Xombies: Apocalypse Blues by Walter Greatshell

Author:Walter Greatshell
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780441018352
Publisher: Ace
Published: 2009-09-29T00:00:00+00:00

The next few days were full of hard physical work, but I can’t say it wasn’t interesting. Using the sub’s massive sailplanes as levers, a crane was improvised to hoist the forward escape trunk out of its bed, leaving the bathysphere-like pod dangling in midair above a large well in the deck. Objects up to seven feet wide could be taken aboard. While the men were handling this delicate operation, the boys and I were given long lists of provisions and sent off to scour the liner.

It was decided—wisely, I think—to leave the ship in its deep freeze, with only a small backup generator running to provide light. Whether or not Xombies could revive after being frozen was unknown, and we wanted it to remain that way. Apart from that, there were concerns about heat or vibration destabilizing the ice mass on the ship’s superstructure.

Mr. DeLuca had managed to activate the liner’s communications suite, though there was nothing coming over the airwaves that the sub’s array couldn’t already pick up. As civilians we weren’t allowed to listen in, but by all accounts it was a weird and troubling international chorus of despair, the last struggling pockets of humanity. If we did send a Mayday, it would only join that hopeless din, but anyone who wanted to could try it—they just had to wait for the submarine to leave the area first. It was a gamble Coombs knew no one would take.

Using the Englishmen as guides, pack routes were established throughout the ship, and I organized parties to loot the various regions. It bothered me to be doing this without seeking the Blackpudlians’ consent, but I kept reminding myself that it was not really their ship.

They looked a lot different once they had gotten cleaned up and trimmed their beards and hair. First, they were quite young, all under thirty. Second, though they were third- and fourth-generation citizens of the UK, all were ethnic Pakistanis—Reggie, for instance, was actually Rajeev Jinnah. Two of them were practicing Muslims. Much as he loved the Beatles, Commander Coombs was not pleased to have these aliens aboard.

Large cargo sledges were cobbled together from lifeboats and heaped high with goods. The mountains of booty included food and drink, bedding, towels, toilet paper (probably the most eagerly anticipated item), furniture, appliances, plumbing, electronics, building supplies, sporting goods (including a brace of shotguns for skeet), cookware, silver, fine china, clothing, bulk fabric, laundry supplies (also much awaited), freezer components to expand our cold-storage capacity, and medical supplies—including Cowper’s Lanoxin. Diesel fuel, oil, and various other substances usable by the sub were also tapped, though our reactor, of course, required nothing.

Then the task was dragging this treasure trove to the boat and finding room for it belowdecks. The Big Room became something of a warehouse again, but at least this time with the promise of greater comforts to come.

The cold was our bitter taskmaster. With the sub wide open and tons of subzero groceries being stowed, heat was retained only in certain sections, and these were not the sections most frequented by civilians.

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