Dead Sea

Chapter Twelve

Once we were far enough away from the wreckage, the chief shut off the motor. He said that he wanted to conserve fuel, but I thought the real reason might be that the sound of the engine could attract underwater predators. Occasionally the GPS would beep, letting us know we were still on course.

It was a miserable night. We were cold and wet. Exhausted. Carol and the kids were still underneath the plastic sheet, clinging together and trying to stay warm. I smiled at them, told them that everything would be okay as soon as we reached the oil rig. They didn’t respond. I didn’t blame them. I knew I was full of shit, and so did they. Sure, maybe things would be cool on the drilling platform. But chances were we’d never reach it, not with an entire ocean full of dead things.

The chief opened up a storage box and took out some plastic oars. He screwed them on to aluminum poles and handed one to me. He and I rowed while Runkle stood guard. The former cop looked worse than any of us. His drooping eyes were bloodshot and he shivered uncontrollably, despite the heavy pea coat. He didn’t say much, just sat there staring out at the water.

I noticed that the supplies we’d rescued from the Spratling’s galley were getting wet, and I passed them over to the chief so he could stow them in the box. He found some glow sticks at the bottom of the storage compartment. He snapped one in half and a fluorescent green glow filled the air. Its radius was small, but I think it made us all feel better. The light held the darkness at bay, if only for a little while. The chief had taken Mitch’s rifle from Tasha and it rested at his side. He laid plastic sheeting over the weapon in an effort to keep it dry, and weighted the plastic down with some emergency flares. I propped the shotgun up next to me. I didn’t know if the rain would hurt it or not, but I had no way to shelter it from the elements. The chief had used the last of the plastic on the rifle.

If there were zombie fish stalking us beneath the ocean’s surface, we didn’t see them. Maybe the sea was too rough. Every few minutes, a wave would crash over us, swamping the boat with several inches of water. Then the kids would have to come out from under their shelter and bail with two buckets the chief had found in the storage compartment. Occasionally, debris from the Spratling that hadn’t been sucked down with the ship bobbed by, tossed on the waves. There were wooden crates, an aluminum lawn chair, seat cushions, a mattress, a coast guard life preserver, and a push broom. We salvaged whatever useful items we could from the stuff that floated within reach and let the rest of it drift away. After rescuing the push broom, Malik unscrewed the long handle and pulled out Mitch’s bayonet. The glow stick’s green light reflected off the serrated blade. Glimpsing the knife made me think of Mitch. I fought down a lump in my throat. I could mourn him later, if there was a later.

“My God,” Chief Maxey groaned. “It’s been a long time since I rowed like this. Quite the workout.”

“You okay?” I asked.

He nodded, but I noticed that he was slowing down. My joints were starting to ache, as well. The storm tossed us back and forth, and for every foot we gained, the waves forced us back again.

“How much farther?” Tasha asked the chief.

He chuckled. “Sounds like we’re on a family vacation, doesn’t it? I increased to our top speed when the trouble started, Tasha. As long as we don’t run into any more obstacles or the storm doesn’t get worse, we should be there before dawn.”

None of us responded. Dawn. That was an eternity.

Malik began sharpening the end of the broom handle, turning it into a makeshift spear. He didn’t speak, just focused intently on the job at hand. I watched him in silent admiration. It was no wonder the kid had stayed alive this long. He had heart and then some. I wasn’t his father, but I felt an immense swell of pride anyway. I thought back to when I’d first met them—just a few days ago, but it seemed like a lifetime. I ain ‘t no punk, Malik had said while sizing me up. I’m hardcore, G. You try messing with my sister and I’ll mess you up instead. I’d laughed at the time, despite the sincerity and ferocity in his voice. Now, there was no doubt left in my mind that he could have followed through on the threat. Malik was a child of this new world—the perfect inheritor. He had an innate survival instinct. He didn’t ask why. He just did.

One of the crates we’d rescued contained oranges—a leftover from our ill-fated supply raid on the rescue station. They’d been fresh then, stored in a walk—in cooler, and hadn’t gone bad while on the Spratling. Carol handed them out. Runkle declined with a grunt. Another crate contained maritime museum tour brochures for the Spratling. Chief Maxey solemnly kept one of the brochures, folding it up and stuffing it into his pocket, and then tossed the rest back over the side. Every few minutes, he’d glance back at the spot where the Spratling had been and sigh, but the ship was gone. The ocean’s surface was unmarred again, except for the rough surf. There were no bursting bubbles or swirling whirlpools. Even the oil fires were gone, dissipated by the current. With the fires extinguished, the darkness seemed to press closer, as if trying to swallow the lifeboat.

’I’m cold. Tasha complained. Her teeth chattered.

“We all are, sweetie,” Carol said, pulling her closer.

Malik jabbed the air with his spear and seemed satisfied with it. He sat it down and peeled his orange.

The wind howled around us as we continued on into the night. It felt like cold razors on our skin. Waves continued swamping the lifeboat. I focused my attention on rowing. My shoulders and chest began to ache. Chief Maxey was obviously having trouble, too. His breath grew short and I noticed him struggling just to raise the oar. He kept rubbing his chest muscles, wincing with pain.

“Hey Runkle,” I said. “How about taking over for the chief for a little while?”

Runkle didn’t respond, didn’t move. Just sat there, slumped over.

“Yo, Runkle! Wake up, man.”

“It’s okay,” Chief Maxey said. “I’ll be fine. Arthritis is just acting up a bit.”

“Ain’t no reason why you can’t act as lookout and let him row for a little while.”

I leaned forward and tapped Runkle on the shoulder. He slowly raised his head and turned around, staring at me with empty eyes. His peacoat was soaking wet, and the pistol was still clutched in his fingers. I glanced down at it, and then noticed the dark stain on the coat—a red splotch at his waist, barely visible in the darkness. My eyes widened.

“Hey man, are you hurt?”

“Leave me… alone,” Runkle slurred, his head drooping down again. “Just… row the fucking boat.”

“Dude,” I said. “You’re injured. There’s blood on your coat. What the hell happened?”

“Injured?” Chief Maxey pulled in his oar and slid toward us. “Let us see, Runkle. How bad is it?”

“It’s not my blood,” he said, pulling the coat tighter. “Just some… of Murphy. I g-got it on me when I… s-shot him.”

“Bullshit,” I insisted. “I saw you after that and there wasn’t any blood on you then. Now let us help you.”

Runkle’s head snapped up, his eyes suddenly alert. He shoved the gun in my face.

“Sit the fuck d-down and… leave me alone. I t-told you… it’s nothing.”

Suddenly, I understood. He’d been acting weird ever since I’d encountered him on the ship during our hunt for the professor. He’d lied about the coat. Told me he was wearing it because of the storm. Instead, he’d been wearing it to hide his wound.

“You got bit, didn’t you, Runkle? Murphy bit you before you shot him, and you’ve been hiding it all this time.”

He sneered. “You’re… c-crazy, Lamar. If I’d been… b-bitten, wouldn’t I be d-dead by now?”

“You ain’t looking too healthy. All the signs are there, now that you mention it. You’re slurring your words. You’re weak. Admit it, Runkle. You were bitten and you’ve been trying to hide it.”

Chief Maxey put his hand on Runkle’s shoulder. “Everything will be okay, Mr. Runkle. Just let us help you.”

Weakened as he was, Runkle still had strength. He moved fast, swinging his arm out and smacking the chief in the face with the pistol. There was a loud crack and Chief Maxey tumbled backward. His nose and mouth spurted blood. The boat rocked dangerously to one side, and more water flooded in. I lunged for Runkle, intent on getting the gun away from him, but he was too fast for me. He whipped around again and suddenly the barrel of the pistol was pressed against my stomach. Grinning, he shoved me back into my seat.

“D-don’t… you f-fucking move… or I’ll… w-waste those kids… Just… k-keep rowing.”

“You son of a bitch. You’re a cop. What about your oath—to serve and protect?”

He laughed. “That d-died… with… the rest of the… world.”

“You’re a real piece of shit, man.”

His laughter turned into a cough. “J-just shut up… and r-row, f-faggot.”

Clenching my teeth in anger, I did as he ordered. Grinning, Runkle waved the gun at me. I picked up the oar and dipped it into the water again. Chief Maxey rolled over onto his back, groaned, and then lay still. Rainwater splashed off his face, washing away the blood streaming from his nose.

“C-Carol,” Runkle called, without taking his eyes off me, “you and… the k-kids… get over here n-next t-to… Lamar.”

“Officer Runkle” she pleaded. “You’re sick. You don’t know—”

“Shut up. D-do what I… t-tell you, or I’ll… s-shoot Lamar f-first. N-now get o-over h-here…”

“My grip tightened on the oars. Chief Maxey was still unconscious. If I moved, Runkle would shoot me before I made two steps. We were helpless. I decided to try reasoning with him again.

“You’re gonna die, Runkle. You know that, right? I mean, if Murphy bit you then Hamelin’s Revenge is already in your bloodstream.”

He shook his head. “N-not… going to… die. I’m g-going… to l-live.”

“The hell you are. It is gonna happen, whether you fight it or not. You can’t beat it. So what’s the point, man? Why do this to us? What are you hoping to accomplish?”

He didn’t answer me. His free hand went to his side, cradling the wound beneath his coat. His skin was slick with rain and sweat. I wondered why it was taking him so long to turn. Mitch had died a lot quicker. Maybe Runkle’s constitution was better. Maybe the rate of infection had something to do with how healthy the person had been.

Carol, Tasha, and Malik carefully crossed over to our side of the lifeboat. One by one, they sat down next to me on the bench. Runkle watched them closely. I scooted over so they’d have more room. As Malik turned around to sit, Runkle grabbed his arm.

“Hey” Malik shouted. “What you doing, man? Let me go!”

“S-shut up… you l-little… s-shit… When the chief… o-opened that s-storage b-box… I s-saw some… ropes inside… I w-want you t-to… take those… r-ropes… back there and… t-tie up C-Chief M-Maxey…”

“I ain’t doing shit.”

I sat up straight, my body coiled and ready to spring. “Let him go, you son of a bitch.”

Runkle twisted his arm and Malik shrieked. I started to stand up, but Runkle aimed the pistol at me again.

“S-sit d-down… faggot, or I’ll… p-pull his arm out.”

“You motherfucker.” I obeyed, sitting back down. “You sick, twisted son of a bitch. Let him go!”

He twisted Malik’s arm again. “D-do it n-now…”

“Okay, man.” Malik tore free from Runkle’s grip. “Damn. I can’t do shit if you’re gonna tear my arm off first. Bitch.”

Rubbing his bicep and frowning, Malik made his way across the lifeboat. Runkle didn’t turn to watch him; instead, he kept his eyes on me, Carol, and Tasha. I wondered why he didn’t simply get up and move to the far end of the boat, where he could watch all of us at the same time. Figured maybe he was farther gone than he appeared; not thinking clearly, dying a death that would not last, already thinking like a zombie rather than a man.

Another large wave tossed the lifeboat to one side. Debris rolled across the bottom of the boat. Icy seawater flooded my boots. Keeping his balance, Malik opened the storage box and rummaged inside until he found the rope. He pulled it out and slammed the lid.

“Y-you got it?” Runkle coughed again.

“Yeah,” Malik said. “I found it.”

“H-hurry… up…”

“Just hold up a second. Don’t rush me. You’re worse than my sister.”

Tasha scowled, but held her tongue. My eyes didn’t leave the pistol. Some hero I’d turned out to be. Professor Williams had been way off base, and I wished he was there so I could show him.

Runkle did not turn around. His eyelids drooped lower. The stain on his coat grew broader. A thin line of bright blood dribbled out of his sleeve and ran down his hand, dripping off his index finger. The water in the boat turned pink. Runkle’s other hand squeezed the pistol tighter. I watched as I rowed, willing him to die. I licked saltwater from my lips and hoped that the next breath would be his last. But it wasn’t.

Instead of tying up the chief, Malik quietly picked up his spear instead. Very slowly, he tiptoed toward Runkle, who still had his back turned. I looked away on purpose, so as not to alert Runkle, and silently willed Carol and Tasha to do the same. Malik lifted the spear over his head and crept closer.

“S-save some… rope,” Runkle wheezed. “I w-want… you… to t-tie up… the r-rest of… them… t-too.”

“Whatever,” Malik said, creeping closer. “You’re in charge.”

“T-that’s right… I am in…”

Runkle suddenly doubled over, clenching his side and gasping with pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and his gun hand went limp. The weapon pointed at the deck. With a shout, Malik lunged forward and drove the spear down into Runkle’s back. The boy struggled, putting all of his weight behind the shaft. Runkle stiffened, trying to stand. He opened his mouth to scream, but only a strangled sigh came out. The pistol slipped from his fingers, landing in a puddle of bloody seawater. Tasha leapt forward to grab it, but I warned her to stay seated. Runkle’s infected blood had mixed with the water in the boat. There was no sense in chancing it.

Malik continued thrusting the spear into Runkle’s back. The spear’s tip poked through his chest, ripping the peacoat. Runkle tried to scream again. Instead, he gurgled. Dark blood—almost black—bubbled from his gaping mouth.

Jumping out of my seat, I swung the oar like a club, striking Runkle across the face. The shock reverberated up my arms. Runkle grunted. His lips split. Blood and teeth flew through the air. Dropping the oar, I jumped to Malik’s side and grabbed the broom handle right above his hands. Together, we spun the impaled man around and pushed him over the side. His blood dribbled down the spear toward us. We needed to hurry. Runkle gripped the edge of the lifeboat, holding on for dear life. Malik and I pushed harder. The tendons stood out on his neck as he struggled with us. The spear sank deeper into his body. The blood ran closer. Tasha ran forward, scooped up the shotgun, and smashed his fingers with the stock. With a final shove, Malik and I managed to topple the crazed cop into the churning waves. We let go of the broom handle, letting Runkle take the bloody weapon with him.

“He shouldn’t have messed with us,” Malik said, puffing out his chest.

“Are all of you wearing socks beneath your shoes?” I asked.

Nodding their heads slowly, Carol, Malik and Tasha all looked at me as if I’d lost my mind.

“Help me get the chief up,” I said. “Runkle bled into the water in the bottom of the boat. I don’t want the chief swallowing it.”

Tasha looked worried. “How are we going to bail if his blood’s in the water?”

“I don’t know yet,” I admitted. “But first thing’s first—help me with the chief. Carol, pick up everything that doesn’t have blood on it yet, especially the food and our weapons.”

Out on the ocean, Runkle let out a choked scream. I looked up in time to see a huge gray shape rising up beneath him. Runkle waved his arms, frantically beating at the water. His eyes bulged. There was a flash of white, what looked like a fin, and then he was gone in a surge of spray. Whatever the creature was, it had dragged him beneath the surface.

Malik ran to the edge of the lifeboat. “What the hell was that?”

“Don’t worry about it now,” I panted, sliding my hands under the chief’s armpits. “Just help me get him up before he’s infected.”

Carol collected the weapons and food while Tasha and Malik helped me with Chief Maxey. We got him into a sitting position on the bench. His head lolled back and forth in time with the waves. His nose was swollen and bloody, obviously broken, and he was missing one of his teeth. But he was breathing. I gently patted him on the cheek, and after a few seconds, his eyelids fluttered.

“Are the water bottles okay?” I asked Carol.

“They seem to be,” she said. “There’s no blood on them that I can see.”

“Hand me one.”

I unscrewed the cap and put the bottle to the chief’s mouth. The rim must have brushed against one of his sore spots, because he winced and then opened his eyes. Spring water ran down his throat, and he choked, spitting it back up.

“Runkle?” he gasped, glancing around. “Where is he?”

He tried to stand, but I gently forced him back down.

“We took care of it, Chief. Relax. You okay?”

“My nose hurts like a son of a bitch. I think it might be broken. But I’ll live.”

“Good. Might want to pick your feet up and keep them off the bottom of the boat.”

He looked down, and then back to me. “Is that my blood or Runkle’s?”

I shrugged. “Both, I think.”

Tasha grabbed my arm and pointed off the bow.

“Something moved out there.”

I squinted into the darkness. “I don’t see anything. What was it?”

“I don’t know. Something jumped out of the water and then swam underneath again.”

“Maybe it was just a big wave,” Carol suggested. I could tell by the tone of her voice that she didn’t believe it herself.

A blast of thunder ripped the night sky, drowning out the roaring winds.

I turned back to the chief. “Can you row?”

He nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

“Okay. I think we should get moving.” I sat cross-legged on the bench, keeping my feet out of the tainted water, and grabbed an oar. “Everybody sit back down. Try to stay out of the water. Hopefully, we’ll get a few more really big waves and they’ll wash that shit out of here. Then we can start bailing. Carol, are you awake enough to act as lookout?”

“Yes. I don’t think I could fall asleep right now if I wanted to.”

“Okay. You stand watch. Tasha, I want you to use the rifle. Make sure there’s no blood on it.”

She nodded.

“Hey,” Malik hollered. “What about me? How come I never get nothing?”

I smiled. “You get the shotgun. If you have to shoot it though, I want you to be careful.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s liable to knock you overboard, and we don’t need that.”

He looked back at where Runkle had been.

“No,” Malik said. “We sure don’t.”

We all took our places. Carol peered out into the sea. The chief and I started rowing. The kids held their weapons at the ready, keeping the barrels beneath some plastic sheeting that had escaped the water and blood. We didn’t talk. The GPS beeped mournfully. Chief Maxey glanced at it, checking our coordinates.

“We still on course, Chief?”

“We are,” he said, “and please, just call me Wade. I don’t have a boat anymore to be chief of.”

I nodded. “Okay… Wade.”

The thunder rumbled again. Then the glow stick went out, plunging us into darkness.

In that darkness, something moved. It splashed just off our starboard side. Whatever it was, it sounded big.

“Chief.” I whispered. “Sorry—I mean, Wade. Maybe we should start the motor.”

Lightning flashed, and I saw him nodding his head in agreement. Chief Maxey reached behind him and took a deep breath. Another splash echoed across the water, this time to our rear. Something bumped us from underneath the hull. We smelled it—rotten fish. Something dead, but still swimming. Then the motor burst to life. Chief Maxey gave it full throttle and we shot into the night.

The splashing sounds followed us for a long time before they faded.

When I looked back, all I saw was darkness.