The Raven (A Jane Harper Horror Novel) (21 page)

“We hope you’ll enjoy your stay with us and take part—”

I take a look through my binoculars. For the most part, she looks like any other poorly paid wannabe actress trying to make a living, except that her eyes are solid white. “She’s Draugr,” I say. “And not the Queen.”

“—
three
pools,
fifteen
restaurants—”

“What are they doing?” Helena asks.

“Fucking with us,” I reply. “Let’s return the favor.” I turn to Jakob. “Can you make the shot?”

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he gets behind the harpoon gun and takes aim. The explosive head on this harpoon has been removed, but it will still be like shooting a mouse with a howitzer.

“—enjoy shuffleboard or any one of our five dance clubs—”

Choom!
The harpoon exits the cannon as a blur trailing a long trail of white. Just when I think the line will go taut too soon, there is a loud, wet crack from up on the main deck of the cruise liner. Jakob has fired the harpoon with incredible accuracy, piercing the Draugr’s chest and pinning it to the wall behind it. The line strung between the two ships will help prevent the whales from moving the
Raven
while we’re gone.

With a shout, Jakob climbs over the rail and leaps down onto one of the fishing vessels. Willem follows with an impressive war whoop of his own. For a moment it feels silly. I’m not sure anyone is even watching. But then I hear them. Grunting, shrieking, and shuffling. The Draugar are coming, rising from the bowels of the surrounding ships.

Letting out a war cry of my own, I leap onto the fishing vessel behind Talbot and charge toward the cruise ship. The battle for the
Poseidon Adventure
is about to begin.

31

B
y the time we reach the hull of the
Poseidon Adventure
, there is nothing to climb and a seven-foot height difference between us and the third deck. Working together like we’re part of some summer-camp team challenge, Jakob and Talbot hoist Willem and me up onto the ship’s deck. I flop over the rail and fall to the deck, which is strangely cushy. Suspecting the truth about what I’ve landed on, I roll away fast, get to my feet, and look down into the eyes of a corpse.

It’s a man. I can tell from the name patch on his coveralls—Rob—but there is little else I can glean. His limbs have been torn to shreds. Gnawed on. Eaten. His head is cracked open, and his brain extracted. He was probably consumed by his friends after they became Draugar.

Willem sees the body when he hops over the rail, but he only gives it a moment’s glance. Then he’s reaching back over the rail for his father. I move to help Talbot up but hear footsteps behind me. “Here it comes!” I shout, turning around to face the Draugr.

Correction:
Draugar.
Plural. They pour out of the main deck’s doorway like clowns from a car. The only reason we’re not immediately overrun is that most of them are severely injured in some form or another. Some have flesh wounds, but others are missing limbs, walking on broken legs, or have holes in them.

The crews of these ships didn’t go down without a fight.
Good for them
, I think. But ultimately, they didn’t stand a chance. Just like the four of us.

I draw one of the two handguns from behind my back and fire three quick shots. When three of the zombies drop to the deck with holes in their heads, I think,
At least my aim is still good
.

Six shots later, five more Draugar lie on the deck in a heap. I eject the magazine and let it fall to my feet before snatching a fresh one from my pocket and slapping it home. I rack the slide, chambering the first round. “Hurry up!” There are already more zombies than I can shoot. If not for their injuries and the pile of bodies now hindering their progress, I’d be overrun.

I squeeze off three more rounds, dropping two more Draugar. When the next two trip over their fallen brethren and fall to the deck, I chance a look back and see Talbot coming over the rail. The ship between us and the cruise liner is a medium-size freighter, its deck covered with a patchwork of red, yellow, and blue metal shipping containers. It’s the second-largest ship in the floating island, its hull ten feet higher than our current position. It’s going to take all of our summer-camp teamwork to scale the wall.

“Go ahead!” I shout.

“We’re not going without you,” Willem replies.

Jakob fires his shotgun four times. The
schuck-chuk-boom
of each pump-action shot is a satisfying sound, as is the resulting effect. Six more zombies drop, pinning the two that fell. But all he’s done is bought Willem more time to argue with me.

“Go, Willem. Now!” I move away from him, around the bodies, firing off six more shots. Only three of the undead go down with this volley, but my goal is to distract more than kill. The emerging horde focuses on me as I reload my handgun again.

Just two more magazines and the second gun
, I remind myself. At this rate, my ammo will be spent long before I reach the cruise ship.
If
I reach the cruise ship.

Willem moves to the starboard bow with Jakob and Talbot. None of them say a word. I’ve made my gamble, and like it or not, they need to see it through. As I head down the port side, I see Willem shoving Jakob up the side of the container ship. Jakob grabs the rail and is helped up by Willem shoving his feet from below.

They’re going to make it
, I think. A groan turns me around. Three zombies emerge from a side door, cutting me off.
They’re
not
zombies
, I remind myself.
They’re Draugar. They’re smart.

I fire at them, nearly point-blank. Their parasite-laden brains spray against the beige wall. “Not so smart now.”

More shuffling feet and groaning voices emerge from the side hall. I’m not exactly Einstein right now, either. As though to confirm my assessment of my own mental capacity, Draugar round the corner on the deck ahead. The deck behind me is already thick with shambling men—a collection of men with blood-soaked beards, cold-weather gear, and vacant white eyeballs. And still more are approaching the exit just ahead.

I look over the rail and find the vessel below overrun with living dead, reaching up for me. A staccato burst of assault rifle fire pulls my eyes up. Klein has just mowed down a group of zombies trying to board the
Raven
. Even more are headed their way. The collective has targeted them as well. But that’s not my concern. The horde about to tear me limb from limb is a much more pressing issue. One I can’t possibly defend against.

So I don’t. I tuck the gun into my waistband behind my back. With Draugar just feet away in every direction, I decide to follow the only path left available to me.

Up.

The deck above is just seven feet higher, less if I can get to the top of the rail. The port rail wobbles slightly as I climb it, and I nearly spill into the mosh pit of undead waiting below, but the rusty metal holds and I regain my balance. Channeling my inner Michael Jordan, I bend at the knees and spring up, reaching for the deck above. My hands clasp the freezing-cold lower rail of the upper deck, but now I’m dangling in front of the Draugar like meat in a butcher’s shop.

I pull hard, loosening the cracking, bubbled yellow paint on the rail. A shower of sharp flakes falls onto my face, stinging my eyes. I clench my eyes shut and grunt as I swing a leg up onto the upper deck.

I’m going to make it
, I think, pulling myself up more quickly. But then my lower leg is snagged. Something is pulling at it. I nearly lose my grip, but knowing I’ll be torn to pieces if I fall inspires me to hold on tight. I kick out with my stuck foot and connect with something hard. But I’m not kicking a person who can be stunned, I’m kicking a Draugr that couldn’t care less.

With one arm wrapped around the rail, I reach back for my gun and pull it out. When I turn to take aim, I see the Draugr that has me. He’s a long-haired, thick-bearded fellow who looks like he should be hugging trees somewhere. Instead, he’s hugging my foot. His mouth opens wide as he lunges forward. His jaws squeeze tight and his teeth grind, clamping down hard on my foot. Pain lances through my body, along with the knowledge that I might be a dead woman walking.

This is it. My worst fear made reality.

A Draugr. I’m going to be a Draugr.

And if that’s true—if I’m infected with one of those parasitic bastards—the next shot I take will be through my own skull.

32

A
lifetime spent with a limp is better than having to shoot myself in the head, so I lower the barrel of my handgun dangerously close to my foot and pull the trigger. The Draugr whose teeth are locked on to my foot goes limp, but his mouth doesn’t open. Instead of trying to pull me down, his deadweight is hanging from me. But this time when I kick my foot, there isn’t any resistance. My foot slides from his mouth, and I yank it up out of reach as the other zombies swarm together like two converging armies on the battlefield.

Out of reach, I cling to the rail above the throng and catch my breath. I search the top of my sneaker for punctures but find none. Draugar may be stronger than normal people, and immune to pain, but human teeth are human teeth, and they’re not designed to cut through sneakers. I’ve escaped what I thought was certain death with some bruised toes.

I hear Willem’s voice in the distance, barely audible over the moaning zombie din. “Jane!” He’s on the deck of the container ship. He waves his arms at me. “We made it! Get moving!” He points toward the aft of my vessel. “Go! They’re coming!”

A head floats into view at the back end of the second deck. The Draugar are using the exterior stairs to give chase. Fighting the urge to punt the first one down the staircase, I climb over the rail
and run aft, as Willem wanted. At one of the two exterior entrances to the bridge, I open the door, intent on taking a shortcut to the ship’s starboard side. What I find inside slows me down, not because it’s trying to eat or infect me, but because the man inside is fully human.

The man—dressed in some kind of frilly pink and yellow cabaret outfit—cowers away from me. Then he must realize that I’m not here to kill him and shouts, “Go away! Leave me alone!”

“Who are you?” I ask, glancing back to make sure I’m not yet being followed. “What’s your name?”

“Steven,” he says.

I figure the guy is part of some kind of song-and-dance routine performed on the
Poseidon Adventure
. Either that or the crew of this ship was into some kinky shit. “You’re from the cruise ship?” I ask.

He gives a furtive nod. “I’m a dancer.”

“No shit,” I say, looking at the flowery pom-poms billowing from his lower arms and legs. I reach a hand out to him and say, “Come with me if you want to live.”

I nearly lay on a Schwarzenegger accent but hold back, which is good because the guy is already looking at me cockeyed.

“Seriously,” I say, staring pointedly at the detritus surrounding Steven—wrappers, old water bottles, something gross I can’t identify. I also catch a whiff of human waste. “I can tell you’ve been hiding here for a while, but you can’t anymore. They’re right behind me.”

Steven looks terrified. “They—killed them. Killed them all. I—I can’t.”

Then I say the last thing this joker is expecting. “Suit yourself.” I head for the door, yank it open, and leave without looking back. I’ve got bigger problems to deal with, and dragging around a guy dressed like a fly-fishing lure will attract all sorts of attention anyway.

Once outside the bridge, I look to the right and see what Willem was pointing at. A large anchor lies on the deck. The metal cable attached to it is strung from the top of the rail of this deck to the bottom of the container ship’s main deck. I run to the anchor line and take a look back. With a gasp, I raise my handgun and nearly put a bullet in Steven’s head.

“I can’t believe you just left me!” he says with a whine that makes his outfit seem fitting.

Of all the people in the world I could have found hiding on this ship, it had to be a cabaret dancer! When I was a kid, the Colonel was roped into going to a Broadway show. Dragged me along for the ride. We both hated it—he was missing a football game and I was missing WrestleMania—and the whole way home he grumbled, “Fucking nancy dancers.” The mantra confused me at the time, but Steven is helping me understand my father’s severe annoyance. My father judged most people he met on how he perceived they would do on the battlefield. Dancers were near the bottom of his draft list, right along with beat poets, landscape painters, and just about everyone in Portland, Oregon, many of whom were my friends.

“Move,” I say, shoving the guy to the side and pulling the trigger twice. The first round strikes the zombie that’s farther away. It falls to the side, folds over the rail, and topples out of view. The second stumbles forward and falls facedown on the deck just a foot from Steven.

He shrieks and jumps back, but that reaction is nothing compared to what he does when he looks down and sees the softball-size exit hole blown in the back of the man’s skull. Inside the hollow is a mash of brains and bone, but the flesh is moving—crawling with parasites. The white worms wriggle out of the dead body, searching for a new host.

Steven waves his hands in front of his chest, making a squeal like the sound I imagine a hyena makes while giving birth. He bounces on his feet like he’s running in place and then leans over the rail and pukes his guts. But even that doesn’t help, because he pukes right into the shredded face of a Draugr reaching up for him.

When he comes back up, Steven is still shrieking. How this guy survived surrounded by all these Draugar is beyond me.
Maybe he didn’t
, I realize.
Maybe he’s like Nate?

“Let me see your eyes,” I say, but he’s in another world. There are more Draugar coming now. Time is short. So I do the only thing I can think of; I haul off and clock the guy in the face. Not hard enough to break anything, but I put enough pepper into the blow to knock the silly out of him. At least for a moment.

He holds his cheek and looks at me, tears in his eyes.

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