"Where the hell is this ship even headed? We can't just keep drifting out here like goddamn ghosts, can we? The rice, flour, oil… all of it in the hold will last maybe ten more days. If we don't find land, we're all fish food!" The first mate squinted his bloodshot eyes at the ink-black horizon. The moonlight shattered into silver shards in his pupils, the sea wind turning his messy hair into a rat's nest.
The captain yanked the brim of his worn-out baseball cap down hard, covering half his face. "We're at the mercy of fate now. If we stumble on some deserted island without those things… that'd be a goddamn miracle." But his trembling lip and shaky voice betrayed the panic churning inside.
His knuckles stood out white where he gripped the rust-eaten railing, his empty sleeve flapping in the wind like some tattered funeral banner. He squeezed his eyes shut, grinding his back teeth until they creaked, nails digging deep into the scabs on his palm. The taste of salt and blood seeped down his throat.
Yama… Guanyin… any goddamn deity passing by, just show us a way out… Amid the rising and falling howls of the infected, the captain crushed the prayer between his teeth, each word dripping with despair.
The battered cruise ship plowed through the waves like a crazed bull. A thick, ink-black sky pressed down, heavy enough to break a man's spine. The ship's navigation had been useless for days, the radios spewing nothing but static. An invisible terror, like a ghost's hand, was clamped around every throat on board.
But right now, for the two men rooted to the foredeck, that wasn't the worst of it.
"Those canned goods in storage… we ration 'em, they could last a month. There's always a chance," the first mate said, swallowing dryly, trying to force some calm into his voice. "As long as… as long as none of those things got on board…"
The captain's arm jerked violently. The chaotic scenes from embarkation slammed back into his skull. The pier had been pure bedlam—screaming, shoving refugees. He remembered personally overseeing the checks.
"Everyone went through the X-ray! Body temp scanned three times! I watched it myself!"
"HELP!— IT'S EATING PEOPLE—!"
A piercing shriek tore through the silent night. Both men whirled around. From the shadows of the lower deck, several figures scrambled out, half-crawling, half-stumbling down a corridor, the sound of wet, tearing meat following them.
The two seasoned sailors froze on the spot, mouths agape, like a pair of ice sculptures.
Blood, dark and red, began oozing from between the captain's clenched fingers, dripping onto the rusted deck plating.
When will this godforsaken nightmare ever end…
In the rearmost passenger cabin…
Li Ming groggily ripped off his steam eye mask. The first thing he saw was the patch of mold on the underside of the upper bunk's broken plank, its shape uncannily like a twisted human face.
"The hell… Zombies throwing a party again? Just when it got quiet!" He propped himself up, rubbing his bleary eyes. "They said a cruise vacation was the life. What a crock of shit! Should've just stayed home gaming…"
His voice trailed off. He stared—the bunk beds opposite were both empty. Blankets thrown in a heap, luggage gone from the nightstands.
"Zhang Li?… Where the hell did she go in the middle of the night?" A cold dread started crawling up his spine. Did she go to see the commotion? But what about the others? Fat Wang, that bastard who snores like a chainsaw… he slipped out too without a sound?
The four-berth cabin was deathly quiet. He could even hear the hum from the air vent. Sure, he slept like the dead, but for his whole crew to vanish without making a peal? The whole thing felt wrong.
His eyes caught the steel cabin door, slightly ajar. A sliver of harsh white light cut across the dark red carpet like a scar. Li Ming spat, mustered his courage, and pushed the door open, a sense of foreboding tightening around his temples like a vice.
When he peered out, the blood in his veins turned to ice. A body lay crumpled in the hallway like a discarded ragdoll. The coveralls were shredded, deep gashes covered it, and worst of all, the head was a pulped mess, like a watermelon smashed by a sledgehammer. Grayish-pink matter was splattered across the wall.
His stomach lurched. He clamped a hand over his mouth.
As he caught his breath, a realization struck him like a thunderbolt. Holy shit! That's Old Liu from across the hall! We played cards just yesterday!
A dragging, gurgling sound came from the far end of the corridor, like something crawling. He turned and saw Zhang Li standing at the corner. Her smeared black eyeliner streaked half her face, blood spatter covering her like some abstract painting. The blade of the fire axe in her hand was still dripping dark red.
What fresh hell is this?! Li Ming's heart sank straight to his ass. His legs felt like jelly.
He took a sharp breath, about to rush over and help. What happened next nailed him to the spot—Two dark shapes lunged at Zhang Li from the shadows! The axe flashed. One attacker's skull split open, but the other latched onto her calf and bit down.
The sickening sound of tearing flesh was stark in the silent hallway. Zhang Li's whole body went rigid, her warm blood soaking through her canvas pants, blooming dark red on the carpet.
Li Ming suddenly remembered the emergency bulletins that had been looping on the TVs for days—No saving them. He clapped a hand over his mouth and stumbled back a step, his vision blurring.
Sorry, man! Next life, drinks on me! He forced the guilt back down his throat, spun around, and ran for his life in the opposite direction, shoes skidding, nearly eating the floor.
Sprinting through the maze-like hallways, the walls were sprayed with blood. Bodies missing limbs were sprawled everywhere, most with horrifying holes in their skulls. Rounding another corner, he almost slammed into two shambling figures, their skin the gray of fresh grave dirt, a wet, rasping sound coming from their throats.
"Son of a bitch!" Li Ming shoved off the wall, executing a sharp turn, and kept running, his heart trying to punch its way out of his throat.
Bursting into the buffet was even worse—A handful of survivors were locked in hand-to-hand with a crowd of the infected. He squeezed his eyes shut and charged through the meat grinder, treating the screams behind him as background noise. A sudden snarl forced his eyes open. One on the floor was reaching for his ankle!
A clumsy hop barely saved him. "The damn travel agency swore this tub was safer than a vault!" he yelled, voice cracking.
He slammed through the spring doors onto the observation deck, but his feet felt like lead. The few remaining people were… eating each other. It was a living hellscape. Severed fingers and chunks of flesh were scattered about. The thick, coppery stench of blood was suffocating.
The apocalyptic warnings from the news were playing out right before his eyes.
But right in the middle of this chaos, one figure stood out. A hulking man, easily six-foot-five, stood with his back to the carnage, gazing out at the sea. All the crazies seemed to give him a wide berth, as if an invisible barrier surrounded him. The fight on the deck was winding down. The outcome was already decided.
When the "winners" slowly turned their heads, bits of red still clinging to their mouths, Li Ming clenched his fists until the knuckles turned white.
Nothing left to lose! He mustered every ounce of strength and charged toward the lone figure. Behind him, the thudding footsteps grew louder, denser. The hot, rotting stench was almost on the back of his neck. Damn! These freshly-turned bastards are faster than state track runners!
As he reached out, his voice cracked into a desperate shout. "Hey! Give a guy a hand!"
The man who turned around was an old man, with white hair and a white beard, his face a roadmap of deep wrinkles. But Li Ming didn't care. A living human was a godsend.
But the old man didn't take his hand. Instead, he walked right past Li Ming and raised a hand toward the pursuers in a clear "stop" gesture. The motion was as casual as a man out for a stroll.
Li Ming blinked, not believing his eyes, pinching his own thigh—The monsters actually froze! A couple even toppled over from stopping too fast.
These things that went mad at the smell of meat, these bone-gnawing freaks, were actually obeying a living man!
Why him? Why don't they bite him? Questions bubbled up wildly. Li Ming felt his entire understanding of the world crumbling.
"Fight poison with poison. Blood for blood. That's the only way out." The old man's voice was a raspy ruin, his white beard whipping in the sea breeze. "Sorry, kid. Can't let you suffer twice."
Before the words even settled, a pitch-black Type 92 pistol appeared in his hand as if by magic, its surface gleaming coldly under the moon.
The last thing Li Ming heard was the crisp, hollow click of the hammer falling. Then the world spun, and the back of his head slammed against the cold deck. The final image seared into his vision was the old man's trembling hand, and those clouded, tear-filled eyes.