Dead Sea

    It was Runkle. I climbed back down the ladder and waited for him to reach us. He was out of breath and his hair was slicked to his head with sweat. In the time that I'd left him, he'd found an old peacoat and put it on. It was about two sizes too small for him, and the buttons bulged out.

    "Any sign of the professor?" I asked.

    "No. But I did find Murphy. He was one of them."

    "Did you…?"

    He nodded.

    "Tran was infected, too," I told him. "He set off Mitch's grenades. That's what the explosion was."

    Runkle looked at Carol and the kids. "The rest of you okay?"

    "We're fine," Carol said, "but we really should find the chief, don't you think? He'll be waiting for us."

    "Good idea," I said. I started back up the ladder again, and then turned and looked at Runkle. "Might want to turn that collar up, Runkle. It's raining outside."

    "I know," he said. "That's why I put on the coat when 1 found it."

    I paused. "But how did you know it was raining? Weren't you below decks hunting for the professor?"

    He frowned. "Sure. But I talked to the chief on the phone. He told me there was a storm coming in."

    "That's funny. The emergency phones weren't working when 1 tried them. The explosion knocked them out."

    "Really?" He shrugged. "Must be a localized thing, then. I didn't have any trouble getting through."

    Growing up where I had, I knew when somebody was bullshitting me, and I knew that Runkle was lying now. But I didn't know what about or why. Was it because he'd stolen a peacoat? It seemed like a stupid thing to conceal, but then again, he'd been a cop. Maybe he had conflicting morals about it or something. Or maybe he was just scared in general. I certainly was, so why shouldn't he be, too? I decided to let the matter drop.

    Taking the shotgun back from Carol, I crawled up onto the deck. Tasha and Malik came next, followed by Carol, and then Runkle. The rain and wind lashed at us, and the salt spray stung our eyes. The temperature had dropped, and I shivered in the cold air. Basil's thin T-shirt clung to my wet skin. Visibility was limited, but the flight deck appeared deserted. No sign of anyone else, dead or alive. The Spratling continued its starboard list, and as we approached the lifeboat it felt like we were walking down a steep hill. Worse, the deck was wet and slippery. Each time the ship crested a wave, we had to struggle to keep our balance.

    "What now?" Carol shouted over the roar of the storm.

    I glanced around, and caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I raised the shotgun, but it was only Chief Maxey, carefully working his way down from the pilothouse. He held tight to the handrails as the ship twisted again. He was carrying a small radio, and struggled not to drop it.

    "GPS," he said, holding the radio up for us to see. "Global Positioning Satellite. Believe it or not, the damn thing is still working. I guess the satellite is still floating around up there, just waiting for somebody to tell it what to do. I've programmed in the coordinates for the drilling platform. We should reach it by morning."

    "Morning?" Carol looked startled. "So we have to be on the ocean all night?"

    "We have no choice, Mrs. Beck," the chief said. "You can remain onboard if you wish, but I'm certainly not staying here. If you come with me, I promise I'll do my best to see to your safety."

    I wiped rain from my eyes. "I thought the captain was supposed to go down with the ship."

    "I'm not a captain, Mr. Reed." He smiled. "I'm a signalman chief. And besides, the women and children are getting on first. Now let's ready the lifeboat."

    Chief Maxey directed us on what to do. As we prepped the lifeboat, I noticed that Runkle kept wincing, as if in pain. He seemed to be favoring his left side.

    "You okay?" I asked.

    "Side stitch," he gasped. "Too much excitement for one night. I just need to walk it off."

    The chief tapped me on the shoulder. "We'll need a few supplies. Enough water and food to last us for a few days. Want to give me a hand carrying it?"

    "Sure."

    We left Runkle behind to protect Carol and the kids and made our way to the galley. The ship was listing even worse now. We could hear the hull groaning as the intense pressure split it open wider. Black smoke belched from the open hatches.

    Tasha had said that some of Tran's fingers were missing. We found them in the galley, lying on the floor in a pool of blood along with his wedding ring. I'd never even noticed the ring on his finger before, hadn't bothered to learn anything about him-and now I never would. Again, I felt sorry for Tran. Dying was bad enough. Dying and becoming a reanimated corpse was even worse. But somehow, his anonymous death seemed the worst of all. What was Tran's monomyth? What kind of archetype was he-the forgotten one? The sacrificial lamb? The movie extra? The red shirt, like on Star Trek-destined only to provide cannon fodder?

    I put my fingers to my lips and motioned for the chief to come closer.