Demon (29 page)

Because you have nowhere else to go,
he thought.

A
bout half the crew appeared to be over the side and clear when Temms walked out from inside the skin of the ship. The captain consulted with the officer in charge, nodded her head, patted the guy on the back, and then saw Mike and walked over.

“Still waiting for that ride, huh?” Temms said.

Mike smiled. “Told the officer I'd hang tight. It was a madhouse down here not too long ago.”

“To be expected. But it looks like we're running smooth now. Only about a hundred more to get off the ship.”

“Heard the violence stopped.”

“Yeah,” Temms said and looked away for a moment. “It spread pretty far though before it did.”

Mike nodded. “Sorry, Captain.”

Temms looked back at him, her eyes red and glassed over. “Should have done this sooner. I'll have a bunch of ghosts with me for a long time.”

“I share that same predicament.”

Temms nodded. “I suppose you do.”

Mike didn't say anything in response.

“The hell of it,” Temms said, “is that we'd just finished dumping all the bodies over the side. Then the chief engineer radioed me and said they'd found Doc alive. Next thing you know, all radio contact down there stops. And then the reports started coming in.”

Mike stared at the deck, thinking about what Temms had just said. They'd found Doc and then all hell had broken loose.

“Lost a hell of a lot of good people down there,” Temms said. “Chief engineer. The MPA and DCA. Ops, too.”

“Schiffer was down there?” Mike said.

Temms nodded. “Yeah, he wanted to help move Doc. They were good friends.”

Mike shook his head.

“Hopefully, we can get everyone off before it starts up again,” Temms said. “Once we're well clear, I get to call AFRICOM via satphone and give them the green light.”

Mike's eyebrows popped up. “Green light?”

“Talked to the president again a few minutes ago and let him know the situation. He was not pleased.”

“I imagine not.”

“Anyway, once we're clear, a submarine operating off the coast of Somalia is going to come in and plant a MK-48 torpedo under the keel and sink the
Rushmore
to the bottom of the sea.”

“At least they're letting you get the crew off.”

Temms nodded, but her face was grim. “I had to fight for that much.”

“What?”

“Some on the line argued letting the crew off was too risky.”

“You're still goddamn Americans.”

“Yes,” Temms said. “But if it breaks out again on board here or in one of the life rafts, I have a feeling none of us will be allowed to see another sunrise.”

“Well,” Mike said. “We'll get everyone off and leave this shit behind for the sub to take care of.”

Temms nodded. “Oh, your boss wanted me to tell you not to die because he's still got work for you to do.”

Mike smirked. “Thanks.”

“Sounds like a kind man, that one.”

“Yeah, a real teddy bear.”

The right corner of Temms's mouth crooked up, but that was it. Then it returned to a grimace. “Well, I'm going to go see how many we've got—”

“Holy shit, it's Ops,” someone said.

Mike turned to his right and saw a sailor looking down into the Hell Hole. Mike shifted his gaze and saw Schiffer walking in the well deck below, heading aft, his head hung low, as if he were lost. Then Schiffer looked up at them. His face was covered in blood and his eyes looked empty.

Schiffer scurried off into the darkness of the well deck out of sight.

“Did you see him?” Mike said.

“Yes,” Temms said. “We need to go get him. He looks hurt. I'll send—”

Mike held up his hand. “I wouldn't do that just yet.”

“What?”

“There's something wrong here.” Mike backed away from the Hell Hole. “You said Schiffer was down there when they found Doc Morris. And he was alive. Then everything went to shit.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Now we see Schiffer and he's alive. How many survivors have walked out of one of the outbreaks before, on here or the
al-Phirosh
?”

“None.”

“Because anyone within a certain proximity ends up killing and then being killed.” Mike pointed down into the well deck. “Even if he was the last one standing, he should have killed himself.”

“Didn't Yusuf say something about two engineers who felt like they were under a spell and then it broke?” Temms said. “Right before they attacked each other?”

Mike nodded. He'd forgotten about that. “You're right.”

“Maybe he just survived long enough to outlast the spell.”

“He was at ground zero down there, though. Is it worth the risk?”

Temms gritted her teeth. “I can't in good conscience just pretend I didn't see him.”

“No, I suppose you can't.”

Mike looked down and swore under his breath. Then he took in the operation around him. There were a lot of life rafts in the water, but there were still plenty of damn people waiting to leave.

And if this shit starts again, we're all dead,
Mike thought.
Those people in the rafts, too, if the president does what others want him to do.

I am not a hireling,
Mike thought, and everything crystallized in his mind.
I am a good shepherd protecting the sheep from the wolf.

“How long to get the rest of the people off?” Mike said.

“Half hour, maybe more,” Temms said.

Mike swore to himself again. “I'll go down there.”

Temms's eyes widened slightly. “What?”

“You get your people off of here. I'll go down and check on Schiffer. If he is just hurt, I'll bring him back up. If he's, well, if he's something else, I'll take care of it.”

“You can't kill this one, Mike.”

“I don't think this is something you can take care of in the normal sense.”

Mike nodded. “I know. Maybe I can buy you some time. If it focuses on me, it isn't worried about your people. Should give you enough time to get them clear.”

“You'd do this?”

“Yeah.” Mike remembered Greg, sitting on the edge of the bed, telling him killing wasn't the only quality he possessed. “I don't care if I die.”

Temms started to say something and then stopped. She looked around at her people and then back to Mike. “Good luck, Mike.”

Mike smiled. “Just get them off.”

Temms handed Mike his radio. “Take this. I'll call you when we're all off.”

“You sure?”

“I'll get another.”

Mike tucked the radio into the back of his pants. “All right, then.”

Mike turned and walked toward the truck tunnel leading down to the well deck. As he did, he heard Temms say, “Officer in Charge, CANEX the two-minute separation. Get all these people off now.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

S
emyaza knew the humans had seen him through the hole in the ceiling. And he knew they would be sending people to find him. That is what humans did. They saved one another.

He moved away from the hole and down the space, looking for a hatch or a door or anything. He found nothing. The only way out seemed to be the way he came in.

Then Semyaza saw him. He had looked over his shoulder, just briefly, and saw a man walking slowly down the ramp.

They are not sending more because they do not want to lose more,
he realized.

He was thankful he did not have to deal with a whole host of people. One man would be easy to take care of.

But do you have the strength?
he thought.
If you confront the man, you are not focusing on preserving the vessel.

Instead, Semyaza turned away and moved toward the aft of the well deck. He needed to avoid all confrontation right now.

As he walked, Semyaza saw a ladder on the side of the space. It ran from about three feet above the deck to a catwalk halfway up the side.

Semyaza moved over to the ladder, grabbed the bottom rung, and pulled up and started climbing.

M
ike descended the ramp in the well deck, Beretta in hand and at his side. He moved quickly but cautiously, his eyes sweeping left to right to left, his ears tuning out the ruckus above. Schiffer had to be down here. From what Mike saw, there was only one way in and out, and that was now behind him. The lighting was poor, but enough sunlight passed through the Hell Hole to illuminate a majority of the space.

Then he saw him, almost all the way aft, walking fast. Mike started jogging, the Beretta now held in front of him, both hands in a firing grip.

“Shit,” Mike said.

He watched Schiffer cross to the side of the well deck and climb up a ladder. Mike sprinted. By the time he reached the ladder, Schiffer was up and out of sight.

Mike holstered the gun and jumped, grabbing the fourth rung up. He climbed fast despite the pain in his side, made it to the catwalk, pulled himself up into a crouch, and grabbed the gun again. He knelt for a moment, clearing the area around him in case Schiffer had planned to attack him once he reached the top.

Which way did he go?
Mike thought. He could have gone aft, but then Mike noticed a small piece of skin on one of the grates. Then another.

Once Mike was satisfied there was no attack coming, he moved forward following the trail.

S
emyaza moved down yet another passageway. He looked at a sign on the bulkhead that stated he was on the first deck, starboard side. Then he came across more bodies.

He stepped over them and looked through a couple of doors for a good place to hide. All the rooms were offices. Semyaza knew the ship was in a panicked state, but could he risk hiding in such a public place?

A door opened behind him. Semyaza looked down the passageway and saw the man who had been following him walk through the doorway from the catwalk.

“Lieutenant Schiffer,” the man said, “please don't go any farther.”

Semyaza saw the gun in the man's hands. He could not risk taking any damage to the vessel. But he had to stop the man from pursuing any further, or he would never rest.

Is it worth the risk?
he thought. He admitted he did not have a choice. Either he confronted the man and suffered damage, perhaps serious, or he could scare him away.

Semyaza did not hesitate any longer and reached out.

M
ike saw the bodies first, three of them, lying in a giant pool of blood. Then his eyes settled on Schiffer standing on the other side, staring at him, eyes vacant as if no consciousness dwelled on the other side of them.

“Lieutenant Schiffer,” Mike said, “please don't go any farther.”

Schiffer stared at him. He seemed to be calculating something, weighing his options. Mike didn't like what he saw and knew the lieutenant was not himself anymore. Whether he was changed through exposure or just a vessel for a demon, he didn't know for sure. But he did know Bob Schiffer was gone.

At that moment, Mike decided to shoot Schiffer. This needed to end now, and it needed to end quickly.

As Mike raised his gun, Schiffer extended his right hand in front of him. Mike thought the man had figured out his intentions and was lifting his hand in the “stop” motion, like the corpses from his dreams. Instead, the corpses in front of him moved.

They twitched at first. Then their arms moved, pushing the torsos up. They pulled their legs underneath them into a squat. Then they stood, their heads lolled to the side. Different masks of death covered their faces. One had a serene look, as if death had been welcomed. The other had a permanent sneer, like death had told an unfunny joke. The final had the mask of eternal pain written into its crevices.

Mike took a step back, his unblinking gaze locked on the three corpses standing before him.

“Holy shit.” Mike remembered Yusuf's story of the walking dead. The gun shook in his hands.

You can't kill this one,
he thought. What the hell could he do?

Schiffer answered his question by throwing the bodies at him. Mike lifted his arm to his face and tried to duck. All three bodies hit him and knocked him to the ground. They landed on every part of him. A head butted his. A knee hit his groin. An elbow nailed his stomach. The wind escaped his lungs, and green dots of light filled his vision.

Mike lay there for a few seconds, catching his breath and blinking until his vision returned to normal. Then he realized three undead bodies blanketed him. He flailed and pushed, knocking the corpses off him and swimming to the surface of dead flesh.

He breathed hard and deep, adrenaline coursing through him. Schiffer was gone. Mike waited to see if the corpses would attack again, but they didn't.

“He controlled them,” Mike said. “Jesus Christ, he controlled them.”

Mike resisted pursuing any further. What was the point? Then he shook his head. Schiffer was on the move. If he made it to the weather decks . . .

Not going to happen,
he thought. Mike checked his gun and then his hand. He stared at it and concentrated on controlling the shakes, wishing his flask wasn't empty. He forced himself to calm, to regain his composure. After five seconds, his hand steadied.

Another deep breath and Mike moved forward in pursuit of Schiffer. He made it ten feet down the passageway and around a corner, when another body flew at him. Mike raised the Beretta and squeezed one round off, hitting the body in the head. The bullet entered the forehead and blew out the back of the skull.

It kept coming.

Mike squeezed off two more rounds, hitting it in the face.

Still moving, only five feet away.

Mike stopped shooting and grabbed a CO
₂
bottle from the bulkhead and swung it and hit the body hard enough to knock it off its forward path. It smacked the bulkhead and collapsed to the deck.