Inferno
Westlake was on fire and climbing. It didn’t hurt, though part of him was screaming inside his mind. Part of him wanted to just… let go. To let the fire do its work. But the rest of him was too stubborn to quit. So he just kept climbing, ignoring the pieces of himself he left behind, stuck to the ladder.
Hungry.
Hungry.
Hungry.
The need echoed through him, making his limbs shake like he was in withdrawal. The hunger was driving him on as much as his own stubbornness. He was starting to understand how walkers could endure the punishment they did before going down. The hunger was riding him like a jockey, urging him on, digging its heels into his ribs. Making him climb until the ladder ended and there was a hatch above him.
No way to tell where it went. He didn’t much care. He figured he only had a few more minutes before his eyeballs cooked in their sockets. He hit the hatch with his elbow and shoulder, ignoring the way his bones cracked. Hit it again, and again. Again, again, again, again. His skin split and curled away from bone, his head was a torch, but he didn’t cease until the hatch gave way with a cry of abused metal.
Westlake hauled himself out through the hatch in a plume of smoke. He collapsed onto the deck, and for a moment, his body resisted his best efforts to get it moving. He felt like a rubber band that had been stretched to breaking point. He felt the rain, but only as a spattering of pressure points on his battered carcass. His clothes had been burnt into his skin, and the scorched cloth crackled as he dragged himself away from the hatch.
Hungry.
Where were the others? The last he’d seen of them, they’d been climbing down. He’d lost sight of them after a while. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe they’d gotten away from the flames. But they might well have nowhere to run to.
The ship was quaking like it was gripped with convulsions. He could hear a familiar roar rising from the swamp. He thought of alligators being torn apart, but the image only increased his hunger. He heard gunfire. Shouts and screams. More roaring. The boat was being torn apart. People were running around in a panic. Some of them were trying to get others inside, but not having much luck. He couldn’t motivate himself to care.
Instead, he concentrated on crawling across the deck. The sharp, iron tang of blood drew him on. Someone lay near the rail, moaning in pain as someone else tried to pull an arrow out of them without causing more damage. He focused on them, using his elbows to push himself in their direction, their pulses thundering in his ears. They couldn’t see him because of the rain and the debris. Wouldn’t see him, until it was too late. He wanted to warn them, but couldn’t.
Hungry.
“…how the hell did they get that thing to come after us?” Ramirez’s voice. Sharp. Piercing the rain like a knife. It was familiar enough that he paused and sought her out. She was striding across the deck like a hurricane was no more bother than a spring rain. Jessop was with her. Westlake wanted to call out to them, but his vocal cords still weren’t responding.
Instead, he pushed himself to his feet. Ramirez and Jessop whirled. “Jesus,” Ramirez said, startled. She raised her weapon, and he tried to focus on her. To tell her that he was still him. But all that came out was a gurgle. And as he looked at her, he felt himself rise. Not because he wanted to, but because he had to.
Because he was hungry.
Hungry.
His jaws fell open, and he hissed. Body burnt black where it wasn’t blistered red, he took an unsteady step toward her. His arms rose, hands grasping.
Hungry. HUNGRY.
He wanted to tell her to shoot. To beg her. But all he could manage was a dull growl as he lunged for her. Ramirez stepped back and clocked him with her pistol. The blow rattled him, knocked him to one knee. He felt like a good breeze might blow him away. Something struck the ship, knocking everyone sprawling for a moment.
Westlake went for Ramirez. She rolled aside, calling for help. Jessop came at him, swinging a pry bar. Westlake avoided the blow and sent Jessop staggering back with a wild flail of his arm. The effort overbalanced him, and he fell to his knees.
Others on this part of the deck were realizing what was going on, despite the rain and the wind and the monster beating on the side of the ship. He saw a man in black turn toward him, and nearby, Terry, Imogene and Kahwihta. The latter made him pause. Attila began to bark. “It’s a damn walker,” the man in black said. He brandished a golden pistol and made as if to shoot. Westlake wanted him to, but Kahwihta stopped him.
“It’s Westlake,” she said, staring down at him. Attila crouched beside her, growling. There was no recognition in the dog’s eyes, no sense that the animal saw Westlake as anything more than another walker.
Hungry.
Westlake tried to get to his feet, but failed. Instead, he rested on his knees. Ramirez looked down at him. “Westlake,” she said. “Are you in there?”
He rolled his eyes toward her. His voice thrashed in his throat like an animal with its foot in a trap. Finally, he said, “It’s me.”
“You tried to take a bite out of me,” she said.
Westlake bowed his head. “Shoot me.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no? Shoot him,” the man in black said.
“Quiet, Oscar,” Jessop said. Westlake ignored him. Ignored all of them except Ramirez. She was the one who’d made the promise, after all. The one he could count on to do the smart thing. He could feel the ship quivering, hear the roaring, but all he could concentrate on was Ramirez.
“I’m… hungry,” he said.
Ramirez shook her head. “We’re a little busy right now, Westlake. You might have noticed that there’s a giant turtle trying to eat us.” She was trying to make a joke, but it wasn’t working. He shook his head.
“I’m done. Shoot me.”
Ramirez stared at Westlake for a moment, then looked at the others. “Oscar, you and Patricia get Kahwihta inside with the others. Terry, go grab Gable and Ptolemy, and let’s make sure those access stairs are still clear. I think it’s time we started the evacuation.” She glanced at Jessop, and he nodded.
“Long past time,” he said. He looked down at Westlake. “What about Grillo and the others? Are they still down there?”
Westlake shook his head. “Don’t know. We got separated.” He hoped the rats hadn’t got them. Or the flames.
Jessop looked suspicious, but Ramirez simply shook her head. “If they’re still alive, they can find their own way out. We need to get the noncombatants somewhere safe.” The ship shook again, and Jessop caught Ramirez as she fell against him. “Preferably before that damn monster tears the ship out from under us!”
The others were already moving, heading back along the ship toward the bow. Kahwihta paused once to look back at him. Westlake couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze. Couldn’t bear to see what she might be thinking. He wondered if he could make it to the rail. A fall might not stop him, but it would smash him up good enough that he might as well be dead. As if reading his mind, Ramirez stepped between him and the rail.
“No,” she said.
“Get out of my way,” he croaked, as he pushed himself to his feet.
“Ramirez,” Jessop began, looking back and forth between them.
Ramirez didn’t take her eyes off Westlake. “Jessop, go take charge of the evacuation. I’ll handle this.”
Westlake stared at her as Jessop left, albeit reluctantly. The world was soft at the edges, and black. The fire had damaged his eyes after all. He blinked and shook his head. “Please…”
“No. I still need you. The job isn’t over yet.”
Hungry.
“Ramirez…” he pleaded. He didn’t understand. She had to see he had nothing left.
She held out her hand. “Come with me.”
Westlake looked at the hand and then at her. He took her hand.
Hungry. Hungry. HUNGRY.
“OK,” he said.