‘It should be around here somewhere,’ said Connelly as they made another turn. Suddenly he pulled up to a halt and his voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Snell bring that lantern forward – I think there’s someone down there.’
They were stood close to a ladder which led down, the ladder that they had been looking for. But in the inky, clinging, blackness of the corridor stood a shape. The light from the lantern reached the figure and revealed Putner stood against the wall. His hair was dishevelled, face pale, and posture hunched. But what drew their attention was his ears, or rather his lack of them. They were completely gone, dried blood giving him rusty sideburns and holes in the sides of his head where his ears had previously been.
‘Reg? Reg, what the bloody hell has happened to you?’
The radio operator did not respond. Snell stepped forward pushing past Connelly.
‘Putner – what’s going on here? Where have you been and what the bloody heck has happened to you?’
Putner looked up as if it was only now that he had realised that they were there.
‘They’re coming,’ he shouted rather than said it and Snell tried to hush him. ‘They’re coming!’ Even louder.
And suddenly the corridor was filled with movement; the broken body of Hamilton stumbled into view, closely followed by the raw figure of Collins, and then others – bloated things, pale and damp, marked by scores of wounds, missing eyes, crabs clinging to their flesh in places. They looked like they belonged more to the sea than the earth which had borne them. There was something of the deep about them like catfish that Connelly had seen pulled up from the depths.
‘Dear God, Jesus, Mary…’ muttered Snell as he raised the Webley.
The things were moving slowly like they were unused to, and unsteady, being on the walk, as though their legs hadn’t been used for some time.
‘They’re here!’ shouted Putner and then he launched himself at Snell, snarling.
Snell turned and the Webley spat lead. The bullet tore a deep furrow along Putner’s skull but he kept coming wrapping his hands around Snell’s throat. Another shot rang out, Connelly throwing a round into the advancing throng to try and slow them. It seemed to have little effect.
‘Help Snell,’ he said to Amelia as he moved forward working the bolt on the rifle to chamber another round. The things before him were like creatures of folklore that had crawled forth from the pages of a book. Connelly aimed and shot one of the pale creatures through the head. The shot would’ve dropped a man but it barely slowed the creature, merely blowing a chunk of pale fresh from the skull. Connelly worked the bolt of the rifle.
The struggle between them had sent Snell and Putner to the deck. It was a desperate fight. Snell whipped the butt of the Webley across Putner’s skull and the radio operator’s hands squeezed, choking the air out of Snell, nails digging into the young officer’s throat. The lantern rolled wildly. Amelia aimed her rifle at Putner’s head but her finger froze. She could not do it, not to the young shy man that she had shared a lifeboat with for more than three weeks. She reversed the rifle and wielded it like a club. The steel butt plate connected solidly with Putner’s skull knocking him sideways and giving Snell a moment’s respite. That was all he needed – he tucked the Webley under Putner’s chin and pulled the trigger splattering the ceiling with a spray of brain and skull.
Connelly aimed carefully and drilled a shot through one of the bloater’s knees. Chambered another shot and swung up to aim at Hamilton.
‘Earl – what’s wrong with you? Help us man.’
The chef looked up, his skin looked like a crushed bag holding a pile of broken biscuits, with glassy blood shot eyes. Seeing no humanity in the look, Connelly fired. The bullet punched through Hamilton’s shoulder but he and the rest of the horde continued. Connelly took a step back and then fired again taking little care with his aim.
‘Back, we need to get back,’ the fear was obvious in Connelly’s voice. ‘I can’t stop them.’
‘Out across the deck?’ asked Amelia.
‘We’ll have to.’
Snell looked at the advancing figures.
‘What are they?’
‘I don’t think we have time to ask them that now, sir.’
Snell raised the Webley and put a bullet through Collins. The man did not waver and simply continued to move forwards. They closed in like a wall of rotting flesh.
‘My God.’
Connelly fired again, the bullet ricocheting from the bulkhead.
‘Move!’
They moved back quickly. Snell had left the lantern where it lay and they moved through the darkness with only the portholes for illumination. Soon they were back at the door that led out to the deck. Connelly checked his rifle and then looked at the others.
‘Snell, you’re first. Get to the ladder and get down to secure the deck below. Amelia, once he goes down that ladder you count to thirty and then follow.’
‘What will you be doing?’ asked Amelia.
‘Trying to buy us some time. Get down to the others and give them the rifles – looks like we have lost Putner and Hamilton, Collins too. But that should still leave six of us unless anything else has happened.’
Snell simply nodded, his mind reeling from what they had just encountered. Connelly unslung the other rifle from his back and made sure that both were fully loaded. The sound of shuffling steps along the corridor told him that it wouldn’t be long.
Busby and Lily sat on one of the benches in the mess, Warner’s decapitated corpse lying close by. The bloodied axe lay on the bench at Busby’s side. They smoked in silence until Busby spoke.
‘I’ve seen some strange things over the years. Seen lights in the sky in the far north, seen lizards as big as dragons, knew a man once who swore he had heard a mermaid sing near the Falklands. And once, I saw a voodoo procession near Port au Prince and the people moved like he did just then, like they had lost something that made them like the rest of us. Hightailed it out of there that time. Scared the shit out of me.’
‘I’ve never seen anything like that. Never,’ replied Lily. ‘Connie was dead. I know he was dead – he opened up his wrists in front of me. He was dead – no two ways about it, but he got up. He was dead and he got up.’
Busby shook his head.
‘It’s this ship. Something’s wrong with her. Felt wrong from the off. I don’t know where she has been, or why, but I know it’s wrong. I can feel it and if it wasn’t for the storm I’d want to get back in that jolly boat and cast off, take our chances.’
‘But in the storm?’
‘I doubt we would last ten minutes in that little tub out in this. Wouldn’t do it unless there isn’t any other choice.’
‘So we wait for the others – and then?’
Busby shrugged. Sounds reached their ears.
‘Is that thunder?’ asked Lily, and Busby grinned.
‘Not like any thunder I’ve ever heard. Sounds like gun fire to me.’
‘Snell?’
‘Could be but that was a lot of shots and it sounded more like rifles to me. It’s stopped now.’
Busby’s fingers stroked the haft of the axe on the bench next to him and its solidness comforted him.
‘Now!’ shouted Connelly and Snell moved off through the door and onto the storm lashed deck.
Connelly stayed low and moved out around the corner. They were still coming, moving slowly but still quick enough that they would be on them within a minute or so. Putner was back up, shattered head hanging to one side. Time to slow them down a bit more, thought Connelly. Each of the Arisaka Type 99 rifles held five rounds. Connelly picked up the first rifle and he aimed low. He fired off all five rounds in quick succession at knee height. He dropped the empty rifle and picked up the second repeating the action until it too was empty. Bullets into the creatures might not have had any real effect but knees and shins that caught rounds still caused the bloating creatures to stumble and fall gaining them time as they were forced to right themselves. Connelly pulled himself back around the corner and began to reload stripper clips into the rifles.