Chimera-44 Read Free Page B

at the rear
of the bridge and peered down into the interior of the ship. He
fished a flashlight from his life vest and triggered a beam down
the ladder well. More flies buzzed up to greet him from below. He
was so glad that this was his last week in the Patrol Group. Next
Monday he reported to his new assignment as a naval attaché.
Tuesday he was set to leave for Los Angeles, and then for a
month-long Rim of the Pacific (RIMPAC) exercise in Hawaii. He just
had to get through today.
    “ Well, this is what they
pay us the big bucks for,” he said with a forced smile to the
sweat-soaked sailor behind him, and started down the
ladder.
    “ I’d rather drag my balls
through broken glass than go down there, sir,” came the response
back even as the sailor was slinging his rifle to follow
him.
    With the small flashlight in his
mouth, Wilson carefully climbed down the ladder with one hand for
his pistol and the other for the rungs. He came out into what
looked to be the ship’s galley, as evident by a number of pots
slowly moving on the wall with the drift of the derelict vessel. He
played the flashlight along the perimeter of the new compartment
and illuminated the dark in rays of passing light. It was a wreck
of dishes, blood, and filth. Flies scattered in the light like bats
in a cave and buzzed around his eyes and mouth as he stood there.
On a table mounted against the wall was another body.
    “ Look at that bloody Muppet
there, sir,” said the sailor as he aimed his rifle at the body atop
the table.
    Wilson concentrated the beam of his
flashlight on the cadaver in question and examined it briefly from
arm’s length away. The skin and flesh on the face of the man had
been pulled away from the skull, exposing teeth and pink bone to
the air. The beam of the flashlight reflected white from the teeth
now visible due to the absence of the cheek muscles. The man was
shirtless and the skin of his brown chest showed circular bite
marks and a slash from one side of his ribcage to the other. In the
open wound, pink lung tissue bulged from around a cage of exposed
ribs. A double handful of maggots hurriedly worked along the
opening to accomplish their own mission. On the arm closest to
Wilson, he could see an ornate tattoo in what looked like
Indonesian script.
    “ Sir…” said the sailor in a
deep whisper, “the eyes.”
    Wilson pointed the light back to the
face of the body on the table and stopped on the eyes. Ever so
slowly, like the flutter of a butterfly’s wing as it sat on a
flower, one of them was blinking.
    As he stood fixated on the
blinking eyelid, the lieutenant reached for his radio to
tell Larrakia to
send over the medic. The crackle feedback of the radio was electric
for the injured man and Wilson froze as he saw the head pivot
towards him on the table. He took a step back and extended his
pistol out defensively into the man’s face.
    “ What the hell…” said the
sailor behind him as he brought his own weapon up to the injured
man’s face.
    “ Stay there please, sir.
You have been injured,” Wilson said, struggling to regain his
composure. “We have help coming.”
    The man sat up on the table and
pivoted his legs over the edge in one fluid movement. As he did so,
dark and thickly mottled organs pressed against the jagged wound
across his chest. The man pushed himself off the table and onto his
feet, swaying briefly before he caught his sea legs again. With
arms outstretched, he reached for Wilson and opened his mouth in a
raspy guttural sound.
    The sailor’s rifle was deafening
inside the sealed metal box of the compartment as three rounds of
5.56x45mm NATO green tip barked the short distance from the muzzle
to the decomposing man’s face. In a shower of congealed black
spray, the man staggered backwards and slumped to the
deck.
    Wilson turned to the sailor, his ears
ringing and yelled, “Are you mad?” as he wiped blood and fluids
from his face and eyes that had splattered there from