Brian Keene Dead Sea

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absolutely correct.
What if something does happen to me or to the key? You'
d all be shit out of luck if we really were attacked. But it doesn
't sit well letting everyone carry them around, either."
"If I could make a suggestion,"--the professor stepped forward--"why don'
t we agree to confine our personal weapons to our private quarters, and not
carry
them at any time while onboard ship, unless of course it
's during a general quarters situation."
"What is general quarters?" the red-headed woman asked.
"An emergency," the chief explained. "If we were attacked, you would hear an
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alarm
bell over the PA system. That's called general quarters."
"I like the professor's idea," Mitch said. "How about the rest of you?"
"Sounds fair to me," Murphy agreed. "I've only got a little twenty-two pistol,
but
I'd hate to give it up. It's kept me alive so far."
130
"Ditto," said Basil.
Officer Runkle looked unhappy with the decision, but all of the others agreed.
The chief finally nodded with obvious reluctance. "Okay," he said. "I guess
that's
fair. A ship isn't exactly a democracy, but then again, you folks really didn'
t have much of a choice but to come aboard. If you want to store them in your
compartments,
that
's fine. However, I think we need to agree that there will be penalties for
anyone
who breaks that rule."
Mitch frowned. "Such as?"
"The Spratling is also equipped with a stockade. It's down on the lower level,
right
between the ship's laundry and the boiler room."
"And who's in charge of that?"
Smiling, Officer Runkle stepped forward. "I am. Unless anyone has a problem
with
that? It makes sense. I was a cop, after all."
He was going to be trouble--an inferiority complex with a badge, desperate for
others
to recognize his authority. I knew his type well. Had seen it before and hated
motherfuckers
like him. I'
d been exposed to them all my life.
The conversation continued. We discussed the ship'
s routine and schedule, and Chief Maxey gave everyone some tips about how to
cope
with things like seasickness, the proper way to stow our belongings, surviving
inclement
weather, what to do if someone fell over the side or if we had to abandon
ship, and
other factors of life at sea. He said that he and Turn would look over the
maps and
charts and try to pick a port with a minimal surrounding
131
population. That way, there was less chance of it being overrun with the dead
when
we conducted our supply raid.
After answering more questions, the chief wanted to know more about each of us
and
any specific skills or abilities we might be able to offer. We already knew
that
Runkle was a cop, and he didn'
t offer any other personal details. Basil Martin was a Web designer. He
refused to
tell us anything about his personal life, other than he
'
d been in the National Guard before going to college. Professor Williams told
us
that his fields of specialty were English literature and mythology. He was a
widower
--
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his wife had passed two years before, and his children were grown. His son
lived
in Thailand and his daughter in California. He hadn
't heard from either since the nation'
s communication grid went down. Our new friend Joan Barnett went next. She was
a
dental hygienist. Turned out her spouse had passed away, too
--dying from lung cancer in a room at Greater Baltimore Medical Center as the
dead
first began to stalk the streets. He'd died alone. She'
d been unable to get to him because of martial law. The hospital had confirmed
his
passing. She never made arrangements because soon after, arrangements no
longer mattered.
Murphy
'
s first name was Ollie. He was a boiler operator. Chief Maxey got excited by
that
news. He
'
d spent the last few weeks holed up in a bar on Pratt Street, which was no
surprise,
judging by the telltale alcoholic veins in his nose. Cleveland Hooper had been
a
cook at a diner. Twice divorced, he
'd been hiding
132
out from deputies looking to serve a warrant for nonpayment of child support,
and
hadn'
t even been aware of the zombies at first. Hooper had also served a four-year
stint
in the navy. Nobody knew anything about Tran, and even if he hadn
't been washing dishes, he wouldn'
t have been able to tell us about himself. Mitch told everyone he was a Bible
salesman
and firearms enthusiast. Then it was my turn. I introduced myself and then the
kids.
After that, we met the other passengers. The red-headed woman was Carol Beck.
She
was a quality control manager at an injection molding plant and had been
trying to
flee the city. Stuck in a traffic jam on Interstate Eighty-three, she [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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