Xombies: Apocalypse Blues Read online

  “We didn’t,” said Monte.

  DeLuca fired again.

  “ATTENTION CRUISE SHIP—IS ANYONE THERE? WE COME IN PEACE.” The acres of frosted-over windows remained blank. I didn’t like standing there with that dead colossus leaning over us.

  “Take us to your leader,” Jake muttered.

  “ALL RIGHT, THEN. WE’RE COMING ABOARD.” Ed Albemarle put away the bullhorn and took out his faithful hammer. “Let’s go,” he said.

  Smashing ice off each step, Albemarle led the way up, followed by the other three men, me, and the boys. The stairs were not quite level; it was a little disturbing to climb that overhanging cliff with nothing more than a slippery handrail between you and a bone-shattering fall. The higher we went, the more steeply the ship seemed to lean out. About thirty feet up, I suddenly realized there was no one behind me. Hector had stopped, blocking the line.

  “I have to go back,” he said firmly. “I’m going back down.”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Nothing—I just can’t . . .” He shook his head, paralyzed with fear. “This isn’t safe.”

  From behind him, Julian said, “C’mon, we’re almost there!”

  “Shut up!” Hector snapped, “Go around if you want to!”

  “There’s no room to pass,” retorted Julian. “Come on, dude. It’s cold.”

  “Don’t push me!”

  I went down to him. “Hey, it’s okay,” I said. “Just don’t look down.”

  “Where the hell am I supposed to look? Everything looks like it’s falling. I keep feeling like we’re starting to tip over.” He had a point.

  “What’s wrong back there?” Albemarle said from above. “Get a move on, son!”

  “Ignore them,” I told Hector. “Listen, you know what they do to keep horses from panicking on steep trails? They lead them along blindfolded.”

  “Screw that!”

  “Just take my hand, then. Here.” I took my giant glove off and stuffed it in my pocket. “Take my hand before it freezes.”

  “No way.” He was starting to tremble violently.

  “Please—I’m going to get frostbite if you don’t hold my hand.”

  He stared at my dainty fingers for a second, then ripped off his left glove with his teeth and grabbed me. He was so scared he nearly dragged me down on top of him.

  “Good!” I grunted. “That’s good! Awesome! Don’t pull—you’re okay! Now just look at me. Just focus on me, nothing else. Try taking a step.”

  “I cah. I cah ooob.” I took the glove from his mouth, and he said, “I can’t move.”

  “You can do it. Just take a deep breath and relax. This is just like the stairs on the boat, no different.”

  He closed his eyes, clutching me hard, and took a wild step.

  “That’s the way! Now you’re doing it,” I urged gently. “Don’t stop—keep it up. We’re just walkin’ upstairs, yessiree . . .”

  “Is he coming or isn’t he?” I heard DeLuca growl from above.

  “Do you mind?” I shot back.

  Hector was relaxing a little, creeping faster bit by bit. Then he let go of my hand. “I got it,” he said, eyes still closed. “You go on—I got it under control.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I just don’t want to trip over you. Go! I’m right behind you.” Hunched and groping the rail like a blind man, he followed me the rest of the way up.

  The doorway opened onto a broad enclosed deck with high windows. In ordinary daylight, it would have been a sunny place, but in this iced-over twilight it was a cave. A mini-glacier had formed inside the door, fanning across the teak promenade like an octopus, and the men had considerately chopped a path through it. They wielded flashlights and a device called a thermograph, probing for spots of warmth amid the pitch-black restaurants and shops opposite the windows. DeLuca had his shotgun at the ready, but the place looked more than deserted: It looked fossilized.

  Once we were all gathered inside, Albemarle said, “All right. Everybody listening? Here’s the plan: We’re gonna divide into five squads, seven to a squad. Four of the squads will be led by me and the other three men; the fifth will be led by Officer Lulu, unless she thinks one of you is better suited for the job. That’s up to her.

  “Each squad has a specific objective, which they are to fulfill as fast as possible before regrouping back here. Vic’s squad is to go up top and flash Coombs that we’re aboard and that the ship is clear. Then they are to proceed to the bridge and find out what’s functional and what’s not, check the PA system, and make an announcement to the rest of us about the status of this barge. Vic knows what to do.

  “Gus DeLuca’s group is to find the radio shack and see if we can call out. Since the sub can’t reveal its position by sending radio signals, it may be possible for some of us to be rescued from here by sending a Mayday. At the very least we may be able to contact someone who can catch us up on current events.

  “My squad is heading belowdecks to inspect the power plant and the pumps. See if it’s possible to stabilize her some. Emilio will be taking his people on a tour of ship’s stores. The rest will accompany Officer Lulu to the infirmary, where they will be expected to stock up on a few medical necessities.” He handed me a flashlight and a printed list. “Any questions?”

  There were too many to ask.

  “Good. Here are your squads.”

  He held up a roster and we gathered around his light. Under my name I read: Hector Albemarle, Jacob Bartholomew, Julian Noteiro, Shawn Dickey, Lemuel Sanchez, and Cole Hayes—all of them boys in my crib. Coombs had thought of everything. It hurt my feelings that they seemed disappointed to be going with me instead of with the men. I heard Julian muttering about how he didn’t come here to “raid a damn drugstore.” Hector was still sour-faced from before.

  Albemarle said, “I’ll expect you all back here within ninety minutes. Ninety minutes! Anyone not back here in an hour and a half may find themselves left behind. Get moving.”

  It was a pretty disorganized scavenger hunt. Since the first thing we all needed was a map, everyone ran up and down the promenade looking for an information booth or a large diagram saying YOU ARE HERE. As it happened, there were touch-screen computers for just this purpose, but they were all dead.

  While we were rifling the check-in desk at the lobby, Julian called us back out to the promenade, and said, “I don’t think we need a map.” Handing out souvenir flashlights, he led us to a sign next door to the gift shop. Above a green cross were the words FIRST AID STATION.

  “Oh man,” said Hector.

  I was giddy with relief. What I had thought would be a trying ordeal was over before it had begun—no fumbling through dark mazes, no getting lost or left behind. No humiliation. I gave silent thanks for Coombs’s mercy.

  “You know what this means, don’t you?” Julian said.

  “Hell yeah,” Cole replied. “Means we home free.”

  “It means we got the pussy assignment. They don’t trust us with a real job.”

  “That sucks,” said Shawn. “I wanted to scope out the Galleria.”

  “Give me a break,” I said, though what Julian said was certainly true. I didn’t care. Except for him and Shawn, the others were on my side, grateful for the reprieve.

  We filed into a waiting room with magazine racks and a block of yellowish ice that had been a fish tank. Our first indication that things would not be so simple was the shattered glass in the reception window. The second was black spatters of dried blood everywhere we shined our flashlights.

  “Dude, is that blood?” Shawn asked.

  “Where?” asked Cole, whipping his light around. “Oh shit.”

  Hector said, “Not good, man, not good. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Hey,” said Julian calmly. “It’s a first-aid station? So somebody was bleeding, big deal. Attempt to chill.”

  “I’m plenty chilled, thanks,” said Jake.

  Pushing through a swinging door to th
e interior rooms, we entered a real mess. The place had been ransacked. Filing cabinets were overturned, spilling paper everywhere; furniture was broken; latex gloves, cotton swabs, and other medical supplies were scattered about; and anything locked had been broken open—there were loose pills frozen to the floor in a pebbly mosaic. Nothing I could identify from my list.

  “Whoa, this shit’s been jacked up,” said Cole.

  Julian nodded. “Somebody beat us to it.”

  “Totally,” said Shawn. “Yo, check it out: Prednisone. Cool.” He pocketed it.

  Searching smashed drawers, I said, “They were here.” I couldn’t bring myself to speak the word.

  Lemuel piped up from the rear, “Xombies.” His voice was soft and high-pitched for such a big guy, and perhaps because he didn’t talk much it always caught our attention.

  “Yes,” I said. “We need to tell Albemarle and the others.”

  “I think they’re gone,” said Lemuel at the doorway.

  “Then we better go after them,” I said.

  Julian held up his hands. “Can we just not panic? Seriously.”

  “Nobody’s panicking,” I said with annoyance. “But we have to let them know.”

  “Let them know what? That the clinic’s been looted? I mean come on! What the hell difference does it make? It’s still a dead ship, and besides, it’s twenty below in here—unless those Exoids have antifreeze in their veins, they’re rock-solid.” He seemed energized by this turn of events. “Environmental survivability threshold, remember?”

  “You’re right, man,” said Hector. “So what should we do?”

  I didn’t like him directing this question to Julian. “Okay,” I said quickly, “so as far as you guys are concerned, we should proceed with the mission? You’re cool with that?”

  They all looked at each other in the wavering flashlight beams. There were hesitant nods and nervous shrugging, but the gist of it seemed to be a wary willingness to go. Julian said, “Like I give a crap about ‘the mission.’ Let’s just do something.”

  “Why did you even volunteer to come?” I asked irritably.

  “Same as everyone else—to stretch my legs. Why? Why did you come? To get in good with Harv?” Here it was, their suspicion that I was the commander’s toady.

  I hadn’t told anyone I’d found Cowper, or about the drugs he needed. It suddenly occurred to me that we were all waiting for someone to tell us what to do, that every second I dithered a pressure of anxiety and resentment was building against me. Trying not to be bossy and waiting for a clear signal from them was not the polite, respectful, and humble leadership I intended. It was an abdication of responsibility, and they rightfully despised me for confirming their low expectations. Wake up, girlfriend, cried my mother’s Oprah-fortified voice in my head.

  “Listen,” I said, “there’s still an hour and twelve minutes. Here’s what we’re going to do . . .”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  We had maps and information handbooks from the front desk. Using them, we were able to determine that there was another first-aid station on the ship, as well as a twenty-bed infirmary and a chain drugstore.

  “I think the pharmacy is our best bet,” I said, huddled over the deck plan. “Considering what happened to the first-aid station, I don’t think we should go anywhere sick people would’ve gone.” No arguments there. “The pharmacy is in the Galleria—there you go, Shawn—so it shouldn’t be too difficult to find. Just a straight shot forward, up the companionway, then cut across the upper promenade to the casino.”

  “Oooh, casino,” Jake said. “Lemuel’s all about that.”

  Lemuel thought he’d missed something. “Huh? All about what?”

  “Indians? Gambling? Didn’t your tribe want to open a casino?” Sensing his joke had fallen flat, Jake said, “Never mind.”

  Without warning, Lemuel suddenly slammed Jake up against the bulkhead. “Don’t fucking joke like that about my tribe, man,” he said softly, as the other boy squirmed in his grip. “I may be my whole tribe now. Last of the fucking Mo hicans, you know? It ain’t a fucking joke.”

  “Sorry,” Jake said, shocked.

  “Nobody I know ever got rich off a fucking casino—they were the hired help. The real gambling tycoons are the same white guys who own everything else, so don’t make jokes about Indians running casinos. I hate that shit.”

  “All right, I’m sorry.”

  “Come on, Lemuel,” I said. “He didn’t know. He screwed up, that’s all.”

  Lemuel released him, not meeting any of our eyes.

  “Good,” said Julian impatiently. “Let’s go before we get hypothermia.”

  Right away, my plan fizzled. The companionway was choked with a massive trunk of ice.

  “Obviously we can’t go up that way,” Julian said.

  “Obviously,” said Hector.

  “It opens onto exposed deck up there,” I said. “I should’ve realized it would be plugged. Dammit. We’ll have to try another way.”

  “Do, or do not,” said Jake in a croaking voice. “There is no try.”

  “What now?” Cole asked.

  “We have no choice but to stick to all interior passages. I was hoping for more light than that, but if the other teams can handle it, so can we.” Trying to rub feeling back in my nose, I said, “Okay, we can cut athwartships right here through the second-class staterooms. Then we’ll hit third class and turn left on Broadway, which will take us directly to the bottom floor of the Galleria.”

  Jake tapped my hood. “Teacher, I have to pee.”

  “Shut up.”

  We made our way down a passage between administrative offices and recreation rooms, catching a glimpse of Ping-Pong tables in the dark. Side corridors were lined with numbered doors as far as our lights would penetrate, and it was disturbing to see women’s shoes littering the floor. There was a fur of hoarfrost on every surface.

  “Hey look,” Lemuel said. He was shining his plastic penlight on the floor just ahead of us. The ice on the carpet was trampled. Sounding reassured, he said, “Another team must’ve come this way.”

  I won’t deny the absurd relief I felt looking at those tracks, knowing we weren’t alone in this catacomb. But I played it cool, saying, “So they did. Let’s keep moving.”

  “Kilroy was here,” said Hector.

  We came to an elevator foyer and the companionway we were seeking. The elevators were useless, the companionway blocked. The sight of what it was blocked with made us all gasp and rear up like spooked ponies.

  There was a gate across the stairwell, and sprouting through the metal bars was a thicket of grasping blue arms, frozen solid. It was a tree of hands. They were so tightly packed it was difficult to see the bodies to which they were attached, and their combined force had caused the padlocked gate to bulge outward. Hyperventilating, I stepped forward and tapped my flashlight against one frosty hand. It made a ceramic clink.

  “Mothuhfuck,” said Cole.

  “Holy shit,” said Jake.

  I seized the initiative. “Well, at least this proves we’re not in any danger. Come on—there must be another way up.” The boys looked at me like I was insane. “Come on,” I insisted. They followed, Shawn giggling nervously.

  I found an alcove marked, SHIP’S PERSONNEL ONLY. It opened on an uncarpeted utility tunnel full of pipes and wiring, reminiscent of the submarine. The side doors were all locked, and we were afraid to penetrate too deeply because none of this was shown on our deck plan.

  Just as we thought we were going to have to backtrack out again and start over, Lemuel called, “Hey guys? I found where the tracks end.” He was shining his light up a dark hatch in the ceiling. Steel rungs ran from it down into another hatch below, this one covered with a locked grate. Above, the shaft seemed to go up quite a long way—even with my flashlight I couldn’t see the top.

  “Oh shit,” Cole said. “Where the fuck does that go?”

  “Only one way to find out,” I said, and started
climbing.

  Before my initiation by sub, these restricted crawl spaces would have been unthinkable, but there was no stopping me anymore. Experience had shown that my size and my sex were great advantages in such places—I was more limber and agile than the most able seaman, and had learned to plunge into dark holes like a ferret. It had earned me some admirers among the crew. The boys, by comparison, were bumbling oafs.

  We only climbed as far as the next level, emerging in an electrical substation just off Broadway, and followed that spacious avenue forward to the Galleria. We knew when we had arrived by the echo. Suddenly, we were in a huge hollow place, a soaring atrium within the ship’s superstructure. Only my high-powered lantern could begin to penetrate it, and the pinprick flashlights of the others made me think of ducklings following their mother.

  Here was a movie theater, a casino, a ballroom, a disco, several theme bars and clubs, a video arcade, a hair salon, duty-free shops, and ATM machines on every level. It was a seagoing shopping mall. It was a towering crypt.

  “Oh, that’s dope, dude,” said Shawn. “That is awesome.”

  Cole said, “My boy Shawn be feelin’ right at home. All he need is an Orange Julius.”

  We had picked up the trail of our predecessors once again and began following it up dead escalators as we searched for the drugstore. I announced our elapsed time at five-minute intervals. We were approaching the halfway point—forty-five minutes—when it would be sensible to turn back. But since I counted on it being easier to return than it had been to get there, I wasn’t going to be a stickler about it. Not when we were so close.

  “Hey, Lulu,” Lemuel said, huffing and puffing. “How could that other team have covered so much ground? Have you noticed that these footprints go in and out of every doorway? I mean, they’re everywhere! We didn’t take that long to get here.”

  As soon as Lemuel spoke, I knew what he said was incontrovertible; in fact it had been gnawing at me, too, and I had been rationalizing it away.

  Julian said, “Not only that, but a lot of them go in the wrong direction.” He pointed out a very clear set of boot prints facing us. “And these soles are different than ours, look.”