite sleeping.

There was good news however; the clouds had broken and they were greeted by a clear blue morning sky. The bad news was the temperature had plummeted to below freezing. They gathered their meager belongings and climbed out of the crevasse.

The relentless and bitter wind picked up once again as each of their footsteps broke through the crusty layer of snow. After a few hours of frustratingly slow walking, they finally reached the edge of the glacier. They climbed down to the black sandy beach and followed the shoreline. According to the map, the research station was about four miles away. The beach was level, but the sand and rocks made for lousy footing and their travel remained slow.

Howard slipped into a semi-state of consciousness, walking on auto-pilot. With just a few hours of sleep and little food, his exhausted mind used all of its will on one simple purpose - putting one foot in front of the other.

Carl and Howard walked barely a mile before they made an unpleasant discovery. The beach disappeared and the island met the sea with steep bluffs and no beach for as far as they could see. They slowly climbed to the top of the bluff and faced yet another ridge blocking their path.

“Jesus, I can’t do it.” Howard sat down and tried to catch his breath.

Carl sat next to him and pulled out his last cigarette. He lit the smoke and tossed the crumpled pack and lighter into the dirt. “Cheer up, man.” He slapped Howard on the back. “We gotta be getting close.”

“What if we get to the top and there’s nothing there? What if there’s just more hills and valleys?”

“Then we’re in shit up to our eyebrows,” Carl said with a smile. “Then we keep going. You’re looking at a guy with retard strength. I’ll carry you if I have to, but we’ll get there.”

Howard admired Carl’s endurance but he felt weak and inadequate. He got to his feet, picked up the cigarette lighter, and put it in his pocket. It might come in handy later if they could find something to burn for warmth.

So they climbed. Carl led the way and they stopped halfway up the ridge. They sat in a slight depression and ate the last of their food. The sweat that broke out as they climbed quickly faded and Howard shivered in his damp clothes. He knew if they didn’t find the research station by nightfall he would be finished. He just didn’t have the strength to go any further.

Howard looked sadly in the general direction where he thought the farm might be and longed for it. He thought of the warm and cozy guard house. They’d only been able to enjoy it for barely a day and now they might as well be a million miles away. What a tease. He could feel his will breaking by the minute.

Carl sat in silence and watched Howard doze off.  He let him sleep for five minutes and nudged him awake. “Come on, Howie. Rise and shine. I let you sleep for a half an hour, but we better get moving.”

They finally reached the peak of the ridge which may as well have been the top of Mount Everest. Carl reached the top first. Howard slowly lumbered up next to him and bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Carl said.

Howard looked in the direction of Carl’s gaze and saw it. Before them was an almost perfectly flat plateau. The horizon revealed not more peaks and ridges, but the clear brilliance of the ocean off in the distance. Most of all, he saw the only man-made object since they’d left the farm some thirty hours before. A flag pole proudly displaying a wind tattered American flag.

Carl shrieked, grabbed Howard, and hugged him so hard he thought he’d pass out. The two men fell to the icy ground and laughed and cried at the same time.

“We did it,” cried Carl. “Goddamn boy, we made it!”

“Come on, what are we waiting for?”

They got to their feet with all the new found enthusiasm in the world and walked toward the flag in the distance. It would take another hour before they reached it.

19

Dr. Clark sipped his coffee as he looked out the small porthole window. The sky was clear and he felt optimistic about being able to get a little work done outside that day. He was about to turn away from the window and tell Liz about his plans, when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. He stopped in mid-sip as he saw two people walking toward the station.

“Liz!” He ducked his head out into the hallway. “We’ve got visitors!”

****

Howard took the steaming cup of coffee and wrapped his numb fingers around the soothing mug. He inhaled the wonderful aroma and took a sip.

“I’m Howard Bell.” He offered a tired smile to the curious man before him. “This is Carl O’Donnell.”

“Dr. Clark,” the man said. “Phillip. Judging by your uniforms, I assume you men work for the prison camp here on the island?”

“That’s right,” said Howard. “We ran into some trouble at the prison camp and came looking for help.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” chimed in Carl enthusiastically. “We came looking for help.”

“I see,” Clark said. “From the look of it, you two found us just in time. No offense, but you look terrible.”

“I don’t think we look half as bad as I feel,” said Howard.

A woman entered the room and was startled by the sight of the two haggard strangers. “Oh my gosh. Hello.”

“This is my wife, Dr. Liz Clark. This is Howard and…”

“Carl, ma’am.” Carl bounced to his feet and took her hand. “Pleased to meet you. Gosh, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Hello, Liz Clark.” She pulled her hand away from Carl’s enthusiastic shaking.

“Ah, what I mean is ma’am, I haven’t seen nothing but men for quite a spell. Prisoners I mean. Me and Howard here are guards over at the prison camp. Ain’t that right, Howard?”

“You mentioned you had some trouble?” Phillip asked.

“Yes,” Howard said before Carl could do any more nervous rambling. “There was an issue with the inmates. A riot. They took over the whole prison and Carl and I barely escaped alive.”

“Oh how awful,” Liz said.

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much, ma’am,” Carl said. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of her and was standing a little too close. “We won’t be missed and they sure as hell won’t be coming after us. They’re probably kicking back in the guardhouse right now getting drunk.”

“Well, what can we do to help?” asked Phillip. “I assume you’d like to contact the authorities, but unfortunately, we haven’t had much luck with the radio the past few days. We haven’t been able to get through to anybody.”

Howard felt a great sense of relief. With the radio down, that would at least buy them some time so they could come up with some sort of plan. Up until now, his only concern was getting to safety, not what to do once they got there.

“I want to get you two into the med lab,” Liz said. “I don’t like the look of that windburn on your faces.”

Carl and Liz walked down the hall with Phillip and Howard following. “The full crew for the station is usually six people this time of year but at the moment it’s just me and Liz,” Phillip explained to Howard. “Jack Norris, our meteorologist, had a heart attack yesterday. Liz stabilized him and he was flown out this morning.”

“So you folks have your own plane?”

“Helicopter, actually. Ron Baker is our resident pilot, engineer, and handyman. He flew Jack out along with Lisa Hammond. She’s a biologist who also happens to be a paramedic. Steve Flemming, our geologist, had to fly back to the states last week on a family emergency. It’s rare for us to be missing so many people but you caught us at an odd time.”

“Phillip, if you’re done boring these two with your personnel updates and fun facts, I’d like to make sure they’re not about to drop dead,” Liz said.

“Yes, yes, by all means. Forgive me gentlemen, I tend to rattle on. And being cooped up alone with your spouse in the middle of nowhere isn’t quite what it’s cracked up to be.”

Liz gave her husband a playful swat on the shoulder and showed Howard and Carl into the medical lab. Besides being slightly dehydrated, both “guards” were given a clean bill of health after a quick examination.

The Clarks offered them a change of clothes and gave them a tour of the research station. It consisted of a steel tube partially buried beneath the ground. The tube was three hundred feet long and thirty feet in diameter. They showed them the living quarters, pantry, kitchen, laboratories, sanitation plant, energy supply station, and snow melting plant. Liz cooked a simple meal of soup and sandwiches and the four of them ate in the kitchen.

“Tell me,” said Liz. “Are we in any danger from what happened at the prison camp? Before we signed up for a rotation, Phillip told me it was here on the island and I was less than thrilled.”

“Don’t worry,” said Howard. “None of the inmates even know this station exists. They come in on boat from the other side of the island.”

“I’ll try the radio again after dinner and see if I can get through,” said Phillip. “At the very least, I would expect Ron and Lisa back with the helicopter soon. It’s too late today but they may be back tomorrow.”

“I hope so,” said Liz. “It gives me the creeps knowing that we’re stranded out here even if it’s only temporary.”

Howard was about to speak when a loud noise down the hall made them all jump and look at the doorway.

“What in the world was that?” Phillip checked his watch. “That couldn’t be them back so late.” He excused himself from the table to investigate the noise.

“You’re welcome to use Jack and Steve’s beds to get some sleep if you’d like,” Liz offered. “You must be exhausted.”

“You can say that again,” said Carl. “A warm bed sounds mighty nice about now, Liz.”

Liz let out forced chuckle and took a nervous glance at the doorway. “I better go see what’s keeping Phillip,” she said and left the room.

“Son of a bitch,” Carl muttered. “That’s a fine piece of ass, hey Howie?”

“Are you nuts?” Howard glanced at the door and lowered his voice. “How can you think about that now? Look, sooner or later he’s going to be able to get somebody on that radio. What then? It’s not going to take a rocket scientist to figure out we’re not guards. And in case you didn’t notice these two are fucking scientists.”

“Relax man, didn’t you hear? They got a helicopter. All we have to do is bide our time ‘till they get back.” He lifted up the bottom of his shirt to show the Glock tucked into his waistband. “Then I’ll flash the piece in everybody’s faces and Joe Chopper Pilot flies us anywhere we aim to go.

“Before then, I pop a couple slugs in the radio, or better yet, I do Doctor Pencil-Dick and his tasty bitch. By the time the cops figure out what happened back at the farm, and seen we ain’t in the pile of stiffs back there, we’ll be long gone. And these assholes won’t be around to tell nobody about us.”

Before Howard could respond, Phillip and Liz came back into the room. “Everything all right?” Howard asked.

“It’s the strangest thing,” said Philip. “The outside door was open a crack and one of the storage racks in the hall fell over.” He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “With all the excitement I must have left the latch undone.”

They cleaned up the dishes and Howard and Carl were shown the bunks where they could sleep. Howard stretched out on the bunk and it felt heavenly.

He propped himself up on one elbow and whispered across the room to Carl. “Your plan with the helicopter isn’t bad, I’ll admit, but let’s not rush into anything too hasty. These people don’t have to die just so we can make a clean getaway.”

“Well, look who got all high and mighty on me all a sudden,” whispered Carl. He sat up in his bed and a dark look came over his face. “Look, I don’t know about you but I’ve been doing time longer than I care to remember. This is the best chance I got to be a free man and I’m gonna do whatever it takes.”

For the first time since they met, Howard realized there was a dark side to Carl he hadn’t really seen yet. Howard wrote him off long ago as a foul mouthed, easy going simpleton, but they met at a federal prison, not a scout camp. Carl had committed some crimes in his past to get there and Howard wasn’t sure he wanted to know the details. He also suddenly didn’t feel too good about Carl having the only gun.

“Yeah, I know,” Howard said. “I’m just saying let’s not do anything we’ll regret later. If we get caught it’ll just be harder on us.”

“What are they gonna do, sentence us to life? Oh wait, that’s right.” Carl sat back in bed again and his mood lightened. “Listen kid, don’t sweat it. I ain’t no psycho and I’m not gonna start blasting people for no reason. I just want to make sure you’re on my team, is all.”

“You know I am.”

“Good. Now go to sleep, you look like shit.”

20

Liz Clark sat at her workstation chewing on the end of a pencil and stared blankly at the wall. Phillip had gone to bed and she insisted she would join him after catching up on some paperwork. Now that she sat alone at her desk, she found it hard to concentrate. It didn’t help to know just down the hall two strangers slept.

Something was odd about the two men and the tall loud one with the long hair gave her the willies. She didn’t like the way he looked at her all the time. He sure didn’t look like a prison guard to her, but then again, when had she ever seen one except for in the movies? Still, he gave her the creeps and she felt uneasy being alone with those two. Liz loved Phillip dearly but he was an intellectual, not somebody who was likely to fight to defend the honor of his lady. Even if he was, the tall guard looked like he was perfectly capable of pummeling her Phillip.

She clicked off her desk light and accepted the fact that no paperwork would get done that night. She was just being paranoid. When Ron and Lisa got back, those two guards would be on their way, and things would get back to normal. Liz heard a creak in the floor behind her and she spun around her chair to see what made the noise.

****

Once Carl heard the steady breathing coming from Howard’s bed he relaxed a little. Howard was a skinny little know-it-all pussy, but Carl had to admit, he liked the guy. They made a pretty good team. But he had a feeling old Howie would probably get in the way of what he had planned tonight.

He quietly slipped out of bed and stuck his head out the doorway of their room. The coast was clear and he walked down the hall as softly as possible.

The door to the Clark’s room was open a crack and Carl could make out the form of Phillip in bed. He saw the steady rise and fall of his chest and Carl smiled to himself. This was going to be easier than he thought.

He slowly walked down the hall to the lab area, the steady hum of the ventilation system drowning out the sound of his footsteps, and he reached the open door. Liz sat at desk with her back to him. She was leaning back in her chair and looked like she was chewing on the end of a pencil. Carl could smell the shampoo scent from her hair and his pulse quickened. His grip on the doorframe tightened and he considered maybe, just maybe, she’d be down for it. There was no way that scrawny little prick of a husband knew how to handle her. Maybe alone in this tube in the middle of nowhere she was aching for it. Asking for it. Wanting it. He couldn’t decide which was hotter – begging him to stop or begging for it harder. Maybe he’d get lucky and have it both ways.

He put his hand on the comforting bulge created by the Glock tucked in his pants and shifted his weight to the other foot. The floor creaked and Liz turned around.

21

The most challenging thing about the cold climate was how it slowed it down and made it stiff. It didn’t find the cold uncomfortable as much as it found it annoying. The cold dulled its senses. Made it groggy and sluggish.

Of course, the prey made it simple enough to follow them. It could smell them for what seemed like miles and it was easy enough to track them by their odor trail alone.

It was actually somewhat pleased they fled from the place that reeked of death and decay. This pair was the last of their kind in that place. Perhaps they would lead it to a place far less rank and with greater opportunities for hunting.

After it made the slow and steady journey of following the prey it was pleased to discover such a place did indeed exist. Once inside the structure, it could clearly smell and hear two more of them. In addition to that, it could smell faint signatures of others recently present. Excellent.

The structure was warm and it decided to hide and wait for full strength to return as the warmth slowly thinned its blood and eased the ache in its bones. These creatures seemed to prefer the structure interiors as well and it saw no other buildings in the area. The prey would remain close. It would wait for the proper time to strike and savor the final moments of the hunt. The final moments before the kill.

22

“Carl, you startled me,” said Liz. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“What are you still doing up? I figured you’d be tucked in with your husband.”

“Oh, just finishing up some work. I was actually just heading off to bed now.” She got up from her chair and offered Carl a forced smile. He stared back at her blankly and didn’t move from the doorway. “I suppose I could ask you the same thing. Aren’t you just exhausted?”

“I’m okay,” he replied quietly. “I’m still a bit keyed up, I guess it must be the coffee. I was hoping the two of us could have a little chat.”

Liz took a step back and leaned against the desk. “I’d love to talk, but let’s do it over breakfast if you wouldn’t mind. I’m pretty beat.”

To Liz’s relief, Carl moved from the doorway and walked over to the bulletin board on the wall. He looked at the assortment of snapshots, mostly of her and Phillip on their adventures. “Oh, I won’t keep you but a few minutes,” he said. “It’s been a while since I talked to a pretty lady. You understand, right? Cooped up with all those men, a fellow can feel pretty lonely, you know?”

Liz took a step towards the door and Carl matched her, once again blocking the door. “You must feel a little cooped up yourself, I imagine.”

“No, I’m fine,” she snapped. “Good night, Carl.” She lowered her head and walked forward, praying that he would step aside and let her pass. He didn’t budge and she stopped abruptly before bumping into him. He reached to grab her arm and Liz flinched, trying to pull it away. She wasn’t quite fast enough and he clamped onto her forearm with his massive hand.

“What are you doing? Let go of me!”

He pushed her back into the wall and tried to put his other hand over her mouth as she struggled. She could smell his sour breath and dirty hair.

She screamed out her husband’s name before he clamped his hand over her mouth and nose, muffling her screaming. Liz opened her mouth and found the fleshy part of Carl’s hand. She bit down hard and tasted blood.

“Motherfucking bitch!” Carl threw her to the floor. Liz called for her husband again. “Shut the fuck up.” He kicked her in the stomach.

Phillip appeared in the doorway, a look of panic and confusion on his face, as he attempted to finish putting on his robe. He saw Liz on the floor and went for her.

Carl pulled the gun from his belt and jammed the muzzle into Philip’s chest before he could reach Liz. “Not so fast, little man.” Carl gave him a push backwards. Phillip stumbled and fell back onto the desktop behind him.

Carl kept the Glock trained on his face. “My buddy and I will be out of your hair soon enough, but first me and the little lady here are going to have some fun. Now get the fuck out of here unless you want to be a widower in about five seconds.”

“Don’t hurt her,” Phillip stammered. “Please. Money! We have some cash. Credit cards. Take whatever you want, just don’t...”

“I ain’t interested in your money! Now I’m not going to tell you again. Get out.”

Liz let out an ear-piercing scream and jumped from the floor. She attempted to smash the gun out of Carl’s hand by bringing both fists down on his arm. Phillip took the opportunity and also lunged at Carl. He lost his balance and all three of them crashed to the floor. Carl tried to block Liz’s frantic blows with one hand while trying to hold onto the gun with his other hand as Phillip tried to wrestle it away.

Carl’s grip on the gun loosened as Phillip desperately tried to pry it from his fingers. Liz clawed at his face and his vision was blurred from blood and sweat that ran into his eyes. Just as Carl feared that he might let go, his index finger found the trigger and he yanked it. The Glock recoiled. He felt Phillip let go of the gun and Liz stopped hitting him.

23

Howard sat up in his bunk, confused and startled. Did he get woken up by a loud noise or was that part of his dream? In his dreams, a woman was crying and screaming, but he couldn’t remember the details. He looked over at Carl’s empty bed and then heard the same woman’s voice crying once again from down the hall. It was Liz. He shot out of bed and headed for the commotion.

He reached the lab and it took a moment for his mind to comprehend the scene before him. Liz was kneeling on the floor cradling Phillip’s head in her arms. His eyes were open, his chest covered in blood. Liz, also covered in blood, rocked back and forth and sobbed.

Carl stood in the corner of the room holding the gun and wiping his face off with a paper towel. He noticed Howard and started to chuckle. “Hey man, sorry to wake you.” He hawked a wad of phlegm and blood into the paper towel and tossed it to the floor. “I gotta hand it to this little girl, she’s a firecracker. Got in a few good licks.” He inspected the deep gash in his palm where Liz had bitten.

“Bastard!” Liz screamed. Howard jumped at the noise.

“All right now,” Carl said to Howard. “Before you get your panties in a bunch, let me explain.”

“He tried to rape me and then he murdered Phillip,” Liz cried.

“Yeah well, I guess that does pretty much sum it up,” Carl chuckled. “Come on Missy,” he placed the muzzle of the Glock on Liz’s temple and pulled her up by her hair. Liz cried out and Phillip’s head fell to the floor with a sick thump. “We ain’t done yet. You’ll have plenty of time to cry over your dead hubby later if you’re a good girl.”

Howard finally snapped out of it. “Carl, for Christ’s sake, that’s enough. Leave her alone.”

“I’ll leave her alone when I’m good and goddamned ready,” he roared. He pointed the gun at Howard. “I don’t have time for your shit, man. You said you were on my team so get the hell out of my way.”

Howard’s courage evaporated looking down the barrel of the gun and he stepped aside. “That a boy,” said Carl. “Gimme a few minutes and you’re welcome to some sloppy seconds. You do like girls, don’t you?” Howard swallowed and said nothing.

Liz renewed her struggling as Carl attempted to drag her down the hall to the bedroom. Howard stood motionless for a moment as guilt washed over him. He thought of how Steve Creighton didn’t bat an eye when Howard shoved a gun in his face, but when Carl did it to him, he froze with terror.

Every day, Howard wished he could go back and prevent the shootings and restore the lives he destroyed in his moment of madness. Now he was faced with the choice of whether or not he could do the right thing here in the present. He knew if he stood by and let Carl rape and kill that woman, he was no better than the drunken lunatic that killed those people back in Wisconsin.

He quickly scanned the room for any kind of weapon and grabbed the fire extinguisher from the wall. It wasn’t much, but it was made of metal and it was solid. Howard pictured sneaking up behind Carl and hitting him on the back of the head with it. He could even spray him in the face, temporarily blinding him, and hopefully grab the gun.

Howard left the room, peered around the corner, and down the hall. Carl and Liz were about to enter the bedroom that he and Carl shared. They stood in the doorway for a moment and Howard snuck down the hall, picking up speed. He held his breath and lifted the extinguisher, ready to strike. In a matter of seconds he would be directly behind Carl and bring it down on his neck with all his strength.

They stayed in the doorway, yet just as Howard was about to reach them, Liz let out a scream. Howard stopped. He saw Liz struggle frantically to get away from Carl and she actually succeeded. She tripped over her own feet and tumbled backwards to the floor. He saw Carl continue to stand motionless in the door, which confused Howard, especially since Liz was getting to her feet. She was screaming as loudly as ever with a look of terror on her face that didn’t quite match the threat that Carl seemed to no longer produce.

Howard was splattered with blood as something suddenly protruded out of Carl’s back. He dropped the fire extinguisher and wiped his eyes. Howard could hear Liz, still screaming, running down the hall behind him, yet he didn’t move. He watched as what appeared to be a set of large talons grip Carl’s torso. Carl jerked and convulsed, producing a horrible gurgling noise from his mouth, just before he was torn in two. Carl’s lower half, from the pelvis down, fell to the floor and was showered in blood and bodily fluids from the upper half. That was still being held up by what looked like a large lobster claw. The claw released Carl’s upper half and it fell to the floor.

24

It stood about four feet tall but only because it appeared to be hunched over. If it stood on its hind legs, it would have been twice that. There were six appendages - two long hind legs with hoofed feet, two thin front legs with three long toes each, and two arms which appeared to have the sole purpose of killing.

On the end of the right arm was a long black barb or stinger. That’s what stabbed Carl clean through his back. On the left arm was the large claw. The claw, dripping with Carl’s blood, continually clicked open and closed.

As terrifying as the lobster claw from hell was, it was the thing’s head that really turned Howard’s blood into ice water. It had a long beak-like face with large nostrils rapidly opening and closing as the thing breathed. Below the beak was a set of mandibles with razor sharp teeth. The mandibles opened and closed and a horrible low clucking sound escaped from the mouth as a pointy tongue darted in and out. Two large black eyes, sunken deep into the grey skull, completed the package. They stared at Howard. Unmoving and unblinking.

Howard took a step back and tripped on the fire extinguisher he just dropped. The beast released a loud squeal and took a few cautious steps towards him. Howard scrambled back to his feet and ran down the hallway after Liz. The exterior door was open at the end of the hall and he escaped into the frigid darkness.

He instantly regretted not taking a few seconds to put his shoes on earlier, as he ran through the crusty snow and ice in stocking feet. Fifty yards from the main compound sat large shed next to the helicopter pad. Howard could make out Liz through the darkness as she struggled with the shed door. She finally got it open and disappeared inside. He tripped and fell, rose to his feet again, and glanced behind him. The creature had just emerged from the compound and was following him.

Howard reached the locked door and pounded on it with a frozen fist. He pleaded for Liz to open the door but was greeted by silence from the other side. The creature was closing in. It wasn’t exactly running, it was steadily lurching forward as if in pain or having difficulty moving through the snow.

He ran around to the other side of the shed and found an unlocked door. He entered and was face to face with Liz, holding a crowbar at the ready. Howard ducked a second before Liz swung it at his head, just missing him by inches. She swung again and the crowbar hit his left shoulder. The pain in his arm was excruciating, but the adrenalin did its job and he was able to evade another blow.

He raised his right hand and tried to back away. “Stop, please! I’m not going to hurt you!”

The look in Liz’s eyes was pure hatred as she raised the crowbar again, ready to strike. “What in the hell is that thing? Who are you?”

“I’m not a guard, I’m an inmate. And I have no idea what that thing is. I think it must have followed us from the prison camp. Please, put that down. I swear, I’m not going to hurt you, but that thing is right behind me outside.”

“Why did you come here?” She was crying now, but still ready to strike with crowbar. “Why didn’t you just leave us alone?”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea what Carl was capable of. I know you don’t trust me, but please believe me when I say I was going to do everything in my power to stop him from hurting you. But right now, what’s important is that thing out there. That monster, alien, whatever it is, is going to kill us unless we work together.”

Silence.

Howard clutched his shoulder and risked a step forward. “Please, Liz.”

She motioned with her head towards the other side of the room. “I saw a couple of long pipes over there, I think. What we could really use is that gun your friend had.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call him a friend.” Her icy stare bore into him and she said nothing. “Never mind.” Howard picked up one of the pipes. It was about four feet long and made of iron. Definitely bludgeon worthy.

A loud slam on the door made them both jump. It was immediately followed by another. Howard raised the pipe, grimaced at the pain in his shoulder, and moved closer to Liz.

The door crashed open and the thing burst into the shed. It ran straight at Liz. She swung the crow bar, point down, and it dug deep into its back. The creature squealed in pain and lashed out with its claw. Liz was knocked to the floor and Howard swung his pipe. His aim was off and the pipe only grazed the side of the creature’s head. The pipe hit the floor hard and Howard lost his grip.

He felt an odd tugging in his abdomen and looked down, shocked to see the creature’s stinger had thrusted into his gut. Liz jumped at the monster, grabbed the bloody crowbar, and twisted it deeper into its back. The thing squealed again and pulled its stinger out of Howard.

Howard screamed in pain and clutched his abdomen. He attempted to take a few steps away from the monster, but his knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor.

Liz held the crowbar once again and was having a standoff with the creature. It was clearly hurt and kept a cautious distance from Liz. It squealed in anger and lashed out with its claw. It moved into position between her and Howard on the floor.

“Howard!”

He lay motionless with his back to her.

“Howard, get up!”

She swung the crowbar a couple times and the creature flinched backwards. “Get back!”

Howard slowly got to his knees, clutching his stomach with one hand. Liz was backed into the corner, swinging the crowbar, but the creature was growing impatient and advanced closer.

Howard was losing strength fast and darkness crept into the corners of his vision. He reached a large metal jerry can on the floor by the wall and fumbled with the cap. He managed to get it open despite his slippery and bloody hands and was greeted by the strong odor he was hoping for. Kerosene. He reached into his pocket and was relieved to feel the cigarette lighter Carl threw away was still there.

“Hey asshole,” he yelled at the thing. It looked away from Liz and squealed at Howard.

“Come on you piece of shit! Come get me!” He poured some of the kerosene on the floor in front of him. “Run Liz! Get the hell out of here!”

The monster charged at Howard. He lifted the can and started to pour just as the monster reached him. Kerosene splashed onto its face and it shook its head violently back and forth. Its claws scraped at its face as the kerosene burned its eyes and nose. Howard dropped the can and the rest of the contents gushed out on to the floor.

Howard took the lighter from his pocket. He felt as if he had no remaining strength to get his thumb to ignite it. He tried once. Twice. He fell to his knees and tried a third time. The small flame miraculously appeared and Howard held the lighter to the kerosene covered floor in front of him.

25

It seemed as if the entire shed instantly filled with fire. The creature was engulfed in flames as it frantically writhed and twisted in pain. It ran around the room and bounced off the walls as it tried to escape the fire. Liz reached Howard and dragged him from the flames. His legs and feet smoldered. He cried out in pain.

The fire spread at an alarming rate and Liz was just barely able to drag Howard out the door before the entire building went up. She dragged him as far as she could and collapsed in the snow trying to catch her breath.

Howard was still conscious, but just barely. Liz lifted his blood soaked shirt and saw the gaping wound in his abdomen. He tried to say something.

“What?” Liz put her ear closer to his mouth.

“I’m. Sorry.”

“You killed it, Howard. You saved us.”

“Farm.”

“What?”

“Stay. Away.”

He lost consciousness.

26

Liz stared out the window of the Bell 412 and looked at the endless water a thousand feet below. She felt a tug at her shirt sleeve and was surprised to see Lisa sitting next to her.

“How are you doing, kiddo?” Lisa’s voice crackled in the headset Liz was wearing.

“I’m feeling pretty lousy actually,” Liz responded. “I must be coming down with something.”

“That’s all you need now is to get a cold.” Lisa patted Liz on the knee and gave her a sympathetic look.

“It doesn’t seem right, leaving him back there. He’s just lying there on the floor.”

“I know, but let’s face it. The entire station is one big crime scene. We had to leave everything the way it was. Don’t worry about Phillip. He’ll get a proper funeral when all this mess it sorted out.”

“You believe me about the alien, don’t you?” asked Liz. “You don’t think I’m crazy?”

“Right now, all I care about is getting you to a hospital. We need to make sure you’re okay.”

“Oh, I’m fine. Just a little under the weather.”

“If you’re so fine, then why are you leaking?” Lisa pointed at Liz’s nose. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and it came away bloody.

“Sure, bloody nose,” Liz said. “What else can go wrong?”

“Face it kiddo, this ain’t your day.” Lisa handed her a handkerchief.

“Thirty minutes ladies,” Ron announced over their headsets. “I radioed ahead and they’ve got two ambulances waiting at the airport.”

“An ambulance for me too Ron?” Liz asked. “A little overkill don’t you think? I’m fine.”

“Have you ever been in a cab in Rio Grande? Trust me, you’re banged up enough as it is. Worst drivers in Argentina.”

Liz looked over at Howard. He was strapped to a stretcher on the helicopter floor. Before Ron and Lisa returned, she was able to stop the bleeding and clean the wound the best she could, but he hadn’t regained full consciousness. She gave him as much pain meds as she dared without crashing his blood pressure and kept a steady stream of plasma flowing through an IV. If he could get to the hospital within the hour he might make it.

“I’m going to head back up front,” said Lisa. “He’s on no sleep and is bound to crash and kill us all if I don’t keep an eye on him.”

Liz smiled and looked back out the window. She dabbed her nose again and sat back. She really did feel terrible and was a little glad she was taking an ambulance to the hospital. At least it would feel good to get back to civilization again.

Part Two - Exposure

1

Forgive me if I do a poor job of describing the first moments after I gained consciousness. It’s not for lack of trying, but all I can remember is floating in a hazy state of semi awareness. Think of all the times you’ve hit the snooze bar and fallen back to sleep seconds later. Sometimes you don’t even remember doing it, do you?

Sounds and smells crept into my dreams as I struggled to waken. When I finally opened my eyes for the first time, I shut them immediately, squinting due to the brilliant sun beating down on me.

It’s amazing all the little things that go on with our bodies without us ever giving them a second thought, isn’t it? As the pupils in my eyes automatically adjusted to allow the appropriate amount of daylight in, my heart continued to pump, my lungs expanded and contracted, and the pores on my skin excreted perspiration to help regulate my body temperature. I mention the perspiration only because I was warm. Uncomfortably so.

But I digress. Listen to me rattle on about nonsense when you’re no doubt wondering where I was and what happened to me. That would make two of us.

The sky above me was a brilliant shade of blue and a few clouds were scattered about. In the periphery of my vision, I could see leaves and branches. Judging by the density of the foliage on almost all sides, it appeared I might have been in a clearing of a wooded area. Jungle, maybe?

I apologize. By now I’m sure you’re screaming at me to sit up and look around, but I neglected to tell you, I suppose I should have opened with it, that I couldn’t sit up. I was flat on my back and it felt like I was strapped down to something. I could feel the restraints on each of my forearms and another across my chest. My legs were also trapped.

I could turn my head from side to side but, unfortunately, some sort of foam barrier obstructed my view. Probably to protect my head, I’m guessing. I tried to lift my head but that just gave me a slightly better view of the trees beyond my feet.

Lifting my head also increased the pain, so I only did it once. I didn’t mention the pain yet, did I? Again, I apologize. So much to tell; I’m having a problem getting it all out in an order that makes sense. There was a deep throbbing around my stomach. A little lower, I guess, in the abdomen, off to the side. If I could touch it, I would have been able to see if I had some sort of wound down there.

I was also dealing with some major discomfort a little farther south. I felt like I had to pee but when I finally allowed myself to try, I couldn’t tell if anything was coming out or not. Ladies, you’re probably already aware of how much we gentlemen are always grabbing at our crotch. Believe me when I say it was driving me crazy not to be able to use my hands to give Mr. Willy a once over and see what was happening down there.

I tried to make sense of my surroundings but couldn’t remember what had happened to me. Besides a few bugs flying overhead from time to time and typical birdcalls you would hear in the jungle, I didn’t hear anything else.

I finally called out, my own voice sounding strange and scared. I don’t recall exactly what I said but “hello” seems like a pretty logical guess. There was no response, so I yelled out a few more times. No answer.

Other than the foulness coming from my armpits (I had a feeling they hadn’t seen soap in a while), I kept catching a whiff of a burning odor. Heavy and toxic, it smelled like fuel mixed with burning plastic or some other synthetic material. Mingling with that was just a touch of wood smoke.

Another stench filled my nose as well. It was probably more significant than the burning odors and concerned me. It’s probably why I procrastinated and didn’t mention it to you sooner.

The smell of something dead. You know the smell. We’ve all sniffed that trace of road kill on a hot summer afternoon. That deer or raccoon festering on the pavement and feeding the flies. It spoils the air in your car for just a moment; you grimace before it fades and continue on your journey, already forgetting it.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t leave this smell. I couldn’t be sure, but it was pretty close whatever it was. I got a little relief, depending on what direction the breeze flowed, but only for a moment. The buzzing of flies was getting louder. It sounded like it was coming from behind me, slightly to the left.

The smell of death. The last time I smelled it wasn’t because of road kill. I came from a place full of death. It slowly came back to me now. I remembered Carl, Reg, Liz, and her dead husband (thanks to Carl). I thought of all my fellow inmates who got sick and died in the most awful way imaginable.

Well, that’s not entirely true. When I saw Carl get ripped in half by that…alien… Yes, it must have been an alien. I can admit that now. If something could survive all those years in that ship and make everybody sick from a space germ or whatever, why not an organ-eating monster as well? Getting ripped in half was a pretty terrible way to die. Poor Reg knew it as well.

Not that I didn’t deal a little death myself. But that was a long time ago, and I’m done thinking about that.

Liz. What happened to Liz? I strained to pinpoint my last memory before waking up in this strange place. I remembered finally lighting the kerosene and the insane squeals of that monster as it burned. Liz pulled me out of the shed and then…

Nothing. That’s all I could remember.

A fly landed on my forehead. I quickly moved my head to the side; it flew off and landed right back on. Something stung my arm, and I could feel another critter crawling up my leg. I tried to shake my leg to discourage whatever was heading north, but that just made my stomach hurt worse. For the time being, I accepted the fact I was going to be dealing with bugs while I was trapped on the jungle floor. I hoped nothing poisonous was creeping about.

My mouth was bone dry. Let’s not forget that. Although I was a glad to be off that rock in the Antarctic, the thought of shivering in the snow seemed heavenly as I baked in the sun and dreamt of a simple glass of water.

I think I sort of blacked out at that point. When I woke up, the sun was low in the sky and I wasn’t so damn hot anymore.

The incessant buzzing of the flies behind me continued unabated, and the stench from the rotting thing was worse than ever.

I cried out again, more desperate this time, and did so until I went hoarse. I’m not ashamed to admit I cried for a while. Not the best strategy, since I was already dehydrated, but I’d like to think most of us would cry in that situation. Most of us.

Sleep again. This time, I woke in total darkness. It took me a few seconds to realize where I was, but I could make out the outline of the trees against the dark sky, and I remembered. I stared at the stars and appreciated the fact that the buzzing flies had retired for the evening.

The jungle was loud at night. There was a constant chirping of what I assumed were tree frogs or crickets. I could still feel the occasional bug crawl over me, and I did the best I could, with my limited movement, at shooing them away.

I must have dozed for a while because I suddenly became very alert as I heard movement among the trees. Something or someone was walking through the woods, disturbing leaves and breaking twigs. I was tempted to call out again but decided to keep my mouth shut.

It came closer and seemed to be moving toward the dead thing behind me. I heard shuffling footsteps, breathing, and snorting. It came closer to me now. Just inches away. There was a rapid fire of quick inhales and then one large exhaling snort that blew hot breath on my face. It had an earthy and slightly sour odor to it. I held my breath and was perfectly still.

Whatever it was lost interest in me quickly and sauntered away. I sighed in relief just as I felt the first raindrop hit my face.

Within a couple of minutes the sky opened up and I was pelted with a vicious downpour. I was soaked to the bone and shivering, but I kept my mouth open and gulped down the precious drops from above. They were sweeter than anything I’d ever tasted before.

2

It didn’t rain very long, but the misery it caused me lasted the rest of the night. I was grateful for the little bit of water I was able to catch in my mouth and swallow, but it also left me cold and shivering until dawn. Had I been stranded in a little less tropical climate, I probably would have succumbed to hypothermia.

I was glad to see the sky lighten and sun’s rays start to peek through the trees. At the same time, it filled me with dread and washed depression over me like a lead blanket. The thought of lying there for another day had me crying again.

After spending a few minutes feeling sorry for myself, I came to the conclusion that it wasn’t going to get me anywhere. I needed to free myself, or at least sit up, so I wouldn’t go insane on top of everything else.

I felt weaker than the day before, and I knew if I wasn’t able to get free in the next couple of hours, I was toast. I had drunk the equivalent of a few sips of water last night, and soon the sun would be on me full bore for an entire day again. There was no way I could survive that.

Ignoring the pain in my gut, I started wiggling my arms and legs, trying to find some slack in the straps. They were on pretty damn tight, but I kept at it. I ignored the discomfort as my skin rubbed raw against the restraints.

I have no idea how long this went on. To tell you the truth, I was a little out of it by then. Looking back on it now, I’m glad I didn’t give up. It would have been easy to do, but I guess there was a little voice inside, nagging me not to give up.

Sometimes, I wonder if I would have been better off giving up back then, considering my current situation. Listen to me, dropping a little hint like that. That’s what writers call foreshadowing. I’m tempted to just cut to the chase and fill you in on what’s happening to me right now. But where’s the fun in that? Besides, I’m proud of myself for getting free and I want to share it with somebody.

Yes, that’s right. I did free myself, eventually. I was finally able to work enough slack into my left wrist strap to allow me to wiggle my hand free. What a liberating feeling it was to finally be able to move my left arm again.

The chest strap was easy. I could feel a simple clasp right in the middle of my chest, and I released it.

It wasn’t easy to sit up, but I managed after a few tries. The wound in my abdomen, along with most of the muscles in my back and butt, sang together in a chorus of pain. I released the restraint on my right hand and both of my legs. I was finally free.

3

I slowly sat up and took in my surroundings. The scene in front of me was pretty much as I expected. All I could see earlier were treetops, so naturally now all I saw were tree bottoms. Um, tree trunks. Lots of trees. I was definitely in the jungle.

Oh, and the thing I was strapped to? You probably guessed by now it was just a stretcher. I’m sure I was strapped to it for my own safety, not out of any malicious intent, but when you’re alone in the jungle it’s hard not to feel resentment for the thing that kept you prisoner for over a day.

To my right was the wreckage of an airplane and things slowly started to come into focus. Although it looked like I was in a natural clearing in the forest, the plane had plowed through plenty of small trees and vegetation when it hit the ground and skidded to a stop. It was about thirty feet away and I was currently sitting in the path it made before it stopped and partially burst into flames, from the look of it.

The dead thing. I turned to my left and immediately regretted it. It was a woman, was being the proper tense, even in the present tense, because she was quite dead. She was sprawled on her back, eyes open, staring at the sky. Her chest was covered with dried blood. A cockroach or some other kind of nasty jungle bug crawled out of her mouth and I gagged.

She was wearing a bright yellow all-in-one outfit. A HAZMAT suit, I would hazard (ha!) a guess. She wasn’t wearing anything on her head, so I questioned the effectiveness of the outfit. She must have taken off a face mask and the hood at some point.

My outfit? I was decked out in light blue hospital scrubs and a pair of those socks with built-in rubber strips on the bottom. Not a bad footwear choice for slick hospital floors, but really shitty for my current location.

Taped to my left hand was an IV line, but it wasn’t connected to anything. The back of my hand was covered in dried blood; the line must have gotten pulled out of the IV bag at some point. I slowly pulled out the needle.

The pain from my crotch was still kicking so I knew that needed my attention next. I panicked for a second, thinking of the bug crawling out of the woman’s mouth. I pulled the front of my pants away from my body and checked out everything downstairs. It wasn’t a bug, it was a catheter. I gathered my courage and slowly pulled it out. Not the most pleasant feeling I’ve had down there. It actually hurt like hell and I was convinced I was about to be showered with bloody urine once the tube was free, but it was far less dramatic. Once it was out, I fell immediately better. Certain I was free of all medical contraptions, I decided it was time to get off the stretcher.

I got to my feet and stretched my muscles a little, once again angering the stomach-wound gods and making me grimace with pain. I lifted my shirt and found a bandage. It looked pretty old and nasty, and I decided it was doing more harm than good at this point, so I carefully peeled it off. There was an angry wound with fresh stitches where I had been impaled by that thing back at the research station. Somebody with an MD after his or her name must have patched me up. I was grateful for that, but I had a feeling I would still have a prescription for painkillers if I was anywhere other than the jungle. It was still sore as hell.

I just stood there for a while, making sure I wasn’t about to go lightheaded and bang my head on a rock or something. I was curious about the dead woman and wondered what she was doing so close to me. I noticed slight indentations in the ground that led away from the stretcher toward the plane wreckage, and I realized what happened. This woman had dragged me from the plane as far as she could before she died. I had no idea who she was, but the thought of it touched me and I started to tear up again.

Man, I’m doing a lot of crying in this story, aren’t I? Gimme a break. Let’s see how well you’d do in this situation, tough guy.

I felt bad just leaving her there, rotting in the sun, covered in flies, so I managed to pick up my stretcher and sort of lay it on top of her. It wasn’t as ideal as a blanket, but it covered her face and I was glad about that.

I gave her a little nod of respect and slowly made my way toward the plane in my slipper socks.

4

Five Days Earlier

Hospital Regional Rio Grande

City of Rio Grande

Tierra del Fuego Province

Argentina

Jose Morales rose from the bench and tossed the remains of his tepid cup of coffee into the trash bin. Two tall men walked down the hall toward him. One white, one black, both dressed in dark blue suits. In the small city of Rio Grande, they stuck out like two sore American thumbs. They could only be the two US Marshals he had been ordered to meet at the hospital.

As they approached and made eye contact, he nodded and held out his hand. “I’m Inspector Morales.”

The white one shook his hand with too firm of a grip. “Deputy Marshal Briggs,” he said. Briggs nodded at his partner. “This is Deputy Marshal Jones.”

“Welcome,” said Morales as he shook hands with Jones. “I trust you’re here about our guest of honor?”

“That’s correct, inspector,” replied Briggs. “May we see him?”

“I’ll get you as close as I can. This way.”

They followed Morales out of the lobby and passed two uniformed officers before stopping at a door littered with caution signs. They took turns looking through the window at the sleeping patient in the room.

“That’s your boy,” said Morales. “This is as close as we can get without suiting up in one of those space suits. Wouldn’t do much good anyway. He’s been unconscious since they arrived.”

Jones removed a notepad from his breast pocket and flipped through the pages. “According to the officer I spoke with on the phone, they brought him in by helicopter and identified him by first name only. Howard. They claimed he was a prisoner from the International Experimental Rehabilitation Facility on Desolate Island.”

Morales nodded in agreement.

“The only Howard from the prison records is Howard Bell. That’s got to be him,” Briggs added, nodding toward the window.

Jones looked at the list of names written down in his notes. “Ronald Baker, Lisa Hammond, and Elizabeth Clark. All American citizens. Are they still in town? We’ll need to get statements from them.”

A look of confusion flashed across the inspector’s face.

“Problem?” asked Briggs.

“Forgive me, I thought you already knew,” stammered Morales. “They’re all dead.”

“What?”

“That’s why your fugitive is in isolation. Everyone who flew in on that helicopter got sick shortly after arrival. The first one to go was the Clark woman.”

Jones looked at his notes again. “She was the one who claimed this man was accompanied by another inmate who killed her husband. She said Bell received his injuries by fighting off some sort of wild animal?”

Morales chuckled. “Alien. She said it was an alien. She was pretty sick when we interviewed her. Running a fever. Probably didn’t know what she was talking about.”

“The others didn’t verify her story?”

“The dead husband, sure, but this alien was destroyed in a toolshed fire. It burned to the ground and the others weren’t there at the time. They said the guy that killed her husband was pretty messed up though. Whatever burned to death in that shed apparently killed him first.”

Briggs dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “We’ll let the Federal Bureau of Prisons worry about what happened on the island. All we’re concerned with is securing the prisoner.”

Before Morales could respond, the doors at the end of the hall flew open and a group of people dressed in bright yellow HAZMAT suits rushed in. Some of them were carrying assault rifles.

“Gentlemen, you need to leave this area immediately and come with us,” one of them commanded with a muffled voice behind his face mask.

“What in the hell is going on?” Briggs asked.

He grabbed Briggs by the arm and attempted to pull him toward the door. “United States Army. You need to follow us, sir!”

Briggs ripped his arm away and flashed his ID. “Hold on, damn it! We’re US Marshals, and we’re not going anywhere until I get some answers.”

“Sir,” said one of the men as he pushed his way forward through the soldiers. “I’m Dr. Michael Schmidt from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta. This entire hospital has been shut down and quarantined. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay in the building until further notice. We’re authorized to lock down this hospital by any means necessary. Do we need to have you surrender your weapons or will you cooperate?”

Briggs and Jones looked at each other. Morales performed a sign of the cross.

5

It felt like I walked a hundred miles by the time I reached the plane wreckage. The sun was out in full force again and I was feeling pretty weak. I don’t think I mentioned the humidity yet. You know that corny cliché: It’s not the heat so much as the humidity? You’ve got that right. I was already soaked with sweat from just hanging out on my stretcher. Now that I was on the move, I was really soggy.

I knew one thing for sure. I needed water pronto or I was going to be in big trouble. On my way to the plane, I realized I hadn’t taken a piss since I woke up, and I still didn’t feel the need to. That was a bad sign. I was also starting to get a major headache. Also bad.

The plane was a small jet. It was about the same size as one of those commuter puddle jumpers that are only wide enough for two seats on one side of the aisle and one seat on the other side. It actually wasn’t in bad shape, as far as plane crashes are concerned. I can only base that opinion on the footage I’ve seen on TV, but it wasn’t burnt to a crisp or completely destroyed. The burning smell from the night before must have come from one of the engines. Most of the right wing (is that starboard or port?) and a good portion of the fuselage on that side were destroyed by fire. Some of the vegetation in the area was still smoldering.

I think it came in hard, ass first, because the entire back part of the plane was gone. It broke off on impact and was sitting in a crumpled mess twenty feet or so behind the rest of the fuselage.

I carefully crept up to the back end of the plane, making sure I didn’t step on anything sharp in my booties. I had a clear line of sight all the way up to the cockpit door. It looked like the plane was set up as some sort of ambulance with wings. It was a big mess from the crash of course, but I could see all sorts medical-related items scattered around.

I crawled inside and immediately saw a pile of IV bags that must have fallen out of a cabinet. I picked up one and the crystal-clear liquid inside looked absolutely lovely. The label read .9% Sodium Chloride Injection, USP. I feel pretty stupid about it now, but at the time it made perfect sense. You get an IV when you’re dehydrated and need fluids, right? Since I had no idea how to start an IV, I popped a hole in the bag and took a taste. Yes, I know, sodium chloride is salt, and guess what? It was pretty salty. Even at .9%. I tossed the bag on the floor, trying to ignore the irony, and kept scavenging.

Despite all the crap scattered around, there weren’t too many useful items. I spotted some gauze pads and tape, which I made a mental note of for later, and kept looking. As I got closer to the cockpit door, I started searching a few cabinets and finally hit pay dirt. In one of the drawers was a cache of goodies you would give a patient after drawing blood or just something to keep them happy.

I found a handful of graham cracker and saltine packets, a few Jell-O tubs, and six glorious single-serving apple juice containers. I ripped off the top of one of the juices and greedily sucked down every last drop. Four seconds later, every last drop exited my body in the form of violent projectile vomit. Brilliant move, genius.

After a few dry heaves, I sat down to rest. As my stomach settled, I took a chance and drank another cup. I sipped very slowly this time, savoring each mouthful, and I kept it down.

As I felt my energy increasing from the simple act of calorie intake, I surveyed the rest of the plane. It provided decent shelter and for that night, at least, would be much better than sleeping outside again. I thought of my dead lady friend and the beast that visited me and shivered. To this day, I don’t know what it was. If I think about it at night, my imagination eventually transforms it into a ten-foot-tall jungle version of Big Foot.

I reached over and searched a container nearby. Another great find. It was a small assortment of over-the-counter bottles, but what really got me excited was a brand new bottle of ibuprofen. I popped the top and swallowed four pills with the remainder of my juice cup. It wasn’t much, but I figured at the very least it might help ease the pain in my wound and kill my headache.

I got to my feet and decided to check out the cockpit. The door wouldn’t open, and I noticed the frame was kinked from the crash. The door itself looked a little flimsy, so I took a step back, grabbed onto the counter, and gave it a good kick.

The door opened, hit something, slammed back shut, and then opened an inch or so before stopping. The split second it was wide open revealed two bodies. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, but it still made my heart skip a beat.

I slowly pushed it open again. There was one guy, the pilot I’m guessing, still sitting in one of the seats. He was wearing a HAZMAT suit like the woman outside but his hood and mask were off. It looked like the nose of the plane had crumpled up on impact and he was crushed between the seat and the control panel.

The other guy was lying on the floor. He was also wearing a HAZMAT suit. I’m not sure if he was thrown from his seat after the crash or what, but it was obvious to me, even through the hood and mask, that he died from massive head trauma. I won’t get into the gritty details, but his skull hit something and that something won. Practically the entire floor was covered with his blood.

These bodies hadn’t been getting direct sunlight, but they were pretty ripe so the flies still found them. I stood there just for a second then headed for fresh air before I risked throwing up my pain pills and apple juice.

Before I turned away, I noticed a pair of headphones with a microphone were sitting on the floor. I knew the radio was a long shot, but it would be stupid of me not to try, don’t you think? I took a couple of deep breaths and headed back in.

The floor was sticky under my feet from the congealed blood and I fought back a gag. I had to crouch down, getting way too close to one of the bodies, to reach the headset under the seat. Of course, it had blood on it, just like practically every surface in there. Did these guys have a jugular slicing contest to see who could spray the farthest, or what?

I wasn’t thinking such witty thoughts at the time, just trying really hard not to freak out, throw up, or cut my own jugular to put myself out of my misery.

The headset was attached to one of those curly cables like on a telephone. I traced it to where it was plugged into the control panel and my hopes of reaching out and touching someone evaporated. The radio mostly consisted of an LCD display which was dark. I tried the only two knobs, one for “squelch” and one for “on/off/vol,” but they didn’t do any good. I dropped the headset to the floor.

Now that my conscious was clear and I knew for certain that I couldn’t call for help, I went back to my little food supply. I took out a Jell-O cup since dry crackers didn’t seem like a good idea at the moment. I enjoyed my cherry-flavored Jell-O and took stock of my situation. It didn’t look too good. I survived after being impaled by that alien back at the island. That was good. I survived the plane crash but the three people I was with didn’t. Good and bad. I had no idea where I was, and despite the handful of snacks, I had no food or water. Really bad.

I not only didn’t know where I was, but also I had no idea where I had been, or where I was going. What in the hell happened to me? There’s no way this plane could have taken off from the prison camp island. I must have been on the mainland. Most likely South America, and that’s probably where I was now. That seemed to make the most sense. And what’s with the HAZMAT suits? I could only imagine it had something to do with the disease back at the farm. I’m still not sick from that, so maybe they were flying me someplace to have me studied.

Whatever. None of that really mattered now. All I needed to do was work on staying alive. The one thing I picked up from any kind of survival book or show was to stay put and wait for help. That seemed like a pretty good choice for now. I figured somebody had to have seen the plane go down. If not, people in charge of such things knew the flight path and would know where to look. It could have been the sugar rush from the Jell-O, but I suddenly felt very optimistic. I would be fine.

The light was starting to fade outside and I was suddenly very tired of my disgusting hospital scrubs. I noticed some lockers close to the cockpit and checked them out. Inside were two small overnight bags, so I looked for a change of clothes. I tried on a pair of jeans that were a little loose in the waist, but otherwise not a bad fit. Even better was a couple of pairs of bright white clean socks. There were two pairs of shoes, one from each bag, but neither were my size. One was way too small and the other too big. I guessed that maybe two or three sock layers would do the trick if I needed to do any serious walking. For now, I was planning on only a few steps once my rescue helicopter arrived. A Michigan State T-shirt completed my ensemble.

I was dressed in clean duds and feeling a little better but still pretty weak and tired. With night falling quickly, I cleaned up my stitches with an alcohol pad and put on a fresh gauze pad and taped it into place. I cleared off a bench and collapsed on it for the night. A little hard, but better than a stretcher next to a corpse any day.

The last rays of light signed off for the day and a symphony of nocturnal bugs and critters started up. Now that I was relatively safe and comfortable, it was actually sort of peaceful. For the first time in a long time I didn’t have to worry about getting shanked in the middle of the night by a fellow inmate or, more recently, getting ripped in half by an alien. If I tried really hard, I could almost imagine I was sleeping next to an open window at a tropical resort. I tried to clear my head and relax but I could feel my recent optimism slowly fade as nagging doubts about that helicopter crept into my thoughts.

6

Ten Days Earlier

Hermes Quijada International Airport

City of Rio Grande

Tierra del Fuego Province

Argentina

Ron pulled Lisa aside as the medics carefully loaded the prisoner into the back of the ambulance. “Hey, if you want to ride with Liz, I can take a cab and catch up with you at the hospital,” he told her.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll need to gas up the bird anyway. Go ahead. Thanks to all these extra trips, we’re going to burn up all the grant money this year just on fuel alone.”

“For a hero, you sure do a lot of bellyaching, old man,” Lisa joked. “You probably saved that guy’s life by flying him in, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a real Boy Scout. Just keep an eye on Liz, okay? I’m worried about her.”

Lisa jogged back to the ambulance and Ron gave Liz a little wave before the ambulance doors closed.

Ron arranged to have the helicopter’s fuel tank topped off. In order to sign the sale order, he borrowed a pen from the man behind the desk. Ron handed the pen back and the man absently put it in his mouth as he ripped a copy of the receipt out of the ledger and handed it to Ron.

What the man behind the desk didn’t know was that Ron’s hand was covered with an extraterrestrial pathogen. This very hardy and aggressive microorganism was already thriving on Ron Baker’s palm. It really flourished when it made the journey from the pen to the fuel jockey’s warm, moist mouth.

In a few hours this man would finish his shift, go home, kiss his wife on the mouth, and his five-year-old daughter on the cheek. He’d help his bride prepare dinner, and by the end of the night all three of them would be contagious. They’d spread the bug the next day as the girl went to school, the wife back to her job in a produce market, and the man back to the airport.

Meanwhile, Ron Baker pulled up to the front of the local hospital in a taxi and handed the driver his fare. He headed inside to look for Lisa and Liz.

The exposed taxi, along with its driver, who had just tucked the germ-covered bills into his money pouch, went to the Gran Hotel Lassere to pick up Bill Richardson of Tulsa, Oklahoma. Bill had just closed a deal an hour earlier and was looking forward to telling his boss the good news. Synko Medical Products, Inc. would soon be the exclusive provider of alcohol prep pads and disinfecting wet wipes in every medical facility in Rio Grande. After a two-week trip of flying all over Argentina, Bill was more than ready to go home. He was running late, but if he made it to the airport on time he’d be home in Tulsa to see his kids before they headed off to school.

Bill made it to the terminal only to find out his flight was delayed two hours. He fed his disappointment with a few Jack and Cokes at the bar. In the meantime, he infected Maria and Armando Covas of Madrid who sat next to him. They would transfer flights in Rio de Janeiro and board a flight to Spain with two hundred and eighty-seven other passengers. By the time their plane touched down at Barajas Airport nine hours later, almost all of their fellow passengers and the flight crew would be infected. The crew would board new planes the next day and infect those passengers as they flew out of the international airport to destinations all over the globe.

Bill Richardson didn’t get to see his kids before they left for school. By the time he got home he no longer cared. After using up three tissues to staunch a nose bleed in the cab, he felt so miserable that he just wanted to go to bed. Bill never made it to work to report to his boss on his successful trip, but it didn’t really matter. By the end of the week, so many of Bill’s coworkers called in sick that the management at Synko decided to shut down the company until things got back to normal.

7

I didn’t get much sleep that night. Between the rock-hard bench, the sweltering heat, and the constant harassment from mosquitos, it was a miserable night, to say the least. I must have dozed off shortly after sundown, but a nightmare woke me and I was pretty much awake after that.

When it was light enough to see, I had breakfast of an apple juice and a graham cracker packet. I was tempted to eat everything in my little stash, but I knew it was probably a good idea to ration it. I popped a couple of ibuprofens for my wound and exited the plane to stretch my legs a little and take a pee.

I have to admit, by this time I was starting to feel anxious. I kept thinking of a hunters’ safety video I watched when I was eleven years old. The one thing I remembered was the most important piece of advice the fat guy in the blaze orange told me. Stay put if you get lost. If you remain in the same spot you’ll have a better chance of the search party finding you.

The only problem was I was beginning to wonder if I even had a search party looking for me. If the crash site was close to a town, I would’ve expected some curious people to have found me by now. The smoldering jet engine wasn’t producing much smoke now, but right after the crash, it should have been visible for miles. Easy enough signal to follow.

And what about the flight path? I have no idea why we crashed, but unless we went way off course, I’d think it would be easy enough for the eggheads in charge of such things to figure out where we crashed. They could at least ballpark it.

I’d been keeping an ear out and hadn’t heard the slightest hint of a plane or helicopter. I didn’t want to admit it then, but I also noticed I hadn’t seen any jet trails from commercial flights in the sky at all. Not one. Since it didn’t have anything to do with my immediate situation, I tried to ignore it.

So, on one hand, I wanted to listen to the fat guy in blaze orange, but I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling of not knowing what was beyond the trees. What if a road was only thirty feet away? What if the only thing between an umbrella-laced drink at a beachside bar and me was a twenty-minute walk? Dammit, Google Earth, where are you when I need you?

I walked the perimeter of the clearing, keeping as much distance from the stretcher-covered woman as I could. The only thing I saw through the trees were more trees. The sun cleared the treetops and the morning was turning out to be especially miserable. Already sweating profusely, I made my way back to the plane to get some shade and pick through the wreckage again. I didn’t expect to find anything new but I needed to do something to keep my mind occupied.

God I needed a drink.

I checked and rechecked drawers, cabinets, and containers. I was convinced I missed a bottle. I would have been happy with one of those tiny airplane bottles full of Schnapps. I was on a goddamn airplane! Where was the booze?

Lucky me. My first flight in years and instead of a commercial liner with a drink tray, all I’ve got is a pile of useless IV bags that’ll only make me more thirsty and probably give me the shits. It’s just as well. I was feeling pretty vulnerable at the moment and if I did find some hooch, I probably would have given in to temptation. Nothing like a plane crash to get you off the wagon. Or is it on the wagon? I never could get that stupid expression straight. I reminded myself that the root cause of all this mess was my alcoholism, but it didn’t make me feel any better.

I sat down on the bench and ripped the lid off one of my apple juices, slamming it in one gulp and not caring. I crumpled the cup, tossed it across the plane, and put my head in my hands. I felt like I was going crazy.

When I caught a whiff of the rotting mess in the cockpit, I knew enough was enough. My decision was made. Even though I had no idea what was out there, and I had a good chance of getting even more lost, I was tired of sitting around feeling sorry for myself. Time to leave.

I spent the rest of the day gathering anything that might be remotely useful and preparing for my journey. Despite the weakness from not enough food, the ache in my gut, and the sweltering heat, it felt good to have a goal. Good to be doing something. Anything. One more night in the plane. I’d be out of there the second dawn broke.

8

12 Hours Before Plane Crash

Hospital Regional Rio Grande

City of Rio Grande

Tierra del Fuego Province

Argentina

Dr. Schmidt disconnected the VPN connection on his laptop and closed the lid. Communicating by phone was almost impossible while dressed in the bulky HAZMAT suit, so he’d been talking to the director at the CDC via instant messaging software. Trying to type on the tiny laptop keys with gloved fingers was only slightly better than shouting into a phone through a sealed face mask, but it didn’t matter. His directions were clear and he had his orders.

Schmidt rose from the desk as his colleague Dr. Julia Parker entered the room. She looked exhausted. They all were. The hospital was in chaos, and from what they heard, the rest of the city was as well. If Schmidt slowed down for even a minute and lost focus on whatever task he was working on, anxiety and fear invaded his thoughts. The rate this disease was spreading was almost beyond comprehension. In thirty-two years of practicing medicine he’d never seen anything like it. Not only were they still unsure how the pathogen was spreading, but the speed at which the victims took ill and died was terrifying. It was as if all one needed to do was stand next to an infected host for more than a few seconds and a death sentence was certain.

The overwhelming urge to contact his wife made it even harder to concentrate. He tried to tell himself the outbreak was isolated to pockets near crowded cities and transportation centers. Hopefully, she was safe for now in their quiet subdivision. It would be easy enough to take a few minutes to at least send her an email, but he was afraid of how it would affect his work if he didn’t hear back. There were far more important matters to deal with than his personal life.

The hospital in Rio Grande was shut down but a quarantine was laughable at this point. Half the population in the city was probably dead by now and the other half would soon follow. The CDC and WHO were being bombarded with reports from across the globe of victims showing the exact same symptoms before becoming violently ill and dying. It always started with a steady nosebleed, followed by high fever, swelling and darkness in the neck and face, and finally hemorrhaging and death. Some victims were known to lose their mental faculties, becoming enraged and violent, most likely due to hallucinations and swelling of the brain stem.

Despite the grim statistics, there was a small sliver of hope. There were several cases now of patients who made it past the initial timeframe after having contact with an infected person; they displayed no symptoms. It seemed a very small percentage was immune, but it was too soon to tell. One of them happened to by lying in a bed down the hall.

Schmidt tried to pull the suit away from the back of his sweaty legs with no luck. The AC gave out earlier in the day and he was roasting in his yellow wrapper. The suit may have been keeping him safe at the moment, but it was as comfortable as a rain slicker at the beach. He motioned for Julia to sit but she shook her head no. Probably battling with her own sticky legs.

“We’re leaving,” he told her. “The plane just touched down at the airport and we’re taking him back to Atlanta.”

Julia exhaled and returned a small nod but didn’t look optimistic. “Do you think it’ll do any good?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” he snapped. “If what the Clark woman said was true, he’s been exposed for at least a week. Probably twice that. Despite the coma and stab wound, he’s in perfect health. They’re just starting to analyze the blood samples we sent, but if we don’t get him back today for more testing, it might be too late.”

“Both of the marshals died this morning,” said Julia. “Major Zellermayer wants to know if we should take their bodies back or wait for arrangements from the Justice Department.”

“Might as well take them back with us. By the end of the week I don’t think there’s going to be anybody left in this town to make arrangements for anything.”

9

Another miserable night in the plane. I tried to sleep for a while in one of the seats but I couldn’t get it reclined enough to get comfortable. I gave up after a few hours and moved back to the bench. I could at least stretch out, but still didn’t get much sleep. The bugs are relentless at night.

As the sky lightened, I got up and stretched a little. I was feeling weaker than ever and was starting to second guess my decision to leave the crash site. At the moment, I didn’t feel I could get ten feet from the plane, yet I knew I probably had to hike more like ten miles. If I was lucky.

I looked at my little pile of provisions and knew if I was going to have a shot at getting out of there I was going to need all the energy I could get. I had two graham cracker packets, three of the saltines, two Jell-O tubs, and two apple juices. Nutritionally speaking, not exactly a bounty. Plenty of sugar, but any lift I got from that would burn off quickly once I got moving in the heat.

Screw it. I opened the least exciting course of saltine crackers and dug in. I figured I had one shot; I’d eat it all at once and hope for the best. I didn’t know if that was the best decision to make at the time but I was so hungry it seemed brilliant at the time.

Munching on the crackers, I went over my meager gear and made sure I wasn’t leaving anything valuable behind. The shoes turned out to be pretty comfortable with wearing only two pairs of socks as filler. Although I’d have some sweaty-ass feet, it would be better than traipsing through the jungle in hospital booties.

I tied a long-sleeved shirt around my waist. I figured I’d probably need it at night if I didn’t make it out by then. I wouldn’t need it for warmth, but anything to help keep the mosquitos off was valuable.

I’d found a scalpel last night which could come in handy, and I carefully tucked it into my back pocket along with the bottle of ibuprofen. Other than that, I didn’t see much else I could bring that would be useful. I suppose if one of those survival guys from TV were with me they would be scooping up all sorts of junk that could be used to snare game and start fires. It all looked like garbage to me. I couldn’t even find a cigarette lighter. Nobody smokes anymore.

I changed my bandage again and was relieved to see my wound looked pretty good. It didn’t look any worse anyway.

With the crackers finished, I gulped down the Jell-O and decided to hold off on the apple juice for as long as I could. I could be just twenty feet away from a mountain stream, but in the meantime I wasn’t taking any chances.

I exited the plane and faced my biggest decision of the day. Which way? I had no idea where the plane was headed, but the most logical decision was to walk in the same direction it was pointing. The rising sun was to my right, so I would be heading north. That felt right. I was probably hundreds of miles short of where my pilot intended to land, but at least I was headed in the correct direction.

I was off. I quickly reached the edge of the clearing, looked back, and stepped into the dense foliage. It wasn’t too bad. Pretty thick, but not so thick that I’d need a machete or anything to hack through it. Which was good because I didn’t have one. I found a decent walking stick and forged ahead. It felt good that I was actually doing something instead of sitting around, waiting to be rescued.

The mosquitos must have broadcast an announcement about the skinny white guy in their territory because they were on me almost instantly. I knew this was just a small taste of what was to come once the sun went down, and I prayed I wouldn’t need to find out.

I walked for a while, trying my best to move in a straight line. I judged my direction by keeping an eye on the sun but it wasn’t easy. The canopy was quite thick, and although I appreciated the shade it made it hard to judge where the sun was at times. I couldn’t be entirely certain I wasn’t walking in circles.

It didn’t take long for my juice cups to call out to me. I greedily drank both. For the past couple of days, I felt like I was in one of those dreams where I was really thirsty and kept drinking glass after glass of water. I hate those dreams. Officially out of food and water, I kept walking and could only hope for the best.

At this point in the story, I wish I could tell you I found help right away. But it’s never that easy, is it? I wandered through the jungle all day, fighting the thick vegetation, oppressive heat, and relentless bugs. The good news about the heat was it really killed my appetite. I suppose that was good and bad. It was one less thing to worry about, but I knew I needed to find some kind of food to keep up my energy.

Eventually, I came to a spot in the woods where the canopy wasn’t so thick and I spotted some coconut trees. I could see the bright green bunches high in the trees but I couldn’t do much about those. I thought of the photos I’d seen of natives climbing the trees to knock down the coconuts. That didn’t seem too likely for me. My palm-tree scaling skills were severely lacking and I’d most likely end up breaking my neck.

I was able to find a couple lying on the ground so I picked up one and considered how to open it. I didn’t want to risk breaking my scalpel, which probably wouldn’t do much good anyway, so I looked around for anything that might help me out. Where are those survival guys when you need them?

Nearby was a downed tree and the broken trunk created some sharp edges. I held the coconut in both hands, aimed for a shard of wood, and brought it down hard. I succeeded in breaking off the piece of wood but the coconut didn’t have a scratch on it. I kept at it and after a few more whacks I noticed it was starting to leak. I held the crack up to my mouth and sucked at the milk inside.

As a recovering alcoholic, I’ve enjoyed many a drink in my day. Before I made the switch from quality to quantity, I thoroughly enjoyed tasting new craft beers and microbrews. I’ve had everything from twenty-year-old scotch to obscenely expensive French wine. But I don’t think I ever tasted anything better than that coconut milk.

I made sure I got every last drop in my mouth and continued hitting the crack against the shard of wood until I finally got the bugger open. The milk was a great appetizer, but the flesh inside was even better. I don’t even really like coconut that much, but at that moment it was one of the best things I’d ever eaten. There I was, alone in the middle of nowhere, covered in bugs, dripping with sweat, absolutely filthy, but the small victory of that little meal made me feel almost human again.

As I ate the coconut, I noticed it was starting to get dark. I accepted the fact my goal of reaching civilization before nightfall wasn’t going to happen. I considered my situation for the night. Despite the heat, a fire would have been nice, but it was out of the question. I didn’t have a lighter or matches and had no idea how to start a fire without them. I had a hunch rubbing two sticks together wasn’t going to cut it, considering everything around me was still damp from an afternoon shower.

I swatted a bug off my cheek for the millionth time that day and longed for a nice tent. But I knew the best I could hope for was some way to get up off the ground. Spending a night on the stretcher while bugs crawled all over me had made that clear.

I saw a large fallen tree not too far away so I went to get a closer look. The bark was smooth and the base of the trunk had a concave shape to it. It was about four feet off the ground and could make a decent platform. I brushed off all the leaves and twigs that had accumulated in the depression and I hopped up to sit on my little bed.

Night was falling fast. I untied the shirt from my waist and put it on, since the bugs were really starting to pick up. I took off my shoes and peeled off my damp sock layers. My feet had been wet all day and I figured it was a good idea to dry them out a little.

I sat back and watched as the jungle came alive. Once I stopped long enough to notice my surroundings, I mean really notice, I marveled at how beautiful it actually was. I couldn’t say it was quiet and peaceful because it was anything but. All around me the constant hum of insect noises and birdcalls filled the air. A strange feeling of contentment washed over me as I sat there surrounded by a natural world untouched by man.

Something stung me hard in the back of the neck and my newfound peace quickly evaporated as I swatted away whatever it was. So much for getting in touch with nature.

Night falls quickly in the jungle. As if somebody flipped a switch, I was suddenly sitting in the dark. I could hear all sorts of critters and creepy crawlers milling about under my tree trunk, and once or twice I felt what must have been a bat dive bomb me. I think they were getting as close as they could to check me out.

Being up off the ground really helped keep me from the roaches, ants, land crabs, and who knows what else walking around. The mosquitoes, however, were still treating me like a buffet table. I lay back and tried to cover up any exposed skin that I could. I tried to will myself to sleep. I was utterly exhausted, but every time I nodded off something landed on my face, bit my ankle, or crawled up my pants.

Once in a while, I heard something larger moving through the leaves. I would sit up slowly and try to see what it was. There was no moon so it was pitch dark. My imagination ran wild, and not in a good way. I pictured cougars, pumas, Big Foot, Dracula, you name it. After a while, I just concentrated on keeping perfectly still. I hoped whatever it was would leave me alone and keep moving.

I spent that entire night in a state of dozing. I don’t think I ever fell fully asleep. I was relieved when I noticed the horizon start to lighten and took satisfaction knowing I’d survived another night. I’d yet to have a solid night’s sleep, but at least I was able to rest my muscles.

I slowly sat up and felt really lousy. The lack of food was catching up with me. The coconut had helped a little, but I was still feeling weak. A large beetle was slowly making its way up the trunk toward me. My goal of the day was simple. Get out of the jungle before I started looking at those little guys as breakfast.

10

Aircraft Falcon Six Five Eight Alpha

25,000 feet over the Caribbean Sea

350 nautical miles off the coast of Colombia

Julia looked out the window at her side and took a deep breath. Unlike a regular passenger plane, this one had only a few small windows. For some reason that made it worse. God she hated flying. The clouds broke and an unfettered view of the vast blue emptiness below came into view. She looked away, shaken by the notion of being surrounded by nothing but miles and miles of water.

Unlike a lot of people who get jumpy only at takeoff and landings, Julia found flying at cruising altitude the most terrifying part. Every time she peeked out the window she couldn’t help picture herself plummeting to the earth at terminal velocity, twisting and screaming and clawing at the air as the water grew closer.

A couple of hours ago, a large military aircraft appeared out the window and the captain explained over the intercom they were about to be refueled in the air. Julia found nothing too comforting about that procedure. Not only did flying directly behind a giant gas station with wings seem incredibly dangerous, but also what if something went wrong? What happened if they couldn’t get more fuel? She tried not to think about such things and tried to assure herself everybody in the air knew what they were doing.

It was nine hours into the flight and she was getting restless. She tried to distract herself by turning her attention to her patient but that didn’t help much. Once his stretcher was secured to the floor of the plane, IV set up, and catheter checked, there wasn’t much for her to do. The last few days were a blur of activity, but as soon as that door was sealed she suddenly had what seemed like all the time in the world. It didn’t even occur to her to pick up a magazine.

Dr. Schmidt and the rest of the team took another flight back to the states, leaving just Julia and the two pilots to take the prisoner back. Major Zellermayer insisted that one of his men accompany her. Julia protested and assured him that if the prisoner was properly restrained he couldn’t do any harm, even if he woke up during the flight. It was a possibility, considering his increased brain-wave activity over the last day or two, but she wasn’t concerned. The truth was, she was so afraid of flying, something she worked very hard to hide from the rest of the world, Zellermayer’s man would be one less person to see her wig out from turbulence, one less thing she had to worry about.

The flight deck door opened and the copilot appeared. He looked uncomfortable in his HAZMAT suit but gave her a little smile as he sat down in the seat next to her.

“How’s it going back here?” he asked. “Anything you need? You’re looking at the world’s best paid flight attendant at the moment.”

Julia chuckled at his lame joke and smiled back. “No, thanks. We’re doing just fine. How much longer is it?”

“About three hours until we touch down. Any trouble from pretty boy over there?” he asked.

“Nope, still sleeping like a baby. At least one of us can.”

The pilot slowly got up with a groan and stretched his back. “Well, if you need anything just give us a holler. You can come right in. The door isn’t locked. They did pat you down for box cutters before you boarded, right?” he deadpanned.

Julia held up her hands. “I’m clean, I swear.”

He laughed a little too hard and disappeared back into the cockpit, to her relief.

Julia got up and checked on the patient again. Pretty boy. He actually was good-looking, although it was hard to tell without seeing a person with their eyes open. Early thirties, sandy brown hair, scruffy beard. A little too skinny, but considering he was at a maximum security prison camp, probably doing hard labor, that was understandable. Being in a coma didn’t help.

God what was she doing? Fawning over a convicted killer at twenty-five thousand feet while a pandemic was spreading down there on the ground. She was getting loopy. Julia collapsed into her seat, fastened the belt, crossed her arms, and commanded herself to get some rest. If the sky remained smooth for the rest of the flight, she just might doze off and get an hour or two of sleep. Lord knows she’d need it once they got back to Atlanta.

First Officer Jack Pritchard returned to his seat and settled in. He slipped his headset over his ears and struggled once again to find the best spot to place the mic. The bulky respirator on his mask was in the way and every time he needed to check in on the radio, he literally had to shout.

“Nothing going on back there,” he said, “but I thought I’d check anyway.” He glanced over at the captain, Bill Rutherford. Bill’s hands rested on his legs and he didn’t move. He was staring at the control panel in front of him.

“Bill?”

No answer.

“Bill, you okay? What’s going on?”

Bill turned his head toward Jack and stared at him with glazed eyes. His face was covered in perspiration. Under his hood and face mask, a trickle of blood ran from his nose down his chin. “I don’t feel very good,” he muttered.

Jack stopped himself before cursing and forced a smile instead. “Okay, buddy. Hang on a sec.” He reached for the intercom button to call the doctor but changed his mind. Jack unbuckled his seat belt, removed his headset, and got up.

“I’ll be right back, Bill,” Jack said in a soothing voice. “Just take it easy and I’ll see if the doctor can check you out. Okay?” Bill ignored him.

Jack did a quick check of the systems and left the flight deck. He approached the doctor who looked like she’d finally nodded off. He gently shook her shoulder

Julia opened her eyes and jumped. “What? What’s happening?”

“Dr. Parker, I think we have a situation on the flight deck.”

“Is something wrong with the plane?” She glanced around nervously.

“No, everything is fine. It’s Captain Rutherford. He’s…he’s looking pretty ill. He’s got a bloody nose.”

“Thank God,” she said on an exhale. “The plane, I’m mean. Sorry, I…” She shook her head as she unfastened her seat belt and rose. “Never mind. Can we bring him back here so I can check him out? You can fly the plane alone, right?”

Before Jack could answer, the plane pitched violently; they lost balance and tumbled to the floor. Instruments and supplies showered down on them from compartments above. Julia screamed in terror as the aircraft shook violently and continued its decent.

“Get back to your seat!” Jack shouted to her. “Buckle up and hang on!”

She wanted to stay on the floor and curl up in a ball. Forcing herself to move and fighting the g-force that wanted to keep her in place, Julia managed to get into her seat. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely connect the seat belt. It finally clicked into place.

Julia risked a quick glance out the window. The world outside was at a terrifying angle so she looked back at her patient. He remained unconscious despite the chaos round him. She hated him for it.

Jack burst into the cockpit. Bill’s hood and face mask were off. Blood was smeared all over his face and hands.

“What in the hell are you doing, Bill?”

“We need to land,” Bill stammered. “Christ, I’ve got it. We need to get on the ground or I’m going to die!”

The plane was losing altitude at a dangerous rate. Jack grabbed Bill by the wrist and tried to get him to pull back on the yoke. Bill pushed him off and the aircraft pitched to the side as he temporarily took his hand off the yoke.

Jack lunged for his own controls and tried to counteract Bill’s nosedive. They struggled for a moment, cancelling out each other’s efforts; one man desperately trying to land through a fever-induced haze of madness, and the other simply trying to pull back and level out the plane.

“No!” Bill wailed.

He let go of the stick and flailed at Jack, just barely missing him due to the distance between the two seats. Jack pulled back hard on the yoke and the aircraft finally broke from the dive. Bill unbuckled his seat belt and lunged at Jack. Now he was the one frantically trying to gain control.

Again they fought. Bill couldn’t understand why Jack wasn’t helping him. He couldn’t believe this man he considered a friend was trying to stop him from landing. Jack wanted to keep him trapped in this tube to die like an animal. Jack was shouting at him but Bill didn’t hear. He coughed a mist of blood on the back of Jack’s suit. He grabbed Jack by the neck and choked him as Jack tried to fight him off with one hand.

The aircraft pitched again. Bill lost his balance and fell to the floor. He battled through his dizziness and stood up. He unlatched the fire extinguisher beside the pilot’s seat, raised it above his head, and smashed it on the back of Jack’s skull as hard as he could.

Jack went limp and fell forward on the yoke, causing the plane to dive again. Bill lost his balance and sailed face first into the control panel. Fresh blood from a broken tooth mixed with the steady flow from his nose.

He somehow managed to crawl into his own seat as the ground below got closer through the windscreen. Bill grabbed the yoke with bloody hands, leveled out the aircraft, and pulled back on the throttle. His eyes burned and he was seeing double but he could make out a clearing in the trees below just large enough to land. Trees? Where in the hell did they come from? And where was the damn airport?

He laughed and turned to Jack to celebrate. Jack was slumped over in his seat, his head covered in blood. What happened to him? Bill couldn’t remember.

“Hold on, buddy, we’re coming in hard!” Bill shouted.

He knew if he could land the plane and get out in the fresh air everything would be fine. He would be okay. His friend Jack would be okay too.

11

I have a feeling I know what you’re thinking. You’re getting tired of all this doom and gloom and listening to me bitch. You’re probably tempted to make the switch to a light-hearted romance about teenage vampires or something. Please, bear with me. I’ll admit that after spending the night on the tree trunk I was as depressed that morning as I’d ever been in my whole life. I was lonely, tired, starving, thirsty, in pain, and suffering from intense malaise. I’ve never been sure what that means, but it sounds important. Despite all that, I stumbled across a small miracle that morning.

At this point in my journey, I was on autopilot, simply putting one foot in front of the other. I wasn’t even paying attention to which direction I was headed anymore. Luckily, I didn’t get turned around and end back up at the crash site.

I must have been half asleep, walking with my eyes closed, when suddenly my right foot found empty space instead of the ground and I was airborne. I rolled down a steep incline and landed in icy cold water.

Purely by dumb luck I stumbled onto a stream. The current was fairly strong, the water clear and cool, and it instantly energized and refreshed me. I gulped down as much as I my stomach could hold before I crawled to the shore and collapsed in the cool grass.

I was going to survive. I still needed some real food, but the immediate danger had been lack of water. Now that I had found an unlimited supply, I’d bought some precious time. As an added bonus, I now had a landmark to follow. Everybody knows that water eventually leads to civilization or at least the ocean. It was a hell of a lot better than walking aimlessly through the trees. For the first time in a long time I was starting to feel optimistic again.

Not wanting to waste a minute of daylight, I forced myself to my feet and started walking downstream. It was liberating to know I could stop any time I wanted to get my fill of fresh water. I knew I was probably swallowing parasites and nasty microbes and I would be paying for it later, but I didn’t care. The boost from the water gave me the strength to go on.

I climbed up the rim of the little gorge and walked along the edge. The vegetation around the stream was thick and it was slow going. At certain points, I was forced to climb down and walk in the water. That was almost as slow as clawing through the brush as I navigated over slippery rocks. A couple of times I slipped and fell, but I was fortunate enough not to twist an ankle or break a wrist.

My spirits started to fade along with the daylight. Even though I was certain following the stream was the right idea, the thought of spending another night in the jungle had me feeling down again. I had started keeping an eye out for another suitable tree to sleep on when I came across miracle number two of the day. I walked around a bend in the stream and was greeted by the first manmade object I’d seen since leaving the plane.

I broke into a jog, scrambled up the edge of the stream, and stepped onto a gravel road. A rickety wooden bridge spanned the water and the road continued on out of sight as it turned off into the woods ahead.

Standing in the middle of the bridge, I tilted my head back and screamed in victory. I don’t remember if I said yahoo, or hell yeah, or what, but I remember it felt damn good. Let’s face it, following water might lead you to civilization but a road is a sure thing.

I wasn’t sure which way to go, but according to the sun, the way I was facing was sort of pointing north so I didn’t hesitate and started walking. So far my instincts were turning out to be pretty accurate, so now was no time to start second-guessing myself. I headed down the road dreaming of a burger and a cold Pepsi at a roadside cantina.

12

Aircraft Falcon Six Five Eight Alpha

4,734 feet and falling

Julia sat forward in her seat, eyes shut. She was holding onto the armrests so hard her forearms were starting to burn yet she couldn’t manage to let go. She kept reciting the first line of the Lord’s Prayer again and again. It escaped her lips in one long and desperate chant.

Our Father who art in heaven our Father who art in heaven our Father who art in heaven…

Every time the plane pitched and changed position, she screamed and held on even tighter. Once or twice it seemed to level out from the dive - a second or two of relief - then it would dive again. She could hear shouting from the cockpit above the constantly changing pitch of the engine noise. Buffeting air slammed violently against the fuselage.

She dared a quick look out the window and saw the ground below, very close below, and she knew they were going down. Oh God they were going to crash. They were over land now instead of water and she couldn’t decide if that was better or worse. The inside of her plastic face mask was fogged from her panting, and she couldn’t breathe. She ripped off the hood and mask and sucked in the fresh air of the cabin.

Suddenly, it felt as if her seat tried to buck her off like a bull. The seat belt cut painfully into her gut. The entire interior of the plane seemed to rain down on her, and a second later her breath was taken away as the cabin instantly depressurized as the fuselage shattered from the impact.

The world was still. Julia opened her eyes and thick smoke stung them. She breathed in a lungful of the toxic haze and coughed. She fumbled for the seat belt release and collapsed to the floor. Pain shot through her chest. Looking down, she noticed blood for the first time. Something was sticking out, just below her collar bone. A sharp piece of metal or plastic, she couldn’t tell.

The rear of the plane was open to the outside world and she crawled toward it, following the smoke as it escaped out the back. She was almost free of the wreckage when she looked back.

Pretty boy.

Ignoring the primal urge screaming at her to get away from the crash and run to safety, she went back. Her medical training and ethics overrode her survival instincts for the time being. He was covered in debris but she didn’t see any obvious signs of trauma. He was still unconscious. Lucky bastard. There wasn’t enough time to undo all his restraints; even so, she probably wouldn’t be able to carry him.

The cabin continued to fill with smoke and Julia knew she had to do something fast. She couldn’t help but think of the all the times she’d seen a movie where the hero ran away from a crashed vehicle seconds before it exploded behind him. She was pretty sure that didn’t happen in real life, but it didn’t change the fact she was expecting to be engulfed in a fiery explosion any second.

The stretcher was secured to the deck of the plane by a few simple latches and she managed to get them all released. It was designed to rise to waist level and move on wheels, but she kept it flat, knowing the wheels wouldn’t do much good.

Julia lifted one end of the stretcher, ignored the searing pain in her chest, and pulled. Adrenaline coursing through her veins gave her the strength to pull it through the wreckage and out into the sunlight. She slipped and fell, lifted it up again, and pulled.

Once outside and free of the cabin, she sucked in the delicious fresh air and tried to catch her breath. They were only a few feet away from the burning jet engine and she knew she needed to pull him farther away.

Gathering what was left of her energy she lifted the end of the stretcher again and dragged him as far as she could go. Her chest was really screaming now. Every muscle in her body seemed to be protesting. She finally dropped the stretcher and fell to the ground.

The adrenaline was quickly wearing off and Julia was having a hard time breathing. Her breaths grew shallower. She touched her chest and her fingers came away bloody.

Julia crawled a few feet, trying to escape the pain. She gave up and rolled onto her back. The warm sun felt good on her face. She closed her eyes to rest for a moment. As soon as she got her strength back, she would drag pretty boy into the shade and wait for help. She just needed to rest for a minute.

13

As far as roads go, the one I was walking on was barely suitable for horseback riding. I was beginning to worry that it had been abandoned long ago and was leading me nowhere. Despite the overgrown vegetation, deep ruts, and potholes, it did lead somewhere because I came across an old handwritten sign. The road forked off in two directions and the sign pointed to the left. It said B6/Boones Run. I obeyed the sign and turned left.

The sign made me feel a little better, knowing I was heading toward B6/Boones Run, whatever that was, but it was getting dark and I was exhausted. I decided to keep walking as long as I could. My mouth was dry and I missed my fresh water supply from the stream. I thought of a couple of containers back at the plane I could have used to carry water and cursed myself for being so stupid. In addition to my nagging thirst, the growing pain in my abdomen was starting to concern me. I checked the wound site before it got dark, and as far as I could tell, it looked good. It wasn’t red or oozing pus or anything like that. I chalked it up to overexertion and tried to ignore it. I’m sure under normal circumstances, a doctor would have told me to rest and take it easy so it could heal.

I almost passed a building in the darkness and only noticed it because I happened to turn my head to the right after slapping an aggressive bug on my shoulder. I quietly walked up the path toward it and stopped for a minute to look for movement in the dark windows. I couldn’t see any lights from inside and didn’t hear anything except the steady hum of the nocturnal insects around me. I stalled for a few minutes because the place was a little creepy. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what was inside.

Calling it a building was a little generous. Upon closer inspection, it wasn’t much more than a shack. A rundown one, at that. If someone was inside, I wasn’t exactly eager to meet them for several reasons. For one, it was the middle of the night and whoever lived there didn’t have any close neighbors that I could see. They probably wouldn’t be too keen on having strangers calling. Not to mention I probably looked and smelled terrible. I also had a feeling they wouldn’t understand English. I still had no idea where I was, but my best guess was somewhere in South or Central America. If the plane was headed to the States then I figured that’s where we would have crashed. I took one semester of Spanish in high school and just barely passed with a D. Besides asking for agua, I don’t think I’d be able to communicate very well.

I crept up to the door, knocked a few times, cleared my throat, and called out “hello.” Nothing. I knocked a little louder and waited. I tried the door latch and it opened. I pushed the door open, calling out one last time. It was pitch dark inside and I couldn’t see a damn thing. The air was thick and smelled a little dank and musty. I carefully took a few steps forward with my arms out in front of me, making sure I wasn’t about to walk into anything. As my eyes started to adjust, I could make out a small table by the wall. Sitting among a few other items was the shape of a lantern. It was one of those battery-powered jobs. I turned it on and the weak fluorescent bulb lit the room.

As far as jungle shacks go, it was pretty much as I expected. There was a crummy-looking cot in the corner, an old card table with a couple of chairs in the middle of the room, and a little kitchen area in the other corner. On the counter was one of those big orange containers you see get dumped over football coaches when they win a big game. I tested the spigot, and what looked like fresh water poured into my hand. I gave it a taste and indeed it was. I filled up the cleanest looking cup I could find on the shelf. The water was room temperature and tasted a little stale, but still hit the spot.

I downed a second cup and rummaged through a little cupboard that served as a pantry. It was pretty sparse, and most of the items were useless without cooking. A container of rice, some sort of grain-looking stuff, spices, dry pasta, things like that. I held up a jar to the light and it looked like some sort of pickled meat. To this day, I have no idea what animal it came from, but I cracked open the jar and gave it a taste. I gotta tell you, it wasn’t half bad. A little gamey and chewy but it was meat all the same. I devoured half the jar. I completed my little meal with a banana. It was brown and mushy, but still edible.

I inspected the shack some more. Considering the short shelf life of a banana, it was obvious the cabin wasn’t deserted. I put my hand on the small potbellied stove in the corner and it was slightly warm. I knew I was pushing my luck and it would’ve probably been smart to get the hell out of there before the occupant returned. Then again, I was dead tired, and the thought of going back out there and walking down the road was demoralizing to say the least. I guess I could have found a spot off to the side of the road to sleep, but I couldn’t take another night of all those creepy crawlies all over me.

I decided to take my chances and spend the night in the shack. I dragged the mat off the cot and put it on the floor right in front of the door. That way, if the occupant came home I would be woken up by the door hitting me. It was a pretty dangerous idea, but I was so tired it seemed brilliant at the time. The second my head hit the mat, I was out cold.

I woke the next morning and slowly rose from the floor. It was the first time I’d gotten a decent night’s sleep in a while. Despite that, I was tempted to lie back down and sleep for the rest of the day. I didn’t want to push my luck though. I had a nagging feeling whoever lived there would be home soon and I needed to get out of there. My whole point of this trek was to find people and get help, but I didn’t have high hopes the occupant had a cell phone or a car to drive me to the hospital.

I rummaged around though the junk in the cupboard and found an empty bottle I could fill with water. I finished off the jar of pickled meat and headed outside. The coast was clear and I headed to the road.

Scattered around the front yard was salvaged junk I didn’t see last night in the dark. Old tires, scrap metal, nail-filled lumber, you name it. One little item did catch my eye, and that was a crusty looking old bicycle. It was in pretty rough shape but the tires still had air and the chain looked decent. I pushed it onto the road, got on, and gave it a go. Success! I hadn’t been on a bike since I was in high school; but, as they say, you never forget. I pedaled down the road and glanced back at the shack that had taken me in last night. I felt a little guilty for stealing the bike and food. But, after all, I’m a convicted killer. I’ve done worse.

14

A little farther down the road I passed a few more rundown shacks. I didn’t bother stopping this time since I didn’t see any signs of life. Even if anybody was home, I didn’t have much optimism for the occupants’ ability to help me. I figured there had to be an actual town nearby, and now that I had some wheels my goal was to find it.

Eventually, the crummy little road intersected with an actual two-lane highway. I assumed I had found B6. There were no other signs around so I followed my hunch again and picked a direction.

The B6 was in much better shape than the last road and I was making good time on my trusty bike. I debated what to do if I finally came across a car. The smart thing would be to flag it down and try to get the driver to help me. For all I knew, I could still be hundreds of miles from the nearest town. After riding for thirty minutes or so I was beginning to wonder where the cars were. I still hadn’t seen any vehicles on the road.

By now, the sun was up and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The road offered no shade; the blacktop made it feel like I was on a cast-iron skillet. The heat waves emanating from the road distorted the view of the distance, creating mirages ahead. Any energy I got from that soggy banana and gray meat was long gone.

Just when I was starting to really get worried, I noticed a thinning in the vegetation ahead and a sign on the side of the road. I got close enough to read the sign and it greeted me to the town of Boones Run. I cracked a smile and picked up the pace, despite my burning legs and sore neck.

I passed a few houses on the edge of town and a little gas station that looked closed. Still no cars or people around. As I got closer to an intersection, I saw something lying in the middle of the road that I mistook for a dog at first. I rode the bike closer and realized it was a man.

He was face-first in a pool of what I could only guess was his own blood. I thought about checking for a pulse, but the odor that hit my nose and the flies milling about made his condition pretty obvious. I was really starting to get tired of finding dead people.

I looked up and down the streets, trying to find a sign of somebody, anybody. There were a few parked cars but otherwise the town seemed deserted. I shouted as loud as I could but heard nothing in return.

I left my bike next to the corpse and walked down the middle of the main street. The buildings were a hodgepodge of different architectural styles all crammed together, practically built on top of each other. Most of the houses and shops were painted with once bright but now faded shades of red, blue, or yellow. Mismatched sheets of corrugated metal served as the main roofing material in town and covered many of the windows that were missing glass.

Vegetation was growing out of just about every crack in the road. I would have sworn Boones Run had been deserted years ago if it wasn’t for the festering piles of garbage on the sidewalks. The funk from the trash hung over the street like a blanket, making the oppressive heat and humidity that much worse. Somebody must live here, but where were they?

I walked up to a nearby store sporting a large hand-painted sign above the door that read “Sonia’s Grocery.” I tried the wooden doors, one painted red, the other green, but they were locked. There were two windows. One was boarded up with graffiti-covered plywood, the other cloudy with years of neglect and filth. Somebody had tagged the wooden window with the words “Koukie” and “Propea,” whatever that meant. Below that, a crude drawing of a smiling man with large joint hanging from his lips flashed me the peace sign.

I knocked on the window and asked if anybody was inside. I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye and saw a brown goat casually walking up the middle of the street. It paused for a moment to look at me, snorted once, and continued on.

The doors to the grocery didn’t seem very solid when I pushed on them. I gave the green one a good kick and my foot actually broke through the flimsy material. The goat stopped again to observe the commotion but didn’t offer to help. I flipped it the bird.

Carefully, I pulled my ankle out of the jagged hole, sighed in relief that I hadn’t cut myself, and looked inside. It was dark and I couldn’t see much besides a rack full of canned items and boxes.

This time, I slammed my shoulder against the rickety door and it broke open. I fell to the floor, banged my knee, and gritted my teeth as my abdomen acted up. It had been aching steadily all morning and that did not help the situation one bit.

After the pain eased a little, I got up and surveyed Sonia’s Grocery and all it had to offer. A cooler against the wall held an assortment of bottled drinks. I opened it, grabbed a bottle of water, and drained the whole thing in a few gulps. Warm but satisfying. It seemed the power must have gone out a while back because, like the water, everything in the case was lukewarm. On the bottom shelf were some sandwiches in plastic wrap and containers of cold cuts and egg cartons. My stomach rumbled, but I had enough to worry about without adding botulism to the list.

I checked out the assortment of dry goods on the shelves and didn’t see much to get excited about. Like the little shack, most of the stuff was useless to me at the moment, like boxes of powdered milk and sacks of cornmeal. All the labels were in English but I didn’t recognize any of the brand names.

Around the corner was a small snack section consisting of various chips and sweets. I grabbed a can labeled Mister Potato Crisps and ripped off the top. They may have been a blatant rip-off of Pringles, right down to the mustachioed cartoon character on the can, but they were salty and delicious.

I stared absently at the old cash register on the counter as I ate the chips, and it occurred to me I might be able to figure out where I was. I walked around to the back of the counter and studied the register. It didn’t appear to be electric. I pressed a few of the number buttons and then Sale. The drawer opened with the clinking of a few coins. I picked up one. There was a bust of some old-looking guy on the face. The inscription on the coin declared him to be THE RT. EXCELLENT SIR ALEXANDER BUSTAMANTE - NATIONAL HERO. I flipped it over. JAMAICA - ONE DOLLAR 1996.

I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. For months I suffered on a dirty turd of an island off the coast of Antarctica, and here I was stranded in a place practically the exact opposite. My luck wasn’t that great though. Instead of ending up in one of those swanky beach resorts, I was in what looked to be a completely deserted mountain village.

A shuffling noise from the room behind me snapped me back to reality. I absently slipped the coin in my pocket and crept up to the door.

I was ready to knock, decided against it, and just opened the door. I peered into the hallway of the small living quarters behind the store. The smell that hit my nose was immediately recognizable and my heart sank. That odor would be burned into my memory forever.

Lying in the middle of the living room was a heavyset black woman. Was this Sonia? Or did the grocery change hands over the years? Maybe the original Sonia who had founded the store was dead and buried long ago.

This woman, Sonia or no Sonia, was flat on her back, dead eyes staring at the ceiling. Dark blood covered most of her face, neck, and shirt. The white sweatpants she was wearing were soiled dark where her bowels had given way. A dog was standing next to her, licking the blood off the floor beside Sonia’s head. It looked up at me and a low growl escaped its throat.

“Easy there, buddy,” I whispered.

I realized I was still holding the chips, so I pulled one out and tossed it to the dog. He snapped it up and looked to me for more. I tossed the can into the store and he ran after it.

Either Sonia lived alone or nobody else was home at the moment. The small apartment was a disaster. Used tissues littered the coffee table. Empty water bottles and dirty dishes were everywhere. The air was heavy and dank and flies buzzed around the body and dishes. Suddenly, those Mister Potato Crisps weren’t sitting very well. I staggered out the back door into an alley just in time to paint the wall with some vomit. In the state this town was in, I doubted anybody would notice.

As the nausea eased, I leaned against the wall, the cool cinderblock feeling good against my cheek. I knew exactly how and why Sonia died, and the deserted town started to make sense. The bloody, swollen face. The smell of fever and puke and shit. I’d seen dozens of inmates go down the same way. How was it possible? Here I was in Jamaica, thousands of miles from the island where the disease started. I just couldn’t believe those germs or bugs or whatever, trapped in that ship for who knows how long, had made it here. How did it travel so far and so quickly?

A scream from down the block snapped me out of it. I ran down the alley, weaving through the piles of trash, and into one of the side streets. A little girl was desperately trying to break the grasp of a tall, dirty-looking man. She slapped at his arms and wiggled away from him, only to have him grab her hair and pull her down the street. She cried out again, louder this time.

“Hey!” I shouted and ran toward them.

The man, clearly surprised by the sudden appearance of a white man running at him, froze and stared at me. The girl took the distraction to her advantage and quickly crawled away from him. She ran down the street and around the corner, out of sight.

The perv continued to stare but didn’t say anything. He was wearing brightly colored clothing that looked brand-new but didn’t fit well over his emaciated frame. A tag he’d forgotten to remove from the baggy pants was sticking out of his pocket. A white sticker stamped with an L was on his chest. Despite the new clothes, his hair was clumped and matted with filth. Deep cracks decorated his withered face. I was at least ten feet away but could clearly smell dried piss.

“G’won, get now,” he said, his toothless mouth making it difficult to understand. “Not cho bidness, mon.”

“Is there anybody else in town?” I asked. “I need help.”

I took a few steps forward and he picked up a piece of concrete from the ground and held it up, ready to throw.

“Easy,” I held my hands up, palms facing him. “Just wanna talk.”

He hurled the concrete in my direction and ran off. I followed a few steps and stopped, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. For a homeless guy, he was fast and he disappeared around the corner. With my aching stomach, I was in no condition to run after him.

Instead, I headed in the direction of the girl to see if I could find her.

15

The girl had run down what appeared to be the main road in town. Down the street I could make out a large group of abandoned vehicles. They surrounded one of the few multistory structures in town. It was painted bright white and stood out like a gleaming temple compared to the other shabby buildings surrounding it. As I got closer, I could make out the sign above the door: “Boones Run Health Centre.”

As I weaved through the maze of cars, I saw many of them were still occupied. A few drivers were still behind the wheel, slumped over or lying back in the seat, covered in blood and flies. Many of the dead were in the passenger seats, no doubt left behind as the drivers ran ahead to the clinic for help that never arrived. Several dogs were nosing about, investigating the dead. I wondered if they were immune to the disease like I was.

The front of the clinic was in shambles. Several bodies littered the sidewalk in front of the main entrance. The doors were locked and it looked like they had taken quite a beating from the rocks, pipes, and lumber scraps scattered around. The door windows were smashed but remained intact due to the reinforced metal mesh woven through the glass. The windows on the clinic walls all had bars over them, the glass behind them broken.

There was no sign of the girl so I decided to try to find a way into the clinic. I walked down the sidewalk, looking for any other possible access. If anybody besides the girl and the bum were alive in this town, I figured there would be a good chance they were inside.

In the alley behind the building, a cinderblock wall about ten feet tall formed a little courtyard. It smelled awful back there but I continued forward. At the far end, the rear half of a pickup truck stuck out of a crumbled section of the wall. I climbed into the bed of the truck, planning on jumping into the courtyard, when I froze.

The entire yard was full of bodies.

Near the back door, body bags were stacked three or four high. The clinic must have run out of bags quickly, and I doubt they had much of a supply to begin with. The rest of the bodies rotted out in the sun and the elements. The sea of flies was so thick it practically looked like a storm cloud. The farther the bodies were from the door, the less organized the piles became.

Speaking of piles, the truck was in the middle of a doozy. When it smashed through the wall, it drove right through a sea of corpses before stopping. The mangled mess of bones and guts and gray matter under the wheels made the scene that much more gruesome. If that wasn’t enough, I peered into the cab of the truck and spotted what was left of the driver. Apparently, he lost hope when he saw what was left of the hospital. The interior of the truck was painted with the contents of his head-thanks to the handgun on the seat. I considering grabbing the gun for a second before the smell got to me and I gagged. I stumbled out of the back of the truck while dry heaving. The air was a little better outside of the walls and I got myself together.

Before I jumped off the truck, I noticed the loading dock door was up a few feet. Judging by the large pile of corpses below it, the hospital staff eventually resorted to simply tossing them off the dock. If the regular door was locked, at least I knew I’d be able to get in that way. The question was, did I still want to go in?

It was obvious by now the entire town was lost. Sure, there was the girl and the homeless guy, and probably a few others around town who were immune like me, but I doubt if they’d be able to help me. They were probably in no better shape than I was. There didn’t appear to be any electricity in town and no authority still standing. I could commandeer one of the cars sitting around, but would it be better anyplace else? This was only one small town. I could only imagine what the bigger cities must be like.

Still, somebody had locked the clinic doors from the inside when things went to shit. I felt like I had to find out if there were any survivors inside.

There was a small yard off the alley with some laundry hanging on a clothes line. I grabbed a towel and tied it around my head to cover my nose and mouth. It didn’t kill the stench completely, but it was better than nothing. I returned to the truck, climbed over, and dropped into the courtyard.

I slowly weaved through the sea of death, careful not to trip and end up face-to-face with one of the bodies. I finally reached the back door after what seemed like hours. Locked. The door was solid metal and secured with a dead bolt.

I looked over at the loading dock. It was about three or four feet off the ground. In order to get up there, I would literally have to climb up the pile of bodies below it. Before I had a chance to lose my nerve, I headed that way.

As I got closer to the dock, the ground disappeared and I couldn’t help but walk on the dead. Glassy eyes stared at me as I carefully stepped on bloated flesh. Flies buzzed around my face. I kept waiting for a hand to reach out and grab my ankle. A survivor among the dead. Lying there. Ready to drag me down. I felt my sanity slipping away with each step.

Climbing up to the loading dock wasn’t as difficult as I feared. A mad dash up the pile of bodies and I was there. I slipped under the door and into the dark clinic.

I ripped the towel off my face and used it to clean my hands as best I could. Once or twice I lost my balance out there and had to break my fall with my hands. I may be immune to the infection that killed everybody, but who knows what other germs were cooking up out there? I wanted to rip off my clothes and shower in scalding hot water. But that would have to wait.

The only door to the receiving area led to a hallway barely lit by emergency lighting. I moved slowly down the hall, waiting for my eyes to adjust in the low light. The air in the clinic was thick and I was dripping with sweat. What I wouldn’t give for some air conditioning and an iced tea.

I passed exam rooms and triage stations with overflowing garbage cans and puddles of dried blood and vomit on the floor. The poor people who worked there had been busy right up to the end. My hopes of finding survivors were quickly fading. This place was dead like every other building in town. Still, it was secure, and at the very least I would have a safe place to spend the night.

After exploring most of the first floor, I headed upstairs and discovered twenty or so patient rooms. At least half of the rooms had bodies in them. These were probably some of the first victims to get sick before all hell broke loose. I shut their doors and looked for a clean one I could perhaps sleep in for the night.

While I was looking for a room, I came across a door marked Nutrition. It was a small kitchenette with a refrigerator and a coffee station. The fridge was loaded with water, soda, juices, and soft foods like gelatin, yogurt, and pudding. The bottom shelf held a few sandwiches wrapped in plastic and labeled with marker-ham, turk, chz. I picked up one of the cans of cola and it was still cold, despite the fridge’s lack of power. The building probably had a generator that recently gave out long after the city power died. I popped open the can and took a healthy sip.

The cabinets held a bountiful supply of crackers, granola bars, instant soup packets, and other dry snacks. Nothing that would be confused with gourmet dining, but at least I wouldn’t starve to death. The scene out in the courtyard killed my appetite for the time being, but I felt better knowing all this food was here. I finished the soda and ripped a satisfying belch that echoed throughout the second floor of the dead hospital. I was just about to place the empty can on the counter when I heard footsteps running down the corridor.

I stuck my head out just in time to see a door closing at the end of the hall.

“Hey!” I shouted. “Hello?”

I ran down the hall to the door and entered what appeared to be a large storeroom. The emergency lights flickered and complained with a loud buzzing noise. The door behind me closed and I jumped at the sound.

“Is anybody in here?” I asked. “Don’t be afraid, I come in peace.”

Come in peace? Really? I couldn’t believe I’d just said that. Like I just stepped out of a UFO or something.

I took a few steps and the lights decided that this would be the perfect time to finally die. The buzzing stopped and I was engulfed in total darkness and silence. I bumped into something, lost my balance, and tumbled to the floor along with a shelf filled with boxes. I never considered myself to be a clumsy person before, but this felt like about the hundredth time I’d fallen in the last few days.

As all the crap I knocked over settled to the floor, I heard a shuffle from the far end of the room. Somebody else was in there with me. I sat perfectly still, holding my breath and straining my eyes to see anything through the blackness.

“Hello?” I said again.

The sound of my own voice, a few octaves higher than normal, sounded weird in the dark. More shuffling from the other side of the room. I pictured one of the dead people from the yard heading my way. Blood-soaked clothing, swollen face, arms outstretched, coming for me. Coming to make me pay for starting all this mess.

The room suddenly filled with light as a door on the far end opened and a form slipped through. As quickly as it had come, the light faded as the door shut and I was surrounded by black again. I scrambled to my feet and ran in that direction, knocking over more shelves and boxes along the way. I held my hands out, frantically looking for the door, and I found the wall. I followed it and finally reached the door.

I entered a room filled with filing cabinets from floor to ceiling. A window let in light from the outside. A broom stood in the corner of the room and I grabbed it. Not much of a weapon against the flesh-eating zombie I was convinced I was about to run into, but it felt good to be holding something. I would sweep it into submission.

Slowly weaving through the maze of files, I turned the corner and found the zombie. She was sitting on the floor in the corner with her knees pulled up to her chest. It was the little girl from the street.

16

She took another bite from the granola bar, followed by a sip of soda. I sat on the bed with my own drink and she in the chair on the other side of the room. She chewed slowly and never took her eyes off of me.

When the girl realized I had her cornered in the supply room earlier, she jumped to her feet and tried to run past me. I was just barely able to catch her and almost lost my grip as she struggled in my arms. It wasn’t easy, but I was finally able to calm her down and convince her I wasn’t going to hurt her. Now, sitting in a clean patient room I’d staked out earlier, it was clear she still didn’t trust me. I think the peace offering of food helped a little, but she kept glancing at the door, debating whether to make a run for it or not.

The afternoon sun’s rays spilled through cracks in the closed window blinds, filling the dusty air with a warm glow. We quietly ate our food and looked at each other. I was polishing off one of the turk sandwiches. She still hadn’t said a word.

“Can you tell me your name?” I tried again. “My name is Howard.”

No response.

“Do you know where your mom and dad are?”

It was hard to tell, but I guessed she was around four or five years old. Her skin was very dark, almost completely black, and it made the whites of her big eyes really stand out. They were stunning. I’m talking cover of National Geographic stunning.

“Have you seen any doctors or policemen today?”

She had a couple of braids done up with beads, but otherwise it looked like her hair hadn’t seen much grooming lately. She wore a pink T-shirt smeared with dirt and a tattered pair of cutoff shorts. Her feet were bare and her knees were covered in scabs.

“Can you speak English, honey? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

She finished her drink and continued to stare at me, every once in a while sneaking a peek at the door. I held out another granola bar. She brought her knees up to her chin and hugged her legs. I put the bar down.

I chuckled to myself. “Can’t say I blame you. I probably look pretty scary, huh? I’m a nice guy, I swear,” I held my hand up, Boy Scout-style. “I just need a hot shower and some clean clothes.”

I sat back on the bed with my back against the wall and brought my knees up to my chest, like her. My sore muscles protested, but I held my legs in position.

“You sort of remind me of my daughter.” I sighed. “She was white, like me, but had big pretty eyes, like yours.” I looked out the window between the blinds and the window frame. Bright white, fluffy clouds drifted lazily by. A couple of dogs were barking at something down the street. The long day was catching up with me and my eyelids grew heavy.

“She would have been, let me think…seven years old this December. God, has it been that long already? Seven,” I repeated.

“You know, when your kid gets killed by a drunk driver and you’re a bit of a drunk yourself? You’d think that would maybe help get your head straight. Instead of waking me up I just drank more.

“The funny thing is, I was stone-cold sober that day. Gina was nagging at me to take her to the park. I was hung-over from the night before and felt terrible. Sure, I was tempted to tweak my coffee just a bit. Take the edge off, you know? But I didn’t.”

A single tear traveled down my cheek and rested in the corner of my mouth. I licked my lips and tasted salt. The girl continued to sit and stare. She didn’t move a muscle.

“Third-shift drunk. He started pounding ’em back after work. Probably around seven in the morning. By the time he sailed through that intersection at eleven o’clock his blood-alcohol level was point two three.”

I wiped my eyes and laughed. The girl continued to stare.

“Christ, listen to me. You probably don’t even understand a word I’m saying. It just feels good to talk to somebody. You don’t know how long it’s been. Hell, I don’t even know how long it’s been. Sorry to be such a downer, kid.”

I sniffed and almost missed it. It was barely above a whisper.

“What did you say?” I stammered. “Did you say something?”

“What was her name?” the girl asked.

I smiled. “Her name was Lilly. For some reason, we used to call her Lilly Bean. What’s your name?”

“Emily.”

“Emily,” I repeated. “That’s a nice name. I’m Howard.”

“I know. You already told me dat.”

“I guess I did,” I chuckled.

“Why did you call her Lilly Bean? Is dat your last name too?”

“I have no idea, Emily,” I said, shaking my head. “It just felt good to say, I guess. My last name is Bell. Somebody once told me that Lilly Bell sounded like a cow’s name, but by then it was too late to change it,” I said with a smirk.

“Okay,” she said and rested her cheek on her knee. As if that was all we needed to talk about.

“Where are your parents, Emily?” She looked at the floor and didn’t answer. “Did they get sick like everybody else?”

I slowly got off the bed and crouched down in front of her. She clutched her legs tighter and looked at the window to avoid my gaze.

“You know what? I can tell you’re a brave little girl. And I’m sorry for what’s happened to you. I’m going to try to find us some help. Okay, Emily?”

She gave me a little nod.

“You and I are special, did you know that? We’re not going to get sick like everybody else. I don’t want you to be scared about that.”

Another nod.

“Did you know that man in the street before? Was he trying to hurt you?”

She suddenly came alert and looked scared. “I didn’t do no-ting! It was Jackie who trew de rocks at him. I stayed ’way, just like mummy said.”

I held my hands up. “Hey, it’s okay. I didn’t say you did anything wrong. Who’s Jackie?”

“Jackie Ebberdine. I told her. My mum said leave him ’lone ’cause he’s mean and scary. But Jackie liked to call him names and run ’way. She’s braver dan me ’cause she’s nine and a half.”

“Oh. Well, don’t worry about him. He’s not going to hurt you as long as I’m around.”

“I went to Jackie’s house but it’s all locked up and Oscar was inside and wouldn’t stop barking.”

Her eyes started to tear up. I put my hand on her shoulder but she pulled away.

“Mummy said to go to Jackie’s house ’cause she felt bad and didn’t make supper and wanted me to ask if I could have a sleepover.”

“Do you remember how many days ago that was?”

She shook her head.

“Where did you go after your friend’s house?” I asked

“I went home and told mummy, but she wouldn’t wake up. She made sick on de bed and I didn’t know how to clean it up.”

The dogs were really going nuts outside with the barking. I stood up and looked through the window blinds but didn’t see a thing. I had a good view of most of the street below, but no movement among the cars.

I sat back down on the bed and noticed Emily was eyeing the pile of snacks I laid out on the covers. “Do you want something else?” I asked and she nodded. She climbed up on the bed and tried to open the banana. I helped her peel it and handed it back.

“What happened next?”

She bit into the banana and swung her feet back and forth over the edge of the bed.

“I stayed in my room ’cause I heard lots of yelling and sirens,” she said through a mouthful of banana.

“And your mom didn’t wake up? Nobody else lives in your house?”

Emily swallowed and shot me a hostile look. “Mummy wasn’t sleeping, she died!”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.”

I got up and stretched, immediately regretting it, as pain shot through my abdomen. Whatever was going on in there seemed to be getting worse.

“What’s wrong?” Emily asked. Her anger was gone, replaced by concern for her new friend.

“Just got a bit of a tummy ache, hon. Nothing to worry about.”

“Mummy had a tummy ache.”

“Yeah, but this one is different. I’m not sick like your mum.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

The pain eased and I sat down. Emily continued eating the banana and started to hum. Now that my belly was finally full of food, I set my sights on getting cleaned up. I got up and tried the faucet but it only sputtered a little and went dry.

“Hey, Emily? I’m going to go down the hall and look for some stuff that will help us get cleaned up, okay? I want you to stay here.”

A look of fear flashed across her face as she jumped to her feet. “I wanna come too!”

Thirty minutes ago, this kid saw me as the boogeyman and wanted to run as far away from me as possible. A little small talk over a banana and now she trusted me completely. It made me miss Lilly Bean more than ever. It also made me realize this girl was now my responsibility.

“Okay, kiddo,” I said. “Just stay close.”

She nodded enthusiastically and we headed off to do some serious looting.

17

“Ready?” I asked Emily.

“Yes,” she replied and buried her face in my neck.

“Remember, hold on tight and keep your eyes closed.”

I was standing by the back door, holding Emily in my arms and dreading the next thirty seconds. First, we had tried to exit the hospital through the front door but found it locked from the inside with a chain. Apparently, whoever was in charge didn’t trust the standard door locks to keep the angry mob outside at bay.

The only other door I could find to the outside was blocked by a car that tried to pass on the sidewalk and got stuck. It was the door Emily used to get in, so I could open it far enough for her to squeeze through, but my fat head couldn’t make it. I tried to convince Emily to go through that way and stay put until I got to her. But she insisted we stuck together.

That left the back door leading to the corpse-filled courtyard as the only exit. I was especially annoyed seeing as how I was clean for the first time since I woke at the crash site. I didn’t want the smell of death soaked into my new clothes. I was sporting fresh medical scrubs and Emily wore a clean T-shirt that hung down to her knees like a dress. It was the closest thing I could find to her size after rummaging through some of the staff lockers.

After cleaning up with a few jugs of distilled water and baby wipes, Emily and I had slept in the hospital room the night before. I felt fully rested and ready to get the hell out of Boones Run. My plan was simple: leave the hospital, find a car with some keys and a tank of gas, and head for the coast.

“All right,” I said with my hand on the door knob. “Let’s rock.”

I opened the door to the courtyard and walked into morning air filled with decay. I moved as quickly as possible through the maze of bodies as the stench stung my nose and sweat poured down my face. I felt Emily’s head lift from my shoulder and a whimper escaped from her lips.

“Don’t look, Emily. Hold on, we’re almost there!”

I managed to reach the back gate, without tripping over a body, and pushed it open. We entered the alley and I lowered her to the pavement.

“We made it,” I gasped.

We only took a few steps toward the street when the scuffle of footsteps behind me caught my attention. I turned just in time to see a shovel before it hit me square in the face.

18

Lilly was crying. I tried to call out to Gina to take care of it, but for some reason I couldn’t make my mouth work. Drunk again. Man, was I going to hear about it. Screw it. I’d make it up to them tomorrow. Just need to sleep it off…

Lilly cried out again and called my name. A man’s gruff voice told her to shut up. I opened my eyes but my vision was blurred. It was Emily. Emily was calling out my name, not Lilly. I was on my back, being dragged by one foot. I tasted blood.

My shirt was practically up around my neck as the asphalt scraped the bare skin on my back. I reached out with my hands, trying to pull myself up, but my fingers only brushed the street. I couldn’t seem to make any muscle in my body cooperate.

I suddenly stopped moving and my heel hit the pavement. Somebody slapped my cheek twice and hissed, “Git up!”

“Christ, mon,” a different voice spat. “You could’ve killed ’eem. I tol’ you I want answers first!”

A kick to my leg.

“Sit up, mon! I know you can hear me.”

I slowly reached for my face and gingerly touched my nose. Spots still danced in my vision as I tried to pull the ceiling into focus.

“I said, sit up!”

One of the attackers grabbed my shirt with both hands, pulled me up, and slammed me against the wall. I banged the back of my head on the wall and cried out. Emily started to wail.

“And you keep your damn mouth shut!”

The homeless guy from the day before was sitting next to Emily on a crate, rocking back and forth slightly, eyeing me with a demented grin on his face. Another man paced nervously around the garage we were in. He was tall and menacing, with shoulder-length dreads and a scruffy goatee. He wore only shorts and shoes. His lean and muscular upper body was covered in scars and tattoos. He held a large black revolver that he flailed around as he paced.

“What do you tink you’re doing with this girl here, mon?” he shouted at me. He continued to pace back and forth in front of me.

“She belongs to us now,” said homeless guy.

“Shut up, Stick!” the pacer yelled at homeless guy. “I do the talking!” Homeless guy flinched and cowered like a dog being reprimanded.

“You see out dere?” the pacer asked me. He pointed his revolver toward the open garage door. “Dis town belongs to me now. No cop. No politician.” He tapped the tip of the revolver on his chest. “Nowan but me.”

“Nowan but Ketch,” added homeless guy.

“Shut up, Stick!”

The pacer walked over to a table and pulled what looked like a few crystals out of a plastic bag. He smashed them a couple of times with the butt of his revolver, leaned over, and snorted the powder. He let out a primal scream at the ceiling and jumped up and down a few times. I had a feeling he was just now hitting his stride and had no plans on mellowing out anytime soon. When he turned back to me his eyes looked even more insane.

“You know what I tink?” he asked me. “I tink de white mon did this to my town. De white mon like you!” He emphasized his point by jabbing the gun in my direction. I did my best not to flinch but I’m sure I still looked scared shitless.

He stopped pacing and squatted in front on me. “Tell me, white boy. What are you doing in my town, ah? Why aren’t you at de coast drinking Red Stripe and staring at titties on the beach?”

“I’m lost,” I managed to say. “Just trying to find help.”

“Cha!” he screamed and punched the wall next to my head. He pulled his hand away and it was covered in blood and plaster dust. He was so tweaked it didn’t even faze him. He jammed the muzzle of the revolver into my forehead and pushed my head back against wall. Bright white pain erupted through my head, and for a second I actually thought he pulled the trigger.

“Tell me de truth or I split your head in two!” He pushed the muzzle harder into my skin and cocked the gun. “What killed my people? What do you know?”

Emily started crying again. Homeless guy smacked her on the head and told her to shut up. The pacer pulled the revolver from my face and redirected his rage at his partner. He hopped up and got in homeless guy’s face. “What de fuck, mon? Who tol’ you to clap dat girl?”

“S-sorry, Ketch. Just trying to keep her quiet, know?”

“Her mudda was one of me best customers. Nobody lays a hand on dat girl but me, seen?”

Homeless guy cowered and raised his hands in front of his face. “Sorry, Ketch. Jus’ feeling uneasy.” He glanced at the table with the drugs. “How ’bout a lil taste of that ice, mon? We hadda deal, no?”

The pacer eyed homeless guy for a moment and nodded at the table. Homeless guy slowly rose from the crate and uneasily walked over to the bag on the table. He gave one last look at the pacer and leaned over to snort the dust.

The pacer was on homeless guy in seconds and smashed his face into the table. Homeless guy collapsed to the floor. The pacer straddled homeless guy and started pummeling him in the face with the butt of his revolver. While homeless guy tried to scream in pain, pacer bellowed with insane rage as he delivered blow after blow. Homeless guy quickly fell quiet as his face turned to mush and his blood splattered all over his assailant.

Emily jumped up from the crate and ran over to me. I wrapped my arms around her as tight as I could and she buried her face in my neck for the second time that day. While the pacer was distracted, I fished for the scalpel in my back pocket. It caught on the material and wouldn’t come free.

The pacer finally stopped beating and rose, breathing heavily and moaning like a madman. He snorted another hit off the table and frantically rubbed his nose with the back of his bloody hand. He strolled past us as if we weren’t even there and stood in the doorway of the garage, staring out into the street.

I clutched Emily and exhaled, realizing I’d been holding my breath for longer than I could remember. I finally pulled the scalpel free and slowly looked down at it. The blade had broken off. It was useless.

Without warning, he spun around and fired all six shots from his revolver into homeless guy’s body. Emily shrieked and I closed my eyes, waiting for him to do the same to us, not having an answer for how to prevent it.

My ears were ringing from the gunfire but I had no problem hearing his bellowing.

“Ya!” he shouted at me. “Did you see that, mon? Fucking head exploded like a melon! That’s some wicked mad shit!”

He opened the cylinder and held his revolver upright. The empty shell casings fell from the gun and bounced around on the concrete floor. Pacer glared at me with mad eyes while he dug in his pockets for more bullets.

“You mus tink I’m pretty daft, no?” he asked me. “I see everyting. You an’ Stick tought you could juss take my glass?” He loaded the revolver while frantically nodding. He slapped the cylinder shut and start pacing again.

“Dis town is my territory! Nobody steals from Ketch. Not this trash,” he pointed his gun at the mangled corpse on the floor, “and no white boy from are-can-saw.” He pointed the gun at me.

I cleared my throat and held up my hand. “Look, I’m not trying to steal anything from you,” I said as calmly as possible. “I’m just trying to get out of town. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

He cocked his head to the side and grinned. His teeth were pitted and brown. “Oh, I don’t know what you are talking about,” he mocked in his best Midwestern accent. He took a step forward, leveled the gun at my head, and reached for Emily.

“Come, child,” he cooed. Emily whined and held on to me tighter. He grabbed her arm and pulled her from me. “Shhhh, dat’s enuf now. It’s time to go.”

He pulled Emily close and kept the gun pointed at me. He took a step back and looked down at Emily. “Close your eyes, child. I need to make de bad man go ’way.”

“Hey, come on,” I stammered. “You don’t have to do this.” I held my palm out at the gun, as if that could somehow stop what was coming. “Just…just let me go. You don’t have any problems with me. Let me out of here and you’ll never see me again.”

For once he wasn’t pacing and agitated. He stared at me with cold eyes, watching me squirm and enjoying it.

“The girl,” I pointed at Emily. “I helped her. I kept her safe and gave her food. If you really care for her, you’ll appreciate that!”

The mention of Emily must have angered him and he lurched forward, jamming the muzzle into my forehead once again.

I don’t know where that whole “life flashed before my eyes” crap started because that doesn’t happen. It didn’t for me anyway. I fully expected to die at that moment and the only thing going through my mind was this simple question: Would my brain register the sound of the gunshot in the millisecond before it turned into jelly on the wall? Adrenaline pumped through my veins and the primal instinct of fight or flight screamed through my psyche. I wasn’t able to do either.

The sound of tires rolling on the pavement outside almost didn’t register at first. Ketch backed off with the gun and we both turned to see a pickup truck drive past the open garage door. Tires shrieked as it skidded to a stop.

“There!” somebody shouted. “Back, back, back!”

The truck slammed into reverse and drove backward into view again. Two men crouching in the bed of truck trained rifles on us. Ketch aimed at them and opened fire.

19

For a little girl, Emily was pretty sharp. When the garage erupted with gunfire, she dove to the floor and made herself as flat as possible. I did the same and crawled to her.

Ketch fired his revolver dry and dropped it to the floor. The gunmen outside continued to fire. Their rounds peppered off the back wall of the garage and covered us with plaster debris and dust. Ketch, all the while screaming like a lunatic, scrambled behind a crate and out of sight. He grew quiet and the shooting stopped. Emily and I lay flat on our stomachs behind a short stack of pallets. Not very good cover, but I thought we were at least hidden from the outside.

“Hey, in there,” a voice outside bellowed. It sounded American. “Nobody needs to get shot! Come on out with your hands up.”

“Gunkona!” Ketch screamed from behind his crate.

I could hear him rummaging around back there. He popped up holding a military-style shotgun and screamed. Before he could get off the first shot, the top of his head exploded in a spray of mist. The single rifle shot from outside echoed through the streets. Ketch collapsed to the floor, twitched a couple of times, and was still.

“Don’t shoot, we’re coming out!” I yelled from behind the pallets. “There’s a little girl here!”

I raised my hands above the pallets and waited for them to be shredded by bullets. When no shots came, I slowly rose.

The truck was no longer in front of the garage, but two men stood there with their rifles pointed at me. One white guy who looked to be around my age and a younger looking black kid.

“Keep those hands where I can see ’em and head this way,” the white guy commanded.

I looked down at Emily, those big eyes looking to me for answers, and I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring nod. She got up and stood next to me with her hands up high. I wished I could somehow remove the last thirty minutes from her memory. I grabbed her hand and slowly walked toward the men.

“We’re not with him,” I nodded toward Ketch’s body. “He was holding us captive.”

“Just get yer ass over here,” whitey growled. “Plenty of time for stories later.”

Emily and I shuffled toward the gunmen and out of the garage. The truck was idling down the street. A concerned looking black woman leaned out of the driver side window. I could see the silhouette of another person in the passenger seat.

“Check him,” the white guy said to his partner.

The black kid lowered his assault rifle and patted me down for weapons. The kid reported I was clean and the white guy waved at the truck. The woman from the driver’s seat climbed out and a young white girl followed.

The white guy lowered his gun but kept it pointed toward my feet. “You wanna fill me in on what happened, chief?” He glanced at Emily and then back to me.

“That guy back there was a nut,” I said. “A drug dealer, I think. He went crazy and killed the guy he was with and was just about to kill me.”

“That must have been the shots we heard. We were up the street looking for supplies when we heard ’em.” He held out his hand and I shook it. “Name’s Dave Penske. This here is Tre.”

I shook hands with the black kid and said, “Howard Bell. This is Emily. I’ve been watching out for her.”

Dave pointed at my face and what was probably a mangled and bruised nose. “Looks like they worked you over pretty good.”

I touched my nose, winced in pain, and was glad I didn’t have a mirror handy. “Yeah, took a cheap shot with a shovel.”

The women hurried over. The black woman was short and heavyset. Probably around fifty. She had a kind face and big old mop of hair trying to be tamed by a bandanna tied around her head. The girl couldn’t have been a day over sixteen but regarded me with the eyes of a girl who had aged a little too quickly over the last couple of weeks.

“What happened?” the woman asked.

“Put down a druggie in the garage,” Dave said. “We’re all good. This here is Howard and Emily. Howard, meet Minnie and Ann.”

Minnie smiled at me and then squatted down in front of Emily. “Well, look at you, child. Aren’t you juss de cutest ting?”

Emily grabbed my hand and pushed up against my leg.

“Let me guess, Howard,” Dave said. “You get stranded on vacation like me and Annie here when the world decided to shit the bed?”

“Yeah, something like that,” I answered.

“We’re heading to the north coast. Gonna try for Montego Bay,” Dave said. “We’re hoping some of the more touristy spots up there might be in a little better shape. You’re welcome to join us.”

“Sounds good. Before Emily and I got ambushed I was planning on finding a car and trying to find Kingston.”

“Kingston is dead,” said Tre flatly. “Dat’s where we come from. Lucky to get out of dere alive.”

Everybody nodded silently in agreement. I had a feeling the story of what these people had gone through the last few days could rival mine.

“Y’all got that right,” muttered Dave. “What was left of the survivors amounted to a bunch of gangbangers trying to run what was left of the city. That and dirty street people. Present company the exception ’course,” he nodded at Tre and Minnie.

“So are we going to go, or what?” Ann asked. “This place stinks.”

“How ’bout it, Howie?” Dave asked. “You two gonna join us?”

“Just a sec,” I said and crouched down to Emily. “What do you think, kiddo? Should we go with these people? I don’t make a move without asking my partner first.”

“Let’s rock,” she said.

“You heard the lady,” I said to the group. “Just one condition. Please don’t call me Howie. Brings back bad memories.”

20

The truck bounced over an especially large pothole in the road and woke Emily who leaned against me. She looked around with a little scowl and closed her eyes again. We were sitting in the bed of the truck with Dave and Ann. Tre drove and Minnie rode shotgun.

Dave noticed me looking at his rifle. I think it was one of those AK-47s like you see in just about every movie where the bad guys are Russian, Vietcong, or Taliban.

“Not too shabby, huh?” he asked. “Nabbed it from a drug house. Not much use for the piles of cash in there, but this has come in handy. I’d prefer my trusty M4, but it’s better than throwing rocks.”

Dave filled me in on my new traveling companions as we headed toward Montego Bay. He just turned forty and decided to retire from the Marine Corps when he made master sergeant. He and his wife moved back to Dave’s hometown of Sevierville, Tennessee. They came to Jamaica for a week to celebrate before starting their new life.

Ann Weston was a seventeen-year-old student from Cambridge, Ontario. Like Dave, her family picked the worst possible to time in history to travel out of the country. Both her parents and little brother got sick and died in the hotel while the entire resort fell apart around her. She was in the right place at the right time when the other three discovered her wandering aimlessly down the road. Ann mostly stared off in the distance as we drove and I could only imagine what she was going through.

Tre James and Minnie Garvey were both lifelong residents of Kingston. Minnie was the grandmother of eighteen grandkids and cleaned homes for a living in the nicer part of town. Even from the short time I’d been around her, I couldn’t help but notice her upbeat energy and optimism, which puzzled me considering the circumstances. A shrink probably would have chalked it up as a defense mechanism. Out of all of us, Minnie had the largest family to lose, and Dave implied she couldn’t find or communicate with most of them when things went wrong. Her smile was probably the only way she could cope.

Tre was twenty-three. When he wasn’t at his dishwashing job, he was practicing his freestyle in one of the hip-hop clubs around town. Jamaica already had a world famous reggae artist, so Tre shot for the biggest rap name on the island. I sensed some tension between Dave and Tre. It was obvious Dave was the de facto leader of the group and I had a feeling Tre wasn’t entirely on board with that.

As for my story, I kept it vague. I’m not entirely sure why, but I wasn’t ready to let any of my new companions know where I’d come from. For now, I revealed I was from Wisconsin and was here “traveling.” That seemed to satisfy Dave.

After about an hour or so of driving, my abdomen was really starting to concern me. It was worse than ever. I tried to write it off as aggravation from all the earlier stress, but riding in the back of the truck wasn’t helping. The six ibuprofen tablets I’d scrounged from the clinic didn’t touch it either. I tried my best to keep it to myself, mostly for Emily’s sake, but pretty soon I couldn’t hide the pain.

Ann, of all people, noticed it first. She broke from her daze and scowled at me. “What’s the matter with you?” she asked.

Dave, who had been watching the road behind us, looked over in my direction.

“You okay there, Howard? Not looking too great.”

I exhaled and wiped my forehead with my sleeve. It was hot of course, but everybody else seemed comfortable in the open bed of the truck. I was sweating bullets.

“I don’t know,” I said through clenched teeth. “God it really hurts.”

Emily looked at me with concern, but didn’t say anything.

I lifted my shirt and looked at the wound site. I almost expected it to be throbbing, on fire, or spewing blood, based on the pain, but it looked fine.

Dave crawled over to my side of the truck and inspected the scar. “Jeez, what happened there?”

“I got…stabbed a while back. It wasn’t hurting too bad until today.”

He pushed on my abdomen slightly and I screamed so loud Tre and Minnie heard. The truck slowed and Tre shouted out the back window, “What happened?”

“Just keep driving,” Dave commanded. “I’ve got it.”

The truck accelerated and Dave put his hand on my forehead.

“Sorry, bud. Man, you’re burning up.” I caught him glancing at my nose which probably had dried blood all over it from the shovel sucker punch. I knew what he was thinking and I shook my head.

“I’m not sick,” I stammered. “I…this is different, I don’t know.”

Ann handed me a bottle of water from the stash of supplies. I reached for it and was struck with such an intense wave of pain, I almost blacked out. My head felt like it was in a vice and I could feel the blood pounding though the arteries in my neck. I heard a crazy high pitched scream that I mistook at first for a woman until I realized it was me.

My last memory was my view from the floor of the truck bed. I was lying on my side, screaming. Dave was shouting at Tre to drive faster. Ann looked scared. Emily sat in her usual position, knees to her chin, hugging her shins tight. I could tell she was trying hard not to cry.

It was at this point that God finally took mercy on me, and darkness crept into the corner of my vision. My world turned to black.

21

Secondary Road B8

Eight Miles Southwest of Montego Bay

Jamaica

“All I know is we were doing juss fine till de showed up,” Tre muttered.

He checked the rear view mirror again. Dave and Ann were still crouched over Howard and the little girl was still crying. At least he’d stopped screaming.

“And what do you propose we do?” Minnie asked. “Dump ’em on the side of de road, I suppose? What’s another body, right? We’ve already seen tousands.”

Before Tre could make a comeback, he slammed the steering wheel with his fist in frustration when a bend in the road revealed yet another obstacle. A tourist bus and a box truck had collided and the wreckage now blocked most of the road.

He slowed down and weaved his way around the accident on the soft shoulder of the road. Several bodies were scattered among the wreckage, their shiny bloated skin covered in flies. Tre barely noticed.

The good news was, they were finally on the outskirts of town. Dark smoke rose from several parts of the city, a bad reminder of the chaos of Kingston they’d left behind, but a few fires were to be expected.

As they got closer to the city center, they spotted survivors here and there. Some walking in groups, others sitting alone, staring into space. Most of them barely gave the truck a second glance.

“Hey!” Dave shouted through the back window. “Check it out,” he said, pointing to a message on the water tower. It was handwritten in black paint. SURVIVORS: OSWALD REGIONAL HOSP.

“Oswald Regional Hospital,” Dave read out loud. “Y’all know where that is?”

Minnie scoffed in a rare show of cynicism. “Dey only show de TV commercials bragging about it effrey five minutes. Of course dey build de so-called world-class hospital in Mo Bay where all de money is.” She pointed at the gleaming white building in the distance. “I’ve seen enuf pictures to know dat’s it.”

Tre nodded his confirmation.

“Great,” Dave said. “Might as well do as the sign says. Hopefully there are a few doctors around.” He turned his attention back to Howard. He was still unconscious but stirred and moaned slightly. His face was covered in sweat and he looked paler by the minute. “I have a feeling this poor bastard is going to need more than a couple Band-Aids.”

Ann shot Dave a vicious look and nodded at Emily, who wouldn’t take her eyes off Howard. Ann scooted over to the girl and put her arm around her. “It’s okay, honey. Did you hear that? We’re going to a hospital. There’s going to be some doctors there that will help.”

As if answering for Emily, Howard let out a loud groan. His eyes fluttered open a moment before he lost consciousness again.

Dave felt a little better there were signs of other survivors and some sort of organization, but he was starting to get a bad feeling about something else. At first, he just assumed the epidemic didn’t leave the shores of the country and it was unique to Jamaica. As they drove through town, it concerned him that he didn’t see any evidence of outside help yet. He wasn’t quite sure exactly what he expected to see, but he didn’t find any indication that the rest of the world was coming to their aid. At the very least, he was hoping to see a US aircraft carrier off the coast, or red cross planes flying overhead, or something.

He tried to convince himself they were coming. They’d have to be getting there soon. He wasn’t ready to admit that maybe the rest of the world was just as bad and they were on their own. Not yet.

Dave Penske had seen his fair share of refugee shantytowns over the years while serving in the Corps. The parking lot in front of Oswald Regional certainly fit the description. It was hard to tell, but he guessed there were at least a hundred people milling about with more on the way in by car or on foot.

Smoke from dozens of cooking fires and barbeques rose above the tents, campers, vans, and buses scattered about. Many of the survivors wore new clothes from the Montego Bay shopping district. Shopping carts overflowing with looted goods, much of it useless, were everywhere.

Dave wiped the sweat from his eyes and scanned the crowd looking for any sort of threat. Everybody seemed content enough for now with their looted goods and food supplies. Hopefully, there wasn’t any reason that his group would be in danger from the rest of the survivors.

Tre slowly weaved the truck through the crowd. Minnie asked several people for a doctor and they all pointed at the hospital. Parked in front of the building was a large RV and what appeared to be a military command vehicle. A small group of people gathered around a couple of tables in front of the RV.

“Everybody stay put,” Dave said. “I’m going to see who’s in charge.” He hopped out of the truck and approached the table.

“Sir,” a man wearing a tiger-stripe camouflage uniform approached him, his hand on his holstered side arm. “No weapons here.”

Dave looked down and realized he was still holding his AK. “Sorry,” he said. He cleared the action on the rifle, removed the magazine, and shouldered the AK using the strap. “Good enough?” he asked. “I was a United States Marine if that means anything to you. I know how to handle it.” The soldier eyed him and then his group in the truck.

“Are you in charge here?” Dave asked the soldier. “We need a doctor for our friend.”

“I’m Colour Sergeant Arscott. Second Battalion, Jamaica Regiment. So far, I’m the highest ranking member of the JDF here.”

“So you’re in charge?” Dave asked.

Arscott pointed at the RV. “There’s a member of the house of representatives here as well. Doctor Marshall of the Westmoreland Central. We’ve been working together, trying to help the people and keep order best we can.”

“Is he a medical doc or book doc? Like I said, my friend…”

“Inside,” Arscott cut him off. “You can find help inside, but first we need everybody’s names. We’re trying to keep a record.”

From the back of the truck, Howard must have gained consciousness and started moaning loudly. “Look, that can wait,” snapped Dave. “We need help now!”

“Fine,” Arscott surrendered. “Take him to the front door.”

Dave ran back to the truck to find Howard awake and bent over in pain again. “Tre!” he shouted. “Pull up to the front doors. There’s help inside.”

Dr. Jake Wilson leaned back, shook his head, and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know,” he said.

“What? What do you mean, you don’t know?” Dave asked. “You don’t know what’s wrong? Don’t know how to treat him? What?”

“Hey, man, I already told you. Yeah, I’m a doctor but I’m only an intern,” Wilson snapped. “Christ, I’m only here because my girlfriend talked me into going on vacation before my internship started. Which was supposed to be yesterday, by the way. Now she’s fucking dead in our hotel room, so stop giving me shit!”

“Let’s all calm down, aright?” Minnie cooed. “Doctor, Dave didn’t mean no harm. We’re juss trying to help our friend.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Wilson said. He stood up and rubbed his hands together. “Well, the good news is we were able to dope him up pretty good and manage the pain for now. I’m just not sure what’s causing it though. You said he was stabbed?”

“Yeah, that’s what he told me,” said Dave.

“I don’t see any problems with that incision in his belly. Whoever patched him up did a solid job.”

“Isn’t there anything you can do?” asked Minnie.

“Lady, I can’t even do a simple blood workup on him. I’ve got plenty of supplies to work with, sure, but no nurses, barely any power thanks to that little generator outside, and the Internet is down so I can’t even do any research.”

“What about an x-ray or CAT scan or something? Maybe you’d have a better idea if you could see inside,” Dave suggested.

Wilson shook his head. “No way, not with that little genny out there. We barely have enough juice to run the lights in this corner of the ER. Besides,” he said, looking embarrassed. “That stuff isn’t really my specialty.”

Dave looked at Howard. He looked peaceful on the gurney but he knew it wouldn’t last unless they could keep him knocked out. He barely knew this guy and didn’t owe him anything. He could easily leave him for dead. But he’d been a Marine NCO long enough that he just wasn’t wired that way. Howard and the little girl had only just joined their group that day but he still felt responsible for their safety. Dave took great pride in always putting his men first, and he’d be damned if he let that part of him die along with the rest of the world.

“Well,” he sighed. “I better go check on the others and let them know what’s going on. Thanks, Jake. If there’s anything we can do…”

“Hey!” Wilson perked up. “You know what we could try? Ultrasound!”

“What do you mean?” Minnie asked.

“You were right,” he told Dave. “If I could just get a look inside I might have a better idea what’s going on. The ultrasound machines are portable. Hell, some of them are even set up to run on battery packs.”

“And…you know how to use one?” Dave asked without trying to sound too condescending.

“We covered them a little in med school. I think I know just enough to be dangerous,” Wilson said with a smirk.

He darted from the room and Dave noticed Ann and Emily standing in the doorway.

“Hey,” Ann said. “She wanted to see how he’s doing.”

“C’mere child, it’s okay,” Minnie said.

Emily walked over and stood next to her. She stared at Howard but said nothing.

“All right, here we go!” Wilson came back into the room pushing a portable ultrasound machine. “Let’s fire this bad boy up and see what we can see.”

22

Dr. Wilson squirted a healthy amount of gel on the ultrasound wand and spread it around on Howard’s abdomen. He groaned when the wand made contact and Wilson eased up on the pressure a little.

Dave, Minnie, Emily, and Ann stood on the other side of the bed, watching the fuzzy image on the screen. Wilson was secretly relieved he figured out how to get the machine going. Once the screen came to life, he was starting to feel more confident. He doubted he’d find anything significant, but at least the group would know he tried his best.

Wilson slowly dragged the transducer across the skin, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

“That army guy outside was asking what we were planning on doing,” Ann said quietly to Dave.

“What do you mean? Planning on what?”

“I don’t know. Like, if we’re going to stay here with everybody else or what?”

“Oh,” Dave muttered. “Where else are we gonna go? Besides, it all depends on what happens with Howard.”

“Whoa!” Wilson shouted. The wand slipped out of his hand and hit the floor. He looked at the group with wide eyes. “Did you guys see that?”

“See what?” Minnie asked.

Wilson bent over and picked up the wand. “I dunno. Just…hold on a sec.”

He put a little more gel on the end of the wand and placed it back at the same spot.

“It was right…right around…here.” The image came into view and Wilson pulled the wand away. “Holy shit,” he whispered.

“What in the hell was that?” Ann asked.

“Put it back,” Dave said.

Everybody leaned forward, getting as close to the small monochrome display as possible. Wilson once again pressed the transducer against Howard’s skin. He moaned in pain. The image came into focus. Emily screamed. Minnie put her hand to her mouth and took a step back. Wilson simply shook his head, unable to comprehend what it was he was looking at.

“Are those?” Dave asked. “Are those what I think they are?”

“Yeah, it…” Wilson said. “They look to me like…”

He moved the wand around, bringing into focus each individual orb among the dozens on the screen. In each perfectly round sack, a tiny creature, not unlike a tadpole, wiggled around and danced in its tiny womb.

He cleared his throat. “They look to me like eggs.”

Part Three - Redemption

Prologue

Senior Medical Officer Maylew inspected his patient’s wounded foot. Despite the thirty arsects injection of Pfilison, Junior Crew Enlistman Furlon still wailed in pain. The very potent pain retardant seemed to have no effect.

“Come now, Furlon. You carrying on only makes my job more difficult. Please try to remain calm.” Maylew sprayed disinfectant into the wound causing Furlon to howl even louder.

Senior Crew Enlistman Lanmer appeared in the medical bay doorway. Furlon fell silent at the sight of his superior. “What is it now?” Lanmer said. “Why is it every time I lay my head to rest some problem occurs?” He turned his gaze to Furlon’s bloody foot. Besides a significant gash, the normal gray skin of the foot had grown to a darker, almost green, tint from cell damage. “What in hellfire happened to him?”

“It was Specimen Six, Mr. Lanmer.” The pain retardant slowly became more effective but Furlon still winced as the doctor began to close the gash in his foot with sutures. Furlon tried his hardest to mask the pain in front of Senior Crew Enlistman Lanmer. Mr. Lanmer thought pain to be a sign of weakness and made no effort to hide his disgust when one of his crewmen showed any signs of discomfort. “I merely passed through the laboratory and it lashed out at me.”

“Did I not inform the entire crew to keep at least six fills from its cell?”

“I swear I was at least twice that, Mr. Lanmer. The reach of that beast is deceptive. I fear nowhere in the hold is safe from its attacks.”

Lanmer ignored him, all too familiar with Furlon’s tendency for exaggeration. “How will this affect his mobility, Mr. Maylew?”

Senior Medical Officer Maylew finished the last stitch on Furlon’s foot and removed his gloves. “I recommend he spends the rest of the cycle in his bunk. The Pfilison will affect his judgment and cause drowsiness. He should feel significantly better next cycle.”

“Curses!” Lanmer tipped over a tray of Maylew’s instruments. Both the medical officer and young enlistman were taken aback by Lanmer’s sudden outburst. He was gruff by nature and often lost his temper due to impatience, but neither man had ever seen him lash out in a physical way before.

“Curses to this mission and curses to this blasted vessel,” he roared. “Capturing that beast was the last straw. Look at what the captain’s blatant disregard for the law has gotten us. Furlon could easily have been killed. Am I not right, Mr. Maylew?”

Senior Medical Officer Maylew cleared his throat and lowered his gaze to the deck.

“Answer the enlistman, Maylew.”

The deep voice resonated from the passageway behind Lanmer, who remained silent and straightened his spine to attention. The action was pure muscle memory, a subconscious decision due to many yarwens of military conditioning.

Captain Sekwee strolled into the quiet medical bay. His heavy bootsteps sounded like hammers in the small room. “Our young enlistman Furlon could have been killed by our new guest. That much is obvious, judging by the nasty wound in his foot.” The captain made a soft hissing sound with his mouth.

Maylew knew Captain Sekwee well enough to know he wasn’t looking for his input at all. He remained silent.

“Senior Crew Enlistman Lanmer,” the captain said. “Do I sense some frustration with our mission?”

The captain’s large black eyes bored into Lanmer and he resisted the strong urge to look away. Born of Drillian descent, the captain’s facial features were imposing and aggressive, even when he was calm. It was a natural advantage for a Federate commanding officer.

“Permission to speak freely, Mr. Sekwee?”

“Of course, Lanmer.”

“You know I would never question your authority or judgment.”

“But?”

Lanmer finally allowed himself to look away from the captain’s eyes. “It’s just that…I’m sure the captain is well aware RZ-237 is deemed inhospitable. The Federates prohibited exploration of the surface several yarwens ago. We don’t understand why you…why the captain deliberately broke Federate law by landing on the surface.”

Maylew and Furlon shifted uncomfortably in their seats, noticing his use of the word “we” without their consent.

“Yes, Lanmer,” Sekwee said, “I am fully aware we broke the law, and I know you,” he nodded and waved his hand over the three men, “all of you, know the penalty for such transgressions are severe. But I don’t want you men to worry. As captain of this vessel, I take full responsibility for my decisions. You were merely acting as a result of my orders. If anyone were to face prosecution the punishment would be mine and mine alone.”

Furlon may have only been a young and naive junior enlistman, just a yarwen out of the academy, but even he knew what the captain said was laughable. If the Federates discovered not only had they landed on RZ-237, but captured one of its native creatures as well, the entire crew would face court-martial. The captain would take the most punishment of course, but the magistrates would surely question the rest of the men. Even the lowliest of junior enlistmen like himself. Why did they do nothing to stop their captain from committing such a serious crime? Following orders was no longer a valid excuse. Any person familiar with history knew the troops involved with the RS-494 massacre learned that the hard way.

“So I don’t want you men to worry,” Captain Sekwee said again. “What the Federates don’t understand yet is how important Specimen Six is. The beast that just lashed out and injured you, Furlon, that creature will go down as one of the most important discoveries for dectars to come. Mark my word.”

“But, sir,” Senior Medical Officer Maylew interjected, “simply getting the specimen past Consular Affairs…”

“You leave those details to me, Doctor.” Furlon looked appropriately uncomfortable when the captain placed his hand on his shoulder. "You have more pressing matters to attend to, such as the young enlistman here. Carry on, gentlemen.”

Captain Sekwee left the medical bay as quickly as he had entered and stormed down the passageway. He opened the hatch to the lab and stood in the doorway, observing the cells on the far side of the room. Specimen Six sat quietly in its hold between two empty cells on either side of it. The crew quickly learned to give it extra space after it killed and devoured most of Specimen Four, from RZ-118, through the bars.

The shortsighted fools he left in the medical bay still failed to comprehend the significance of finding Specimen Six. Before they captured it, Sekwee had heard only rumors and wondered if the beast was simply a myth. Then he laid his own eyes on it down on the surface. It was unusual but not unheard of for the captain of a Federate research vessel to accompany a landing party. Sekwee couldn’t bring himself to delegate the task of securing the creature after waiting for so long. It took the landing party several cycles, tracking the creature only to have it lose them on multiple occasions, before they finally cornered it at the bottom of a ravine near the continent’s edge.

It took twice as many tranq rounds as expected, and Junior Crew Officer Guzmel was nearly killed when the beast breached the armor of his exosuit, but they finally subdued the creature to be known as Specimen Six.

Captain Sekwee, still pleased by the encrypted sub-space transmission he read earlier, gazed at Specimen Six with a smile on his face. His gamble was paying off. Sekwee’s contact in the clandestine cell known as the Sons of the Confederates was overjoyed at the news of the creature’s capture.

The Sons of the Confederates patiently waited yarwens for the ideal candidate to arrive. A specimen to test their perfected, yet highly illegal, rapid clone technology. If it worked as planned, a single replica of Specimen Six could be deployed on any planet in the galaxy. Within mere microns, the beast would clone and multiply in exponential numbers, spreading across the planet like a virus. They would attack and devour anything in their path. No military force in the galaxy would be a match for thousands, eventually hundreds of thousands, of Specimen Six’s clones roaming the surface.

Captain Sekwee had no reason to doubt that if left unfettered, it would be possible for every single inchon of dirt on a planet to teem with the creatures. They would simply multiply until there were no more food sources to support them. Sekwee shivered at the thought. He’d seen firsthand how dangerous just one Specimen Six could be. What separated it from other predators in the galaxy was its natural ability to quickly reproduce. It was able to gestate from conception to birth in a matter of a few cycles and it reached adulthood just as quickly. Even without the rapid clone technology, the creature would flourish and procreate in vast numbers as long as there was ample food and hosts. The cloning simply sped up the process in order to assure the victim planet’s defenses would be overrun.

Sekwee closed the hatch to the lab and headed down the passageway to the bridge. Nodding at a passing junior crew enlistman, Sekwee walked the passageway deep in thought. The plan was relatively simple. When the Sons released the creature on one of the inhabited planets in the system, the Federates would watch in horror as hundreds of millions of its citizens were slaughtered in a matter of cycles. The planet would be in ruins. Left with no choice, the Federates would surrender to the Sons of the Confederates and a new order would spread across the galaxy.

Of course Captain Sekwee would be a very integral part of that new order. He didn’t dare flat out ask the Sons about his reward, but he knew it would be handsome. Quite handsome. Grand Emperor Sekwee, ruler of his home planet of RF-937 and surrounding satellite colonies, had a very nice ring to it. Perhaps even an entire system? His ambitions knew no bounds.

The captain entered the small bridge of the ship and acknowledged his executive officer, Commander Fahlew. Federate Vessel Artemis, being a ship modest in size, required only two men on the bridge. Actually, the Artemis required virtually no interaction at all, if the captain and his XO decided to let the ship’s artificial intelligence handle all the tasks of piloting the craft. All aspects of navigation and communication could be handled automatically from pre- and midflight programming via voice commands. Or, if the pilot wished, he could switch to full manual and fly the craft “by stick,” like generations before him had done.

“Is it time, Mr. Sekwee?” Commander Fahlew asked in a somber voice.

“I believe it is, my friend.” Sekwee put his hand on Fahlew’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “It is what’s best for the new order. These are good men on board. My men. I take this task with a very heavy heart.”

“I require no reassurance, Mr. Sekwee. I would gladly give my life under your command.”

“And yet something lingers on your mind.”

“Forgive me, Captain. I just wonder if it’s absolutely necessary. Perhaps the crew would share our vision.”

“There are ten other souls on the Artemis, all of whom have pledged their absolute loyalty to the Federates. Perhaps some of them would join us. Or none. I’m sorry, Fahlew, but that is not a chance I’m willing to take.”

Commander Fahlew nodded once, a look of shame flashing across his face for a moment. “You are correct as usual, Mr. Sekwee.”

Sekwee waved his hand in a gentle dismissal and took his place on the bridge “Artemis. Security feed, up. All areas, full screen.”

The artificial intelligence’s synthetic voice spoke over the bridge intercom system. “Yes, Mr. Sekwee.” The display screen beyond the ship’s controls switched to a video grid of all areas of the ship.

“Artemis, camera four, enlarge.”

The live video feed of camera four grew larger while the others grew smaller. Sekwee and Fahlew had a clear view of the lab and all the specimens inside. The captain could make out Specimen Six crouched in the corner of its cell. His pulse quickened with anticipation.

“The sedative is prepared?” he asked Fahlew. “For…afterward?”

“I mixed it myself, Captain. The canister is online with the ventilation system and will disperse through the entire ship on your mark. With exception of the bridge, of course. It will be enough to incapacitate Specimen Six but leave no permanent damage.”

“Excellent. Artemis, release the door to cell number four in the lab.”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Sekwee,” Artemis’ syrupy baritone voice filled the bridge. Too loudly as usual, grating on the captain’s nerves. “According to my records, cell number four holds a highly dangerous xenomorph from RZ-237. It is not advisable to release Specimen Six at this time. Do you wish to continue?”

“Obey my command, Artemis.”

“As you wish, Mr. Sekwee.”

Fahlew and Sekwee leaned forward and watched as the door slowly opened. Specimen Six remained motionless.

“Come, my friend,” the captain whispered at the pixelated image before him. After an agonizingly long wait, Specimen Six finally stirred and crept to the threshold of the cell. Even in the low resolution of the security camera feed, it looked hideous and made the captain’s skin crawl.

“Artemis, all doors, shipwide, lock into open position, with the exception of the bridge door,” said Commander Fahlew. “Revoke permissions for all crew members, with exception of myself and Mr. Sekwee.”

“Yes, commander. I will need Mr. Sekwee’s confirmation to execute your command.”

“I concur, Artemis.”

Captain Sekwee and Commander Fahlew sat back and watched as they released hell on the rest of the Artemis.

Senior Crew Enlistman Lanmer left the medical bay with intentions to return to his bunk for some much-needed rest. Unfortunately, Furlon’s injury and the conversation with the captain had left him agitated. Although his body was dead tired, his mind still raced.

Lanmer turned the corner and scowled as he noticed the lab hatch wide open. Of all the careless and idiotic things. The ship was indeed heading downhill quickly. He approached the doorway and paused at the threshold, reaching for his sidearm out of habit but only touching the material of his flight suit. Personnel aboard a research vessel didn’t carry weapons but Lanmer was a twenty-yarwen veteran of the Federate Marine Corps. His assignment on the Artemis was his first tour on a noncombat vessel and he was accustomed to being armed at all times.

He peered around the corner of the door into the dimly lit interior of the lab. “Artemis, increase lighting in the laboratory to full.” The lighting remained unchanged. “Artemis?” The ship’s AI didn’t respond.

“Hellfire and all who inhabit it,” Lanmer cursed. He entered the lab slowly as his eyes adjusted to the low light. “Artemis, increase lighting in the laboratory to full,” he tried again. Nothing. He reached the middle of the lab, as far away from the cell of Specimen Six as possible, just as he'd instructed his men. The cell that he realized was now wide open and empty.

Senior Medical Officer Maylew patted Furlon on the arm. “I’m all finished. Let’s get you to your bunk, shall we?”

Furlon opened his eyes with much effort. The pain retardant Mr. Maylew had given him acted slowly but he was feeling much better. Much better indeed. He smiled at the three images of Maylew that danced in his vision. He blinked a few times and only one remained. “S-sounds good to me, doc.”

Maylew frowned at the junior enlistman’s lack of protocol but let it slide. The Pfilison was obviously impairing his judgment, which wasn’t too surprising. Furlon acted in a similar fashion the last time the crew was on leave on RF-074 and he consumed too many inebriants. Furlon stood up and took a deep breath.

The medical bay hatch opened but nobody walked in. Maylew shrugged it off. The Artemis was nearing the end of her commission and it wasn’t uncommon for mechanical glitches these days. It wasn’t too long ago that the hatch wouldn’t open at all until one of the engineers repaired it.

He held out his hand to Furlon. “I’ll assist you to the sleeping quarters.”

“Not necessary, Mr. Maylew. My head has cleared and it’s just down the corridor.”

“You’re certain?”

Furlon smiled and nodded. His eyes were focused and he appeared stable.

“Very well. Get some rest, Furlon. We both know Senior Crew Enlistman Lanmer will expect you back to full capacity sooner rather than later.”

Furlon gave a halfhearted salute and left the medical bay. He shuffled down the hall, lost his balance briefly, and slammed his shoulder against bulkhead. He took a deep breath and forged ahead. The floating sensation from the Pfilison was pleasurable at first, but he was starting to feel queasy. At least the pain in his foot was gone for the moment.

He turned the corner and did a double take at the mess all over the deck at the end of the corridor. He blinked a few times and tried to focus his eyes on the large puddle. Hydraulic fluid? A leak in one of the engine coolant lines? As he got closer, the dark color eliminated coolant but opened the possibility of backed up sewage from one of the waste tanks. Furlon groaned. Not only was he the most junior enlistman on the ship but his dossier listed one of his occupation specialties as sanitation technician. Give it any fancy name you wish, but Furlon knew he was nothing more than a “space janitor.” Something his older brother liked to call him in a mocking fashion whenever the two saw each other on leave.

Furlon knew he could ignore the mess, practically having direct orders from Mr. Maylew to get some rest, but his curiosity drew him to the puddle. As he got closer, he realized the puddle was a dark red liquid, spilling out of the sleeping quarters next to his. He staggered to the open hatch of the room, careful not to slip on the mystery liquid, and stuck his head around the door.

One of his crewmates was sprawled on the deck. Although there were only twelve men onboard the Artemis, Furlon had trouble identifying this particular crewmate because most of his head was missing. In a sickening moment of clarity, he suddenly knew the origin of the thick red liquid on the deck and vomited.

After emptying the contents of his stomach on the floor, adding to the overall stench and gore that filled the room, Furlon’s hazy state evaporated as adrenaline surged through his system. His feet slipped on the deck, trying to find purchase, as he scrambled to escape. His balance betrayed him and he fell face-first to the deck. Trying to wipe his bloody face with an even bloodier hand, Furlon turned around on his hands and knees to face Specimen Six.

Its face was no more than two fills away from Furlon’s face. The mandibles, still soaked red with blood, spread wide and a squeal escaped its mouth. Before Furlon could even think about getting up off the floor in a futile attempt to escape, Specimen Six clamped its large claw on either side of his face. Furlon’s head felt as if it was going to be completely crushed as the creature effortlessly lifted him off the floor. He grasped the claw and tried to pull it open, in vain, until Specimen Six thrust its razor-sharp barb through Furlon’s chest cavity.

Captain Sekwee watched the video feed as Specimen Six yanked the barb out of Furlon’s chest and dropped his lifeless body to the deck. It squealed again before darting down the corridor looking for its next victim.

Moments earlier, Sekwee and Commander Fahlew witnessed Specimen Six quickly devour some of the entrails of its first kill, Senior Crew Enlistman Wuksim. It disemboweled him as he walked out of the engineering room. After a revolting display of gorging on the bloody mess of Wuksim’s guts, it quickly moved on.

Sekwee’s fascination grew as his crew was systematically slaughtered. It was now clear why the Sons of the Confederates were so interested in this particular species of predator. Besides the quick meal courtesy of poor Wuksim, Specimen Six now appeared to be killing simply for sport.

Senior Crew Enlistman Lanmer may have been an old thickheaded grunt with a bad knee and a testy disposition, but he was smart enough to put two and two together. An empty cell that no longer held Specimen Six, and screams from down the corridor, meant it was at large and the entire ship was in danger.

“Artemis, sound general alarm!” Lanmer cursed as Artemis continued to ignore him and the ship’s loudspeakers remained silent.

The modest cache of arms, in addition to the protective armor of the exosuits, was located beside the exterior docking doors, about as far away from the lab as possible. Lanmer considered the odds of making it there without running into the monster and didn’t like them. He frantically scanned the dim lab, looking for a formidable weapon larger than a scalpel, and saw none.

Lanmer peered into the empty corridor and quietly yet quickly headed for the weapons cache. Another scream of terror or pain, followed by frantic pounding on one of the doors, sounded behind him. So far, every hatch Lanmer passed was locked in the open position so he couldn’t imagine where one of his crewmates was trying to get to. The bridge, perhaps.

The good news was the commotion was behind him and the weapons were down the passageway in front of him. Assuming Specimen Six was the cause of alarm and was occupied elsewhere, stealth was no longer a concern so he sprinted down the hall.

He hurdled over a downed crewmate, resisting the urge to check for signs of life amidst the bloody mess, and turned the corner near the docking area. Another one of his men, Junior Crew Enlistman Hekfun, lay faceup near the weapons rack. His torso had been ripped from the bottom half of his body and tossed to the other side of the room. A dark smear of blood ran down the bulkhead where it must have hit and then slid to the deck.

Lanmer gritted his teeth. Hekfun was a good man, one of his best. Suddenly, the who, why, and where involving the escape or release of Specimen Six no longer mattered. That would be dealt with later. For now, the only thing that concerned him was a quick and hopefully painful death of the creature by his hands.

He grabbed one of the assault rifles with the least amount of blood splattered on it from Hekfun’s demise. He opened the ammunition cabinet and reached for several magazines of the deadliest cartridges aboard the ship. Down on RZ-237, the load out for the landing party was tranq rounds only, but Lanmer was not interested in sedating the creature. He slammed the magazine of armor-piercing fragmentation shells into the rifle and locked a round into the chamber.

The pounding and frantic screams coming from the other side of the bridge door finally ceased. Commander Fahlew jabbed a finger at camera twelve. “That man just retrieved a weapon from the rack. Artemis, I gave the command to lock down the weapons stores. Confirm!”

A moment ticked by as Artemis processed the response. “The command to secure weapons stores was processed, however a malfunction has been detected in the locking mechanism servos. Would you like me to perform a diagnostic, Mr. Fahlew?”

“Who was that man?” Captain Sekwee leaned closer as the figure darted out of the picture. “Lanmer?”

“It may have been. I could not tell.”

Artemis interjected. “Would you like me to perform a diagnos—”

“Of course not!” Fahlew roared.

“Calm yourself, my friend,” Sekwee said. “One man with a weapon does not spell disaster.  Artemis, take all interior lighting off line, with exception of the bridge.”

Artemis obeyed and all the video feeds went dark. The security cameras were not equipped for low or no light visibility and the captain and commander lost their god-like view of the ship.

“We won’t be able to see, but neither will that man with the weapon,” Sekwee assured him. “I have a feeling it won’t slow down Specimen Six in the slightest.”

Lanmer turned the corner, his rifle tight against his shoulder, one eye looking through the optical sight. He jammed the muzzle into an alarmed Senior Medical Officer Maylew’s chest. Any harder and Lanmer might have accidentally pulled the trigger. Maylew shrieked in surprise and clamped his hand over his mouth.

“Lanmer, thank goodness,” he whispered.

“Where is it? Have you seen it?”

Maylew gulped and shook his head. “I heard something scamper by not too long ago out here in the passageway. I couldn’t stand another moment hiding in the medical bay.”

Lanmer nodded and brought the rifle back up to a firing position. “Stay close and watch behind me. If you even think you hear or see anything, shout out. This thing is fast.”

Maylew grasped the back of Lanmer’s flight suit and matched him step for step, panting on the back of his neck. “Where is the captain?” he whispered. “And why is Artemis not responding to my commands?”

Lanmer barely got a shushing sound past his lips to quiet the doctor, when the lights shut off and plunged them into darkness. Maylew shrieked in Lanmer’s ear. He slammed the doctor up against the bulkhead. “Get yourself together, man,” he hissed. “You are going to get us both killed!”

“Yes, yes. I’m sorry.” The doctor searched for something in his uniform. “Wait, I think I have…yes, here it is.” Maylew clicked on a small torch he used to inspect the men’s various orifices during examinations. It was weak but better than nothing.

“Good work, Mr. Maylew.” Lanmer patted him on the shoulder. “This will be a great help.” He took the torch and held it with his left hand along with the rifle grip. He raised the weapon and the small light illuminated the corridor anywhere he aimed.

They continued forward, both men becoming aware of how quiet the vessel had grown. Besides the low hum from the particle engines, they heard no other voices. No screams, no cries for help. Both men feared they were the last survivors but neither wanted to admit it.

They turned the corner and Lanmer paused as a soft clucking sound came from farther down the hall. They caught a glimpse of movement at the end of the corridor; Lanmer adjusted the aim of the rifle and the weak beam of the torch revealed Specimen Six.

The clucking sound grew louder as its mandibles clicked back and forth. It hunkered down slightly and squealed. Lanmer knew from experience, when they cornered the beast on RZ-237, that it was about to attack.

He opened fire with a short five-round burst. The powerful fragmentation rounds filled the confined area of the corridor with deafening sound. The brilliant muzzle flash blinded both men. The rifle bucked hard against Lanmer’s shoulder and the torch slipped from his fingers.

“Did you hit it?” Maylew screamed in his ear. Before Lanmer could admit he had no idea, the general alarm sounded, accompanied by flashing red warning lights in the ceiling.

“Warning,” Artemis announced. Both men jumped at the sudden sound of the ship’s AI voice. For some reason it was more jarring than the alarm. “Reactor core damage to particle engine number two. Cooling system is offline. Automatic shutdown of particle engine number two has failed. Catastrophic failure is imminent.”

“Blast!” Lanmer cursed.

“What is happening?” Maylew grasped the back of Lanmer's flight suit even tighter.

Lanmer couldn’t believe his own stupidity. The engine room was directly behind the bulkhead at the end of the corridor. Even if he did manage to hit Specimen Six, they were now in even more danger. The armor-piercing rounds he had chosen in haste had done exactly what they were designed to do. They sliced through the bulkhead and damaged the reactor in the next room.

“Cooling system is offline,” Artemis reminded them. “Catastrophic failure is imminent.”

Lanmer was no engineer, but he was familiar enough with particle engines to know they overheated quickly with no cooling system. If they couldn’t get it back online, the Artemis would soon be reduced to a cloud of dust after a very violent and magnificent explosion.

“Artemis,” the captain said, “bring up all interior lights and shut down particle engine number two.”

“My apologies, Mr. Sekwee. Particle engine number two has sustained significant damage and my commands for shutdown are having no effect. I recommend a manual shutdown immediately.”

“It’s as simple as throwing a lever, Captain.” Commander Fahlew rose from his seat. “I know exactly where it’s located.”

“No. You have the bridge. I can take care of this.” Fahlew started to object but Sekwee cut him off. “The Artemis is my ship and I am responsible for starting this mad chain of events.”

Commander Fahlew solemnly nodded and addressed Artemis, not taking his eyes off the captain. “Artemis, release the sedative compound into the ventilation system.” He handed the captain his emergency flight helmet. “If you move quickly, this should filter the gas long enough for you to get back to the safety of the bridge.”

“My apologies, Mr. Fahlew,” Artemis said. “My command to release the sedative compound appears to be having no effect as well. I suspect the damage to the reactor core has crippled most systems of the ship, including life support and climate controls. Would you like me to run a full diagnostic?”

“Mr. Sekwee, I must insist,” Fahlew pleaded. “For all we know, Specimen Six is still at large and without the sedative it’s much too dangerous. Allow me to go in your stead.”

Sekwee pointed to the flight chair. “Sit, Commander. That is a direct order.” He placed the flight helmet on the seat of his own chair and removed his emergency service pistol from the underside of the control panel.

“Artemis, are the hatch controls still online?”

“Yes, Mr. Sekwee. They appear to have been undamaged in the accident.”

“Open the bridge hatch and lock it behind me. Allow nothing in or out except the commander and myself.” Artemis acknowledged and the door slid open.

“I’ll be back soon, my friend,” he told Fahlew without looking back. He ducked out of the bridge and crept down the corridor, his pistol at the ready. The normal hum of the particle engines took on a louder and more desperate tone, sending vibrations through the deck under his feet. The general alarm continued to wail. Artemis reminded what was left of the crew of the imminent catastrophic failure once again.

The captain held his breath and gripped the pistol tighter around every corner. He finally reached the engine room and entered to find himself staring down the barrel of an assault rifle.

Lanmer continued to train his rifle at the Sekwee’s face. Senior Medical Officer Maylew stood behind Lanmer and looked properly relieved to see the captain. Sekwee lowered his pistol and after a moment, Lanmer lowered his weapon as well.

Sekwee forced a smile. “Thank goodness you men are all right. Quickly, we need to shut down engine number two.”

Lanmer nodded and pointed his rifle into the corridor. “Go ahead, Mr. Sekwee. I’ll cover the door.”

Sekwee tucked his pistol into the pocket of his flight suit and weaved through the tight maze of conduits and machinery of the stifling hot engine room. He passed a section of the bulkhead cut to ribbons from Lanmer’s weapon and tried to squeeze though two sections of pipe before turning back. The heat from the reactor core was becoming unbearable and it was impossible to reach the manual override switch on the opposite side of the room. Artemis declared yet another warning but Sekwee couldn’t understand it over the hissing release valves and warning claxon.

He turned back and climbed up the ladder, reaching the narrow catwalk above the engines. The heat was even more unbearable close to the ceiling but he held his breath and sprinted across the catwalk to the other side of the room. He skidded to a stop on the slick flooring and slammed up against the guardrail, causing his pistol to slip from his pocket and tumble over the edge. It landed below, wedged in between two narrow banks of wiring blocks.

Sekwee hurried down the ladder and finally reached the bank of manual levers. He yanked the shutdown lever for particle engine two and exhaled in relief as it spooled down. The reactor core was still dangerously hot, but the chance of catastrophic failure lessened as every micron passed and it was allowed to cool.

He made his way through the narrow openings toward the door and stopped at a tool cabinet along the bulkhead. Sliding open the drawers and rummaging through the tools, he chose a large spanner and slipped it into the sleeve of his flight suit.

Sekwee returned to the engine room entrance. Maylew looked relived to see him. Lanmer still pointed the weapon out into the corridor. “Mr. Sekwee, Specimen Six has escaped and killed most of the men, I fear.”

Sekwee wiped the sweat from his forehead and tried to catch his breath. “Yes, I know. It nearly attacked me in the passageway. Quickly, let’s get to the bridge where it is safe and we can assess the situation. Lead the way, Lanmer. I’ll take the rear.”

The three men walked the corridor toward the bridge. Sekwee glanced over his shoulder, convinced Specimen Six was about to round the corner and attack. “Quickly, men,” he whispered. They turned a corner, the safety of the bridge beckoning them with the hatch at the end of the hallway.

Captain Sekwee slowed his pace and allowed a wider gap between him and Maylew. He slipped the spanner from his sleeve and struck the doctor in the back of the head. Maylew cried out and tumbled to the deck. Lanmer spun around and lifted his arm by reflex, blocking the captain’s next blow effectively but painfully as steel met bone. Sekwee dropped the spanner and tried to wrestle the rifle out of Lanmer’s hands.

The two men struggled and tripped over Maylew’s unconscious body on the deck, sending them both tumbling. Both lost grip of the rifle and it slid out of reach, just in time for Specimen Six to come around the corner.

Lanmer and Sekwee both froze as it observed them. Its long and rat like tail twitched back and forth – the tip grazing both walls on either side of it. It crouched lower and spread its legs out, the stubby hooves of its back legs and the razor-sharp claws of its front legs making a racket on the metallic deck.

Specimen Six was covered with gore from slaughtering the rest of the crew. Dark and congealed blood oozed off the tip of its beak and mandibles. It’s barbed front appendage and crustacean-like claw were covered in a stinking medley of blood, bile, feces, and brain matter.

Captain Sekwee made the mistake of making the first move. He scrambled to his feet and Specimen Six pounced, clearing the distance between itself and the men in a blink of an eye. It landed on Sekwee and slammed him to the deck. Sekwee managed a quick scream before it disemboweled him with one swift movement of the tip of its beak, then sliced open the front of his chest cavity with its barb. Specimen Six grabbed the captain’s ribcage and pulled it apart, the ribs snapping like twigs.

Lanmer jumped to his feet, grabbed the rifle in one hand and the back of Maylew’s flight suit with the other. He dragged the moaning doctor down the corridor. Specimen Six squealed behind them.

Lanmer reached the hatch to the bridge and slammed his open palm into the manual door release. Nothing happened. “Artemis, open bridge hatch. Now!” The door didn’t budge; Artemis continued to ignore him. Maylew slowly got to his feet, groaning in pain and holding the back of his head.

Lanmer spun around and aimed the rifle at Specimen Six, still butchering the captain’s remains. This time, he switched the rifle to single shot mode and squeezed the trigger. Sweat dripped into Lanmer’s eye, causing him to twitch, which affected his aim. The rifle barked and missed its mark, hitting the deck directly in front of Specimen Six and showering it with bullet shrapnel. It squealed in pain yet received no fatal injury. It spun around and scrambled down the hallway away from Lanmer. He managed to get off another shot, before Specimen Six turned the corner, but missed again.

Lanmer cursed and aimed the rifle at the door release mechanism. “Stand back,” he shouted at Maylew and fired.

Sparks flew and the hatch opened. Lanmer grabbed Maylew and pushed him onto the bridge, right into a confused Commander Fahlew, knocking both men to the floor. Lanmer ducked inside and pulled the manual door switch, locking them safely inside.

The rifle muzzle pushed painfully into Commander Fahlew’s cheek. “Captain Sekwee just paid for his treachery in blood. Tell me, Mr. Fahlew. Where do your loyalties lie?”

The commander gurgled out a non-response.

“What say you?” Fahlew roared.

“My loyalty lies with the Federates and the Artemis, Mr. Lanmer,” he said. “You have my word. We were all betrayed by the captain. I have no doubt he would have turned on me as well, once he no longer needed me.”

Before Lanmer could decide whether or not to trust the commander, Artemis’s AI chimed in with more bad news. “Warning. Particle engine one losing power. Ninety percent and falling. Life support systems offline.”

“What?” Fahlew sat upright, forgetting the rifle pointing at him. “Artemis, damage report. What is the reason for particle one losing power?”

“Stand by, Mr. Fahlew.”

Lanmer lowered his weapon and took a step back, allowing the commander to take a seat at the helm. Maylew, looking woozy, sat down in the captain’s seat.

“It appears the overheating reactor core has damaged particle engine one as well. Eighty-five percent and falling.”

“What is happening?” Maylew asked.

“Life support draws power from the particle engines,” the commander explained. “If they both go offline, the Artemis will be subzero with little air to breath before the cycle is over.”

“Is there a Federate port or friendly planet in the system where we can land for repairs?” Lanmer asked.

Fahlew scanned the map in front of him before shaking his head. “No charted planets, no.”

“Seventy-five percent and falling.”

“This looks promising.” Fahlew pointed to a spot on the chart. “There’s a system within range if we have enough power for one jump. There,” he tapped the dot on the display with his finger. “Third planet from the system’s star. It’s an oblate spheroid, consists mainly of iron, oxygen, and silicon. The atmosphere is a little too nitrogen rich for our liking but we should be able to breath. Surface temperature is also acceptable.”

“Fifty-five percent and falling.”

“Artemis,” said the commander. “Execute stage seven jump on my mark. Coordinates locked and confirmed.”

“FTL engine spooled and online, Mr. Fahlew. Awaiting your command.”

Fahlew looked over to Maylew in the chair next to him and then over his shoulder at Lanmer. “Artemis. Make the jump.”

The ship lurched and the display of the space in front of the ship melted into a blur of shifted stars and solar dust. They barely had time to catch their breath before the Artemis ripped out of hyperspace to reveal a bright blue planet filling the entire view of the bridge’s display. A new round of warning lights and alarms filled the cabin.

“Particle engine under five percent. Initiating controlled shutdown of ship’s power,” Artemis reported.

“Strap in and put on that emergency flight helmet, Maylew.” Fahlew commanded. “Lanmer, try to hold on to something. We will be coming in very hard and fast.” He put on his own helmet and prepared to perform a crash landing on the planet below.

****

It slowly crept from its hiding place in the dark recesses of the ship after patiently waiting. Since the crash, the vessel had been dark and silent. It stood in the doorway and deeply sniffed the still air in the corridor. All it detected were the signatures of the recent kills, no live prey. This was disappointing of course, but the bounty from the hunt was plentiful and the creatures that held it captive were no longer a danger.

The passageway was pitch black but it was of no matter. By the end of the day, it had gathered all the kills by scent alone and stacked them neatly in the engine room where it was still warm. Now that the work was done, it located its first victim and separated it from the rest of the prey.

Unlike the others, this one was intact and still alive, although unconscious. The prey’s breaths were shallow, uneven, and smelled of death which was quickly approaching. It turned its attention to the wound in the prey’s abdomen and carefully sliced it open with its barb. The victim lurched and moaned before falling silent.

It searched the body cavity of the victim with its tongue, rooting and searching though the intestines and tissue before finding the tiny egg sack. It swallowed it, savoring the rich protein-filled treat. Now that the imminent danger had passed, the implanted host was no longer needed. If the eggs were left to gestate, it would soon have several competitors for the limited meat supply aboard the ship. That would be against its own self-interest of survival.

It breathed deeply, taking in the delicious odor of its kills. They would provide sustenance while it waited. Waited in the dark and the cold. Waited to hunt again for living flesh. Its belly full and energy waning, it found a suitable place close to the still-warm reactor core, curled up in a ball, and slept.

One

Dr. Jake Wilson placed the ultrasound transducer on the tray next to Howard and ran his fingers through his hair. “Okay, did everybody else see what I just saw or am I finally losing it?” He turned to the others in the room.

Dave continued to stare, slackjawed, at the tiny monitor of the ultrasound machine. Emily stood slightly behind Minnie, clutching the woman’s leg and staring at Howard with wide eyes. Ann of all people, was the first to speak.

“Why does this guy have tadpoles swimming around in his gut?” She looked to Emily as if she had the answers.

Wilson shook his head. “I don’t know about tadpoles but they sure look like some sort of larvae or something.”

“But how?” Dave asked. “I know he said he was lost in the jungle for a while, but…”

“Yeah, I wish I knew.” Wilson leaned over and inspected the scar on Howard’s abdomen again. “My only guess is it has to have something to do with this incision. Those…things are pretty close to it.”

Howard moaned and his left hand reached out. Minnie grabbed it and stroked his hair. He fell silent again.

“What I do know,” Wilson continued, “is the human body is not designed to haul around eggs. Not only is it causing him a lot of pain, but assuming these things keep growing they’re going to run out of room. God knew what he was doing when he arranged our organs and there isn’t much extra room for passengers in there.”

“All right then, you have to take ’em out. Right?” Dave asked.

“Take them out? What, like surgery?”

Dave nodded.

Wilson grimaced and looked Dave in the eye. “I’d probably end up killing the poor guy. I’m not a surgical intern, we don’t have an anesthesiologist, no nurses or surgical techs to help me. Do you want me to go on?”

“But you’re still a doctor and his best hope,” Minnie interrupted. “Did you see all de people outside? If we don’t get help, if we’re all dat’s left, you’re probably de only doctor ’round.”

“She’s right, Jake.” Dave put his hand on his shoulder. “You’re going have to learn a lot of stuff on the fly now. It’s only a matter of time before somebody out there comes to you with a heart attack or labor pains. Like Minnie said, you’re his best hope. If you think those things are going to end up killing him, you gotta do something.”

Wilson shrugged and shook his head. “I guess if the ancient Egyptians could figure it out, I can give it a shot.” He stood up and turned off the ultrasound machine. “For now, I could use a smoke.”

“I’m gonna go check on Tre and the truck,” Dave said.

Ann went with him. Minnie and Emily stayed with Howard.

The doors at the end of the corridor slammed open. Colour Sergeant Arscott stepped aside as two men carried in a teenage girl splayed out on a makeshift stretcher. Her face and most of the left side of her body were covered in blood.

“Motorcycle accident across town,” Arscott explained.

Dave and Ann moved out of the way to let them pass and followed Arscott down the hall and into the ER lobby.

“I mentioned your party to Dr. Marshall and he is very interested to meet you,” Arscott said on their way out the doors. The temperature was considerably higher outside in the parking lot but a stiff breeze blew from the harbor, cooling Dave’s sweaty skin. He was glad to be out of the hospital. The whole building reeked of death and seemed to be getting worse by the hour. Wilson and some volunteers had cleaned up the ER area but Dave could only imagine the state of the corridors beyond. Room after room of decaying corpses, rotting food trays, soiled linens, backed up toilets.

“Dr. Marshall, huh? What’s so special about us?” He pulled a grimy bandanna out of his back pocket and wiped his neck. Over Arscott’s shoulder he spotted a man pushing an overflowing shopping cart of colorful T-shirts looted from one of the shops in town. He looked down at the filthy shirt he’d been sporting for over a week and made a mental note to track that man down later for a little business transaction.

“We’ve only accounted for a small number of American’s so far,” the sergeant explained. “I told him you were a soldier and he feels your experience might be helpful.”

“Sorry to disappoint you but I’m not a soldier, I’m a marine. And Ann here,” he put his arm around her shoulder, “is Canadian.”

Arscott pursed his lips. “Nevertheless, the representative would still like a word with you.”

“I’ll go talk to him as soon as I check on my other man and our vehicle.”

A commotion broke out nearby in the parking lot between two woman. One of them started screaming as the other slapped at her and tried to pull a package out of her hands.

“See that you do,” Arscott said before turning away to break up the fight.

Dave scanned the crowd of people and vehicles. “Now where did Tre run off to?”

Ann pointed to the other side of the lot. “I think I see the truck over there.”

Now that Arscott was distracted, Dave pulled his rifle around from his back and inserted one of the magazines. He held it pointed down and headed for the truck. He didn’t like how some of the other survivors were eyeing them and wanted to make it clear he was armed and willing to use it.

They wove their way through the crowd, most of them sitting or lying around, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for authorities to come tell them what to do next, where to go, how to get help. As the day wore on, Dave’s optimism regarding happy endings was evaporating. It wouldn’t take long for food to go bad and become scarce. With all the bodies around, disease would quickly become a problem as well. His group came to the coast in hope of finding greener pastures but Dave was beginning to think they’d be better off up in the hills where it would be secluded and safer.

They approached the truck to find Tre sitting on the tailgate. An older-looking white man stood in front of him. He held on to a brown paper grocery bag with his left hand, a Red Stripe in his right hand, and was talking Tre’s ear off. Tre had a beer of his own but didn’t appear to be engaged in the conversation.

“What’s going on?” Dave asked. He put the AK over his shoulder.

“Yes! Yes! Hello!” The man grinned from ear to ear and rummaged in his bag for another beer. He held it out to Dave. “Gift for you, yes? I give you, you give me, yes?”

Dave glance at Tre, who shrugged his shoulders and took a swig of his beer. Dave took the warm beer and set it down on the tailgate. “I give to you, huh?”

“Yes! Trade for beer. Evens Stevens, yes?” He leered at Ann and smacked his lips. She crossed her arms and hopped up onto the tailgate next to Tre.

Dave handed the beer back. “No even steven. We don’t have anything you want.” The man looked at the beer, confused.

“Ah…” the man rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a crumpled wad of cash. “This for the girl, yes? One time? Ten minutes, a boom boom?”

Tre smacked the man’s hand, sending the useless Jamaican currency flying. “Get cho perverted old wrinkled ass outta here!” He hopped off the truck and gave the man a shove.

Dave gripped the AK but let Tre handle it on his own. The man discarded his broken English and erupted in a guttural slew of cursing in his native tongue. Tre gave him another push and he fell to the pavement with the sound of several Red Stripe bottles breaking in the paper bag. Tre gave him a final kick and the man scrambled to his feet, scurrying away but cursing him the whole time.

“Dis place is crazy, mon. Just like Kingston pretty soon if we don’t get help. You okay, Ann?”

She nodded and gave him a little smile.

“I hear ya, buddy. I don’t think it’s gonna do us much good to hang around here for too long. Guys like that are just going to get worse. No law or government around has a tendency to bring out the worst in people.”

“What’s going on wit cho boy, then?” Tre asked.

Dave brought him up to speed with Howard and the ultrasound. He listened and nodded slightly as he stared at the hospital building.

“Fucked up, mon,” he muttered. “We got him help, now we can move on, right?”

“No,” Ann said. “We’re not going to leave him, are we?”

“We ain’t leaving anybody. We got here as a group and if we leave, it’ll be together.”

Tre raised his hands. “Fine.” He jumped up into the bed of the truck and unrolled one of the sleeping bags from the supplies. He stretched out on it with his hands locked behind his head and shut his eyes.

“Just keep an eye on our stuff,” Dave said. Tre grunted.

He walked back toward the hospital, leaving Tre and Ann behind with the truck. As he got closer to the entrance, Dave noticed a police car slowly weaving through the crowd. People were flocking to it, a symbol of order and assistance they had taken for granted until recently. As they approached the vehicle, however, most of them turned away, looks of  disappointment flashing across their faces. Dave saw the driver, obviously not a cop, and understood.

The car stopped and a young Asian woman got out. Two others, a Jamaican woman and a boy, crawled out of the back seats. They looked around the shantytown with dazed expressions. The crowd realized they were just three more survivors in a police car and went back to what they had been doing. Dave saw Sergeant Arscott approach the new arrivals and decided to get closer and eavesdrop.

Arscott motioned to the tables set up near the RV and guided them toward it. The door to the RV opened and a tall black man with short white hair stepped out. Compared to most of the other survivors, who looked like they hadn’t bathed or changed clothes in weeks, Dave included, this man looked like he just stepped out of the shower. He wore a colorful Hawaiian-type shirt and immaculate white pants.

Sergeant Arscott spotted Dave approaching and signaled to him.  “Ah, yes. Perfect. You come with us and meet Dr. Marshall.” He pointed to the man on the RV steps surveying the parking lot full of survivors.

Dave turned to the Asian woman as they walked. “Howdy. Where did you folks come from?”

“Falmouth, up the coast. We found the car early this morning on the side of the highway and borrowed it to come here. We saw the big sign on the water tower and here we are.”

Dave found himself surprised she spoke perfect English, no trace of an accent. Since arriving in Jamaica, he had quickly become used to the melting pot of his resort. Before the other guests started getting sick, Dave and his wife chatted with other couples from all over the world. He assumed this Asian woman was from, well, Asia.

He held out his hand. “I’m Dave Penske. Sevierville, Tennessee.”

She took his hand and gave him a firm shake. She tried a smile but knew it looked forced and tired. “Soo Kim, nice to meet you. I’m from San Francisco but I’ve been living in Falmouth for the past year.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and looked up at Dave, squinting in the bright sunlight. “Back home, everything was…normal? Before you came here, I mean?”

“Yep. No way to know for sure, of course. I’m sure you know there’s no way to get in touch. Ever since the power grid and phones went down. Got family back in San Fran?” At her nod, he added. “Sorry, wish I could help.”

Arscott put his hand on Soo Kim’s back and motioned toward the tables. “Give that woman at the table your name, please. We are trying to keep track of everyone who has arrived.” He turned his attention to Dave. “You, come with me.”

Arscott took him over to the man at the RV, who raised his hands in welcome and smiled. “Ah, yes, you must be the American Colour Sergeant Arscott told me about. I am representative Waylon Marshall of the Westmoreland Central.”

Dave shook his outstretched hand. “Dave Penske. Master Sergeant, retired. USMC.”

“Very good. We could use a man like you around here, Sergeant. You know, I spent some time in San Diego years ago and had the pleasure of touring Camp Pendleton. I’ve always been very impressed by your marines.”

“I’d be glad to do what I can to help while we’re here, but I’m not sure me and my people will be sticking around for long.”

Marshall looked surprised. “Surely you don’t think there is a safer place in Jamaica than right here? I know it appears a little chaotic at the moment, but it’s only been several days since we started organizing. I was hoping a man with your skill set would be willing to help the Colour Sergeant maintain peace.”

“I’m flattered, but my skill set these days is drinking beer and getting fat in front of  the TV. Like I said, I’ll do what I can to help, but I can’t say for sure if we’ll stay or not. Have you all heard any news from off the island? Anything at all?”

“I’m afraid not, Sergeant. We are all in the dark, so to speak. For some reason, God has spared us from this horrible plague and I try not to dwell on the reason why. For now, I am concentrating on being a servant of the people.”

“Right.” Dave nodded and adjusted the rifle strap over his shoulder. “Listen, if there isn’t anything else, I’m going to go check on my buddy inside.”

“Yes, I heard about your friend.” The smile fell from Marshall’s face. “I hope it isn’t anything too serious. I understand the doctor is young and inexperienced. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help.”

“Thanks.” Dave left Arscott and Marshall at the RV and headed back to the hospital, relieved to get away. Something about the guy didn’t sit quite right  with him but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It reminded him of talking to some of the village elders in Afghanistan. They always talked a good game, all smiles and bows of respect. They told the Americans what they wanted to hear, but you never knew if they were the same bastards setting up IEDs or organizing ambushes five minutes after the last Humvee rolled out of town.

Then again, it felt like it was about a hundred and fifty degrees, he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep or meal in days, and one of his new companions turned out to be circus sideshow freak with a stomach full of critters. He wasn’t exactly feeling like the sharpest knife in the drawer. As he opened the door to the ER he was starting to regret not accepting that pervert’s beer.

Two

Dave walked around the partition into the area where Howard was. He was surprised to see Soo Kim talking quietly to Dr. Wilson.

“Hey.” Wilson waved him over. “This is Soo Kim.”

“Yeah, we met outside.”

“Well, hello again,” Soo said. “I didn’t mention before that I’m a nurse practitioner. Thought I’d come in here and see if there was anything I could do to help.”

Wilson beamed. “And get this. She’s a surgical assistant. She was on a two-year contract at the Falmouth Hospital. Did we get lucky or what?”

“Dr. Wilson just filled me in on what’s going on with your friend,” she said. They all looked at Howard. His face was covered in sweat and twisted with discomfort. Soo shuffled through a few printouts of the ultrasound. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to help?” asked Dave.

“I can certainly try. It’s hard to tell from these images, but this placenta-looking sack appears to be floating among his small intestines. I don’t see any connective tissue so it may be as simple as pulling it out through a small incision.”

“He’s running a fever,” Wilson added. “Whatever we do better be pretty soon.” He jabbed a thumb at the curtain behind him. “I’m going to go check on the motorcycle accident patient.”

Minnie walked into the room holding a plateful of steaming paper cups. Emily stayed by her side, sipping on a can of white soda. Dave accepted a cup of instant coffee and sat down in one of the chairs up against the wall. He sipped the coffee and sighed. It was bitter, left a chalky residue in his mouth, and was probably one of the worst examples of a cup of joe he’d ever had. Despite that, it was the closest thing to proper coffee he’d had in over two weeks and was heavenly.

Dave didn’t realize how tired he was until he sat down. The air in the room was thick and muggy and his eyes grew heavy.

Dr. Marshall and Colour Sergeant Arscott rounded the corner. They spoke in hushed tones before reaching Dr. Wilson and Soo Kim. Dave took another sip and watched as the four of them stood and talked beside Howard’s bed. He looked to his left and was surprised to see Emily sitting in the chair next to him.

Soo handed the ultrasound papers to Marshall. Dave watched his face as he digested the news of the strange discovery. A frown of concern and confusion melted into fascination. Arscott’s expression remained unchanged, as always. Dave thought of Tre lying in the bed of the truck, napping, and felt a flicker of jealousy. He wished he could go off and mind his own business, catch forty winks himself, but he needed to keep an eye on the situation and watch his people. He got to his feet with a groan and approached the others.

Marshall gave him a half smile. “Ah, Sergeant. Dr. Wilson has explained the situation with your friend. Quite fascinating.” He turned to Wilson. “Please keep me informed of the situation.” He gave everyone a nod and went to check on the other patient.

“We’ll do the operation tonight,” Wilson said. “We just need to prep the operating room and get things ready.”

Dave downed the rest of the coffee. “Sounds good. If you need anything, just let me know.” He walked with Minnie and Emily out to the parking lot. It was getting late in the day and they needed to set up camp, even if it was just the corner of the lot.

At the truck, they set about making dinner. While the others were inside the hospital earlier, Tre and Ann bartered with a man who caught a few fish down by the docks. Tre had already cleaned the two fish that cost them a can of potted meat and a few coconuts they had gathered along the side of the road on the way to Montego Bay. Tre lit the fire in their small charcoal grill while Minnie set a pot of water on their propane stove to boil some rice. Outside of Kingston they had come across a crashed delivery truck and were able to wrestle away a thirty-pound bag of rice from dozens of other scavengers all vying for the same food. It had been their main staple while out on the road. Fresh fish would certainly be a nice addition to the plain rice they were all getting tired of.

They ate their simple meal in the grassy area next to the truck. As daylight faded they lounged in the grass, enjoying the warm evening air and the notion of staying in one place long enough to rest. Dave figured they could sleep on the grass for the night, but tomorrow they would have to start looking for something a little more substantial in the way of shelter. At least until Howard was back on his feet.

It was time to come to terms with the fact that they were in this for the long haul. There probably would be no rescue, no return to any semblance of a normal life like there had been before. Not for a long time anyway. Dave wasn’t sure what tomorrow might  bring, but the sooner everyone came to grips with this new world the better. Most of the survivors didn’t appear to be ready yet, including Dr. Marshall, who just assumed he was in control because he had been a member of the government. A government that no longer existed.

Dave was stretched out in the grass when the sound of approaching footsteps cut through his dozing consciousness. Jake Wilson appeared, his hands shoved into the front pockets of his lab coat. He looked tired but satisfied.

“Here you guys are.” He sat down in the grass. “I think your friend is going to be fine. Soo practically did all the work. I just stood there and helped her. That guy really lucked out.”

Ann gave him a bowl of the fish and rice.

“That’s great,” Dave said. “Thanks a lot, Jake.”

Wilson shoveled rice into his mouth and smiled. “It’s my job, right? I guess instead of a six-figure paycheck and a Jag in the garage, I should get used to this as my reward.” He lifted the bowl and took another mouthful.

“What happened to those things?” Ann asked. “Did you kill them?”

“You know what? That Marshall guy wanted them. He acted like a kid winning a goldfish at the fair or something. Stood outside the OR and watched us the whole time.”

“Wanted ’em for what?” Tre asked.

“You got me. He said he was some sort of biologist before he got into politics. Probably just wants to study them. Can’t blame him, I guess. Under normal circumstances I’d probably be pretty fascinated too, but after the last couple of weeks my brain feels like mush. I just wanna go to bed.”

He finished off the last of the rice. “I think they’re still alive. The sac they’re in is really tough. We made an incision in the abdominal wall and just pulled the sucker out with forceps.”

Dave handed him a bottle of water. “How long before Howard is on his feet?”

“As long as there’s no sign of infection he should be fine in a couple of days. He’ll be sore but I can give him a bottle of Vicodin.”

Wilson thanked them for dinner and returned to his cot in the hospital to get some rest. Darkness fell quickly over the parking lot refugee camp and people settled in for the night. Dave stared at the brilliant stars above and tried not to think of his family back home. He tried not to wonder if his parents were immune, like him, or if they were able to hunker down in their house up in the hills of Pigeon Forge and stay isolated from the infection. He tried not to think of his sister, living in the upper west side of Manhattan among eight million other people. He tried not to think of his buddies in Oceanside, tried not to feel guilty he wasn’t among them when their country needed them.

Most of all, he tried not to think of Linda, eighty miles away in room 342 of the Courtleigh Hotel and Suites. He wanted to forget the madness and collapse of the local clinic, the mobs in the streets, him carrying her back to the hotel when she became too weak to walk. He tried not to think of her last gasps for breath while he sat by her side, holding her hand, and never feeling more helpless and alone.

Dave Penske decided then and there, staring at a night sky no longer spoiled by the lights of man, he’d return for her. No matter what happened, he would someday find his way back to room 342 and give his wife a proper burial.

Three

Marshall set down his cup of tea and lit a cigarette. He mopped the sweat from his forehead and exhaled a cloud of smoke over the dinette table he used as a work area. The air conditioning in the caravan struggled to compete with the muggy air trying to seep through the thin fiberglass walls and windowpanes. Still, he was thankful for the small generator outside providing him with some electricity for simple comforts. It was more than many of his constituents out in the parking lot had. Then again, many of them were better off now, a good majority little more than poverty-stricken, quasi-homeless people to begin with. It was true the rich tourists would no longer be bringing their wealth to spread around, but the amenities in place to pamper them were now up for grabs for the common man.

He took another drag and inhaled deeply, staring at the small organ transplant cooler on the table in front of him. Part of him considered it silly, a waste of time, when clearly much more important tasks were at hand. As far as he knew, he was the last remaining survivor of parliament, making him the new Prime Minister by default. Nevertheless, it wasn’t easy to discard years of work and research in biotechnology, wasn’t easy to put aside his scientific mind and replace it with a political one. The contents of the cooler before him might contain one of the most important scientific finds of his lifetime.

As for the plague, he didn’t have an answer for that. He was as clueless as a lice-covered vagabond as to what caused the outbreak and why a handful of the population was immune. But this…this cooler on the table held something tangible he could study. Something he could take credit for. Sure, there would be no journal publications, no television interviews, no awards or citations. But how could he resist such a find?

Tea cup drained, cigarette snuffed, hand disinfectant applied, Marshall stood up from the table and dragged the cooler closer. He opened the lid, his nose wrinkling as the pungent odor hit him. Remarkably, the little creatures seemed more active than ever. They wiggled and swam, happy as clams floating in the amniotic fluid of the transparent sac. Apparently, it seemed they needed nothing more from that Bell fellow than a warm place to flourish. If anything, they seemed to be slightly larger than the first time he laid eyes on them, moments after Dr. Wilson removed the sac from Bell’s abdominal cavity. Their features were becoming less tadpolelike and more reptilian in nature as they grew.

He counted just eight of them, which was fewer than he had seen earlier on the printout from the ultrasound. Before he could even start to ponder an explanation, he saw for himself the reason for the dwindling numbers. One of the larger creatures suddenly attacked one of its siblings, quickly devouring it. It was over in a matter of seconds; only seven remained.

He adjusted the desk lamp directly over the cooler and picked up a scalpel from the table. He attempted to slice open the clear membrane but it proved to be tougher than it appeared. Marshall grabbed the clear lining with forceps in one hand and sliced again, applying more pressure with the scalpel this time. The sac popped, releasing the clear fluid into the cooler, and more pungent odor into the room. Marshall gasped and covered his nose and mouth. It burned, not unlike ammonia or smelling salts.

He stepped back and wiped his eyes before peering into the cooler. All seven creatures swam about, oblivious to the loss of their protective womb. Marshall took the forceps and carefully picked up one, holding it in the light. It squirmed and squealed between the metal clamps.

“Fascinating,” he whispered to himself.

It was the size of a mouse, but didn’t look like any creature he’d ever laid eyes on before. Its tiny mandibles continually clicked together under an almost beaklike snout.

“What exactly are you, my little friend?”

The creature answered with a renewed round of squealing and struggling. It slipped free from the forceps and fell to the table. Marshall cupped his hand over it before it could escape and was bitten on the web between his thumb and forefinger. He jerked back in pain, the creature still attached. It released its grip and fell to the floor before scurrying out of sight.

Marshall reached for a towel on the counter for his bleeding hand. He cursed himself for being so careless and scanned the floor of the caravan for the specimen. There were a number of cracks and crevices for it to hide in and with daylight gone it would be very difficult to spot. He realized he didn’t have a flashlight handy but could probably have Arscott locate one for him.

He removed the towel from his hand and hissed between his teeth. It burned relentlessly and the flow of blood didn’t seem to be slowing. He reached for a bottle of water on the counter and splashed some on the wound, only making it feel worse. Marshall turned his attention back to the cooler.

The six remaining creatures continued to crawl about in the fluid, no worse for wear. It was getting late and he became less concerned with the escapee as the minutes passed. It was probably scared and most likely crawled into a dark corner someplace. He doubted it would survive very long, being so young and without food.

He decided to leave it be and get some sleep. Half a dozen specimens were more than enough and would be fine in the cooler until morning. And if not, he would have his pick of six for dissection and further study. After all, he had no idea what these things needed to survive. They certainly wouldn’t be looking for a suckling teat from the man they were removed from.

Marshall switched off the desk lamp and lit another cigarette on his way back to the small bedroom. Tomorrow was a new day, a new beginning for his country and his people. In the meantime, he had his new pets to keep him entertained when recovery efforts became dull.

Four

Howard dreamt of a time when he was young, probably no more than eight years old. It was one of those dreams where you hear a noise in your sleep that plays a supporting role in your dream.

One night, a June bug had managed to find its way through a hole in the window screen. As dawn broke, it flew around by the ceiling in his bedroom. It buzzed around all morning and bounced off the ceiling, it’s exoskeleton shell making a metallic tic tic tic every time it came in contact with the eggshell paint on Howie’s ceiling.

His subconscious mind registered the racket the June bug made and it entered his dream as his mother’s voice. He was sitting at the table trying to do his math homework but the numbers made no sense. Simple addition problems were as perplexing as Japanese trigonometry. His mother sat opposite, losing her temper and yelling at Howie for being so stupid. She was in no goddamned mood to be helping him with his homework, and he was making her miss the beginning of Knot’s Landing. Her voice was the buzzing of the June bug. The long fingernail of her index finger, tapping on the table as she spit angry, buzzing nonwords in a nonhuman voice, made the tic tic tic from the shell against the ceiling.

Howard dreamt the dream he’d had when he was eight because of the sounds he was currently hearing in the emergency room of Oswald Regional Hospital. Those sounds were like the sounds in his dream’s dream. This made perfect sense to Howard’s mind as he slept. As his unconscious and conscious worlds slowly mixed together while he woke that morning, he discovered the logical explanation for the dream.

Directly overhead was a flickering light fixture. The long fluorescent bulbs buzzed and stuttered, the glass tubes making the ticking sound from his dream, as the filament attempted to burn at full capacity before sputtering out again and again.

Howard blinked and frowned at the light before rubbing his eyes. Just as he was about to turn his head to take in his surroundings, the power to the bulbs finally died, plummeting the room into total darkness. The room was silent, the air thick and stifling. Howard couldn’t help but remember the last time he woke up confused and alone. He sat up and was relieved to find himself not restrained in any way this time. An old companion spoke up as he moved into a sitting position, his sore abdomen. In pain, he reached for the area and felt new bandages and dressings beneath yet another hospital gown.

“What the hell?” he muttered to himself.

His throat was dry and sore, his voice hoarse. Robbed of his vision, he reached out and groped with his hands. He brushed against something metallic and knocked it to the floor. Steel crashing onto tile echoed throughout the room. Howard took a deep breath and tried to keep the rising panic at bay. He reminded himself that he’d seen flickering lights overhead just moments ago, so he hadn’t gone blind. He was just in a dark room, presumably in a hospital.

He put his feet on the floor and carefully stood. He took a few steps forward but wasn’t sure which direction to go. As he stood with one hand on the bed, making sure his balance was steady, Howard noticed a break in the blackness. Now that his eyes had fully adjusted, he could make out a sliver of light and shuffled toward it. He moved slowly with his hands out in front, fully expecting to bang his bare toes or shins against something hard and unforgiving.

He broke out in a sweat and found his attempts to keep calm were quickly failing. The air in the room was too thick and hard to breath in. His abdomen was throbbing, reminding him of the attack he’d had in the back of the pickup truck, the worst pain he’d ever felt in his life. Was it happening again?

A foul odor attacked his sense of smell and his imagination started to run wild in the darkness. Was that a footstep behind him? He quickened his pace toward the light. Just as he was about to throw caution to the wind and break into a run, his foot hit something and he crashed to the floor. Both knees connected painfully with the tile floor and his palms slid in a wet, sticky mess before he came to a halt.

Howard sat back and tried to wipe his hands on the hospital gown, but it didn’t help much since the material soaked up some of the mess too. He allowed his fingertips to graze over the floor, back to where he’d tripped. He flinched when they met something. It was a hand, stiff and cold. Howard managed to scramble to his feet, away from the dead hand, no doubt connected to a dead body. He shuffled away from the mess that was most likely a sea of spilt blood, and made for the light.

It came from beneath a door. Howard put his palms on it and shoved, making a racket but accomplishing nothing else. The door didn’t give. He frantically felt around for a handle, found the metal release bar, and pushed it open to freedom. It led to a dimly lit hallway. Howard stood with his back to the door, trying to catch his breath. A sign nearby pointed to RECEPTION.

The others must have brought him here after he blacked out, but where were they? Where was anybody? And exactly how many times was he going to have to wake up with fresh bandages and new scars with no idea how they got there?

The reception sign led him to the lobby outside the emergency room area. Howard squinted and slowly walked toward brilliant sunlight spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The body of a woman lay outside the door that was stained with her blood. He could make out the streaks of her handprints as she had slid down the door before dying.

The parking lot beyond was a disaster, littered with more bodies among a sea of disturbed campsites, supplies, and vehicles. It looked as if the people who had been out there were in a big hurry to escape, not all of them making it. He saw a young girl among the dead and thought of Emily, relieved when he realized the dead girl was too old to be her. Standing out among the rest of the carnage was the smoldering remains of what looked like a trailer or RV, and charred vehicles close to it.

Howard tried to open the front door but it was locked. He banged on the glass and shouted, scanning the exterior for any kind of movement but saw none. He had a few more options for interior doors leading out of the lobby area, but he wasn’t exactly eager to explore the rest of the hospital. The only light came through the windows, and judging by the growing shadows outside it wouldn’t last much longer.

He sat down in one of the chairs and absently rubbed his bloody hands on the upholstery, not sure what to do next. He thought of all the times he’d watched horror movies with Gina. She always had the same reaction to the pivotal scene where the protagonist came face-to-face with some horrible monster or alien, or dozens of enemies, where death was almost certain and definitely unpleasant. “Yeah, that’s when I would just say fuck it and kill myself,” was Gina’s typical response to such situations. Howard was beginning to think she may have had a point. What use was it to keep going? How much longer would he have to endure before finding some kind of peace? He looked at the dead woman a few feet away outside and envied her. At least her suffering was over.

A noise beyond the lobby snapped Howard out of wallowing in self-pity and his heart raced. There is was again. A door slamming. Somebody or something was heading his way, and judging by the hospital’s current state of affairs it probably wouldn’t be an elderly volunteer handing out magazines.

He got to his feet and looked around the lobby for anything even remotely resembling a weapon. The best he could come up with was an umbrella leaning in the corner behind the reception desk. It wasn’t much, but if he was lucky he could at least try to poke out an eye or something. He couldn’t tell where the sound had come from so he wasn’t sure which of the three doors leading out of the lobby would get him to safety. Before he could decide, one of them slammed open and a girl emerged, holding a pistol aimed right at him. She lowered it as recognition flashed across her face.

“Holy shit,” she whispered. “Howard? Is that you?”

Howard nodded, still holding onto the umbrella like a baseball bat.

“It’s me. Ann. Remember?” She poked her head through the doorway behind her and raised her voice slightly. “I found him! Over here.”

Seconds later the sounds of footsteps filled the hallway beyond. Ann opened the door wide as Dave the marine entered with Emily and Tre, and an Asian woman he didn’t recognize, close at his heels. Emily’s face lit up and she ran to him, hugging his legs and beaming.

“Hey, buddy, good to see you up and about,” Dave whispered. “You okay to walk? We need to get the hell out of here. Pronto.”

Emily pulled him toward the door.

“Where is everybody?” he asked Dave.

“Minnie didn’t make it.” Dave’s gaze sank to the floor. “The doc who stitched you up too. ’Course, you didn’t get a chance meet him.”

“Wait a minute, didn’t make it from what? I meant everybody, not just Minnie. What the hell is happening?”

“We were hoping you could tell us,” the Asian woman said. “After all, you gave birth to the things that killed your friend. So to speak.”

Five

“Gave birth?” Howard’s mouth hung open as his hand went for the sore spot in his stomach.

“Hey,” Dave hissed. “We don’t have time for this.” He grabbed a wheelchair close by. “Get in and keep quiet. We need to get the hell out of here.”

Howard obeyed and Dave quickly pushed him down the hallway with the others following. The only sounds in the corridor were the rubber wheels on the tile floor and the footsteps of his companions. Howard had noticed that everybody looked terrified and that Emily was falling behind. He held out his hands and Dave slowed so she could hop onto his lap. He held her close and felt her heart pounding under her sweaty T-shirt.

With the natural light from the windows gone, all they had was the beam of Ann’s flashlight. They hurried along the dark hallways, through clouds of flies and the acrid stench of death and decay. The beam bounced off the walls and floors, making Howard dizzy. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to clear his head and calm his queasy stomach.

They turned a corner and stopped at a door at the end of the corridor. Dave stepped from behind the wheelchair, his AK at the ready. Tre took his spot behind Howard’s chair and Ann held the flashlight beam on the door. Dave slowly opened the door with one hand, holding his rifle steady with the other. Daylight filled the corridor. He poked his head outside, looked in both directions, and gave the group a nod. He held open the door while Tre pushed the wheelchair outside.

The fresh air was heavenly. Howard sucked it in like a skindiver right before going under. He couldn’t get enough. They hurried over to an old Ford Bronco parked in the alley behind the hospital.

“Okay. Let’s go, let’s go,” Dave whispered.

A squeal from one end of the narrow alley ripped through the quiet afternoon. Everybody froze. Howard squinted at some sort of animal crouched in the light of the alley opening ahead of them. Others quickly joined it.

“Get in!” Dave raised his rifle and got down on one knee.

Ann pushed Howard toward the open car door as Dave and Tre opened fire. Howard scrambled past the front seats, Emily and the Asian woman on his heels. The concussion from the rifle shots in the confined space pounded his ears as they continued to fire short bursts down the alleyway. Ann hopped into the passenger seat and leaned over to start up the Bronco.

Howard looked between the front seats and couldn’t believe his eyes. At least a dozen of the creatures like the one he’d seen back at the farm were racing toward them. One of Dave’s shots found its mark, causing one the creatures to somersault to a standstill. The others dodged to avoid its body.

Ann stuck her head out the window and screamed for Dave and Tre. They finally stopped firing and scrambled into the Bronco – Dave at the wheel and Tre opening the hatch and diving into the back. Ann grabbed Dave’s rifle as he shoved the truck into gear and floored the accelerator. The heavy SUV lurched into motion just as the creatures reached them, one of them actually bouncing off the grill before being run over by the front wheel. Another one timed the perfect jump and landed on the hood. It struggled to find purchase with its smooth hooves against the smoother steel before it lost the fight and slid off.

As the Bronco accelerated, the creatures, now behind them, started to fall back. Ann stuck Dave’s rifle out the window but he grabbed her arm to stop her. “Don’t waste the ammo! We got this. We’re good.” The truck reached the end of the alley and Dave made a hard right onto the main street. He checked the mirrors and slowed the vehicle to safely weave through abandoned cars on the main road.

“Everybody all right?” Dave looked into the rearview mirror at Howard.

Howard squeezed Emily’s arm and she smiled at him and nodded.

“Are you in much pain?” the woman next to him asked.

“I’m doing okay, I guess.”

She offered her hand to Howard. “My name is Soo Kim.” The handshake seemed absurdly normal considering a pack of aliens had just chased them and nobody in the car except him seemed to find that strange.

“I assisted Dr. Wilson in your surgery.”

“What surgery? You’re going to have to bring me up to speed.”

“You had a bellyful of those little critters,” Dave said. “Soo and Jake pulled them out and saved your life.”

“They survived though, and flourished.” Soo pointed over her shoulder at the rear window. “As you could see.”

Howard looked down and put his palm on his abdomen again. “You’re saying those things were inside of me? That’s why I was hurting so bad?”

“We counted eighteen after we removed the embryonic sac. Each one was about the size of a quarter.” She put her hand on his arm. “Do you have any idea what those creatures are and how you were impregnated with them?”

Emily yanked on Howard’s sleeve. “Minnie says de were demons.”

Tre scoffed and continued to stare out the back window.

Dave pulled the Bronco up to the curb across the street from a small grocery store a few blocks away from the hospital. “Hey, let’s save catch-up for when we’re off the streets and safe.”

He killed the engine and they quickly got out. Dave produced a set of keys from his pocket and opened the front door. It was glass but had heavy steel bars as burglary protection. The windows did as well. They hurried inside and Dave locked the door behind them.

He peered between the paper signs on the door, looking for movement outside. “Everybody stay down, keep quiet.”

“Any follow?” Tre asked.

Dave shook his head. “Don’t think so. I…wait, there’s a few. Crafty bastards.”

Howard looked over the display case in front of the window and saw three of them down the street. They trotted at a casual pace, stopping once in a while to sniff the air. They slowly approached the Bronco and stood on their hind legs to inspect the interior. The inside of the grocery was dead quiet; Howard could hear the creatures outside clucking and snarling.

After what seemed like an eternity, they moved on down the street. Dave exhaled and came away from the door. “That was a close one. I probably should have parked farther away from the store.” He set the AK on the counter and rubbed the back of his neck. “We came across this place yesterday. It’s as safe as anything around. I found the keys on the owner in the back and there’s plenty of dry foods and bottled water to last us for a while.”

Howard was completely out of energy. He leaned up against the wall and slid down to a sitting position. Ann handed him a bottle of warm water and he drained half of it in one pull. Soo rustled around in a bag and gave him a couple of painkillers.

Dave pulled up a folding chair and sat next to Howard. “We can hold up in here for a day or two to get our shit together and help you rest up .” He glanced at the others then back to Howard. “In the meantime, you wanna fill us in on just what in the holy hell is going on?”

Howard drained the rest of the water and shifted his weight, trying to get comfortable on the concrete floor. “I’ll tell you what I know but I’m just as confused as you guys. I’ve seen those things before. Well, just one actually. It was on a small island off the coast of Antarctica. I’m not sure, but I think it must have been in a spaceship we found.” He paused and searched the faces of his audience, waiting for one or all of them to laugh. Nobody said a word.

“I’m a convict. I was sentenced to life on an island prison camp where we came across this ship, underground. I’m guessing it probably crashed a long time ago. I don’t even know how that thing survived.”

Dave shook his head. “With all due respect, Howard, are you out of your goddamned mind? Did you hit your head or something?” He glanced at Soo.

“I know it sounds crazy but it’s the truth. You’ve seen them yourself. Do they look like anything of this world?”

“He’s got a point,” said Ann.

“It killed some people on the island and almost got me before a woman and I fought it off. We trapped it in a shed and burned it to the ground. In the process it stabbed me with that big stinger and must have, I dunno…planted eggs in me for some reason. Doesn’t make much sense.”

“It was probably a reproduction defense mechanism,” Soo suggested. “It could have sensed it was in mortal danger and wanted to plant eggs in a host before it died. That could be the way they reproduce.”

“Gross.” Ann stared at Howard’s stomach. Tre nodded in agreement.

Howard cleared his throat and looked at the floor. “That’s only half of it. I can’t say for sure, but I think the pandemic started from the ship too. Must have been some old germs or something floating around in there. It wiped out the whole prison camp population except for me and two other guys. For some reason we were immune.”

“If you were stranded on an island way down there, how in the hell did you get to Jamaica?” Dave asked.

“I have no idea. After I was stabbed by that thing, I lost consciousness and woke up after my plane crashed up in the hills. I can only guess they were flying me back to the States to figure out why I didn’t get sick. I found a town, ran into Emily, and you know the rest.”

Howard put his arm around Emily. “I’m sorry, you guys. I brought the germs with me. If I’d have died back on the island none of this would have happened.”

Ann perked up. “Hey, if he brought it with him then it’s probably just here in Jamaica, right? What if everybody back home–”

“I’m sorry,” Soo interrupted. “Not with the rate this disease spread. Think of all the people flying in and out of the country. It would only take days for this thing to spread across the planet. They may be better off in some areas, maybe they were able to set up quarantines, but I think it’s probably this bad everywhere.”

“I think she’s right, kid,” Dave said. “The cavalry would have arrived by now.”

Ann’s face fell. She quickly got up and stormed to the other side of the store.

Tre sighed and stood up. “I go talk to her.”

“This isn’t your fault, Howard,” Soo said. She offered him a thin smile.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Howard said. “If those things were small enough to fit inside of me just a couple of days ago, how did they get so big so fast? And how many are there?”

“They’re multiplying like rabbits, that’s how,” said Dave. “They grow up fast. Real fast. And there are way more now than what started out. You counted, what, almost two dozen when you pulled them out?” he asked Soo.

“That’s right, and by the end of the day only half of those survived. The bigger ones ate the little ones.”

“There must be hundreds out there now, and growing,” Dave said. “All hell broke loose late that night after the operation. Some schmoe who thought he was in charge because he was the last standing member of the government confiscated the things.”

“He said he wanted to study them,” Soo added.

“Well, whatever he wanted to do with them, it didn’t go as planned,” Dave continued. “They killed him in his trailer sometime during the night and probably ate him. We’ve seen plenty of that since.”

Howard nodded, thinking of Reg’s disemboweled corpse. He’d seen it too.

“Sometime in the early morning they busted out of there. Probably no more than two or three of them but they went on a killing spree. Plenty of sleeping bodies in thin tents and sleeping bags close by. Some of the refugees with guns and twitchy trigger fingers panicked and started shooting. It was still dark out and plenty of people probably got hit by accident.

“A couple fires started from who knows what and before you knew it, chaos ruled. We managed to hightail it out of there in the truck and get to safety.”

“What about Minnie?”

“She was killed yesterday,” Dave said. “We were outside the hospital, trying to find a safe way in when a pack attacked us. Ann, Soo, and Emily were here in the store.” Dave stared over Howard’s shoulder and his eyes glazed over.

“Coming to find me,” Howard said.

Dave nodded. “She knew what she was getting into. She insisted. We almost fought ’em off but those cocksuckers are relentless. One of them got Minnie and Tre went after her.” Dave glanced over at the corner of the store where Ann sat with her head in her hands. Tre leaned over her, speaking softly into her ear. “If I hadn't pulled him back, Tre wouldn’t have made it either. I knew it was no use…” His voice trailed off and he looked at his hands.

“It’s been a long day for everybody,” said Soo. “Let’s all get something to eat and some rest.” She held out her hand to Emily. “Come on, honey. Do you want to help me fix dinner?”

Emily scrambled to her feet and followed Soo. Dave started to stand up.

“Hey,” Howard said. “I just want to say thanks. Really. For everything. Not just the hospital but for me and Emily back in Boone’s Run.”

Dave nodded slightly. “Don’t mention it.”

“What I said before, about being a convict…”

Dave held up his hand. “I’m a marine, not a cop. But I like to think I’m a damn good judge of character. Twenty years in the corps helps you get a sixth sense about people. I don’t give a shit about what you did to get locked in the can so just forget it. Are you going to make me regret it or can I trust you?”

Howard nodded.

“All right then. Besides, that little girl really took a shine to you so you can’t be too scary.”

Howard chuckled. “Yeah, she’s something else.”

“Come on,” Dave held out his hand. “Let’s see if we can find you some decent clothes and get a bite to eat.” He helped Howard to his feet and they joined the others on the other side of the store.

Six

Howard felt a tickle on his nose and swatted away what he thought was a fly but turned out to be a hand. His eyes shot open and he sat up, wincing and grabbing at his stomach. Emily fell back, wide-eyed and startled.

“What? What’s wrong? What is it?” He looked around the dimly lit store.

“Sorry,” Emily whispered. She scooted closer to him. “I was jus’ makin’ sure you were still breathin’.” She held her own hand over her nose.

Howard’s shoulders sagged and he gave her a tired smile. “I’m still breathing, hon. I feel like I’m barely alive but I think I’ll pull through.” He gently tugged on one of her braids. “Sorry to worry you. How are you doing?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Fine.”

Howard made out a lump of blankets at the end of the aisle and saw the bare foot of one of the women sticking out. He couldn’t tell if it was Ann or Soo. “It’s barely light outside,” he whispered. “How come you’re up so early?”

Another shrug. She glanced toward the front of the store and spoke softly. “I keep hearing dem outside.”

“What? Hearing who?” The store was quiet except for a low snore from the other side of the aisle. He assumed that was Dave or Tre. He was about to ask her again when he heard it himself. A soft scraping sound at the front of the store. He pointed in that direction and Emily nodded. He started to get up but she grabbed his arm.

“Don’t!”

“I’m just going to take a peek. We’re safe in here. Don’t worry.”

Howard got up and stretched. He was sore and feeling a little weak but otherwise no worse for wear. A decent meal of mostly canned foods had boosted his energy and morale last night. Ditching the hospital gown was a nice change too. Dave slipped out after dark and commandeered a change of clothes from a shop down the block. He returned with a pair of cargo shorts and a yellow T-shirt proclaiming JAMAICA MON! in bold letters. He may now look like a tourist rube, but the clothes were clean and comfortable. Dave even snagged him a decent pair of sandals and guessed his size spot-on.

He went to the front of the store and approached the windows. Almost every inch of glass on the front of the building was covered in posters and signs. He smirked at the back of the handpainted poster announcing SALE TODAY. Judging by the weathered and faded paper it was printed on, the “sale” had been going on every day for years. He peered through a gap in the glass and his smile faded.

There were twenty, maybe thirty, of the creatures in the street out front. Several of them perched on the hood and roof of the Bronco, sitting perfectly still yet staring intently at the building. Others were slowly milling about, clucking and hissing at each other when they got too close. The rest were sitting in the street, watching the store like their siblings on the truck.

One crouched in front of the door, just inches away from Howard on the other side of the glass. It slowly ran the tip of its barbed appendage down the door over and over. The barb made a high-pitched squeal and each time left a deep scratch in the glass. It was an odd thing to do but the creature apparently comprehended the significance of the bars on the door and all the windows. Breaking the windows wouldn’t do any good, so it was content to just scratch the glass, perhaps sending them a message.

Howard found being so close to one of them unnerving and he took a step back. They were more hideous than he membered. His gaze shot upward as the ceiling creaked under the weight of something. They were on the roof, too.

“Hey, um…,” he cleared his throat and regretted breaking the peaceful morning with his own voice. “Hey, we have a situation here, everybody. Probably a good idea to get up.”

Dave inhaled sharply as his eyes fluttered open. He slowly sat up in his sleeping bag. “What’s the problem?” he asked in a thick voice.

The problem presented itself as the glass in the door shattered, spraying Howard with shards. He jumped back, just out of reach of the creature’s stinger. It hit the floor, sending concrete chips against Howard’s shins. The creature stuck its beak between the bars and squealed, filling the store with its awful, earsplitting cry.

Dave scrambled to his feet and grabbed the AK lying next to the sleeping bag. “Get back!”

He pointed the rifle at the door but held his fire, waiting to see if the bars would hold. More glass broke as additional creatures attacked the front of the store. Within seconds most of the glass was gone and the entire storefront was covered with the creatures, each one frantically clawing through the bars and squealing at the group.

Dave fired a few shots into the mass of attackers, killing one. It was replaced by another even before the body fell to the sidewalk. Unless his memory failed him, he now had eight rounds in the mag plus one in the chamber. One last thirty-round magazine was all he had left. The sudden death of their comrade hadn’t scared off the others and shooting them all wasn’t an option. They would need to make every bullet count once they left the store, but leaving was beginning to look like an impossibility.

“Everybody okay?” He glanced at the others huddled together in the middle of the store before again pointing the rifle at the creatures.

“We need to get out of here!” Soo shouted.

“You got that right. Every one of those things in town will soon know we’re here.” Satisfied the bars would keep them out at least temporarily, Dave lowered the gun and went for his things. “We’ll try to get out through the back. It’ll be on foot so only take essentials.”

Howard watched as the others gathered their bags and got supplies together. Other than his new change of clothes, he didn’t have anything to pack, so he scanned the shelves looking for anything small, but nutritious, to carry.

“Hey,” Dave sidled up to him and spoke softly. He held out a handgun. “Shit’s gonna hit the fan out there. Do you think you’ll be able to keep up?”

Howard stared at the gun for a moment before grabbing it. It was the first time he’d held one since the shooting that felt like a thousand years ago. A sense of dread washed over him but he didn’t have time to dwell on it.

“Do you know how to use it?” Dave said.

“Yeah. I think I can figure it out.”

“Make ’em count. We’re really low on ammo.”

The racket at the front grew as more creatures joined the fray. Emily held her hands over her ears and tears ran down her cheeks. Soo picked her up but looked just as terrified as the little girl. Tre’s face was stone. He stood with his rifle pointed at the floor, staring at the creatures. Ann stood close by.

They went to the back of the store. The racks of shelves blocked the view from the front and the creatures squealed even louder once they lost sight of their prey. A door in back led to a storage room which led to a large set of double doors.

Dave opened one door a crack and peered out into a dark hallway. He turned on his flashlight and looked in both directions. All of the stores in the building complex shared the common hallway and he hoped for a main exterior dock door somewhere. There had to be a place to accept deliveries for all the businesses. There was no sign of daylight which was good news for now.

They quietly hurried down the corridor. Howard held the gun in his right hand and Emily’s hand in the other. It was dark and hot. He couldn’t believe how much time he’d spent recently in dark oppressive environments, considering he was on a sunny tropical island.

Just as Dave expected, they reached a dock door at the end of the hall, next to a smaller man door. He carefully unlocked the deadbolt as quietly as possible and opened the door an inch or so. The alley behind the building was clear. He held up his index finger to his lips and motioned to the others to follow.

They barely got down the stairs and into the alley when they heard something overhead. One of the creatures on the roof jumped off onto the top of a truck and then to the pavement. Dave raised his rifle and fired a single shot right through its head. More of them arrived at the edge of the roof as the report from the rifle echoed though the empty streets.

Nobody had to give the command to run. Ann was the first to go and everybody else followed. Howard scooped up Emily, the surge of adrenaline making her feel light as a feather. More shots rang out behind him as Dave picked off a few more. Howard glanced behind him to make sure the marine was still with them. Four of the creatures were now in the chase and gaining ground fast. Dave stopped running, dropped to one knee, and opened fire.

He dropped two of them immediately, grazed the third before aiming at the fourth, which he missed entirely. It leapt from ten feet away and landed on Dave, slamming him to the pavement. In the meantime, the third injured creature limped in his direction.

Howard handed Emily to Tre and ran back to help. Dave was pinned under the creature and held the rifle sideways, jammed into the beast’s mouth as it thrashed about. Fortunately for Dave, the creature’s deadly appendages, one clawed and one with the deadly stinger, were too long and ineffective at close range, but the sharp claws and hooves on the creature’s other legs were doling out plenty of damage.

Howard stopped and raised the gun but couldn’t fire. At that distance he was just as likely to hit Dave as the creature. Instead he turned to the injured one that had lost interest in Dave and was now coming for him. Howard pulled the trigger but it didn’t budge. He fumbled for the safety and tried again, this time the trigger worked but the gun didn’t fire. The creature was just feet away. He pulled back the slide, finally chambering a round, and yanked on the trigger again. The gun bucked in his hand, annihilating the alien’s head and spraying Howard with blood. The body crashed into him and he pushed it aside.

He scrambled to his feet and got close enough to the alien on top of Dave to risk a shot. It took three rounds before it finally went limp. Howard helped Dave push it off of him.

The front of Dave’s shirt was shredded from the alien’s sharp claws, and soaked with blood from dozens of lacerations on his torso. Howard asked if he could walk and was answered with a weak nod. Dave took a few steps and stumbled. Soo ran up and gave Howard a hand as distant shrieks grew louder. More on the way. Dave’s rifle was mangled and looked broken so Howard decided to leave it.

“Leave me here,” Dave said. “I’ll throw them off your path.”

“Don’t give me that macho bullshit,” Soo said. “We’re not leaving anybody.”

“We won’t make it on foot, though.” Howard looked back the length of the alley. “Not at this pace. We need to find another car.”

They came to the end of the alley and onto a side street. Dave was sweating profusely, his face twisted in pain with every step they took. They sat him down on a sidewalk bench to rest. “Soo, stay here with Dave and the girls. Tre and I will try to find a car.”

Soo removed the rifle strap from her shoulder. “Make it quick. I don’t think we have much time.”

“Gotcha. Emily, you stay here. We’ll be right back, okay?”

She nodded and sat down next to Dave.

They ran down the street, going from car to car but not having any luck. There were plenty of vehicles to choose from, but all of them were parked with no keys in the ignition. Despite his criminal past, Howard had no idea how to hotwire a car and doubted it was even possible in real life.

A taxi van down the block looked promising. Unlike the parked cars, it had obviously veered off the road with somebody behind the wheel before crashing into a storefront. Howard could make out a body slumped over the wheel. The old van had been made back in the day when cars were still mostly steel, not plastic and aluminum. It barely looked scratched after smashing into the brick wall.

They could smell the bodies even before getting close. The driver was still strapped in and badly decomposed. A woman in back sprawled across the rear seat, covered in flies. Tre gagged and lifted his shirt over his nose. “Na, mon. Let’s find anoter.”

“There’s no time! Besides, any car with keys around here is gonna have a body to go with it.” Howard held his breath and reached over the man’s lap to unlatch the seat belt. He grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled the body out onto the street. The keys in the ignition glistened in the sunlight.

Tre slid open the side door and made retching sounds under his shirt. Howard grabbed the woman’s ankles and yanked, doing nothing more than pulling the skin off her legs. That was enough for Tre, who bent over and vomited. Gunshots from down the street rang out.

Howard cursed and grabbed the woman’s shoes this time, succeeding in sliding her off the seat and onto the street. “Come on, we need to hurry,” he yelled at Tre.

Tre wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and hopped in, slamming the side door behind him. “Sorry,” he said from under his T-shirt.

Howard jumped into the driver seat and closed the door. “Don’t worry about it. Trust me, it’s a miracle I’m not yacking right along with you.” He grabbed the keys and stomped the clutch to the floor. “Cross your fingers.”

He turned the key; the van sputtered but didn’t start. More gunshots from down the street. “Come on!” Howard pumped the gas twice and tried again, this time the engine roared to life. Thick black smoke belched out the back as he revved the gas. “Yes! Hold on, here we go.”

The gear lever was on the steering column– “three on a tree” as his dad used to say, referring to the three-speed transmission. Howard’s father had an old ’64 Ford van he bought from a buddy when Howard was a kid. Once when Howard was twelve years old and they were on a weekend camping trip, his dad taught him the basics of driving stick, through the fields, in that van. It was one of his best childhood memories. Who would have thought those skills would come in handy twenty years later in a postapocalyptic Montego Bay?

Despite his three-on-a-tree experience, Howard ground through the gears, trying to find reverse, before finally slipping it into gear. He gunned it and backed the van out of the wreckage, unintentionally running over the driver’s body with a sick crunch.

Howard sped down the road the couple of blocks to the others and screeched to a halt. Tre slid open the side door before the van stopped and jumped out. Soo pointed her rifle down the alley but Howard didn’t see any of the creatures. They helped Dave into the back.

“Shit, here they come.” Howard saw two of them sprinting down the alley.

Now that Soo’s gun no longer posed a threat, they were going for it. The side door finally slammed home as everybody made it inside and Howard floored it. The creatures flew out of the alley and kept pace with the van for half a block before finally losing ground and giving up.

“I didn’t hit any but they kept their distance after I fired a couple of shots,” Soo said. “I think, after they saw their friends get killed by Dave, they might finally be learning about guns.”

“Well, that’s something, I guess.” Howard weaved between a few stalled cars in the middle of the road and checked the rear view mirrors. No signs of any followers. “How’s he doing?”

“Stop talking about me like I’m already dead, dammit,” Dave mumbled. “I’ll be fine. Just try to keep it on the goddamned road.”

Howard chuckled then starting to laugh. The intense mixture of stress, adrenaline, and relief boiled over and caused him to laugh like a lunatic. He had chalked it up years ago as some kind of internal defense mechanism. Most of the time when he fought with Gina he’d end up laughing, which used to piss her off even more.

Laughter, even in the darkest times of times and in rickety old vans reeking of death, is contagious. Pretty soon everybody was joining in. Howard turned onto the main road and headed east while the Oswald Regional Hospital grew smaller in the rearview mirror.

Seven

The van broke down on the A-1 about fifteen miles east of the city. Once it got up to highway speed Howard noticed a very unhealthy vibration coming from the steering wheel. That was accompanied by a temperature gauge in the red and a burning odor filling the cabin.

It was a shame, because once they got onto the open road Howard was actually starting to enjoy himself. It felt like forever since he’d driven anything, and after his long trek through the jungle the easy speed of tires on pavement was satisfying. Despite having to occasionally weave through or around pileups of corpse-filled cars, burned out buildings, and rotting bodies on the side of the road, Howard almost felt like he was on a road trip with friends.

That fleeting fantasy came crashing to a halt when the van shimmied to a stop, let out a pitiful groan, and died. Howard tried the ignition a few times but it only stuttered and wouldn’t turn over.

He turned around to face the others. “Looks like we’re on foot from here.” He nodded at Dave and asked Soo, “How’s he doing?” Dave’s head was tilted back with his mouth open and his chest was a bloody mess.

“I gave him a few painkillers but I really need to clean these cuts. Who knows what kind of nasty bugs those things are carrying around.” She wiped off Dave’s sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. “The last thing we need is an infection.”

“Nasty bugs?” Ann asked. “That’s a good description for those fucking things in general.”

Howard wanted to tell Ann to watch her language in front of Emily, especially since she was a minor herself, but kept his mouth shut. They were reluctantly living in an R-rated world where he had just pulled the skin off a dead woman’s legs. A little harsh language was the last thing he needed to worry about.

“Fucking A,” he said, immediately feeling old and uncool. He looked out the window. “We could have broken down in worse places though. Check it out.”

A brick driveway behind an elaborate gateway across the highway looked welcoming. A sign above the gate read “Royal Gardens Beach Club and Spa Resort.” It was a typical sight on the coastal highway: multimillion-dollar resorts within walking distance of concrete peasant shacks that had no glass in the windows.

“We should check it out.” Howard looked up and down the road and squinted in the harsh midday sun. There were no signs of any other cars or people. More importantly, no signs of Ann’s nasty bugs. “Might be a safe place to hole up for a few days and let Dave heal. Not to mention me.”

“Let’s go,” Ann said. “I’m getting antsy sitting out here in the middle of the road.”

“I can’t even see the building from here.” Soo craned her neck out the window. “I think it’s probably too far for Dave to walk right now.”

“Hold on.” Howard rubbed his hands together. “Maybe I can get a few hundred yards out of this baby yet.”

He put his hand on the key and said a silent prayer before turning it. The starter motor whined for a second before the engine sputtered to life. Everybody in the van cheered. Howard quickly shoved it into first and popped the clutch. The van lurched forward and he cranked hard on the wheel, heading right for the driveway. The iron gate was partially open, probably mechanized but not locked. The van easily crashed through and headed up the driveway, spewing black smoke along the way. Howard tried for second gear but that seemed to be officially out of the game.

The hotel came into view as they came around a bend. It was a pristine white three-story building surrounded by beautifully landscaped gardens. A shuttle bus and a few construction trucks were parked in front. The van made it to fifty feet from the main entrance and officially bought the farm for good. Black smoke poured out of the front and flames started licking through the gaps in the hood.

“Oh, shit. Everybody out!”

Howard scrambled out of his seat. The smoke quickly found its way into the van as they all tumbled out. They grabbed their packs and meager possessions and watched as the van went up in flames.

Dave stood on unsteady legs and scowled at the blaze. “What the holy hell just happened?”

“Little car trouble,” Howard quipped. “Give it a break. It really got us out of a tight jam.”

“Good,” Ann added. “It stank anyway.”

Howard watched the thick cloud of black smoke rise and spoil the clear blue sky overhead. “Well, so much for being inconspicuous. This will give us away for miles.”

“Shit’s been burning in every corner of this island for weeks,” Dave said. “Don’t worry about it.” He winced as Soo took his arm to steady him.

Howard glanced around. “Hey! Where’s Emily?” He caught a glimpse of her near the corner of the building just before she slipped out of sight. He ran after her and was relieved to find her standing on tiptoe against a gate overlooking a swimming pool.

“Wow!” She turned her head and grinned at Howard with excitement. “Can we go swimming? Pleeease?”

“Hey, you can’t go running off like that, okay? You scared me. We have to stick together until we know this place is safe.”

Her gaze dropped to the ground. “Sorry.”

He lifted her up so she could get a better look. “It is a pretty nice pool though, huh?”

Pretty nice was an understatement. It was an infinity pool, creating a seamless visual edge between the crystal clear pool water and the sparkling Caribbean Sea beyond. Comfortable lounge chairs circled the pool and a swim-up bar under a thatched tiki-style roof filled one end. An elaborate artificial rock waterfall would have emptied into the pool. With no electric pumps running, the falls were dry of course, but it didn’t take much imagination to picture the peaceful setting. The others approached them from behind.

“Damn, this beats dat grocery. Good job.” Tre slapped Howard on the back.

“Don’t congratulate me yet. Let’s see if we can find a way inside. You doing okay, Dave?”

“I think this one,” he pointed at Soo, “gave me enough painkillers to make a horse high. I can walk but I ain’t operating any heavy equipment.”

The main front doors to the resort were locked, so they went through the pool area to the back. A large stone patio, dotted with more rows of lounge chairs, overlooked the beach. Six sets of French doors led from the patio to the hotel but those were all locked too.

“There’s something weird about this place,” Ann said.

“I know what you mean.” Soo shielded her eyes from the sun and looked up at the bedroom balconies above. “There are no signs of anybody around. No bodies, nothing broken or looted. That’s all we’ve seen lately.”

“It was probably closed.” Howard pointed to the far side of the building. “Look, those windows are boarded up and they were starting to set up scaffolding. I’ll bet they were shut down for renovations when the plague hit.”

One of the doors at the end was replaced by a flimsy sheet of plywood. Howard gave it a few tugs and pulled it away from the doorframe. He stepped inside to find a ballroom in the early stages of demolition.

He poked his head out and smiled. “Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we’re ready to check in for the evening.”

Eight

It didn’t take long for everyone to agree on Howard’s closed resort theory. They explored most of the main floor and it was one of the few places any of them had seen lately where there were no bodies and no stench of decay. Other than the construction mess walled off by a layer of plastic, the building was clean and orderly.

They decided to stay at least one night so Dave could rest and heal from his wounds. The guest room locks were battery powered, but without activating a card with the front desk computer, the stack of plastic room keys was useless. Tre found a master key after digging through the drawers and they suddenly had their pick of 187 guest rooms.

They helped Dave into a room close to the lobby. Soo cleaned and dressed his wounds the best she could before letting him go to sleep. It was still early in the day so the others explored the rest of the hotel.

The first thing Howard did was scrounge up a hammer and nails to properly seal up the makeshift door they had used to enter the building. After double-checking that the rest of the ground floor doors were locked, they all felt more secure. The smoke from the charred mess of burned-out van had died down, and despite what Dave had said earlier Howard was glad it was no longer broadcasting their position.

The resort had one main kitchen serving three restaurants. The food in the massive walk-in fridge was either spoiled or close to it, so that didn’t do much good. Although the freezer was useless due to the country’s dead power grid, the food in there fared much better. A lot of the larger items, like frozen poultry, weren’t entirely thawed, and smaller items that had were still cool to the touch. They would be able to cook a lot of it for at least a few days before things started to turn.

The freezer was merely icing on the cake because the pantry is what really saved them. Shelves of canned and nonperishable food lined the walls and could keep them fed for months, if needed. As long as they could find fresh water to drink and come up with a decent method for cooking, they were set for a while.

Howard and Tre searched the basement with flashlights, finding the hotel’s laundry facilities and storerooms. Taking up almost half the building was a massive room containing the water boilers and HVAC system. At the far end of the room were two large machines.

“No way,” Howard said.

“What?” Tre pointed his flashlight beam to where Howard was looking.

“Is it just me or do those look like generators?”

“Just you. I don’t know no-ting ’bout what no generator looks like.”

“I’m no expert either but that big GEN-E-ROCK logo on the side is a pretty big clue.”

They went closer and looked them over. Each was the size of a large refrigerator turned on its side. An exhaust pipe connected to both machines ran up the side of the wall and up into the ceiling. A large fuel tank sat between them. Howard opened the access panel and studied the control panel, which he was relieved to find was surprisingly simple. Two levers, one marked “Auto-Engage” and the other “Manual,” were both set in the off position. Howard flipped the manual lever and pressed the red button marked “Ignition.” They jumped as the generators roared to life and filled the room with the noise of running motors. The light fixtures overhead flickered and turned on.

Ann entered the room, a surprised expression on her face. “Holy crap. Let there be light!” she shouted over the noise.

Soo and Emily followed.

Howard couldn’t believe it. These massive generators had to have been designed to keep the whole building running in the event of a hurricane or something. Lucky for them, maintenance must have shut them down when the hotel closed for renovations. Otherwise they would have kicked in automatically when the power to the building went down. He checked the fuel tank, which read full. It was big, but he had no idea how long it would last so he powered down the generators, sending them back into darkness.

“We can use this, but only if we need to. I have no idea if that’s enough fuel for a couple of days or if it could last us a lot longer. I don’t want to chance it.”

“A two-bedroom suite but no air conditioning? I want my money back,” said Soo.

“No TV either,” Ann chuckled. “No phone. No Facebook.” Her smile slowly faded. “No nothing.”

They stood there for a moment in the darkness, a single flashlight beam illuminating the room. Soo put her arm around Ann.

Emily tugged on the bottom of Howard’s shorts and looked up at him. “What’s Facebook?”

Nine

Soo broke the surface, her lungs aching for air and her eyes stinging from the salt water. She took in a deep breath of cool morning air and treaded water. It seemed like yesterday that she and her older brother had breath-holding contests in the pool at the Y. No matter how hard she tried, he would beat her every time, holding out until she came up for air and then surfacing himself with a big grin on his face.

After he left for summer camp one year, Soo spent practically the whole six weeks in the bathtub, working on squeaking out a couple more seconds under water. By the time he got back, her best time was two minutes, thirteen seconds. Not bad for a ten-year-old girl, even if she said so herself. She nagged her brother to take her to the pool the moment he walked in the door so she could finally beat him and bask in the glory.

Unfortunately, Soo never got a chance for a rematch because her brother found true love while at camp. He met a girl from another school who happened to live just a few miles away and spent the rest of the summer with her.

Angry at being abandoned by her brother, Soo convinced her parents she was old enough to go to the Y by herself, and she hit the pool with a vengeance. Her two minutes, thirteen seconds soon turned into three minutes and beyond. She taught herself and perfected various swim strokes, spending so much time in the pool that summer, she earned the nickname Squid from her brother. Much to her chagrin, the nickname stuck and quickly expanded beyond her own family.

By the time she reached high school, she’d been Squid Kim for so long that many of her classmates had to stop and think for a moment if somebody asked her real name. Squid dominated the high school swim team and made varsity as a freshman. By the end of her junior year she was courted by practically every university in the country with a Division 1 swimming program.

Her bright future, filled with scholarship offers to any school she chose–and possibly Olympic gold– ended abruptly one night when she was seventeen. Her friend Stacy drove Soo and two other friends home after a party at Mike Anderson’s house. His folks were out of town. Stacy swore she was okay to drive. Soo and the other girls didn’t protest.

The next thing Soo remembered was waking up in a hospital, surrounded by her family and feeling like every single bone in her body had been pulverized. She suffered a broken pelvis, three broken ribs, a compound fracture in her right femur, and a thirteen-inch laceration on her right arm that the doctors feared might have caused nerve damage. Stacy was pronounced dead at the scene. Her two friends in the back seat fared much better. Tammy walked away virtually unscathed and Christy walked out of the ER that night with a black eye and a chipped tooth.

Scholarships evaporated as quickly as they had arrived as Soo worked through painful months of recovery and physical therapy. It was during this time she grew to respect and form bonds with the nursing staff. When she graduated at nineteen, a year late due to months of missed school, her dreams of a life in the water were behind her. She enrolled in the School of Nursing at UCSF, paying tuition with financial aid and a savings bond from her grandmother. Her uncle hired her to help out with his fishing business in the summers, paying her a little over market value as a favor to the family.

Soo slowly swam toward the beach, taking her time to enjoy the warm water against her skin. With no running water in the hotel, they had their choice of the pool or the sea to wash in. For Soo, it was no contest. Her feet hit the sand and she emerged from the water, hurrying to wrap her towel around her naked body.

She sat down on the nearest deck chair on the beach and wrung the water out of her hair. It had been four weeks since they’d arrived at the resort and at least twice that long since she’d washed it with shampoo. There were literally hundreds, if not thousands, of tiny bottles in the housekeeping store rooms, but she’d held off and stuck with simply rinsing her hair in the salt water. It was softer and more manageable than it had ever been, and she rolled her eyes thinking of the fortune she’d spent on hair products over the years.

Soo caught herself daydreaming and glanced up and down the beach. It was clear, as usual, but stupid of her to let her guard down. The last person they had seen near the resort was a man who passed by on the beach over a week ago. They watched him from behind the windows but he didn’t even spare a glance at the building. He had an assault rifle over his shoulder and pulled a wagon of supplies behind him on the hard, wet sand close to the water’s edge. As far as those creatures, they’d been lucky. So far, it appeared none had come this far from the city yet.

She heard a catcall whistle behind her and spun around. Howard stood on the patio and gave her a wave before heading inside. She smiled at him and cinched her towel tighter, feeling foolish and wishing she’d gotten up a little earlier for her morning dip. She picked up the handgun Dave insisted they carry anytime they went outside, and headed up the beach.

A little over a week ago Dave and Howard started patrolling the areas in the vicinity of the resort to try to get a read on what was happening out there. They broke into the local police precinct and loaded up on guns and ammunition. Now that they had more time, Dave properly trained them on how to shoot the 9mm pistol she carried as well as the AR-15 assault rifles. They’d handled and fired guns in the city when things went to hell, but Dave had gotten all “sergeant” on them. He insisted  that if he was bunking with “a pair of gun-toting gals” then they’d learn the safe Marine Corps way to shoot. They only dry fired the guns on the beach for fear of attracting attention, but she felt more confident than ever that she could protect herself when the time came.

“I don’t know how you’re going to get any work done being so close to the ocean, Squid.” It was one of the last things her brother had said to her the last time they’d talked on the phone. It was a couple of days before she left for Jamaica, just a few months earlier.

“You’re right, but what do you want me to do? Get a job in Chicago and move in with you? You can’t even swim in the lake in the middle of August without dying from hypothermia,” she’d joked. “And I thought the bay was cold!”

She’d applied for the job on a whim, not happy with the way her career was going and looking to get some distance between herself and her overbearing parents. A day barely passed without her mother reminding her she was almost thirty and still not married. If only she would have reconsidered. Maybe if she was still at home…

Soo padded across the patio with bare feet, her key in one hand, the gun in the other. Howard appeared behind the glass and opened the door for her. “Hey! How was the swim?”

“No complaints. How was the patrol? Did you guys find anything?”

He nodded toward the lobby. “We were just about to meet in the suite to talk about it. You coming?”

“Um, yeah.” She glanced down at her bare legs. “I better throw something on first.” She looked up and caught Howard staring.

He cleared his throat and his face turned red. “Yeah. Good idea. Why don’t you do that?” He jabbed his thumb in the opposite direction. “I’ll be in there with the others if you need me. Not that you need me to get dressed, of course.” He squinted his eyes shut and pinched his nose. “I’m just going to shut up and leave now.”

Soo nodded and bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Okay. See you in a bit.” She hurried off to her room.

Howard spun around and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Real smooth,” he whispered to himself.

****

They met at the dining room table in the Royal Suite. The suite was where the group spent most of their time since it was on the first floor and close to the lobby and hotel kitchen. In addition to the living room and two bedrooms, the suite had a fully functional kitchen where they did all their cooking. It was easier to transport the food they needed from the pantry and freezer to the normal-size and familiar kitchen of the suite.

Dave and Howard had figured out how to isolate circuits for the generators in the basement. Instead of wasting precious fuel to provide electricity for the entire resort, they were able to power the breakers for the walk-in freezer, the lobby, and half of the first block of guest rooms on the main floor.  By running the generator for a few hours a day, they were able to save most of the frozen food and enjoy the luxury of electric conveniences for a little while each day.

The only thing they didn’t have was running water. The Caribbean Sea offered an unlimited supply but was no good for drinking or cooking. The pool water had been fresh, but was now not only heavily chlorinated but stagnant, and growing funkier every day. Fortunately for them, the Royal Gardens Beach Club and Spa Resort underwent a “green” initiative a few years ago. One of the projects was to capture the rainwater from the building’s gutters into cisterns for the gardeners. Two large plastic tanks on the corners of the building (cleverly disguised behind ivy-covered lattice) held hundreds of gallons of rainwater. All they had to do was boil the water in one of the huge soup pots found in the restaurant’s kitchen, and they were good to go. For now, the natural gas flowed unfettered to the building so cooking was no problem.

Soo walked into the suite wearing a T-shirt and capri pants from the gift shop. Howard poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her. Dave sat at the table sipping his own cup. He was fully recovered from his wounds and looked good. They all did, as a matter of fact. The peace and comfort of their little corner of the hotel and three square meals a day did them all a world of good. Even Howard managed to put on a few pounds and no longer complained about his surgery site.

Emily happily munched on a bowl of corn flakes, reconstituted powdered milk running down her chin. Ann had braided her hair with colorful beads she found in the arts and crafts room and they pinged off the side of the bowl as she bent forward to eat. She looked up and smiled at Soo with those big, bright eyes. Emily had warmed up to her after a few days at the resort, and Soo found she was falling head over heels for the little girl.

Sitting at that table with her little “family” in their five-hundred-dollar-a-night suite and sipping on freshly brewed Colombian coffee, it was easy to pretend everything was normal. That this would last forever. The look in Dave’s eyes said otherwise.

“So me and Howard went out pretty early this morning, before sunup, in the LEAF.”

The resort sported a brand new Nissan LEAF electric car – another green initiative purchase. It was perfect for quietly searching the area and could be charged using the hotel generators.

“We didn’t see any of those things, which is good, but we didn’t see any people either.”

“They could just be hiding,” Ann suggested. She sat down at the end the of table. “I mean, that’s what we’re doing, right?”

“That’s true, but I think it’s safe to say that shantytown in front of the hospital got thinned out. Really thinned out. We all saw firsthand how vicious those thing are.” He glanced over at Emily, enjoying her cereal and oblivious to the conversation. “I don’t think too many people got away.”

“Obviously, not all of the survivors made it to Oswald in the first place,” Howard said. “It’s a big island. But as for people around here…besides that guy on the beach, we haven’t seen anybody else.”

Dave pulled a folded map of Jamaica from his back pocket. “We need to start thinking long term. I think it’s a good idea to get as far away from Mo’ Bay as possible.” He unfolded the map and jabbed his index finger on the eastern half of the country. “We could set up here in the national park or maybe farther east near Moore Town. Plenty of remote areas. It would take some time and a hell of a lot of work, but we could probably get some gardens going. Work on getting some livestock together. A cow or two, some chickens. Maybe a few pigs.”

“Wouldn’t it make sense to settle closer to the coast?” Howard asked. “We could do all that plus have access to fresh seafood.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Ann said. “Why would we leave when we have all this?” She waved her hands around the room. “I grew up in an apartment building. I don’t know shit about farming!”

“It’s not safe here, kiddo,” Dave said. “Eventually we’re gonna run out of food and fuel for those gennys in the basement.”

“Don’t kiddo me. You’re not my fucking dad,” she snapped. “Don’t we get a say in this?”

“Ann, I’m sorry.” Dave reached over and tried to put his hand over hers but she pulled it away. “Those things are barely ten, fifteen miles away and may be getting closer. Pretty soon they’re gonna run out of prey in the city and start branching out. All it takes is one of ‘em to get in here.”

“Shit, I’m wit’ her.” Tre scowled. “I don’t know no-ting about no pigs.”

Ann’s frown melted and her lower lip started to quiver. “I just wanna go home.” Soo leaned over and comforted her.

“I see your point, Dave,” Soo said. “But farming? Hiding out in the woods? Can’t we just concentrate on finding other survivors? We can find plenty of weapons and there’s strength in numbers. We could make some sort of, I don’t know, fortress or something until we kill all those things.”

“Hon, some of the survivors I’ve come across since shit went down ain’t much better than those creatures out there. Tre, you know I’m right about that, man. There’s exactly five people in the world I trust right now and every single one of ‘em is sitting at this table.”

Tre crossed his arms and shifted his weight in the chair but said nothing. Soo let out a big sigh.

The only sounds in the room were Ann’s sniffles and the clink of metal spoon against bowl as Emily finished breakfast.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked around the table. “Why don’t we just go to ‘Merica?”

Howard looked up. “Go where?”

“Mummy said someday we to go ‘Merica, after she saved up enough money. She say we live in a big house and I’d have lots of toys and my own room.” She looked hopefully at Howard and then Dave. “Can’t we go dere?”

“The airport’s all shut down and that’s one heck of a long swim.” Dave playfully punched Emily on the arm.

Ann’s face lit up. “We don’t need to swim! Didn’t you see all those boats down at the marina? There are dozens of them.” She flipped the map over, showing the entire Caribbean Sea and the southern tip of Florida. “Look! It’s not that far. They have to be better off in the States. They just have to be!”

Dave frowned at the map. “Yeah, that’s only about 500 hundred miles to Miami as the crow flies. But look. There’s big ol’ Cuba in the way. We’d have to sail around that and it would take twice as long.”

“It’s possible,” Ann protested. “It’s something.”

“And what if it ain’t? What then? Then are you gonna wanna find a way to hump a thousand miles north to your hometown because you’re convinced things have to be better in Canada?”

“Guys, please,” Howard pleaded. “Let’s not fight about it. Ann, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to agree with Dave.”

“Big surprise,” she muttered.

“Now wait,” Soo said. “Ann is right. It is possible. I saw some of the boats she’s talking about down there. Fifty-, sixty-, even hundred-foot yachts.”

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t know a damn thing about boats,” Howard said. He looked at Dave and Tre. Both shook their heads.

“Well, I do. I may just look like a nurse but I know my way around the bridge of a ship. Well, a fishing boat anyway.”

“Get out of here,” Dave mused.

“I spent four summers during college working for my uncle on his salmon troller up near Vancouver Island. It was a sixty footer and he taught me a lot.”

“No shit?”

“No shit. My father thought it was the perfect character-building experience, even though my mother was convinced it would somehow hurt my chances at landing a husband. I guess she could have been right.”

“And you’re saying if we got one of those boats up and running you’d be able to navigate it back to the States?” Howard asked.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Ann slapped the table. “See? I told you we can do this!”

Dave rubbed his face and stared at the map. “I don’t like it. I think it’s dangerous, and even if we made it, we’d be in the exact same situation. Only in Florida.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Tre, you’re the only one here besides Emily from this country. What do you think?”

Tre shook his head and stared at the table. “Dunno, mon. No reason for me to stay here but I don’t like no boats neither.”

“Pleeease?” Emily pleaded.

“Look, I ain’t the boss around here and I don’t pretend to be.” Dave looked around the table. “But I take everybody’s safety very seriously. We need to take this slow and think it through. Look at it from all angles. Okay?”

“Will I get my own room?” Emily asked.

“Hey!” Howard feigned being insulted. “I thought you liked being my roommate. And you even have that big queen-size bed to yourself.”

Emily looked at Howard and thought for a moment before answering. “Yeah, but you snore and fart sometimes at night.”

Howard’s face reddened for the second time that morning as everybody had a good laugh at his expense.

Ten

Once again, she caught the scent trail too late. Once again, she was tardy for the kill and would go hungry. The teasing coppery scent of blood hung heavy in the air as she wavered, knowing it was no use trying to get closer to the kill. Dozens already fought over the scraps and it would be over in seconds. It wasn’t worth getting injured.

She got her hopes up when she first noticed the trail. It had been days since her last kill, a skinny and foul-tasting feline. It was the fresh flesh of man she craved, and when she smelled not one, but two, she squealed in anticipation. That’s when the screaming began and she knew it was too late. She was a fool to think she was the only one to pick up the trail, and now that the prey called out in fear, others would be on them in no time.

As the frenzy died down and the fortunate ones left satisfied, the unlucky, slow, and weak moved forward. They searched for an overlooked scrap of meat, a single drop of blood, and found nothing.

She turned away, disappointed and frustrated. Something would have to change soon or she would go hungry and fall to be sustenance for the stronger ones. She had already fed on some of the weaker ones herself, but it was man she was after. The sweet taste of flesh and bone, sinew and entrails.

She spent the rest of the day roaming the outskirts of town, giving up on man for the time being and searching for lesser beasts. She found and killed a rat that only made her hunger worse. She was just about to give up and turn back to shadow the others, and hope to profit from their fortunes, when she caught another scent.

It was extremely faint. She wasn’t even sure if it truly was the scent of man. She got low to the ground and breathed deeply, opening her mouth and tasting the air with her tongue. Yes. It was there, in this…no…the other direction. Getting stronger. Two of them. Two scents of men, side by side, intertwined in a delicious concoction of sweat and dander. She moved slowly down the road, keeping her face to the surface for fear of losing the trail. She clucked in anticipation as it grew stronger and then…stopped.

The trail went cold, right at the very spot of tarmac beneath her. She squealed in frustration, stomping her feet and spinning, desperate to find the trail again. She was so upset that the other scent mixed with the man went unnoticed at first. It wasn’t quite as strong, but steady nevertheless, leading down the road from where the trail went cold.

It was the scent of one of those machines, the machines that gave man such an unfair advantage, a layer of protection and incredible speed their unprotected bodies could not match. So the trail did not go cold. It was the scent of the machine she needed to follow. It was difficult, since the parts that touched the surface left considerably less stench than the scent of man, but it was there. She could follow it.

She headed down the road slowly, careful not to veer from the trail for fear of losing it altogether. She passed others just as hungry and desperate as she was.

They watched her for a moment before deciding to follow. No scent of man was nearby but this one was on the trail of something. With nothing to lose, they decided to follow.

Eleven

Howard was bored and felt a little guilty about it. The whole notion of boredom felt foreign to him, considering how abnormal his life had become over the last year or so. He strolled the halls of the hotel and tried to think back to a time when he was truly bored and not in some stage of fighting for survival or living in sheer terror.

Then again, he didn’t get bored very often back then either. Most of his free time was spent in a booze-induced haze. As long as his right hand held a can of beer, he always had something to do. Howard found he could spend hours at a time watching drivel on TV as long as he was half in the bag while doing so.

It felt like he was thinking about a different person, some poor slob on one of those intervention reality shows, not Howard Bell of the past. He really did feel like he had left that old life behind and was starting fresh. AA had nothing on the way he got sober. Still, the twelve-step program didn’t involve manslaughter, life sentences, aliens, or pandemics. It would make for a pretty interesting AA brochure though.

The temptation was still there and it irritated him to no end. The hotel had four bars stocked with enough alcohol for a bender of world-record proportions. It didn’t help that they were stuck in some sort of limbo, half of them wanting to stay and go east, the other half wanting to go west and onto a boat. In the meantime, they had all just wandered the hotel aimlessly for the last few days. Eating, sleeping, eating some more.

He rounded the corner and entered the lobby. A hot, steady breeze came off the sea through the open patio doors. Soo sat in one of the deck chairs on the patio, looking down at a book from the hotel’s library. She looked up and smiled at him when he walked out, sending shivers down his spine and a flutter through his chest. Another thing to feel guilty about, but he couldn’t help it.

“Howard!” Emily came running up out of nowhere, waving her arms. “Look! Look!” She held out her hands and wiggled her fingers, each nail glistening with a brilliant shade of yellow.

“Wow! Those are pretty.”

“Soo painted dem for me. Look down here too!” She held out one foot to show off her matching toes, partially obscured by sand.

He sat down in the chair beside Soo. “Yeah, those are something else. I’ll be able to see you coming from a mile away.”

Soo swatted his arm, releasing a fresh batch of shivers. “Stop it! I asked her what color she wanted and she insisted on yellow. We happen to think it’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, booootiful!” Emily jumped off the edge of the patio and ran down the beach to the water.

Soo laughed and crossed her legs, bouncing her foot up and down while she went back to her book.

“Looks like you had a little manny and peddy yourself,” he said, pointing at her toes.

Soo looked at him over the top of her sunglasses and raised her eyebrows. “Manny and peddy?”

“Hey, in case you didn’t notice, I’m a hip guy. That’s what you call it when you’re out on the town with your gal pals, isn’t it?”

She tilted her head back and laughed. “Most of my gal pals consisted of overworked and overtired nurses in scrubs. We spent our free time eating hospital cafeteria food and gossiping about other nurses.”

Howard looked at her toes again. “Well, I’m disappointed you didn’t go with Emily Yellow but they’re lovely all the same.”

“Thanks.”

Emily ran up and down the beach, dragging a large stick in the sand and drawing pictures with it.

“You know,” Howard said, “I have to admit I’ve been thinking about the whole boat thing. It seems crazy, but I can’t help but wonder if they really are doing better back home. I’m worried about Emily. She’s been through so much already and I really want what’s best for her, you know?”

Soo closed her book and turned toward him. “I know we could do it. I just wish we could convince Dave.”

“The thing is,” Howard looked away at the ocean. “If things are better, I mean really better, that might not be such a good thing. For me.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot about…your past.”

“Technically, I was sentenced to life. No parole. And I deserved it. I’m not saying I think I have the right to be a free man just because all this happened. I dunno, I’m just thinking from Emily’s point of view. We’re the only family she has now and if we go back to the States only to have her taken away from me…”

“Howard, whatever happens, whether we stay here or go anywhere else, I’ll always look out for Emily.”

She placed her hand over his and gave it a little squeeze before taking it away. Howard desperately wanted to grab it and not let go. They sat in silence and watched Emily play at the water’s edge. She held the stick like a spear and chased after the schools of small fish swimming around her feet.

“Can I ask you something personal?” Soo said. “Why were you sent to prison?”

Howard sighed and looked down at his feet. He knew it would come up eventually but he had hoped it wouldn’t be Soo who asked.

“You don’t have to tell me…”

“No. You have the right to know, I guess. It’s okay.” Howard took a deep breath and told her everything. His heavy drinking, his daughter Lilly’s death, his failed marriage. By the time he got to The Day and described his confrontation with Steve Creighton and the bloodbath that followed, he couldn’t stop. He held nothing back and described everything in great detail. It was horrifying, yet oddly liberating at the same time, to hear his downfall narrated by his own voice.

Soo just listened and stared at the water. Howard couldn’t read her reaction behind her dark sunglasses. He talked about the farm, the mine, and the ship. He replayed the confrontation with Carl before Carl tried to rape Liz, and his gruesome death that followed. Lastly, he told Soo about finding Emily after the crash and helping her to safety, despite almost being killed by a psychotic drug dealer. It wasn’t what Soo asked about, but he threw it in as a desperate attempt to convince her he wasn’t a complete criminal monster.

With his story complete, Howard rubbed the back of his neck and risked a glance at Soo. She continued to stare at the horizon, still not saying a word. She finally nodded her head and turned to him. “Thank you. I know that couldn’t have been easy for you.”

Howard was at a loss for words. He wanted to jump up and throw himself at her feet. He ached to shake her shoulders and beg for forgiveness. He wanted to let her know he’d never hurt her or the others and that more than anything, he didn’t want to lose her. Instead he sat and stared at a crack in the patio.

He was about to get up when a shrill scream snapped him out of his self-pity haze. They both jumped to their feet.

Soo scanned the beach. “Where’s Emily?”

Howard shouted her name and looked around, not seeing her anywhere. Another scream came from around the side of the building.

“Oh God, that’s her!” They jumped off the edge of the patio and ran for the side of the building.

Twelve

She-ra held her sword high as she entered the haunted jungle and crossed over a small wooden bridge. Tiny lizards scattered at her feet but She-ra took no mind. After all, she was Adora, He-man’s twin sister and defender of the Crystal Castle. It would take more than a few spiders and lizards to scare the mighty She-ra.

An explosion of noise a few feet away broke the silence as a bird flew from the brush. Emily jumped and dropped her stick on the stone path. She muttered about the stupid bird and picked up her sword, picturing her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders and touching the ground as she bent over. Just outside the trees, her beloved steed, Spirit, stood watch while she entered the woods to battle the evil forces of Horde.

Emily’s friend Jackie had a color television and a VCR. Her family had a small collection of tapes, but the only one Jackie and Emily ever watched was She-ra: Princess of Power. They must have watched all four episodes on that tape a hundred times and knew every line by heart. When they weren’t watching the tape, they were in the street or the alley next to Jackie’s house reenacting their favorite scenes.

Since Jackie was four whole years older, she always got to play She-ra, leaving Emily to play Madame Razz or Kowl. But now that Emily was on her own, she didn’t have to be stupid Kowl anymore.

Emily continued to explore the jungle– a garden in the corner of the resort’s property. The narrow path led her past a small pond to a gazebo hidden in the trees. A hot tub sat under the thatched roof. She stirred the water with her stick, wrinkling her nose at the stinky water. It was green and full of leaves and dirt.

“She-ra, She-ra,” Emily whispered as she left the hot tub behind and walked deeper into the jungle. “I am Adora, He-man’s twin sister.”

She passed a tiny hut no taller than she was, and did a double take at a face in its window. It wasn’t real, just a pretend lady made out of plastic.

“Defember of de Crystal Castle.”

Maybe it was time to go back to the beach.

“This is Spirit, my ‘loved Steed.”

Emily knew it was just a pretend jungle, like the pretend lady in the window, but it was still sort of scary.“Fabilus secrets were revealed to me.”

The bend in the trail lead to another little bridge.

“The day I held ‘loft my sword and said…”

It crossed over a narrow strip of water to a large koi pond. A few fish swam lazily around beneath the murky surface.

“For de Honor of Greyskull.”

Another little hut on the left, this time with no pretend people in the window.

“She-ra, She ra…”

A large cage on the right. Two brightly colored bird carcasses lay on the bottom of the cage. Emily knew they weren’t pretend. Those were real birds that died because nobody fed them.

She didn’t feel like playing She-ra anymore. She dropped her sword and ran down the path the way she had come, over the bridge and around the bend. The jungle suddenly seemed very dark and she wanted to be out on the beach where the sun shone bright and Soo watched her from the patio.

She ran past the hut with the pretend lady and the hot tub full of green water. She could see the opening to the jungle and the bright green lawn beyond. Emily was certain something was on the trail, chasing her from behind. Her eyes started to water and she fought hard not to cry like a baby.

Just when she was about to make it out of the dark jungle onto the nice bright grass, her foot caught the edge of an uneven paver and she landed face-first on the trail. She rolled over, ignoring the pain from her skinned knees and hands, and saw nothing but empty trail behind her.

Emily looked down at her bloody knees and started to cry. She slowly got to her feet, wailing louder, hoping one of the grownups would hear and come running. She wiped her cheeks and caught movement out of the corner of her eye, out in the lawn. It wasn’t one of the adults coming to see what was wrong. It was one of the monsters from the city, coming straight for her. It spotted Emily and squealed. Two more emerged from the foliage on the far edge of the lawn, shrieking in return. Emily screamed as loudly as she could and ran down the path, away from the monsters and into the jungle.

****

Howard ran down the lawn, past the boarded up end of the hotel, and turned the corner. Soo was right on his heels. He called out Emily’s name but got no response as they weaved their way through the tables and chairs in the outdoor dining area of the old ballroom.

Howard skidded to a stop on the lawn in front of the hotel. Two of the creatures were on the far side of the lawn, trotting toward the large garden in the corner of the property. They both paused and looked directly at Howard and Soo.

“Oh, shit.” He looked down at his empty hands, realizing he was unarmed.

Soo grabbed his hand. “I left my gun back at the patio,” she whispered.

“Emily must be in there.”

“Okay.” Soo’s breath grew shallow as she clamped down harder on Howard’s hand. “Okay, okay. Here’s what we do.” The creatures crouched down and squealed, preparing to charge. “We run in different directions. Hopefully they’ll stay together and follow just one of us. Whoever doesn’t get chased, goes for Emily. The other goes for my gun.” Soo took a couple of steps away from Howard.

“What if they split up?”

The creatures charged.

“Then we wing it! Go!” Soo took off for the driveway, Howard ran back the way they came. He glanced back and saw both of the creatures go out of sight as they ran after Soo. He ran directly into one of the hard metal chairs on the ballroom patio and tumbled to the concrete, smashing his head against another iron chair on the way down.

Howard untangled himself from the chair and ran back toward the garden and, hopefully, Emily. He felt about as slow and uncoordinated as humanly possible. He glanced to his left and saw no signs of Soo or the creatures. With no time to worry about her, he concentrated on reaching the garden. He slowed to a trot as he hit the trail and called out Emily’s name, not hearing anything over the blood pounding in his ears.

Feeling as if his head were on a swivel, Howard kept heading down the trail, calling out her name. The garden was dense and dark. Panic started to rise as doubts crept in. What if Emily wasn’t in there at all and he was wasting precious time? He couldn’t imagine she would have wandered in there alone. Even he was getting creeped out.

The urge to turn around and search another part of the property was so strong he almost turned back. Then he heard another scream. With a burst of adrenaline, Howard sprinted down the trail into an open area. Emily was up to her neck in the middle of a pond. One of the creatures stomped around and squealed at the water’s edge but didn’t go in. Emily was just out of reach of its long barbed appendage. Howard allowed himself to feel relieved for half a second when he realized this thing was not a big fan of water. That little pond had saved Emily’s life, and he couldn’t believe she had the guts to jump in it.

Emily saw him and screamed his name. He scanned the ground looking for anything he could use as a weapon and had a flashback of the shed back at the research station. This time, there were no handy pipes lying around he could use to bash this thing’s brains in. He picked up a tree branch near the trail but it crumbled in his hands.

“Hey!” He clapped his hands over his head. “Over here!”

The beast considered Howard, conveniently not neck deep in water, and snarled at him.

“Emily, stay there! Don’t move an inch!” He waved his hands over his head and slowly moved back. Emily nodded at him but looked more terrified than ever. The creature stomped at the edge of the pond one more time, careful to not get wet, and backed off.

“That’s it, baby. Come on.” Howard clapped again and kept walking backward.

The creature finally chalked up Emily as a loss and charged at Howard. He spun around and once again sprinted down the trail. The beast behind him made a horrible racket as it smashed through the brush behind him, ignoring the trail.

Howard reached the edge of the garden and sprinted across the lawn toward the beach. His lungs burned for air and his muscles were quickly turning to jelly but he couldn’t slow down. He could hear the thing pounding across the grass behind him and closing the distance between them quickly.

As he reached the patio, he weaved through the tables and chairs, praying not to get tripped up and fall again. This time he would receive more than skinned knees. Gunshots rang out around the corner on the far end of the hotel – music to his ears. He hurdled over a chair, dodged a table, and turned the corner, just inches in front of the alien chasing him.

****

Soo ran across the vast lawn. The blades were long and coarse, spoiled by weeds and rodent holes after months without professional care. She ran as fast as she could, mentally preparing herself for the possibility of stepping on something unpleasant or painful with her bare feet. She reached the driveway without incident and chanced a quick glance behind her. Both of the creatures were closing in. She caught a glimpse of Howard’s bright T-shirt before he was swallowed by the dense garden.

Knowing the front doors were locked, she sped past them to the side gate by the pool. The lead alien’s sharp hooves and claws slid like chalk on a blackboard behind her as they reached the driveway. She reached the low wall by the pool, planted both hands on the top, and vaulted over to the patio on the other side. One of the creatures leapt over the wall behind her, squealing like a pig as it flew through the air. But it had jumped too far and caught the lip of the pool with just one leg before plunging into the stagnant water. It let out a horrific shriek as it thrashed about in the pool.

The other creature, after observing the demise of its hunting partner, vaulted the wall with more care, allowing Soo to gain some breathing room. She turned the corner of the building, screaming for help the entire way. She just hoped one of the others was close enough to hear.

Soo got to the patio and saw her gun, just where she had left it on the table next to her chair. She picked it up in what felt like slow motion. It was taking too long, she didn’t have enough time. The beast was almost on her now, making that awful clucking noise with its mouth and the clicking of hooves and nails on tile.

Dave’s training kicked in. In one fluid motion, Soo pressed the slide release lever with her right thumb, pulled the slide back with her left hand, and chambered a round. The hammer locked back into the firing position. She clicked off the safety and spun around, leveling the front sight at the creature now just fifteen feet away and closing.

Soo yanked on the trigger, fighting the recoil and keeping the gun level as she fired six rounds into the creature. All of them found their mark and the hollow point bullets Dave chose for her pulverized the creature’s torso. It tumbled as it fell forward, just missing Soo as she jumped out of the way. It tipped over the chairs she and Howard had been sitting in just minutes before and came to a stop.

Before she could even catch her breath, Howard came sprinting around the corner with the other one close on his heels.

Unlike Soo, Howard was in lousy condition and had no business running for his life. The adrenaline was quickly fading and his legs were starting to betray him.

Soo pointed the gun directly at his face and screamed at him to get down. Simply by dumb luck, Howard tripped on a coiled garden hose lying out on the patio and went airborne. Soo fired. Howard landed right on his diaphragm, knocking the air out of himself and slamming his cheek into the tile floor. A second later, the alien fell on top of him, a small hole in its forehead and another in the back of its head the size of a grapefruit where the bullet had exited.

“Howard!” Soo ran for him, careful to keep the gun trained on the creature. Howard wasn’t moving. Behind her, Dave, Tre, and Ann came running out onto the patio, wide-eyed and startled by the sudden chaos that had exploded from the back of the quiet resort.

Soo pushed the dead thing off Howard’s back and started crying in relief when she saw him trying to catch his breath. She helped him turn over and wiped the alien blood off his face with her hands. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” He wheezed, trying to catch his breath. “I’m fine. Emily.” Howard pointed frantically toward the garden. “Go. Help Emily. In the pond.”

Dave and Tre ran off to find her.

“Holy shit,” Howard exclaimed a minute later. “That was one hell of a shot, Annie Oakley. Is there anything you can’t do?”

Soo laughed and gave Howard a long kiss on the forehead before helping him get up.

He was covered in alien brains and blood, and possibly suffer from a concussion, but that kiss was the highlight of his day so far.

Thirteen

They all stood by the pool, observing the dead alien floating beakdown in the water.

“Well, we found another weakness of these damn things.” Dave holstered his handgun. “They don’t stand up too well against bullets or water.”

“And they know it too,” said Howard. “The one that cornered Emily wouldn’t even dip a foot in that pond.” He hunkered down and faced Emily. She was wrapped up in a towel, shaken up but unharmed. “How did you figure out you’d be safe in that pond?”

Emily shrugged. “I fell in.”

Howard hugged her again, ignoring the pungent pond-water smell coming from her hair. “That was one lucky fall, hon. You did real good.”

“Oh, shit. Guys?” Ann shielded her eyes with her hand and watched as several more of the creatures emerged from the vegetation on the far side of the front lawn. They spotted the group of appetizers standing around poolside and charged.

“Everybody inside. Now!” Dave rushed them all through the patio doors and shut them. The French doors were sturdy and locked but consisted mostly of glass. This time, there were no bars to keep them out. “Into the suite, we’ll be safer in there.”

Once everybody was inside the suite, Dave opened the closet door in the hallway and surveyed his cache of small arms acquired from the police station. He grabbed the shotgun – a Benelli M2 Tactical. It was a nice find, very similar to the M4 Super 90 his guys used in Afghanistan for breaching doors and close-quarter situations. It was already loaded with 12 gauge double-aught buck. Five shells in the tube and one in the chamber. He grabbed a pouchful of shells and slung it over his shoulder.

“What’s the plan?” Howard whispered by his side.

“The plan is, you guys are going to stay put in here.” He grabbed several magazines for the 9mm in his leg holster and shoved them into his pocket. “I’m gonna take a quick look and see how many are out there.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No can do, hombre. You stay here. I need you and Tre to watch out for the girls.”

Howard reached for one of the AR-15 assault rifles. “But Soo is ten times a better shot than I am.”

“That’s why I need you to stay here.” He grabbed the rifle from Howard and put it back into the closet. “I’ll be back in five minutes. Don’t worry.” Before Howard could protest, Dave slipped out the door.

He did a quick check of the patio doors but saw nothing outside. He ran up the stairs two at a time to the third floor and opened the maintenance closet at the end of the hall. Next to the shelf of cleaning supplies and towels, a ladder led to a hatch in the ceiling for roof access. Dave swung the shotgun over his shoulder and climbed.

He’d been up there once already a couple of weeks ago and discovered it offered a great bird’s-eye view of the surrounding area. From the roof, most of the grounds of the two neighboring hotels could be seen, as well as a decent stretch of the highway in front of the property. A quick peek over the edge at the back of the building revealed no signs of danger. Nothing on the patio, back lawn, or beach for as far as he could see in both direction.

Dave crept over to the front of the building, staying low and feeling a little foolish. Those things already knew they were here, but he figured the more they stayed out of sight the more it might help. Maybe they would lose interest and move on. He tried to wipe the sweat out of his eyes and wished he’d worn his sunglasses. The tar- and pea gravel-covered roof was incredibly hot.

The A-1 came into view before he reached the edge of the roof and he cursed. At least fifteen or twenty of the aliens were moving down the highway from Montego Bay. They walked in single file with their faces to the pavement, following a trail like a bunch of ants. He got closer to the edge and looked down. At least a dozen were out on the lawn, a few were milling around the garden where Emily had been, and from the sound of it plenty more were under the awning by the front door.

“There goes the neighborhood,” he muttered to himself.

Howard stood at the door, staring through the peephole, getting a fish-eye view of the hall. Tre watched through a tiny gap in the curtains at the patio door. The suite was on the first floor but the balcony was a good four or five feet off the ground. Soo had seen firsthand the jumping ability of those things, and had no doubt they could easily hop up onto the balcony if they knew people were inside.

The generators weren’t running, and with the blinds drawn the room was dark and hot.

Soo crept over to Howard. “I can’t take it just sitting here like this,” she whispered. “I feel like we should be doing something.”

“Let’s just wait for Dave to get back. He’ll know what to do.”

Howard felt ashamed as it passed his lips but he knew it was true. Soo probably did as well. Dave was the war hero, the one in charge, the one they could turn to for answers.

A flash of movement in front of the peephole and a quiet knock on the door made Howard jump. He opened the door and let Dave in.

“Okay, here’s the bad news,” Dave said. “Those critters out front were just the first ones to show up at the party. There are dozens now and more on the way. I actually saw them from the roof coming down the road like a goddamn wagon train.”

“How did dey fin’ us?” Tre asked.

“Beats me, but it don’t matter much now. They must have sniffed us out.”

“What’s the good news?” Ann said.

“There ain’t none. We need to get the hell out of Dodge.” He turned to Soo and looked her in the eyes. “I gotta know right now. No bullshit. Can you really get us off this rock on one of those boats?”

She nodded.

“All right then. We go and we go now.”

“How are we going to get past them?” Howard asked.

“I think I have a plan for a diversion that’ll keep most of ‘em occupied while we make a beeline for the shuttle bus out front. The keys are on the counter and it’s got a full tank of gas.”

Soo nodded and looked over at the kitchen. “What about food and water for the trip? We’ll need to take some things.”

“How long do you think it’ll take to get to Florida?” Howard asked.

“If we find the right boat and can manage an average of twenty knots? About thirty to forty hours.”

Dave grinned. “Sounds like you’ve thought about this before.”

She tapped the side of her head. “I have it all planned out.”

They all froze as the sound of breaking glass came from down the hall. “Son of a bitch,” Dave whispered. “Howard, you’re with me. Tre, help the girls get together some food and as much ammo as you can carry. I want everyone carrying a weapon except the kid. Lock the door behind us. We’ll be back soon.”

Dave handed the AR-15 to Howard as they passed the closet then he looked out the peephole. He cracked open the door and looked both ways before signaling to Howard to follow. The hall was quiet and dark.

“Hold your fire unless you have to,” Dave said. “Last thing we want to do is attract more attention.”

Howard nodded even though Dave’s back was toward him and he couldn’t see it. He clutched the assault rifle in his sweaty hands, fighting the urge to run away, back to the suite.

They peered around the corner into the lobby, surprised to see the rear patio doors still intact. Dave motioned for Howard to stay put before he slid farther into the room and looked into the foyer. A few panes of glass from the front door lay shattered on the floor below. He could make out some movement on the other side of the frosted glass.

They hurried silently through the lobby and into the kitchen. Dave grabbed one of the serving carts along the wall and wheeled it over to the walk-in freezer. They loaded it up with as much meat as the cart could handle – ribs, roasts, hamburger, steaks, chickens–the works.

“I have a feeling they’d prefer to munch on us, but hopefully this will be a big enough distraction for us to get away.” Dave perched a ham on the top of the pile of frozen animal flesh and pushed the cart toward the doors. “We gotta get as many away from the front door as we can in order to make a run for the van.”

They were about to go through the doors into the lobby when Dave stopped. “Hold on a sec, I got an idea.”

He went back into the kitchen and opened the walk-in fridge. Most of the food in there spoiled a long time ago. Dave held his breath as the rancid air hit his face. On the back shelf where the meat was stored he picked up a huge twenty-pound tube of packaged ground beef. It was probably moved in there to thaw and to say it was past its expiration date was a huge understatement. A thick pool of sticky dark blood collected on the tray below it. Dave picked up the tube, his fingers sinking into the rotting mess and hoped they wouldn’t pierce the thin plastic wrapping.

Howard covered his nose with the crook of his arm. “What the hell are you doing with that?”

Dave held up the meat and grinned. “Little biological warfare, brother. Stink bomb. I have a feeling this nasty shit will bring ‘em in for miles around.”

They pushed the cart past the lobby and down the hall to the far end of the hotel. The coast was clear on the ballroom patio. They tossed the packages of meat all over the patio before going back inside and locking the door behind them. Dave still had the ground beef.

“You go back to the room and tell the others to get ready. I’m gonna to try and get most of those buggers to run over to this side of the building. When you hear three shots from my handgun, make a run for the van. Blast anything in your way.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll catch up. Just start it up and get ready to haul ass.”

Dave stood at the second floor window at the end of the hall, directly over the ballroom patio. He carefully set down the tube of meat, grimacing at his red and sticky hands. “Could’ve carried it on the tray, dumbass,” he muttered to himself. He unlatched the pair of windows and opened them before setting the meat on the window ledge.

He wiped off his hands on his pants and pulled the Benelli off his shoulder. “Here goes nothing.” He aimed the shotgun at the window ledge, took a deep breath, and fired.

“What’s taking so long?” Ann whispered. She sat nervously in the chair by the door, her foot bouncing rapidly up and down.

“Sit tight. We need to wait for the signal.”

Howard looked through the peephole again, seeing nothing but the distorted imaged of the doors across the hall. A tremendous boom exploded from the other side of the building. Everybody jumped.

“That’s it!” Tre said. “Les go!”

Howard held up his hand. “Not yet! He said three shots from his handgun.”

“Same ting, mon! Get out the way.”

“Hold on. Shhh. Shut up.”

They all stood quietly at the door, straining to hear what sounded like shouting from upstairs. The seconds ticked by, agonizingly slow, before three controlled shots finally rang out from upstairs.

“Now we go!” Howard opened the door and quickly looked both ways, his rifle at the ready.

They ran down the hallway. Tre carried a duffel bag with two gallon jugs of boiled rainwater and whatever canned goods they had in the suite. Soo held Emily’s hand and her own AR-15 in the other. Ann carried a bagful of ammunition and first-aid supplies.

Howard paused by the front door. “Everybody get ready to run for the van.” He unlatched the lock, cracked open the door, and raised his rifle.

The blast from Dave’s shotgun did exactly what he hoped it would do. The plastic-wrapped tube of meat, as well as a good portion of the window frame, exploded. Meat sprayed outward onto the patio below, covering the entire area in foul-smelling rotted flesh.

Dave stuck his head out the window and slapped his hands on the aluminum shutters. “Over here you assholes! Come and get it!” The creatures were already swarming from all directions below, attracted by the rotten funk and packages of meat below. They ignored Dave for the time being as they fought over the limited food supply.

There were more of them down there than he imagined and he could only hope most, if not all, would take the bait. Satisfied he’d waited long enough, he pulled out his handgun and pointed it at feeding frenzy below. He slowly fired three shots, making each one count, hitting three targets on the patio below.

Howard pushed the door shut immediately as a flash of movement sped past the doorway, a few of the creatures galloping toward the commotion on the other side of the building. He exhaled and eased open the door, trusting the others would follow. He reached the shuttle van, yanking the keys out of his pocket as he ran, and opened the driver’s side door. Soo and Emily were right behind him but Tre and Ann were nowhere in sight.

“What the hell? What happened those two?”

Soo helped Emily into the van and looked back. “I have no idea! I thought they were right behind me.”

“Get in and start it up. Stay down. I’ll be right back.” Howard sprinted back into the lobby, calling their names.

It didn’t take long for the assortment of semithawed meat out on the patio to be consumed. Most of the creatures stormed the interior of the hotel now that the scraps were gone. The smell of man was strong and all it took was one of the hunters to break one of the ballroom windows and jump inside. The others followed, hungry for fresh meat.

Ann was poised at the front door, ready to follow Howard, when she realized she’d left behind her only remaining possession in the world that mattered to her. It was an old locket her grandmother had given her before she died. Inside the locket Granny had kept a picture of her holding Ann when she was just a few hours old.

Ann treasured the locket more than anything, but it was large and she didn’t wear it all the time. She realized she’d left it in the front pocket of one of her other pairs of shorts, probably lying in a pile in the corner of her room. She ran back to the suite and Tre followed.

Ann furiously looked through the pile of clothes on the floor, panic rising, but knowing she wouldn’t forgive herself for leaving the locket behind. Finally, her hand brushed against something hard among the soft clothes; she grabbed the locket.

Tre stood nervously at the door, aiming his rifle out into the living room of the suite. He thought he’d heard a crashing sound out in the hall. “Hurry, girl! We got ta go!”

“I’ve got! Let’s get out of here.”

A pack of creatures swarmed into the suite, following the strong odor of man filling every corner of the rooms. Tre opened fire with his AR-15. He managed to kill the first one through the door and wounded several behind it. There was strength in numbers however, and the group continued to charge. They’d learned early about the danger of firearms. Initially, a single shot was all it took to make them scatter after they’d seen one of their brothers fall. But the creatures were quick to adapt. They discovered that men could only shoot one at a time, and if their numbers were great enough, even the mightiest of guns was no match for a large group attack.

Tre quickly emptied the twenty-round magazine into the horde as it swarmed the rooms. He dropped the rifle and tried to close the bedroom door, but they were too fast. The door flew open with tremendous force and Tre flew back onto the floor. The first creature through the doorway landed on him, ripping open his throat with its razor sharp mandibles. Three more were on him in an instant.

Ann stood with her back pressed into a corner of the room, too shocked to scream, too terrified to move. She watched in horror as her friend was torn to pieces. Just seconds earlier, he was talking, breathing, thinking, living. Now he was reduced to a bloody mess on the white carpeting of her bedroom.

She held a Berretta 9mm in her right hand and Granny’s locket in the other. At last, the gun training and practice on the beach with Dave would pay off. She didn’t panic. She knew exactly what to do from countless dry runs and the gun felt comfortable in her hand. She made sure the safety was off, already knew a round was in the chamber because she’d checked earlier.

More hunters swarmed the room, spotting Ann in the corner. The lead one charged, leaping across the room and launching off the bed. Ann calmly pulled the trigger, hitting her target with ease.

For a split second, before the barbs, before the claws, before the jaws–before the hollow point bullet evaporated the left side of her skull and the contents within– she had a final and terrifying thought. She was going home, but would Granny be there waiting for her on the other side?

Fourteen

Howard had only a second to feel the crushing blow of helplessness and despair as he watched from the lobby as the swarm rushed the suite. He heard the gunshots, the squealing creatures, followed by the screams of his friends. The creatures in the tail end of the horde spotted him and charged.

For the second time that day, Howard ran for his life. He tried not to think that all it would take was for him to trip on the large area rug beneath this feet, slip on the smooth tile in front of the door, or twist his ankle as he rounded the corner outside to reach the van. Because all they needed was the smallest of openings and they would be on him, ripping him to shreds.

Soo saw him coming and scrambled into the back seat to open the door. Howard hit the van in full stride, smashing his shin against the door frame and his face into his rifle as he ran into the back of the seats. Soo slid the door shut just seconds before the hoard slammed into the side of the vehicle. She thought for a terrible moment the force of the impact might actually tip over the van. Emily screamed. Howard shouted something from the floor of the van as he tried to untangle himself. One of the rear windows broke. The roar outside the van was deafening. Claws and teeth, mandibles and flesh, pounded and scratched and clawed against steel and glass.

“What happened? Where are they?” Soo shrieked.

“Gone,” Howard managed between gasps. “They’re gone.”

“What? No!” Another rear window shattered.

“We have to get out of here, now!”

After what felt like minutes, Soo finally climbed into the driver’s seat. She shoved the van into gear and floored it, shaking off only about half of the creatures. Some still hung on by any crack or crevice they could hook into. One of them attempted to crawl through the broken rear window before Howard shoved his rifle into its face and pulled the trigger. The gunshot inside the vehicle was deafening but effective.

Soo drove around the circle driveway, fighting the overwhelming urge to keep the accelerator to the floor, and steered back toward the front of the hotel. Dave stood on the awning over the front door, waving his arms like a mad man.

“What the hell?” Soo gasped. “What should I do?”

Dave stood at the edge and frantically pointed to the driveway below him.

“Pull up there,” Howard said. “I think he wants to jump onto the roof.”

Soo swerved to miss one creature but hit another head on, crushing it under the front wheels. She floored the van and plowed into the swarm below Dave. She slowed down as much as she dared and was relieved to hear the loud thud as Dave hit the van’s roof. He pounded with his fist and Soo floored it.

The creatures swarmed the van again. Soo jumped the curb of the driveway and ran over the shrubs. For a moment she thought they were stuck as the vehicle slowed and the engine struggled. It managed to break free and Soo regained control, steering the van back onto the driveway and heading for the gates.

The last straggler fell off the van moments before they smashed through the front gates of the resort. Soo turned onto the A-1, heading east toward Montego Bay. The trail of creatures on the highway had thinned, the closest being at least a hundred yards away, so Soo stopped.

Dave slid off the roof and hopped into the van. His triumphant grin faded. “Where’s Tre and Ann?”

Fifteen

Soo couldn’t stop sobbing. She pulled over and crawled into the back seat so Dave could drive. Howard pulled Soo close on one side and Emily on the other, comforting them. He told Soo again there was nothing they could have done. He said it to Soo, but meant it mostly for himself. Maybe he could have done something differently. Maybe they had been still alive in there, fighting them off, and he just left them behind.

“Hey,” Dave snapped. He looked at Soo in the rearview mirror. “Plenty of time for crying later. I need you to get your shit together. Okay Soo? Don’t fall apart on me now, girl.”

Soo wiped her eyes and nodded. “Sorry.”

Dave’s face softened and he let out a big sigh. “I know it hurts. We’ll talk about it over beers on that fancy yacht of yours. Right now we all need to stay frosty until we get out of this mess.”

He swerved to avoid another creature in the road. As they got closer to town, the numbers increased. Dave pulled off the A-1 onto The Queens Drive, heading downtown to the harbor.

Howard leaned forward, staring out the windshield. “Oh, my god. They’re everywhere.”

Their numbers had to be in the thousands now. In every direction they looked–every side street, every alley, every lawn and parking lot– the creatures roamed.

“And they’re homing in on us like flies to dog shit,” Dave said. “Take a look behind us.”

Howard turned around. Dozens ran after the van, trying to keep up. As the streets grew more narrow and filled with cars and debris, Dave found it difficult to maintain a speed to stay ahead of them.

“Turn up there,” Soo shouted. “That’ll take us down by the harbor.”

Dave did a hard right, just missing a parked car. They crested the hill and had a clear view of the harbor below. A docked cruise ship dominated the horizon. On the other side of the bay, the marina of the yacht club held the keys to their salvation. Dozens of boats of all sizes waited for them. Soo studied the boats, trying to find an ideal candidate before they arrived at the docks, to save time.

Dave cursed and slammed on the brakes. The yacht club was on a small peninsula off the mainland and only one road led to it. A fire had consumed the entire area. It had long burned out, but not before weakening the foundation of a four-story building, causing it to collapse. It completely blocked the one and only road to the marina.

The van had stopped just long enough for the following swarm of creatures to catch up. Dave shifted into reverse and attempted a Y turn as they attacked the vehicle. He accelerated and plowed through a group of them before they started leaping out of the way.

Howard leaned forward and pointed. “What about that one?” A yacht sat anchored a hundred yards off shore beyond the cruise ship.

“How in the hell are we supposed to get to it, genius?” Dave asked. “And why is it even sitting out there?”

“That’s at least an eighty footer,” Soo answered. “They probably anchored it there and took the tender to shore. A lot easier than trying to dock it.”

“All we have to do is get to the water,” said Howard. “We already know they won’t follow.”

“Shit.” Dave muttered under his breath.

More of them streamed down the hill to join the chase. It seemed every single one of them in town was now after them. He took a hard left, pushing the van’s center of gravity to the limit as the tires squealed in protest.

The yacht sat almost directly off shore. Speeding directly alongside the cruise ship at forty miles an hour, Dave saw the road end abruptly at the end of the dock. The creatures behind couldn’t keep up at that speed, but hundreds swarmed from the left. Within seconds they would be in the van’s path.

“Okay,” he called. “We’re gonna swim for it, going in hard. We won’t have time to stop at the edge and jump in.”

“Are you nuts?” Howard said.

“You’re goddamned right. Quick, open that side door.” Dave lowered both front windows all the way down. “When we hit the water everybody get out as quick as you can before it goes under.”

Howard grabbed Emily tight and opened the sliding door on the side of the van. The end of the road was just seconds away.

Dave gripped the wheel and slammed the accelerator to the floor. “Brace for impact! Keep your seat belts on, it’s gonna be rough.”

The van left the pavement, hitting an uneven dip before going airborne. The steering wheel wrenched violently, ripped from Dave’s hand. The van hit the water at an angle doing almost fifty. Water crashed through the open door and windows, slamming into them like a wall.

A handful of overzealous creatures couldn’t stop in time and tumbled into the bay after the van, thrashing in the water before drowning. The rest of them stood at the water’s edge, squealing and hissing in frustration as the vehicle slipped under the surface and was gone.

Sixteen

Howard thought he’d been ready. But the van had filled so quickly, the impact had been so sudden. His head hurt. Did he hit it on something? He fumbled for the seat belt release but couldn’t seem to make his fingers work. He remembered Emily and turned to her, to make sure she got her belt off, but she wasn’t there. None of them were. The van was empty. He was alone. He tugged at the belt, pushed the button again and again. His lungs burned for air. Salt water stung his eyes. Darkness.

Seventeen

One breath. That’s all it would take. It would hurt as water rushed into his lungs, but only for a second, really. No more running, no more suffering. He kept tugging at the seat belt, still unable to make it work and not understanding why. The van stopped moving as the last of the air bubbles escaped through the windows and ascended to the surface. He must be at the bottom of the harbor.

Movement in the murky darkness. A pair of hands groped him. Suddenly the pressure of the seat belt lessened and he was being pulled from the van. Soo. Even in the depths of the harbor he could make out her long dark hair swirling over her face. Her eyes, filled with terror, pierced the murky water as she pulled him close then kicked, pulling him upward.

Kick. Fight. Don’t take that last breath.

The pressure in his ears lessened and the murky darkness cleared. Howard exhaled a second before surfacing and sucked in a deep breath of air. Water burned inside his chest and he coughed. Soo didn’t lessen her grip.

“Howard! Are you okay?” she screamed into his ear. She didn’t even seem out of breath.

He didn’t answer, just continued breathing  and coughing but he managed a smile at her. She threw her arms around him and squeezed, causing both of them to go under for a second. Howard coughed again and she laughed, apologizing for almost drowning him.

Dave treaded water ten feet away. Emily had both arms around his neck and dared to let go with one for a quick wave to Howard.

“Come on,” Soo said. “We have to get to the boat. Can you swim?”

Howard nodded and started swimming for the yacht. They approached the rear of the boat and pulled themselves up onto the swim platform. Everyone sat for a moment to catch their breath and to take in the view of the dock. Every square inch appeared to be filled with the creatures. The hunters sat and stared, patiently waiting to see if their prey would return to shore.

Dave slowly stood up. “Come on. Let’s see if we can get this thing under way.” They searched the yacht – an 84-foot Azimut. Very luxurious, very Italian, and very expensive. As Soo suspected, the ship’s tender, a rigid-hulled inflatable boat, was missing. The passengers and crew had gone ashore at one point and never returned. They were relieved to find no bodies in any area of the boat.

Soo sat down at the controls, feeling less than confident as the others watched over her shoulder. Her uncle’s salmon boat was old and analog, nothing but the basics. What she sat in front of now looked like the cockpit of a space shuttle; she wasn’t even sure how to start the engines. But even though it had cost millions, it was still just a boat.

“I’ll figure it out,” she said. “I just need some time.”

Howard, Dave, and Emily left her alone and explored the rest of the yacht. They had lost the meager rations and supplies they had taken from the hotel, but it didn’t matter. The ship’s galley had been recently stocked and there was plenty to eat and drink. The perishable food had long passed but there was enough dry and canned goods, drinks, and water to last for at least a week. All three decks were beautifully appointed, the four sleeping cabins cozy and comfortable.

“Tell you what,” Dave said as he stood out on the sundeck, “we have a knack for finding some pretty nice places to crash. First the resort, and now this little dingy.” He opened the wet bar minifridge and studied the label on a bottle of champagne inside. “At this rate, I’m gonna get spoiled.”

“You’re telling me,” Howard said. “Don’t forget where I was living the past few months, before all this.”

A low rumble emerged from the bowels of the yacht as the engines started. A plum of light blue smoke floated up from the stern, and a muffled victory cry, courtesy of Soo, was heard from below. They rushed down to find her smiling behind the wheel.

“Piece of cake.” She grinned. “She’s almost full on fuel and water and the GPS signal is loud and clear.”

“Yeah,” Howard mused. “I suppose those satellites will be zipping around up there for years to come. At least some sort of technology was spared from what happened down here.”

Soo found the anchor controls and retracted it from the harbor floor. She engaged the propellers and slowly increased power. Within just a few minutes they left the infested city behind as they cleared the mouth of the harbor.

Dave placed his hand on Soo’s shoulder. “Good job, girl. Fishin’ didn’t help land you a husband, but you sure saved our hides.”

She put her hand on his and squeezed. “Don’t forget your driving back there. If I had stayed at the wheel, we’d be goners.”

Dave’s smile faded and he looked out the window. “Do me a favor and head a few miles up the coast to the west, would ya? I just need a little breathing room from the city and I’ll be saying my goodbyes.”

“Goodbyes?” Howard’s jaw dropped. “What are you talking about?”

“You guys don’t need me anymore. You’re in good hands here.” He nodded at Soo. “I’m staying on dry land.”

“But why?”

“Let’s just say I made a promise a while back. And I never go back on my word. I still have some unfinished business here.”

“Don’t you wanna go to ’Merica?” Emily asked.

Dave squatted down and put his hands around her waist. “Maybe someday, hon. Maybe never. Just promise me you’ll look after these two. Okay? I’m making you honorary squad leader so don’t be afraid to kick a little ass.”

Emily giggled.

Howard and Soo stared at him. “Christ, stop acting like this is my funeral. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Believe it or not I’ve been in some shit even worse than this.”

Soo rose from the chair and hugged him. “You’re a terrible liar. And I think you’re making a mistake.” He hugged her back and just nodded.

She increased speed to twenty knots and headed north for a mile before turning west. With any luck, most of the creatures watching the yacht had lost interest and moved on as it went out to sea. They sailed up the coast for eight miles to the small town of Sandy Bay. Dave carefully studied the town though binoculars as they slowly drew closer to shore and saw no movement at all. It was as good a as place as any. He hoped he’d be able to scrounge up some supplies and a vehicle.

Soo brought the yacht as close as forty yards off the beach before she had to stop so it wouldn’t hit bottom. They walked Dave down to the swim platform. He put a knife he had taken from the galley, wrapped in a dishtowel, and tucked it into his pocket. It was just a six-inch utility knife, but like everything else on the yacht, it was top of the line and razor sharp. He took comfort in knowing that if he couldn’t find anything useful in Sandy Bay, he’d at least have a decent knife. Something a marine should always carry.

Howard offered his hand and Dave pulled him in for a hug. “Take care of these girls.” He patted him on the back.

“I will. You take care of yourself.”

He hugged Soo and Emily and jumped off the platform. They watched as he swam to shore, gave them a final wave from the beach, and scrambled up to the road.

“Come on,” Howard said. “Let’s go home.”

Eighteen

It was a perfect day to be at sea. The water was calm, the sky was clear, and the wind was light. Soo plotted a course to Cape Cruz, a straight shot, eighty nautical miles away on Cuba’s southern shore. By the time they spotted land, the sun was starting to set. Howard stood on the bow with binoculars and looked for lights on the shore.

Based on the limited information the GPS map provided, Cabo Cruz looked like the remote, sleepy little town it predicted. Howard didn’t know much about Cuba, and for all he knew the town never had electricity to begin with. From a mile off shore it was impossible to tell if the village was decimated like Jamaica or if it always looked dark after dusk. Soo dropped anchor, tired after sailing for over five hours and needing to rest. Howard studied the shore well after dark and never saw a thing.

Howard carefully reached over Emily and clicked off the bedside light. She muttered something and clicked her teeth together a couple of times before her breathing slowed again. He sat on the bed for a moment, watching her sleep and enjoying the simple love he felt for the little girl wash over him. Some of the best moments he had with his daughter, Lilly, involved watching her sleep. He’d often stand beside her crib at night, watching her chest rise and fall in the moonlight. Emily may not be his daughter, but he found he cared for her just as deeply.

He quietly crept out of the cabin, left the door open a crack, and stretched his muscles in the passageway. Earlier, after enjoying a hot but quick shower, and changing into a ridiculously fluffy robe, he’d told Emily a bedtime story. She only lasted about ten minutes before nodding off, which suited him fine. He was pretty wiped out,  yet oddly contented and relaxed. He felt optimistic, glad to be on the move. He had no idea what to expect once they reached the States, but for now he enjoyed the present.

Soo, holding a bottle of water, padded down the steps in her bare feet. Her hair was still damp from her own shower and she wore an extra-large T-shirt she’d found in the master cabin’s wardrobe. It came down almost to her knees.

“Is she sleeping?” she whispered.

“Yep. Out like a light.”

Soo nodded and took a sip of her water. “I can’t stop thinking about Dave. Do you think he’s all right?”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s fine. If there’s one guy I’ll never worry about, it’s him.”

She took another sip and tucked her hair behind her ear. She glanced at the door behind her. “Are you sure you don’t want to take this one? I almost feel guilty. It’s too nice. That bed in there is three times as big as what I had back home.”

Howard waved his hand. “Nah, you take it. It’s the captain’s quarters and you’re the captain. I’ll just grab the other bed in here with Emily.”

Soo chuckled at his captain remark and took another sip of water, appearing nervous. Howard couldn’t imagine why. She tucked her hair behind her ear again, something he could watch her do all day long and never get tired of.

“Well, uh…” he whispered. “I guess I’ll call it a night.”

“Okay. Good night.”

“You too.”

He turned and took a step toward his door.

“Howard?”

He turned around just as she ran into him, slamming him up against the wall. The water bottle hit the floor, splashing cold water on his bare feet. She grabbed the sides of his face and kissed him deeply, a slight moan escaping her lips as she pressed herself against him. Howard’s mind turned in slow motion, taking a second to process that, yes, this was actually happening. He realized his arms still hung at his sides. He finally snapped out of it, embracing Soo and trying to keep up with her eager kisses.

Somehow they managed to stumble into her cabin. She slipped the T-shirt over her head and untied his robe, pushing it off his shoulders and dropping it to the floor. He ran his hands over the contours of her body. Her  smooth skin, hot to the touch, glistened in the dim light of the cabin. He lifted her off her feet and she wrapped her legs around him. Howard lowered her to the bed.

****

They got an early start the next morning. Soo wanted nothing more than to spend the entire day in bed with Howard, making love and enjoying the soft mattress and silk sheets. But sitting a mile off the coast of Cuba wasn’t doing them any good, so she reluctantly got out of bed.

They headed east, keeping a mile or so off the coastline. After seven hours, they reached the mouth of Guantanamo Bay. They had a good view of the airstrip, which was located directly off shore, but the rest of the US Navy base was positioned deeper in the bay, out of sight. There was no movement on the airfield, no boats or ships of any kind in the bay. It was disappointing to say the least. If they expected to see any sense of normalcy in Cuba, any clues of resistance to the infection, it would have been at Gitmo. Howard tried to convince the girls it meant nothing, but he had doubts of his own.

Two hours later, they rounded the eastern shore of Cuba. From there it was a straight shot to Miami, four hundred and fifty miles away.

Howard brought Soo a plate of canned tuna, crackers, and sliced cheese. He set it down and started massaging her shoulders. Despite what had happened the previous night, several times, he felt awkward with the intimate gesture. He was relieved when she moaned in pleasure and told him how good it felt.

“How’s it going up here?”

She popped a chunk of cheese into her mouth. “So far, so good. We have less than halfway to go but over half a tank of fuel. I knocked our speed down a few knots, just to be safe.”

Howard looked out the window to the west. The setting sun painted a spectacular picture of reds, yellows, and oranges.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Soo asked.

They sailed for a few more hours after dark before stopping for the night. Soo estimated they had about twenty hours to go.

Their luck with good weather and smooth seas held out another day as they pressed on. Soo insisted they sail through the night. Howard only agreed if she would let him relieve her for a few hours. She showed him the basics and he kept the course while she napped with Emily on the sofa nearby.

Around two in the morning, Howard woke to Soo quietly calling his name. He hadn’t realized he’d dozed off. He gently slid out from under Emily, who was sleeping on his lap.

“What’s up?”

Soo turned the cabin lights all the way down and stared out the window. Howard was about to ask what they were looking at when he saw it. The full moon not only illuminated the waves outside, but the dark Miami skyline in the distance.

He rushed outside, holding onto the railing as the boat rode the waves. Not a single light on the horizon. Husks of once mighty skyscrapers on the southern edge of downtown still smoldered. A cloud of smoke hung over the city and stung Howard’s nose as it reached the yacht.

The engines shut down and a moment later Soo was at his side, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. “Dave was right. It’s just more of the same. All gone.”

Howard stared at the dead city, not wanting to believe. He knew the odds were against them, yet for the past couple of days he couldn’t help but imagine this moment turning out differently: The three of them laughing and hugging and cheering for joy as the brilliant skyline shown as a beacon in the night – the triumphant glow of a city teeming with life. He didn’t realize how badly he wanted it until the harsh reality appeared over the bow of the yacht.

“What do we do now?” Soo asked.

He didn’t have an answer.

Nineteen

They sat in a daze, exhausted but unable to sleep. Howard suggested they get closer, so Soo started up the engines. It didn’t matter. They sailed just a few hundred yards off the shore of Miami Beach, dark and quiet. Mixed in with the smell of smoke was an all too familiar odor of decomposition. Death. After nothing but fresh sea air, it smelled worse than ever and lowered their spirits even more.

Not knowing what else to do, they headed north. They sat side by side, not saying a word, consumed with their own thoughts as Emily slept, blissfully unaware. Miles of dark coastline slipped by. Howard was exhausted to the core but knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He also knew what they were doing was pointless. They might as well stop for the night and figure out what to do next after a good night’s sleep.

He looked over at Soo. She stared ahead with glazed eyes, a blank expression on her face. Howard racked his brain for something reassuring to say, something to help lift her spirits, but he knew anything out of his mouth would be hollow.

Soo furrowed her brow and blinked. “Am I crazy or do you see a light up there?”

“Huh?” Howard leaned forward and peered out the window. “Where?”

“Right…” Soo pointed her finger to the left. “Wait a minute. I could have sworn…there! Right there. See it?”

Howard saw it– a momentary flash of light, followed by a beam shining out to sea before going dark again. A few seconds later it happened again.

“If I didn’t know better I would swear that’s a lighthouse,” said Soo.

“I think you’re right. We passed a couple a while ago but they were dark. How can this one still be running?”

Soo increased the throttle. As they got closer to the lighthouse, the soft glow of surrounding lights filled the sky. Soon they could make out individual lights coming into view as they got closer.

“What’s up there?” Howard asked.

Soo pulled up the map on the GPS system. “Mmm…Juno Beach, Juno Ridge…Jupiter. That’s gotta be Jupiter.”

“Jupiter?”

Soo pointed at the LCD display. “Right there. Jupiter, Florida.”

They sailed closer to the beacon that was Jupiter. Miles of shoreline to the north were as dark as where they’d come from. As they got closer they could make out streetlights, signs, and porch lights. All the usual late-night illuminations common in any American town.

“They have power,” Howard said. “How is this possible?”

Soo just shook her head and smiled, not having an answer. She knew one thing however, and that was power plants needed people to run them. Left unattended, any kind of plant, from nuclear to coal to natural gas, quickly failed. She remembered that simple fact from those Life After People shows she enjoyed watching years ago.

The yacht entered Jupiter Inlet, passing a residential area to the right. To the left, dozens of piers and docks lined the shore.

“Look.” Soo pointed. “Is that a car?”

A police cruiser came to a stop in the parking lot near one of the public docks. The car’s spotlight came on and shone directly on the yacht.

Howard squinted at the bright light piercing the cabin’s windows. “I guess we might as well dock.”

Soo pulled into an open slip, the spotlight tracking their movement and never letting up.

Emily sat up, rubbing her eyes.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Soo muttered. “Why am I so nervous?”

“Don’t worry. Everything is fine.” Howard was nervous as well but tried his best to appear calm. “Let’s just see what they want.”

They exited though the stern of the boat and walked out onto the narrow passageway. Before the operator of the spotlight saw them, Howard made out two men standing on either side of the car. The driver operated the light and his partner held a shotgun or rifle. A second later, the light hit them again, blinding them. Soo stood next to Howard with Emily behind them.

The cruiser’s PA system squealed into life. “That’s far enough.” The man’s voice had a slight Southern accent. “How many people aboard?”

“Just us three!” Howard stepped aside, placing a hand on Emily’s shoulder.

“Do you have any weapons aboard?”

“No.”

There was no response for a moment as the men at the car exchanged words.

“Tie off the boat,” the voice boomed. “I want to see hands the whole time. Nice and easy.”

Howard glanced at Soo. She looked scared but gave him a nod. The three of them walked up the length of the yacht. They tied the yacht to the pier and the voice commanded them to walk toward the car.

As they approached, the spotlight was finally turned off. A heavyset man in uniform stood next to the driver side door, one hand on his holstered weapon, the other on the flashlight he pulled from his belt. He turned it on but pointed it at their feet. The guy on the other side, a kid barely out of his teens, held a shotgun pointed at the sky.

“Howdy,” Heavyset said. “Now what in the blazes are you folks doing out on that thing at 4:30 in the morning? You ain’t from around here are you? Don’t recognize any of you.”

Howard cleared his throat, conscious of where his hands were. Heavyset still hadn’t taken his hand off his gun. “We came all the way from Jamaica. We saw the lighthouse.”

The two cops exchanged glances. “Jamaica? You shittin’ me? You sound American. Y’all on vacation or something?”

“Something like that.”

“What’s it like down there?” the kid asked. “How many survivors?”

“Not many. It was pretty bad.”

Heavyset clicked off his flashlight and finally took his hand off his revolver. “Sorry for the third degree but we ain’t used to seeing any boats out after dark.” He held out his hand. “Jack Phelps. That’s Tom Weslow.” They took turns shaking hands and exchanging names.

“Most survivors come in on the road,” Jack said. “but we’ve had a boat or two lately. Not as many as we’d like to see, but…”

Soo looked around. “How many people are here?”

Jack clicked his tongue and looked at the sky. “Mmmm, last count was eight hunerd and…seven, weren’t it Tom?”

“Sounds ’bout right.”

Jack smiled. “Guess it’s up to 810 now. Assuming y’all are staying.”

“Are there any other towns like this?” Soo asked. “Can you communicate with other cities? Are there phones?”

“Where you folks from originally?” Jack asked.

“California,” Soo said. “He’s from Wisconsin.”

Jack and Tom exchanged glances. “I’m afraid you folks are standing in the only functioning city, relatively speaking, in this part of the state. As far as your neck of the woods, there’s no way to tell.”

“There’s a guy in town, used to a be a pilot for United,” Tom said. “He took a Cessna up a few times before the fuel let out. Flew as far as Jacksonville to the north. Orlando and Tampa to the west.” He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“We still get survivors tricklin’ in from time to time,” Jack added. “Most see the lights at night, like you folks. We have a broadcast goin’ out on shortwave too.”

“How do you still have power?” Howard asked.

“Got lucky as all hell. The plant manager at the Bay Beach nuclear plant up the road lives here in town. He’s been working there since high school and could run that place by himself if it was possible. Seems like he trained half the town to help keep the place running, and we’ve had steady juice ever since things went south.”

Jack squatted down to Emily’s level. “And you, little Missy, you ain’t so lucky. We don’t have any of that Internet or cartoon channels on the TV, but we still got school.”

“Do I get to wear a blue dress like Jackie and use a back-a-pack?”

Jack laughed and stood up with a groan. “I reckon you can wear whatever you want to school. The subjects may have changed some,” he told Soo, “but Miss Johnson’s been doing a darn good job with the kids. That’s our future, like the song says, ya know?”

Howard took Emily’s hand. “That sound great.”

“We should get back on patrol,” Jack said. “If you folks are squared away on that fancy rig of yours, I can pick you up in the morning to meet with the town council. They’ll help find you a house and assign you a job. What line of work were y’all in?”

“I’m a nurse practitioner,” Soo said.

“Great! They could definitely use some more help down at the clinic. How ’bout you, Howard?”

He put his arm around Soo and thought for a moment before answering. “I’ve dabbled in a lot of things. Antarctic explorer, medical guinea pig, tropical explorer, alien hunter, and most recently…first mate aboard an Italian yacht.”

Soo cracked up and so did Howard. Emily didn’t get the joke but laughed anyway at the contagious giggling. Jack and Tom exchanged curious looks before saying good night and driving off in their squad car.

Howard and his two girls, his new family, walked hand in hand back to their boat to get some sleep.

Epilogue

He had braced himself for a smell that might be much worse than what he was expecting. The air was stale, dank, and anything but fresh, but all in all it wasn’t too bad. He untied the bandanna he had tied over his nose and used it to soak up the sweat on the back of his neck instead.

Of course, it was a distinct possibility that he’d simply grown immune to the stench of death and didn’t notice it anymore. He had worked on a dairy farm the summer after his freshman year of high school. The first week or so was brutal. He felt like the stench of cow and pig shit had absorbed into every pore of his body and permanently seared his work clothes. By the end of the summer he didn’t even notice it anymore.

Room 342. He worried he would forget the number and end up searching every room on the third floor, but it all came back to him as if he’d left earlier that day. The drapes were pulled shut, just like he’d left them, just a small sliver of light illuminated the bed and the form underneath the covers.

He pulled the chair up and sat next to her, enjoying the stillness and peace of the room. He reached to pull back the sheet but stopped, gently placing his hand on the contours of her face instead. He closed his eyes and slowly ran his fingers across the thin, yellowed sheet, imagining her face, and relieved to find he could still picture it.

In his mind, he could see her clear as day, still remembered what she looked like the first time he’d ever laid eyes on her. Not hard do to since she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen in his twenty years on the planet. He and his buddies had driven up to San Clemente, trying to find a bar without so many boots looking to get laid or get into a fight. She sat in a corner booth with her friends. By the end of the night he had her number and, a year later, her hand in marriage.

“Hey, baby,” he whispered. “You know I ain’t much for words. I don’t know how many times you hollered at me for not talking about my feelings.” He picked up a brochure sitting on the bedside table and wiped the thin layer of dust off the front. The Bob Marley museum. Not something he was even remotely interested in seeing, but she was a huge fan. They had planned to check it out on the last day before they went home.

“Well, wherever you are, I hope you’re happy. Don’t you worry about me. I’m doing just fine. I love you, babe.”

He rose and picked up the water bottle he’d set on the dresser when he came in. He unscrewed the cap and slowly poured the contents around the outline of his wife’s body. He ripped a match from the book in the ashtray and lit it, holding the flame to the gasoline-soaked bedding. He placed the matchbook, proudly stamped with the logo of the Courtleigh Hotel and Suites, into his pocket. He’d always have a need for matches.

The flames finally died down by the time dawn broke. He had started out watching the blaze while leaning up against a car across the street, but had to move back three time due to the intense heat. He kept his handgun close and his eyes open all night, half expecting the sudden fire to attract attention. He wasn’t too surprised when nobody came. Fellow survivor sightings were becoming an increasingly rare event and he hadn’t seen a single alien since leaving Montego Bay. How far would they travel, searching for food?

The sky opened up with an early morning shower, trying to kill the already dying fire. He reached into his backpack and put on his cap to keep the rain out of his eyes. He started his bike and put the old Honda into gear as the rain stopped as suddenly as it started. A good day for riding. Dave glanced at the ruins of the hotel one last time in the mirror before he turned the corner, continuing on his journey to the east.

A circle made of ink on the crumpled map in his pack marked the end of his journey. It wasn’t much on paper, maybe less in person, but it was the fortress Soo had dreamed of. Navy Island. Just half a mile wide, 64 acres in all, but only two hundred yards off shore from the city of Port Antonio. Dave learned of the island in a guidebook he’d found while scavenging in Negril. Apparently, it was once owned by Errol Flynn and had seen its share of wild Hollywood parties over the years. Sounded like the perfect spot to spend his retirement.

It might take a while, but Dave had no doubt those creatures would eventually roam the entire country. Unless they started taking swimming lessons, he’d be safe on his private island and spend the rest of his days living in peace.

Epilogue, Part Two

Every time I sit down to write lately, I find myself staring at the blank screen. I’m sure I have an equally blank expression on my face but, mercifully, this laptop has a non-reflective screen, so I can’t be sure. Maybe it’s writer’s block, or maybe I’m just not ready. Maybe the problem is this stupid laptop and, subconsciously, I know I shouldn’t be depending on it. It’s not like I can drop it off at Best Buy if it breaks. And electricity is plentiful now but who knows what the future holds? The battery is only good for a few hours. If I were smart, I’d probably switch to longhand, or at least use a typewriter. There’s got to be one tucked away somewhere in this town.

I suppose I should be glad I’ve gotten this far. I’m new to this writing thing after all, and the story I’ve spun so far is pretty good, if I do say so myself. Then again, all I’m doing is basically writing down everything that happened to me after the plane crash. It’s not like I have to be creative or anything.

I got as far as me passing out in the back of the pickup truck and that’s where I ran out of steam and stopped. So I sat down tonight and figured I would write about something else, just to shake off the rust and get the literary juices flowing. I’m already a few hundred words in and I can feel myself getting back into the zone. Without further ado, I shall tell you about my day today.

The front door opened with such enthusiastic vigor, followed by frantic footsteps, it could only be one person running down my front hallway. I turned the corner and lifted the cup of hot tea over my head, just barely avoiding catastrophe as she slammed into me.

“Whoa. Easy there, kid,” I said. “Where’s the fire?”

“Mary an’ Emma invited me to sleep over tonight! Can I go? Pleeeease?”

“What’s that, Emily? Well, I’m doing just fine and I had a great day. Thank you so much for asking. And how was school today?”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Hello, Howard. How was your day?”

“Uh…I already told you it was fine. Why are you making me repeat myself?”

“Stop harassing the poor girl.” Soo descended the stairs, one at a time. “Can’t you see she’s excited?” She held on to the railing with one hand and her belly with the other. Her eyes were puffy from sleep and her hair was a mess yet somehow she managed to look prettier than the first day I saw her.

Emily impatiently hopped up and down on one foot. “So can I go? Can I go?”

“Yes, you can go,” I said.

She barely let me finish my sentence before she was out the door. I shouted for her to behave but I’m sure she didn’t hear. At least give me half a parenting point for trying.

Soo looked at the cup in my hand. “Have you started drinking tea or is that for somebody I know?” She stopped on the third step. I handed her the cup and kissed her distended belly in front of my face.

“How’s he doing today?” I asked. “Still kicking like a karate champ?”

“Feels like a drum solo on my spinal cord. And it’s he or she, remember? Why do I feel like I tell you that every day?”

“Just wishful thinking. If I say it’s a boy often enough, maybe she’ll magically sprout a penis.” I took Soo’s hand and helped her down the last few steps.

She looked at the front door. “I’m so glad Emily is finally making friends.” She paused midsip and lowered the teacup. “Why are you home so early?”

“It’s Friday, remember? They always let me off early because it’s our day for the market.”

Soo groaned and shuffled to the kitchen. “That’s right. I’m such a scatterbrain these days. Isn’t it enough that I’m a fat cow and disgusting? My brain has to turn to mush too?”

I walked up behind her and wrapped my arms around her chest. “You, my dear, are about as disgusting as that view.”

We faced the patio door in the dining room, which overlooked the beach and our postcard perfect view. Like almost half of the other residents in Jupiter, we live in Jupiter Inlet Colony. It’s a nice neighborhood of over two hundred homes, and we were lucky enough to snag an oceanfront unit after the previous owner passed away. Apparently he was some big shot author who wrote postapocalyptic sci-fi novels. I guess he couldn’t handle the real deal and took his own life. Maybe that’s why I can’t write for shit these days. His ghost probably put a spell on me. Haunted or not, it’s a great home. Three bedrooms and right on the beach. I’m sure it would have fetched well over a million bucks back in the “old world,” as people now called it.

Soo turned around to face me. “You sure have a way with words, Mr. Bell.” She kissed me on the nose and ran her hand down my chest. “Now go to the market so your family doesn’t starve to death.”

I rummaged through the kitchen cabinets, looking for our reusable grocery bags. “Did you hear there’s an opening on the town council? Susan Dietrich resigned. Said she wasn’t cut out for politics.”

“Oh, yeah?” Soo absently twirled her hair with her fingers. “Hey, see if you can trade for another ration of milk. I’ve been craving it so bad!”

“I’ll see what I can do. I heard they’re still having problems with the cows they brought down from Lafayette County. They aren’t producing as much this far south or something.”

Soo made her famous pretend sad face, complete with puppy dog eyes. “Tell them it’s for the baby.”

“That rarely works, but I’ll give it a try.” I gathered the bags and stole a sip of her tea. “So what do you think?”

“About what?”

“Town council,” I said. “I was thinking I might run.”

“What do you know about politics?”

“As much as the next guy. It beats working down at the water treatment plant, and I feel like I need to do more to help out the community.”

“It’s not a full-time job, Ding Dong.” Soo took her empty cup to the sink and rinsed it. “You’d still be knee-deep in sewage six days a week down at the plant.”

“Yeah, I know, but it’s something. I feel like this is my second chance and I want to make the most of it. I mean, your destiny is sealed. Can you imagine ever doing anything besides being a nurse? I want something like that.”

She wrapped her arms around me and put her head on my chest. “Then I say go for it. You’ll be the best ex-con, alien-hatching councilman in history. Now go get mama some milk.”

I wheeled my trusty Trek DS out of the garage and started peddling toward the market. Bicycles are the main form of transportation for most folks in town. One of the salvage teams just found a full gasoline tanker out west last week but only priority vehicles like the cop cars, delivery vans, and garbage trucks get to use it. It’s only a matter of time before it runs out completely, I suppose. We’re a pretty capable town but I don’t see oil refining in our immediate future.

But I don’t mind, I’ve always enjoyed biking. With my handy trailer I can haul just about any food or supplies we need. Not to mention our family bike rides are always the highlight of my day. Soo is too far along to get on a bike these days, but Emily and I still get out most nights after dinner and explore the outskirts of town.

I left our neighborhood behind and turned onto the South Beach Road bridge, waving at a couple of kids fishing on the river bank below. The market is just on the other side of the river in the old Concourse Village Shopping Center. The council assigned each family a weekly shopping day where we can go to the market and pick up our weekly rations.

I know Soo is just humoring me about running for town council, but I’m serious. The current form of government in town could best be described as communism. Despite living relatively comfortably in nice homes, my fellow survivors and I are still just that – trying to survive. The council makes sure everybody gets the basics, like food, shelter, and medical care, and I don’t have a problem with that. But if we continue to thrive, take in more refugees, and give birth to future generations, that’s going to have to change. A utopian society where everybody shares equally sounds great on paper, but it rarely works in the real world. The Soviet Union was proof enough for me.

Whatever sort of government we come up with in this new world, the thought of helping shape it really appeals to me. I only want what’s best for Emily and my new baby. I hope they get to live long and happy lives.

I pulled my bike up to the market, smiling and nodding at the rest of the familiar Friday faces. As I took the bags out of my bike trailer and headed for the dairy booth, hoping to score some extra milk, it occurred to me how truly happy I was. Probably for the first time in my entire life. For once I have it all. I only needed the world to end to get it.

Speaking of laptop batteries, they shut down the power over an hour ago and the little meter thingy in the corner says I only have 15% juice left. It’s late and I should get upstairs to bed with my wife.

Maybe I shouldn’t bother dredging up the past, recounting the horrors and the hard times. What’s the point really? I envy my unborn child in a way. He or she won’t be haunted by old memories, longing for loved ones who perished, remembering the old ways of life that are long gone.

In a way, all of us survivors are broken. The bond that unites us, this unexplained immunity from death that almost wiped out our race, also curses us. We can’t shake the past, the low-burning desire to somehow get things back to normal, as if none of this happened in the first place. I’ve felt it myself. Despite living in this nice house, with my two girls who love me, I can’t completely let go of the notion that there’s something better out there. That if I traveled far and long enough, just maybe I’d reach a city one day where everything truly was back to normal. Two hundred channels on the cable box, online shopping, test-driving new cars, movie premieres, holiday sales, smart phone apps, going on vacation, Hollywood gossip. I have to remind myself none of that stuff was important. It was just clutter we surrounded ourselves with and pretended it mattered. Maybe we ran out of problems. Real problems like finding enough calories to survive and clean water to drink.

What really matters is people. It’s the one thing from the old world worthy of saving.

But it’s human nature, I suppose. The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. Corny cliché, but I’ve found it’s true. That’s how clichés come to fruition after all. Unfortunately, some of my fellow residents can’t seem to shake it. We’ve had a few leave recently. Some take their time to say goodbye and politely ignore our pleas to stay, others simply vanish. I hope they find what it is they think they’re looking for, but I wish I knew for sure they won’t. It would help me sleep better at night.

Howard Bell

February 13, 2015

Who has two thumbs and loves to hear from readers? This guy! Okay, that joke doesn’t really work well in print but I really do love to hear from readers. Reach out and say hello!

Website: robertbrumm.com

Twitter: @robertbrumm

Facebook: facebook.com/rbrumm73

Email: rb@robertbrumm.com

Thanks to my editor, Sharon K. Garner. www.sharonkgarner.com

More special thanks to my beta readers – Bryan Harms, Jill Connley, Paulina Tharaldson,Mike Anderson, Max Zaoui, Atina Tan, Foga Zellermayer, Jon Race, and Tammy Brumm

And now…a note from the author.

I hope you enjoyed reading the adventures of Howard “Don’t call me Howie” Bell (good one, Colby). It certainly was an adventure for me to write. If you’ve come this far, perhaps you’re interested in some of the “behind the scenes” insights behind the story. What follows is probably pretentious, definitely self-indulgent, and most certainly boring. I’m mostly writing this for myself and fans who are really into the story and want to know more. I’d like to think there’s at least one out there (I’m waving at you right now).

Desolate started out as a very simple desire of mine to write a prison story. I have a couple of irrational fears. One of them involves razor blades slicing open the veins on the top of my feet and the other involves me getting sent to the big house. I’ve never even gotten a speeding ticket so the chances of me getting sent up the river (I’m going for as many prison clichés as possible) are pretty slim. But what if I committed a crime of passion? What if I was convicted of a crime I didn’t commit? It happened to the A-Team. It could happen to me.

So, basically, I wanted to drop some poor schmuck who wouldn’t last one day, like me, into the slammer. Then I would sit back and watch what happened to him. I knew what he did to get there, I just didn’t have a story for what happened to him once he arrived.

To make things a little more interesting, I decided to send poor Howard to a prison camp off the coast of Antarctica. The island is called Desolate Island although I only refer to it by name once. It’s based on a real island off the coast of Antarctica named Deception Island. Like my island, it’s horseshoe shaped and was used for whaling back in the day. Everything else I made up. Apparently the real island is quite the tourist destination because of its natural hot springs.

To tell you the truth, I don’t really remember why I chose to have the prison camp full of US and UK prisoners, but it’s probably Guy Ritchie’s fault. When I started writing the first book it was shortly after I’d watched Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels for the hundredth time. It’s one of my favorite movies and I just can’t get enough of the dialogue of all those colorful blokes from the East End of London. I figured I’d toss in a couple of cockney characters to liven things up, I suppose, and to this day it still makes me cringe. If I had it to do over again, I would tone down Reg’s dialect and probably craft him more like Richard Hammond from Top Gear and leave out all that slang. At the time, it never occurred to me that people in the UK might, you know, actually read this story. As of this writing, I’ve received nary a complaint or criticism from my neighbors across the pond. Either I got Reg’s character spot on (unlikely) or they’re too polite to say anything (likely).

Howard Bell started out as Ron Jackson. By the time I got to the end I really didn’t care for that name so I made the switch. After the book’s initial release I found out I’d missed a reference to “Little Ronny,” talking about Howard as a child. Thanks to my sister Kathie for pointing that out so I could fix it. Oops!

What can I say about Carl except that I love that man? I had fun creating that foul-mouthed, racist, greasy, white-trash rapist. I only wish I hadn’t killed him off so I could have played with him some more. Actually, while writing Desolate 3, I considered tossing in a flashback just so I could hang out with Carl again. Perhaps a prequel one day. Whenever I pictured Carl, I always saw him as Viggo Mortensen playing Aragon in the Lord of the Rings. Long hair, scruffy beard, and oh so dreamy. Carl was initially named Elroy. No comment there.

When I finished Desolate, I never intended to write a sequel. Howard bled out and died there in the snow, and my intent was to let the reader decide what happened next. Liz and the others carried the virus to the mainland?! Cue the dramatic music. At the last minute I decided to let Howard live and tossed him into the helicopter with Liz – just in case.

I thought about possible sequel scenarios for months. I wasn’t excited about it at all, because the only plausible outcome I saw was a worldwide pandemic that wiped out most of the human race. I’m really sort of sick of the whole dystopia post-Armageddon genre, so that didn’t appeal to me at all. Don’t get me started on zombies, but that’s a whole other subject.

So I decide to narrow the scope and point the telescope directly at Howard. I’m a big fan of survival stories and I wanted to see how he could cope being stranded in the jungle.

Quick side note: My love of survival stories is one of the reasons the prison camp was set off the coast of Antarctica. At the time, I was doing some reading about Sir Ernest Henry Shackleton’s failed attempt to reach the south pole and the incredible story of how he and his crew survived. Fascinating story.

Why did I pick Jamaica? Looking at a map, I guessed the flight path from Rio Grande to Atlanta would probably pass over Jamaica. If not directly, then darn close. Especially if the pilot flipped out and changed the course because he wanted to land.

The other reason is, I’ve been to Jamaica with my wife, Tammy. I was only there for a week and my experience consisted of riding from the airport in Montego Bay to our resort in Ocho Rios and back to the airport again. There may have been an incident of vomiting on the clothing-optional beach and passing out in our room by 2:00 p.m., but I couldn’t figure out a way to incorporate that into the story.

The town of Boones Run, Oswald Regional Hospital, and the hotels, resorts, stores, and locations I wrote about are fictitious.

Ketch, the gun-toting drug dealer who almost killed Howard, was inspired by Breaking Bad, one of my favorite shows. One of the most intense TV-watching experiences I’ve ever had was watching crazy Tuco interact with Walt and Jessie. I especially loved it when they were kidnapped and Tuco intended to take them to Mexico. I tried to capture that same experience– sitting in terror while a dangerous nut in front of you could snap at any time.

A little note about Jamaican dialogue. Like my ignorant American attempts at writing cockney, I know I took a chance with my Jamaican characters. On one hand, I didn’t want them talking “normal” because it wouldn’t seem authentic. On the other hand, I didn’t want to go overboard and try to convey their accents so heavily that it became distracting. I’ve read some books involving characters from the deep South where the dialogue was almost unreadable and it slowed down the story too much.

I hope I did a decent job, and I can only apologize in advance to any Jamaican readers out there who must think I’m an idiot. I admit I referred to the Web for some Jamaican slang, and I hope I didn’t muck it up too badly. Irie?

Speaking of mucking up, I wrote myself into corners many times in the series, especially when it involved medical procedures and equipment. All of it is based on lazy research, personal experiences, and best guesses. I promise I won’t be offended if actual medical professionals point out any glaring errors. That goes for any facts, as a matter of fact. Drop me an e-mail.

Speaking of writing myself into corners, did you enjoy the cliffhanger at the end of Desolate 2? So did I, but I didn’t know what would happen next either. It’s a terrifying feeling when you’ve published part two of a series, dropped a cliffhanger ending into your readers’ laps, knowing they are waiting for more…and not having a damn idea what’s coming next. This went on for about six months.

After hemming and hawing, I decided to stop procrastinating and just hammer out a prologue. I wanted to tell the story of what led up to the ship’s crash landing, and give a little more insight into the critter that knocked up poor Howard. Once the prologue was done, I just picked up where I left off. My characters were kind enough to show me what happened next all on their own.

A love interest for Howard? Oh, brother. Trust me, I didn’t invent Soo Kim just so I could toss in a little romance to please my female readers. I didn’t know how the story would end but I did know I wanted a happy ending. I wanted Howard to live happily ever after with Emily, and I figured he deserved another shot at finding true love. Since my hapless surgical intern, Jake Wilson, needed a little help, in came my nurse practitioner from San Francisco. Soo and Howard make a good couple, don’t you think?

Dave Penske was another favorite of mine, and I had a hard time steering the story away from him and back to Howard once in a while. By now we can all agree I excel at writing myself into corners and I did a little of that with Dave, Ann, Minnie, and Tre. I tossed them in at the end of Desolate 2 without much thought, and when I started writing the third book I realized I had too many characters to keep track of.

Instead of taking the time to develop these characters, I took the easy way out and killed most of them off. Minnie almost right off the bat, but I held out on Tre and Ann for a while. Ann was easy enough for me to wrap my head around as a somewhat surly teenaged girl from Canada, but Tre remains a mystery to me. Other than the brief backstory I gave him at the end of Desolate 2, I never really got a good feeling for him–and I think it shows. That’s what I get for creating people and not thinking it through, I suppose.

If I was going to give Howard a happy ending then it stands to reason he’d need to end up in a happy place. No offense to Jamaica, but I think if I were stranded in a different country at the end of the world as we know it, I would always feel the need to try and get home. So I gave Soo some boat-driving skills and sent them off to Florida.

I don’t know a damn thing about boats, so I had to rely on some of that lazy research we talked about earlier. There’s an old saying: “Write what you know.” What I know is pretty dull. If there’s a demand for fiction about promoting domain controllers or the correct pin-out for a cat-6 Ethernet cable, let me know. In the meantime, I’ll keep bullshitting and pretend I know what I’m talking about.  So all you yacht owners out there can just settle down.

Why Jupiter Florida, to be the last pocket of civilization? Well, it’s close to Miami, it’s got a cool name, and that’s about it. It certainly isn’t home to any hotshot writers. None at all. I totally made that up.

As I’m typing this, Desolate 3 – Redemption won’t be released for a while, and I’m already hearing whispers from beta readers on how I left the ending open to the possibility of another sequel. As a writer I’m very flattered that anybody would want more of the story, but I can assure you that’s it from me. What sort of society will Howard and his fellow survivors craft? What kind of woman will Emily grow up to be? What exactly is Dave up to on that private island of his? I’ll leave that up to you and your imagination.

That’s enough rambling from me. Thanks for reading.

Robert Brumm

February 2013

And for those of you who have read this far…

Epilogue, Part Three

Real Admiral Flie sat upright in his chair and stretched his back. Checking the time on his tabletop chronograph, he groaned and spun the chair to face the porthole behind his desk. It had been a brutally long cycle, too many of them all part of a brutally long deployment. Despite what he kept telling his family and peers, the yarwens were catching up and retirement dominated his thoughts of late.

Fortunately for the weary admiral, the Federate Flagship Dionysus and the rest of the fifth fleet were due to dock at Emperors Station in just a few cycles. After a debriefing session with Fleet Admiral Sche, he would finally go on leave and enjoy some much earned rest. Although he missed his wife and family, he looked forward to a few cycles with his mistress first before heading for home on the planet’s surface. She’d sent him a private message earlier letting him know their reservations for one of the station’s suites was placed. Flie was several yarwens past retirement age but still took pride in his bedroom prowess and felt his excitement rise as he gazed out the porthole.

The intercom tone ripped the admiral out of his lust-filled daydreams. He sat forward in his chair and mashed the receiver button.

“Yes, what is it?”

“There are two gentlemen to see you, Mr. Flie.” The voice of his assistant over the speaker had a nervous edge to it. He’d worked for Flie long enough to know the admiral didn’t like being disturbed this close to the dinner hour. “Commander Murfow and Junior Crew Officer Aikon.”

“Tell Murfow whatever he thinks is so important can wait for the next staff meeting. I’m in no state for visitors.” He drummed his fingers on his desk, impatiently waiting for a response.

“I told Mr. Murfow those very words but he insists the matter is urgent and he must see you immediately.”

Flie rubbed his face and sighed. “Very well, send them in.”

The hatched opened before the admiral finished depressing the intercom button and the two men hurried in. Commander Murfow stood at attention beside the nervous-looking  junior officer Flie didn’t recognize and whose name slipped his mind.

“Apologies for the intrusion, Mr. Flie,” Murfow said. “I have some information I think you’ll find interesting and I thought it best not to wait for next cycle’s staff meeting.”

Admiral Flie made of a point of not responding right away and eyed both men as they stared straight ahead over his shoulder. A bead of sweat ran down the junior officer’s face. Flie finally sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “And what information is it that you deem so important?”

“Junior Crew Officer Aikon made an interesting discovery.” The commander turned to the junior officer who looked properly terrified. It was obvious he had assumed the commander would do most of the talking on his behalf.

“Uh, yessir,” Aikon stuttered. “This morning, I was running deep catalog scans of the systems in the Q sector, per standard procedure. It was uneventful until I came across an old Federate distress signal signature. I triangulated the signal and found it originated from a planet in the R system, several hundred light-yarwens away.” Aikon paused for a moment and risked a glanced at the admiral. Flie just stared at him with no signs of emotion.

“The signal hadn’t transmitted for quite some time of course, but we think it came from an old Federate research vessel on the planet’s surface.”

“Junior officer, this is all very interesting but I hardly think it’s an issue that concerns me,” Flie said. “If you have a point, I suggest you get to it.”

Aikon shifted his weight and Commander Murfow spoke up. “Sir, the reason this is being brought to your attention is we believe the signal came from the Federate research vessel Artemis.”

“Artemis,” Flie repeated. “That name sounds familiar but the significance escapes me.”

“The Artemis suddenly lost contact yarwens ago and was never heard from again. It was commanded by a Captain Sekwee who was under investigation for possible connections to the terrorist group the Sons of the Confederates.”

Flie smiled. “Sons of Confederates? I haven’t heard of them since history classes in the academy.”

“Yes, sir,” Murfow continued. “I needed to refresh my memory as well. Fortunately, I had the opportunity to research the topic earlier. Thanks to Aiken’s work, it’s our theory that it was Sekwee’s ship, the Artemis, that crashed-landed on the planet. That would explain his sudden disappearance.”

“Still waiting for the point, commander.”

“Sir, do you recall from your history lessons the downfall of the Sons of the Confederates?”

Admiral Flie’s stomach growled and he quickly cleared this throat to attempt to mask the noise in the quiet room. “Why don’t you refresh my memory, Murfow?”

“This terrorist organization attempted to hold one of the planets in the R system hostage. RM-394, I believe. They did so by attempting to rapid clone a dangerous xenomorph native to RZ-237 and unleashed them on the citizens of RM-394. I say attempted, because their cloning procedure didn’t pan out as tested and most of the clones died within just a few cycles. The technology was quite crude back then, after all. After the failed attack, most of the Sons were captured and executed.”

As Commander Murfow spoke, Aikon entered a few commands on the tablet he was holding before placing it on the admiral’s desk. Murfow leaned forward and stared at a photograph of the xenomorph on the tablet’s display. Aiken noticed a slight grimace on the admiral’s face before it fell back to the emotionless void that made him so uneasy.

“It was believed that Captain Sekwee and the rest of the Artemis crew were attempting to illegally locate and capture one of these creatures before they disappeared. Sekwee failed, but the Sons of the Confederates obviously found a specimen from a different source. Which leads us to today. Aikon?”

The junior crew officer’s posture stiffened. “The last catalog scan of the planet the Artemis crashed on was over ten yarwens ago. The Federates never bothered to make contact with the native species due to their primitive nature so we don’t have a great amount of data on them. The scan I ran this morning provided very interesting results, however. Nearly the entire native population has been depleted and the scan revealed a new life form that wasn’t in the database from the last scan.”

Flie finally looked away from the tablet’s display. “New life form?”

“Yes, Mr. Flie. I ran the figures dozens of times before I was confident enough to bring this to the attention of my commanding officer, but I believe the scan picked up signatures of the xenomorph the commander just spoke of.”

“That species is extinct. That’s one fact I’m certain I remember from my studies.”

Aiken nodded frantically, his excitement over the discovery momentarily overcoming his anxiety at speaking to the admiral. “They are thought to be, that is correct, sir. But the evidence I collected is overwhelming.”

“How many did your scan pick up?”

“Impossible to say from this range, but every single one of them is isolated on a single island. If I had to venture a guess I would say several thousand of them, sir.”

Commander Murfow leaned forward and placed his hands on the admiral’s desk. “After the botched terrorist attack, the Federates realized what a powerful biological weapon those creatures could be if they could be controlled. Most were relieved the species was thought to be extinct.”

“Yes,” the admiral pondered. “Moral military code was quite old-fashioned in those days. Today, however…”

A smile spread across the commander’s face. “Sir, if Aikon is correct, just consider what this might mean.”

“What it means, gentlemen, is a significant advance in our capabilities. A distinct advantage over the Outer Rim Alliance and an end to this blasted war.”

“And a great honor for the fifth fleet, sir,” Aikon said. “And, if I may be so bold, a great honor for our admiral.”

Admiral Flie allowed himself to smile slightly and rub his chin in thought. Aikon and Murfow exchanged a glance but remained silent.

Flie finally rose from his desk. “Commander, put the fleet on alert, shore leave is cancelled. I want you to set a course for this planet. Which is it?”

“It’s RM-105, Mr. Flie,” said Aikon.

“Yes, set a course for RM-105 and draw plans for a ground assault of the planet. If these xenomorphs are as dangerous as legend has it, I think we may need at least two or three marine battalions to secure this island alone.”

“And what of the natives?” Murfow asked.

“As long as they don’t interfere, we pay them no mind. We have no need for savages.”

“It’s been quite a long time since the initial catalog scan. Perhaps they’ve advanced enough to be a threat.”

“How long ago did you say the Artemis crash landed on RM-105?”

“It was around eighty yarwens ago,” Aiken said. “That would be the equivalent of 400 yarwens for the species living on the planet. Our first scan was around the same time but somehow missed the signature from the crash site.”

The admiral absently rubbed his significant belly. “And your latest scan showed no evidence of navy assets or ion ordinance?”

“There were signs of very modest unmanned probes in the system and a station orbiting the planet. It’s my opinion they haven’t even discovered particle or FTL technology yet.”

“Then we move ahead as planned.” Flie nodded at the commander.

“Yes, sir.” Murfow saluted.

“Oh, and Commander? I’d like a recommendation for commendation and promotion for our young junior enlistman here. Good job, son.”

Aiken beamed and saluted the admiral. “Thank you, sir.”

The men left the room and Flie sat down, suddenly energized by the thought of his own imminent promotion. When the Federates learned of this, he was sure to make vice admiral. He just had one small problem, how to break the news to his mistress that she’d be enjoying the suite by herself.

Also by Robert Brumm Jr.

Windigo Soul

It's Hank Reed's birthday. As a citizen of the United Federation of Nations that means a mandatory death sentence simply because he turned sixty years old. Referred to as "retirement," it's one of the desperate steps the government has taken to curb overpopulation. Retirement is a widely accepted fact of life on a dying planet ruled by a tyrannical government. Hank's execution goes ahead as planned but state sponsored euthanasia isn't what it seems. The Reed family learns what really happens to retirees when secrets the UFN keep from the public start to unravel.

Windigo Soul at Amazon

Stage Five

Robert Brumm Jr., author of Windigo Soul and the Desolate series, brings you Stage Five - a collection of five short stories.

Warning. May contain traces of the following:

Talking cats and dogs, a serial killer on dialysis, testicle dissecting robots, prostitutes getting shot in the back, a meth head burned alive, a decapitated head kicked across the room, a puggle tempted to eat fresh vomit, a woman with a hangover wearing a Reggie White t-shirt, a pink litter box, and the extinction of the human race.

A Blog Named Phil - Visit Phil’s blog to read his account of the day his dog and cat started talking to him. Yes, it happened to everybody but read it anyway. Phil’s a lonely guy.

Cooper – Having to kill a gum snapping prostitute, a knuckle cracking beefcake, and a twitchy meth head was just the start of Cooper’s bad day. When he gets teamed up with Vinnie Smalls, a razor wielding pain in the ass wise guy, to collected a debt, the night goes from bad to bizarre to deadly.

Stage Five – After a night of usual binge drinking and television watching, Amy finds herself the next morning locked in the basement cell of a serial killer. Her death seems certain until the killer realizes he may have picked the wrong woman to be his next victim.

We Called Them Sheen – They started out as personal assistants, butlers, nannies, and companions. They ended up being responsible for the extinction of the human race.

She Must be a Daisy – One cat and one man in an apartment. One dies. The other tries to stay alive.

Stage Five at Amazon

Table of Contents

Desolate:

Desolate 2 – Exposure:

Desolate 3 – Redemption: