Sea Sick: A Horror Novel(50)
“You do it,” said Joma in a voice so thick that it sounded as though he was on the verge of puking. “I’ll hold the door.”
“You sure you can hold it?”
Joma nodded.
Jack moved away from the door, fully expecting the two infected people to come crashing through it the moment that he did. Fortunately, Joma was just about able to hold it. Jack moved over to the waiter, who was beginning to clutch and kick at the floor in an awkward attempt to get to his feet. Blood dripped from the man’s eyes and merged with the dye of the carpet fibres. Jack did the only thing he could think of. He raised his foot and brought it down as hard as he could on the waiter’s head. The blow was met with a wet thud, but it wasn’t enough to do the job. Jack stamped again, crushing the infected man’s skull against the floor. Then he stamped again.
And again.
Eventually the waiter’s skull was a pulped mess against the carpet and Jack felt sick. Stamping on a person’s head was something he never thought he would ever do. He turned back around to face Joma and realised that he was about to lose his struggle to keep the door closed.
Joma stumbled backward and the door swung open. The two infected passengers piled in. Jack shoved Joma aside and met them both head on, planting an open-palmed strike against the overweight man. The blow was only enough to send the man staggering backwards a few feet to collide with the other infected passenger. Jack already knew that hand-to-hand didn’t work against them, but it could at least get them out the way.
“Joma, stand behind me. When I move, you follow. Understood?”
Joma scuttled behind Jack and stood an inch off his heels. “Understood.”
“Okay,” said Jack. “When these two clowns get close enough, I’m going to try and shove them aside. Then we run for it.”
Jack made himself rigid, ready to strike like a cobra. The two infected recovered from their disorientation. They came at Jack, screeching. Jack sidestepped them, shoved out with both arms, and managed to grab a hold of each of them. Their momentum took them over Jack’s outstretched leg and his arms shoved them off balance. They clattered to the ground in a heap of bleeding limbs and slippery flesh.
Jack bolted for the door and felt Joma close behind him. The lounge was empty as they entered it, but the reception area outside was not. There were almost a dozen infected passengers nearby. They were hunched over, occupied by the spasming body of a mutilated teenager. They hadn’t noticed Jack or Joma yet.
That all changed when the overweight passenger came stumbling out of the lounge’s office and let out an animalistic shriek. The noise alerted the others outside and all at once they turned to look into the lounge area. They saw Jack and Joma standing there.
“Shit!” Jack rushed over to the double doors of the lounge and managed to swing them shut just in time.
Bodies flew at the doors and rabid fingernails scratched at the wood. Jack turned the lock shut just as an arm came smashing through one of the glass panels of the door. A hand grabbed a hold of Jack’s collar and yanked him closer. The strength was alarming and Jack was unprepared to resist it.
His face ended up against the shattered window frame of the door and he could instantly smell the sweet, putrid tang of open wounds and bleeding flesh. From behind Jack, Joma cried out as the overweight man and his companion stalked him around the lounge. Jack needed to get free and help him, or everything he was fighting for would be for nothing.
Jack grabbed at the errant hand on his collar and yanked it away. The fingers became tangled in his shirt and kept a hold on him, so he braced his feet against the door and kicked out hard. His t-shirt tore and he went flying backwards, landing on his hip. The double doors seemed to be holding out, despite the frenzied arms that were coming through the broken window, and Jack felt it would be safe to abandon them momentarily. He scrambled to his feet just in time to save Joma from being tackled to the ground. The overweight man had gotten a hold of him and was struggling to take a bite; the back and forth tussle had sent both men off balance.
Jack tackled the overweight man just as Joma was about to fall over. Immediately Jack started to pummel his fists into the man’s pudgy face, not because he had any hope of incapacitating him, but because it would at least keep the fat bastard down.
“Joma, find me a weapon,” he shouted. “Something solid.”
After a moment of shocked inactivity, Joma got moving, leaving Jack to deal with the overweight man on the floor. Along with the blood spewing forth from the man’s eyes, Jack’s barrage of punches had left his face a crimson mask. He was still snarling, though, ready to bite.
Jack was so consumed with keeping his current opponent down on his back that he did not see the other infected passenger coming up on his flank. The man leapt onto Jack’s back and instantly began biting and tearing at the back of his neck. Jack screamed out as he felt a chunk of flesh come away from the bone. He shot to his feet with the passenger still clinging to his back. The overweight man began to rise to his feet in front of him. Jack knew there was no way he could defend against both of them.
Suddenly the weight removed itself from Jack’s back. He spun around to find Joma standing over the body of the infected passenger with a heavy, glass ashtray. One corner of it was covered with blood and matted hair. Jack snatched it away from Joma and quickly turned to the overweight man who was now fully on his feet.
Jack brought the ashtray down on the man’s head and the heavy object made contact with a resounding thud! No other blows were necessary.