Dead Sea

    "I'd like to welcome each of you onboard the United States Coast Guard Cutter Spratling. I'm sorry that it can't be under better circumstances. We weren't properly introduced last night, and I'm sorry for that, too. If I was gruff with you, just ignore it. We were in a tense situation and I didn't have time for pleasantries. My priority was getting us away from the harbor. Also, I want to thank those of you who volunteered to help last night. Your willingness to chip in probably saved all our lives."

    The crowd murmured thanks and then Maxey .-cleared his throat and continued.

    "We've got a lot to cover, so make yourselves comfortable. I figure that first we-"

    A man in front of me put his hand up. He was short and balding, and his scalp was beet red from sunburn. I wondered where he'd spent his time hiding from the zombies. Maybe a rooftop somewhere?

    "Yes?" The chief pointed at him. "You have a question?"

    "Sure do, Chief. If this is gonna take a while, why don't we move back inside to the galley where it's a lot more comfortable and cooler?"

    Maxey's smile was tight. "I'm sorry, Mister…?"

    "Basil. My name's Basil Martin."

    "Well, Mr. Martin, the reason we're not going inside is because I need your attention. If you're too comfortable, then chances are your attention will drift. You might even nod off. I wouldn't blame you, of course. I'm sure each and every one of you has been through quite an ordeal. But if you quit paying attention, then you might as well jump overboard right now. Because I intend to stay alive. And as captain of this vessel, it's my job to make sure you folks do the same. I can't protect you unless you help me, and to do that, I need to make you fully aware of our situation. So I need your full attention. Clear?"

    Blushing, Basil nodded, and then slipped past us to the back row.

    "Now," the chief continued, "as I was saying, I figured we'd start with the basics. I'll tell you who I am and a little bit about the Spratling. Give you an overview of our situation. Then I'd like to know a little bit about each of you-especially any skills or trades you might have, or military or law enforcement experience. Let's start with a head count."

    He paused, surveying the crowd. Then he nodded at Hooper.

    "Where's the other guy? Tran? Wasn't he helping you with breakfast?"

    "He's in the galley doing dishes. Don't matter none. Motherfucker can't speak English anyway."

    The chief frowned, but continued with his count. I got the impression that he felt the same way about Cleveland Hooper as I did.

    "Okay," Chief Maxey said. "So, counting the absent Mr. Tran, and our second mate Turn, who is piloting the ship while we're down here, there are twenty of us onboard."

    Joan timidly raised her hand.

    "Yes?"

    "I'm sorry," she apologized. "But last night, after we'd gotten underway, I thought I counted twenty-one."

    "Yes ma'am, you did."

    "But you said there were twenty, counting the two men who are absent. Aren't we missing somebody else?"

    "There were twenty-one. One member of our party was bitten sometime before he came aboard. He tried to hide it from us, but we discovered it early this morning, before most of you were awake. We removed him from the ship immediately."

    Joan stuttered. "W-who? Who did that?"

    "Turn and I, and Mr. Runkle.

    "Mr. Runkle?"

    "Yes, he's standing there to your left."

    We all looked at Mr. Runkle, a large man, probably in his late thirties, physically fit and hair cropped short. 1 made him for a cop right away. It was in the way he carried himself. Chief Maxey confirmed my suspicions a second later.

    "Mr. Runkle is a Baltimore City police officer. We asked for his help as soon as we were aware of the situation."

    "Hi. Steven Runkle. Just call me Steve."

    A few of us nodded at him, but our attention was on the chief. I noticed the professor step away from the group. Frowning, he lit his pipe and puffed on it. The smoke smelled like cherries. In the sudden silence, the roaring waves seemed to grow louder. Seagulls squawked above us, perched on one of the antennas.

    "I'm sorry," a redheaded woman said, "but what exactly do you mean when you say you 'removed him from the ship'? Weren't we already out to sea by then?"

    Chief Maxey nodded. "That's correct. And what is your name, Ma'am?"

    "Never mind my name! You threw him overboard? You killed him?"

    "No," Runkle said. "We didn't kill him. The bite did that. He was already dying. You've all seen how fast the sickness works. The times vary depending on the person, but the end result is the same. Unless you totally incinerate the body or destroy its brain, it comes back after death. He'd have been dead in a few more minutes, and then…"

    He didn't finish. He didn't have to.

    "If it's any consolation," the chief muttered, "we made sure that he didn't suffer."