Dekker's Dozen: The Last Watchmen

Salvaged Salvation

Dekker's Dozen #006

A relic from a bygone and era of space travel, the battle scarred capital-class cruiser might have been the flagship of some grand fleet before her death. Now, she bled flotsam into the vacuum through open fissures and poorly cobbled together cold welds used to fuse hull fragments as the behemoth crept near the space station.

It couldn't be a pirate ship. The ugly vessel possessed no atmosphere; it was a ghost ship, crewed by the damned. The dead craft likely came in support of the zombified scientists.

The massive, hellish cruiser rolled ever so slightly as it closed the distance, a sure sign that it intended to berth at the airlock. The monstrous cruiser was nearly the same size as the research station.

"This doesn't change the assignment," Dekker stated sharply, his voice even more urgent. He checked his personal oxygen tank again. "It merely stresses our timetable. Radio check every ten minutes. You each have your assignments, find that DNIET weapon. Move out!"

Salvaged Salvation

Dekker discharged his blaster. The brilliant beam slammed into the chest of an infected scientist further down the hall; it burned though his chest and knocking him off his feet. Another, closer, zombie snarled and charged.

Vesuvius had drawn a blade with each hand and leapt for it. With a whirling attack her first blade severed the horned protrusion on the fiend's head. The second blade took the head. She wanted to feel remorse for the victim—it had once been human, but no time remained to think about that. Her own life, and perhaps the lives of billions of others, hung in the balance. Should the DNIET device fall into wrong hands, many would certainly perish.

"Come on, this way," Dekker briefly consulted the map affixed to the wall. He noted the docking bay locations and escape pods.

They rounded a corner, sprinted down a hallway, and spotted the docking bay entry. Dekker ran through it and collided with an infected scientist; they both fell to the floor. The beast screeched with surprise and Dekker rolled through the tumble, he came up on one knee and fired before Vesuvius could even reach the door.

She stepped over the dead, female sentry, breaking the curls of smoke that wafted up from her chest. "Not really your type?" she joked dryly.

"No," he returned. "She wouldn't stop making bad jokes. You know how that gets on my nerves."

Vesuvius winked at him. "There's the airlock."

Dekker nodded and clicked on his communicator. "We're at the supply ship. About to check it out." He checked his timer—it was close enough to the scheduled check-in.

"Been on level B for two minutes." Nathan's voice. "These things are everywhere! Just a heads up, some are more resistant to lasers than others."

"Understood. Over and out." Dekker went to the access panel and activated the door switch.

The airlock, mostly useless since the oxygen recyclers had been destroyed, hissed as the seal broke and the doors slid aside. With incredible speed a trio of black-eyed zombies poured through the door and leapt upon them. These three seemed stronger than the scientists; they were probably the supply ship's crew—the original zombie spore carriers.

Dekker leveled his blaster and fired. A laser burned through the crewman's clothing and smoldered against his chest. It screeched in rage—a much different sound than a cry of pain; it clubbed Dekker across the face, knocking him across the floor.

Vesuvius kicked her first assailant with a heel to the face and knocked it over while she drew her blades. She turned to face the next opponent when a heavy blow caught her in the midsection. Vesuvius doubled over in pain and quickly found herself on her back as her attacker landed another fierce stroke.