SPACESHIP ZOMBIE CRUISE

FILE ENTRY 26.0

Bella Starr

Aboard the Celestial Sea, the elevator doors open to the Atlantic Deck accompanied by an electronic ding. I cringe at the sound which makes me think of a dinner bell for the infected. The pitch black deck sends chills down my arms. A faint wisp of a rancid odor lingers in the air, the same smell that came from the infected steward back in the storage room on the crew deck. I inch forward, hand on Halo's back as he steps across the threshold. Behind me, Astra has a handful of my tank top, her palm planted in my shoulder blade. The light from inside the elevator makes me feel exposed and vulnerable, like a neon sign at an all-you-can-eat human smorgasbord.

"It'll be lights out once the doors close," I say. "Any ideas how we're gonna see?"

"Wish I had a pair of night vision shades like my father," Halo replies. "But you know what they say about wishing?"

"Don't have a clue and don't care," Astra says.

With my wrench ready, I watch the doors ease together and seal the light inside, leaving us in the dark. My throat constricts and my chest tightens. I press my shoulder against the wall and wait for my eyes to adjust, hoping there's enough ambient light in the hallway to give us something to see by.

The Atlantic Deck has two massively long corridors that circle the interior casinos, dance floors, bars, and lounges. The wrap around hall is shaped like an enormous oval with a few passages connecting each corridor. I picture the layout of the floor from the blueprints I studied the night before the cruise, but I can't see a thing now. As soon as the elevator had closed, the shadows rushed in and smothered anything visible with a crushing wave of darkness. We stay stock-still, glued to the interior wall on the starboard side of the ship, facing the bow. And finally, after a few terrifying seconds, my pupils dilate to where I can see a mild hint of gray. It's confusing but I know the complete absence of light means the corridor would be sheer blackness, not gray. That means there has to be a dim light source somewhere, possibly far down the hallway in the distance.

"Must be an auxiliary light way up there," Halo says.

"Could be a thousand feet away for all we know," I reply. "This ship is almost as long as the crescent shape of the resort."

Someone screams in the darkness. Far away.

Nearby, an infected snorts. The odor grows stronger, the smell of infection in the pit of a virus-ridden stomach.

Feet shuffle behind us. A grumble and a hiss.

"We should move," Astra whispers, her voice carrying a sharp whistle around the edges, the adrenaline lifting the pitch much higher than I prefer. "We're exposed. We need to hide somewhere."

I imagine a group of infected passengers and their glazed over eyes. "Maybe someone doused the lights on purpose? The infected people have what looks like a hazy film covering their eyes. It might affect their sight. That could be their weakness."

"It might be our weakness too," Astra says.

"I don't like the darkness either," Halo replies. "But we have to deal with it."

Behind me, feet stomp along the floor, storming in our direction. Something brushes past me, stirring the air in the corridor. The infected moans sickeningly, an unsettling cry that fades into the emptiness of the dead space around us. With the close encounter, comes the gut wrenching fragrance of death. The acid in my stomach kicks up, tries to lurch up in my throat.

Astra grips my shoulder. "If it got that close and didn't see or smell us, then maybe your hypothesis is correct."

"I was thinking the same thing," Halo says. "The virus may dull their senses."