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Title: Hermes' Messenger
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: PG-13 due to violence and language
Length: 11,008 words (plus three illustrations)
Summary: After an excursion aboard a ruined Federation vessel, the crew discovers they've returned with a little hitchhiker.
Notes: This is what happens when your friends suck you into a new fandom right after you've finished reading a bunch of books featuring zombies. But if Pride and Prejudice can have zombies, then Star Trek can too! THANK YOU, STARTREK_CRACK FOR EXISTING!
The distress signal had been received at 0700. An hour later, the crew of the Enterprise was assembled on the bridge, watching the source of the distress call float aimlessly across the void. The ship appeared to be an old Federation model – one of the earliest assembled on Earth, and would have been considered something of an outdated antique by modern standards. For something that old to have been drifting for so long, it was unlikely any members of the ship’s crew were still alive. Whatever had caused their distress signal had probably killed them all long ago. Yet the exterior of the ship was curiously devoid of any damage or trauma, and Kirk couldn’t help but feel curious. He wanted to know what had gone on to maroon such a ship, and besides it was still Federation no matter how old it was, and therefore they had a duty to investigate.
Spock objected to the venture, of course. To waist time on exploring a ship so ancient as to make the probability of finding any survivors so minute was highly illogical. But Kirk was more interested in the how and why of the ship’s state, and the fate of its crew. The vessel was ripe for adventure, and Kirk quickly selected his boarding team, consisting of himself, Spock, and a young ensign named Odell.
Odell was young and nervous, and nearly fainted when the captain called his name. To him, the image outside the ship was threatening and forbidding. The fact that the old ship looked perfectly fine only increased the amount of terror he felt. It wasn’t so much that Odell doubted himself, or even doubted his captain. James Kirk was a fine captain of an even finer crew, but his reckless sense of adventure and occasional lapses of judgment meant the Enterprise and her crew often found themselves in life threatening situations and the entire crew didn’t always make it out alive.
As such, Odell was greatly relieved when the young navigator suddenly stood up from his position and addressed the captain.
“Captain, with your permission I would like to volunteer for the envoy.” He spoke slowly and carefully, trying to make his English as clear as possible. The captain often had trouble understanding the navigator’s heavy Russian accent, primarily because Kirk just didn’t bother trying all that much.
“Ensign Chekov,” began Kirk, but Chekov interrupted before he could be turned down.
“Please, Captain! I wish to help. I know I am young, but if you’d just let me prove-”
Kirk held up his hand and Chekov, defeated, fell silent. But Kirk was smiling as Spock shook his head. “Very well. Myself, Spock, Odell, and Chekov will go aboard. Suit up, people!” Odell silently cursed his poor luck.
* * *
The four crew members boarded one of the Enterprise’s shuttles and took off for the abandoned ship. Odell could make out the ship’s faint registration number and name. Her name had been the Hermes, and Odell couldn’t help but shiver as her bulk loomed closer and closer.
He glanced around at his crewmates. Spock looked silent and stoic as he always did. The captain’s eyes were dark and intense, staring straight ahead at the ruined vessel. Chekov looked positively delighted, his eyes bright and shining with the anticipation of adventure and discovery. It made Odell want to be sick.
With a shudder and a groan, the Enterprise’s shuttle made contact with the Hermes. Odell found himself shrouded in darkness as the lights of the Enterprise disappeared, shielded from the shuttle by the gaping dark of the Hermes. Kirk jumped up, quickly making for the shuttle door. But before he could open the door and step out into the unknown, Spock pulled him back, carefully checking that the captain’s suit was in proper order. The life support systems of the Hermes were most likely offline; a lack of oxygen adding yet more danger to the task at hand.
The shuttle door opened and Kirk cautiously made his way down the causeway. The Hermes was dark and silent, and Odell knew something was terribly wrong. What it was he couldn’t put his finger on, but it was bad.
Their progression was slow and silent, and mercifully uneventful. Spock had his tricorder out, muttering to the captain every once in a while. Kirk didn’t seem to notice or care about what his first officer was telling him; Odell could see a clear look of determination on the lighted face of the captain. But so far, the ship did seem quite abandoned.
Odell was startled suddenly by a cry from Chekov that nearly sent the private jumping right out of his space suit. Everyone turned quickly, shining lights on the young ensign. Odell sighed in relief as he saw the young boy had simply stumbled as the wall he’d been feeling his way along gave way to an open doorway. But a moment later, all the colour drained from Odell’s face as he saw what lay in the room before them.
Bones. Bunches of bones, scattered around the corners of the room. Odell stood frozen as Kirk and Spock moved past Chekov into the room. Kirk cast a light about the place, illuminating the grizzly sight while Spock bent down and picked up what looked like a femur… a human femur.
“There are several small markings along the bone, Captain,” he said, turning it over in his hands.
“From a blade?” asked Kirk.
Spock shook his head. “No, Captain. They appear to have been made by teeth.”
“An animal, perhaps?” suggested Chekov.
“Negative. These appear to have been made by a person.”
Odell nearly threw up. Someone had chewed on that bone. Someone had most likely chewed on all of those bones, meaning someone had eaten the crew. “This is bad, Captain…”
At Odell’s voice, Kirk turned away from the bones and nodded. “It looks that way. But this is only part of the crew… part of the story. There must have been more on board.”
Odell wanted to protest, but he knew there was no deterring James Kirk when the man was on a mission. Terrified, he resigned himself into step beside Chekov, trying hard not to visibly tremble when the young kid looked so bright and excited.
The group pressed on into the darkness. As they progressed, the remains of crew members began to appear more frequently. Odell noticed that several skulls had been crushed or damaged in some way, and they were even beginning to see dirty smears along the walls and floor at various points. It was so old they couldn’t identify the filth, but as much as Odell wanted to believe it was mud, the bodies around him said otherwise.
Kirk suggested they make for the ship’s bridge. They’d find the captain’s log there which would give them all the answers they needed to piece together what had happened on board the Hermes. Odell’s heart began to beat louder as they moved through the halls, each dark room a new graveyard of murdered men. He tried to calm himself down but it was no use, and when the other three stopped short of the ship’s lift, he was sure they could hear his heart pounding too.
But it wasn’t his heart that had alerted their group. Something else was pounding, a distinct thumping coming from just ahead.
Bom… bom… bom…
“It appears to be coming from the lift, Captain,” Spock said softly. He and Kirk exchanged a glance and Spock approached the lift. Odell took a step back, and Chekov looked at the captain uncertainly. Kirk held out his arm to shield the young ensign and pulled out his phaser. Odell watched, his body tense, as Spock looked at Kirk. His phaser held tightly, he nodded at the Vulcan who tried the lift activation panel.
Nothing happened. Odell let out a sigh of relief.
Bom… bom… bom…
Something was still banging away at the other side of the lift door. It was incessant and almost rhythmic, pounding again… and again… and again…
With a sudden burst of light, Kirk fired the phaser, blasting a hole through the lift door. Sparks flew and the banging stopped. Odell swore his heart did too, as the four men peered through the gap in the door. Odell could see nothing. Neither could the other three. But then they heard it, echoing though the ship’s stagnant atmosphere. A moan, long, tired, and pained emanating from inside the lift. It made Odell shiver; the moan was horrible and inhuman and seemed so loud in the silent and dead ship.
As the moan trailed off, a hand suddenly shot through the hole Kirk had blasted in the door. It was boney and grey, and Kirk swore as he jumped back from it. It grasped desperately at the bare air as a second groan erupted from the lift, identical to the first. But this time, it wasn’t alone. More groans accompanied this one, building to a chorus of echoing misery. Odell looked around, his light illuminating figures in the dark, staggering down the hallways and out of rooms towards them.
“C-Captain…!” he stammered, his voice an embarrassingly high pitch. “Captain, there are others!”
“What are they…?” wondered Chekov, casting his light in the direction of Odell’s. It lit up one of the creature’s faces, a gaping maw of what seemed to have once been human, but was now little more than grey flesh, sunken cheeks, and milky eyes. Its head turned in the direction of the light and it raised its arms towards them, its hands groping the air.
“I think that’s the crew,” answered Kirk, firing his phaser at the nearest stalker. The beam hit the figure in the chest, but the body didn’t so much as stumble back. It just kept coming, a foul brown liquid trickling from the hole in its chest. Kirk stood, dumbfounded for a moment, before wheeling around and giving the order. “Back to the Enterprise!”
Odell was already speeding down the hallway, eager to get back into the safety of the shuttle and leave this dungeon behind. He heard the captain yell at him to keep group, but Odell’s legs were moving on their own accord, instinct telling him to get away as fast as he could.
Suddenly, a hand shot out of the darkness, fingers clamping into his shoulder and throwing off his balance. Odell tripped and stumbled forward, hearing a crack as he fell to the floor. For one brief moment of terror he thought perhaps he had broken something in his fall as something in the darkness gripped him tightly. Panicking, he groped at the thing on his shoulder and yanked it off, scrambling to his feet. He looked down at the floor. An arm, severed just above the elbow lay at his feet, the bone brittle and the muscle brown. He took a step back as the bouncing lights of the others drew closer to catching up, when suddenly a grey face loomed in front of him, jaw slack and eyes sunken and lidless.
Odell screamed as the creature fell on him, its one remaining arm clawing at his suit, teeth gnashing against the glass of his visor. A blast from a phaser streaked by, cutting through the creature’s groping arm but doing nothing. Odell struggled and managed to push the creature off, but as he rolled to get to his feet, the creature’s grey hand tightened around his oxygen tube and pulled.
There was a pop and a hiss and Odell found himself suddenly gasping for air he knew would no longer come. A desperate kick at the creature which was pulling itself up to him again, and the neck split. The head rolled away, still snapping at air. Odell lay on the floor, dizzy and sick, his breath coming in short desperate gasps. He couldn’t breathe. He was going to die and never make it off this godforsaken wreck of a ship.
As his vision began to fade, he saw two more figures appear out of the darkness and loom above him. A feeling of relief washed over him as he imagined it was his captain, come to save him. But then there was a sharp pain in his leg as something tore through his suit and through his flesh. With his last breath he screamed as teeth tore into him.
Kirk couldn’t see Odell, only the things ripping and tearing at him. With a cry of rage, he delivered a swift kick to the nearest monster’s head, shattering bone. The other looked up and snarled, rising to its feat. It lunged at Kirk who twisted aside and darted forward. He called back to Spock and Chekov to move as he did. He wasn’t losing anyone else to these shuffling cannibals.
Spock rammed the creature aside with his shoulder as Chekov ran by, nearly falling as he saw Odell’s body spread-eagled on the floor. He was temporarily frozen, stunned at the sight of a dead body, until Spock grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along after him. The three men took off down the corridor, not daring to slow down even if their pursuers weren’t exactly fast. Every doorway was dangerous now, every side hallway a trap waiting to be sprung.
But the shuttle was just ahead. Chekov could see it now. And as he began to gradually calm down, his terror beginning to subside at the sight of sure safety, he began to become aware of a pain in his foot. He realized he was limping suddenly, and as his foot came down, something dug into his ankle and he yelped before he could help himself.
Spock stopped and turned, looking at Chekov and then looking down. Chekov saw the Vulcan’s eyes widen and, fearful, he followed his gaze. A head, one belonging to the cannibalistic crew was gnawing on his ankle. Chekov’s voice caught in his throat, but Spock was quick, tearing the head away and lobbing it away down the corridor behind him.
“What was it? What was it?” Kirk demanded as Spock helped Chekov into the shuttle. Chekov looked down at his ankle, but Kirk didn’t follow. He seemed caught up in his own adrenaline, head spinning over what had happened, and barking orders back to the Enterprise to prepare sickbay and get the damn ship as far away from the Hermes as possible. Even Spock looked perturbed. Chekov just felt ill.
Upon reaching the Enterprise, Kirk ordered Spock to report to the bridge and give the order to leave the system immediately. He was then to make his way to sickbay and have himself checked out… just in case. He would meanwhile help Chekov there himself and, he added, smiling mildly, “Face the brunt of Bones’ inevitable lecture.”
Chekov smiled weakly as the captain helped him to his feet. As his helmet came off, Chekov was relieved to feel cool air on his face. He realized he was sweating, but the others looked warm and winded too. His ankle, however, was burning, and glancing down he could see the torn material of his suit, stained with what could only be blood. It hurt, but he was made of stronger stuff, and Chekov clenched his jaw, determined not to make a sound in the presence of his captain.
McCoy was waiting for them in sickbay, stormy and agitated. He didn’t say a word as Kirk led Chekov to one of the beds, but he didn’t have to. The glare that followed the captain managed to express the entirety of the doctor’s displeasure at having once again gone recklessly into a danger zone. And this time he wasn’t the one returning to the ship with an injury.
“Did you at least find what you were looking for?” McCoy asked irritably, helping Chekov peel away his spacesuit.
“I found enough,” answered Kirk, sitting on a nearby bed and feeling just as miserable as McCoy looked. “Half the crew was long dead, the other half was… something.”
“It bit me,” said Chekov, watching as McCoy examined him, paying particular attention to his ankle. “It bit me and ate Odell!”
McCoy cocked an eyebrow at Kirk. “You arrived just in time for dinner?”
“Really funny,” snapped Kirk. “It was just weird. I think they were the crew but they didn’t look like… um…” He rubbed his head, trying to find the right words. “You know those old Earth movies? I’m talking really old ones where-”
McCoy laughed. Kirk and Chekov both stared. The man was actually laughing. “Zombies, Jim? Really? You believe you found a ship full of the animated dead? Dead bodies come back to life to devour the living? Real live zombies?” McCoy dissolved into peals of laughter.
Kirk did not look impressed.
“Are we going to go searching for vampires and werewolves next, Captain?” snickered McCoy, grinning smugly. “Shall I prepare the garlic for the next trip off ship?”
“You’re a real comedian, you know,” said Kirk, rising to his feet. He looked both irritated and sheepish. The idea had made sense in his head. Then again, a lot of things started off making sense but sometimes got a bit garbled as they came out. Still… the phasers had done nothing to their attackers, and that sort of thing made sense in films. “Just take care of the kid.”
“Oh he’s all right,” replied McCoy, patting Chekov on the head. “It’s only a small cut. He’ll be back and single-handedly running your ship in no time. As for you…” He grabbed Kirk by the wrist before he could retreat, sitting him back down on the bed. “I’m not done yet.”
* * *
Chekov was indeed back on his feet in no time at all, and began to even feel a little better. His ankle was still burning, but the sickness in the pit of his stomach had subsided, though he wasn’t sure if it was because McCoy had patched him up right or if he was just woozy and numb from the many “necessary” inoculations against various extraterrestrial diseases. Those vaccinations had hurt, but at least he hadn’t cried like the captain had.
McCoy was still ragging on Kirk and his zombie theory at every available opportunity, driving the man crazy and putting him in a very foul mood, made only the more fouler by the discovery that several crew members had taken to snickering behind his back about the whole incident. Only Spock remained silent on the matter, which didn’t surprise anyone.
It wasn’t until a week after the encounter with the Hermes that things began to go awry. Chekov awoke one morning to discover the fire in his ankle was back with a vengeance, as was the ill feeling in the pit of his stomach. Dizzy and lightheaded, he staggered through the ship, limping at the pain in his ankle and trying to find his way towards sickbay. Fortunately, he ran into Sulu, slumping into the helmsman’s chest and letting out a soft and miserable groan. Sulu staggered under the weight, startled at the sight of the young kid. Chekov’s usually bright eyes were dim and his skin pale and clammy. Sulu cringed, expecting Chekov to get sick all over him at any moment.
“Are you all right, Ensign?” The question was rhetorical, but it seemed like the polite thing to ask. Chekov made a weak and pitiable noise in response. “I see… let’s get you down to sickbay.”
Chekov could barely recognize sickbay, his vision little more than a blur of light and shadows. He felt himself passed from Sulu’s support to someone else, and then he was lying on a bed, with McCoy’s stern face swimming in and out of focus.
McCoy knew exactly what the problem must be and immediately checked the young boy’s ankle. But the cut – while curiously not healing – remained free of infection. Yet Chekov was clearly ill, and a full exam revealed a dangerous spike in his temperature. McCoy was at a loss. All of his symptoms pointed to infection, but the wound on Chekov’s ankle was clean. He decided on a blood test, though he didn’t know if it would yield anything of value.
Sulu was sent to inform the captain of the sudden turn of events, and Kirk came down to sickbay in time to be informed of the results of Chekov’s blood test.
“It is an infection,” confirmed McCoy, “but I don’t know how. The wound is perfectly clean so I don’t see how he could have caught anything!”
“Yeah, you pumped us full of enough medicine to be sure of that,” Kirk said dryly.
McCoy shot him a look clearly intending to shut him up. Kirk complied and McCoy continued. “I’ve isolated the pathogen but I can’t identify it. It’s something new, nothing I’ve ever encountered before, and I can’t find anything matching its characteristics in any of the books or records.”
“Have you asked Spock? I think he has a brain the size of a planet or something.”
“Are you saying that pointy-eared elf knows more about medicine than the ship’s chief medical officer?” McCoy’s cheeks were flushed in anger and embarrassment.
Kirk took a cautious step back, holding up his hands in apology. “Of course not. Just that Spock’s an alien and whatever infection Chekov has is alien so… he might have an idea about what it is?”
McCoy begrudgingly followed Kirk’s advice and brought Spock into the situation, but upon reviewing McCoy’s data, Spock affirmed he had no knowledge of any such bacterium or virus. And still Chekov’s condition worsened, his fever well beyond the lethal limits of the human body. Whatever was in him was killing him, and was doing a good job of making the process slow and painful.
McCoy did his best to make the boy comfortable and even made several attempts at a cure. But as the days dragged on, nothing seemed to improve Chekov’s condition who now suffered from cold sweats and uncontrollable shivering. At day five, he could no longer manage speech, and could barely make any noise at all. His breathing became more ragged and laboured, and McCoy was on constant watch for fear he might suddenly give up and crash. Chekov had frequent visitors from crew members though and while he was strictly against his sickbay turning into a place for social gathering, McCoy felt he could forgive himself for making an exception in this case.
As Chekov’s condition increasingly deteriorated, Kirk became a more frequent visitor until it seemed like he never left at all. The captain tried to remain expressionless, but McCoy knew him too well. Guilt was eating at him. He never should have taken Chekov aboard the Hermes. The kid was too young for that sort of thing and was better suited to remaining on board the Enterprise. Kirk had misjudged and made a mistake. And he was never supposed to make a mistake. Mistakes cost lives. It probably didn’t help that Chekov kept looking at him with those big round eyes.
McCoy sighed. With no one else around, he would have to give Kirk the pep talk the man so desperately needed. And he hated doing that sort of thing. He was not the ship’s psychiatrist, but somehow he had become the captain’s. McCoy put his hand on Kirk’s shoulder, wracking his brain for something to say. But he didn’t have to say anything at all. Kirk began talking on his own.
“It’s my fault this is happening,” he said suddenly. “Spock said it was a stupid idea to go aboard and he was right. And when the kid wanted to go I should have said no. Why can’t I ever say no? It’s my job to say no!”
“I’m doing everything I can, Jim.”
“Only none of it’s working. He isn’t getting better.” He shot McCoy an accusing glare. “You have a cure for everything, Bones, so why haven’t you used one on him yet?”
“I’m a doctor, not a magician,” McCoy snapped irritably. “I can’t just conjure one out of nowhere.”
“You have a cure for space fleas but can’t lower a fucking fever?”
“Well what do you want me to do? Wiggle my nose and magically will him better? Medicine doesn’t work that way, Jim!”
Kirk moved so sudden and unexpectedly, that McCoy was unable to react before the fist connected with his jaw. He stumbled back, stunned, and had barely recovered before Kirk swung again. McCoy caught the punch this time and returned it with his own, sending the captain reeling backwards. There was a brief moment of pause as McCoy waited for Kirk to get a hold of himself, but something inside the man had snapped and he was determined to take it out on the doctor.
They fell to the floor, Kirk raging and McCoy determined to beat some sense into the hot-headed captain. They rolled and tumbled across the floor, Kirk hitting whatever he could get his fists at while McCoy shouted every curse he could think of and returned each punch with his own.
Security officers had to pull them apart, Kirk snorting and wheezing like a winded bull, his lip split and his nose bleeding. McCoy wiped his own bleeding lip, and glared at Kirk but said nothing. Kirk continued to struggle until he noticed Chekov’s gaze on him. The tired blue eyes bore into his own and Kirk gave up, allowing the officers to remove him from the room.
Chekov’s fight ended not long after the doctor and the captain’s. McCoy had removed himself from his office and was sitting near Chekov’s bed, hunched over his work. Nurses hovered in the background, pretending to be busy, but whispering to each other about the room’s only patient. McCoy was trying very hard to focus on his own work, but was brought back around by a sudden sound from Chekov. It was faint and more like a gurgle, but McCoy looked up to find the young boy looking back at him. His eyes were filled with a brightness McCoy hadn’t seen in days, and with a great effort, his hand came up, groping at air.
McCoy moved closer to the patient, wishing he could force himself to believe that this was a good sign. Chekov’s face was sunken and grey, and the doctor knew all too well what was coming. Leonard McCoy was not known for his bedside manner, but he took the boy’s hand, feeling boney fingers weakly wrap around his own. His hand was cold.
“You’re all right, kid,” he managed to mumble, forcing himself to look Chekov in the eyes. He could see the lights behind the kid’s blue eyes, and imagined they were flickering, on the verge of going out. This was always the hard part, and something he always thought the nurses were better suited for. But Chekov had locked onto him, and he couldn’t abandon him now.
With a great amount of effort, Chekov managed to rasp something to McCoy. Unfortunately, it was Russian and he didn’t understand a word of it, but he nodded all the same. This seemed to please the boy, who let out a soft sigh and seemed to relax. McCoy frowned; the lights were going out.
“Don’t do this, kid,” he hissed, casting about the room. Perhaps a shot of adrenaline would do the trick. But as he made to move, Chekov gave his hand a small squeeze. McCoy turned. As sick as he was, the boy looked all right, like he couldn’t feel anything anymore. McCoy returned to his position, resigned to do nothing. He was too far gone now.
One by one, the lights in Chekov’s eyes flickered out. McCoy watched, unable to do anything but give the boy an encouraging smile as, with one last shallow sigh, Chekov closed his eyes. His chest rose and fell a few more times before stopping altogether, and the nearby monitors whirled into alarm as the thin hand in McCoy’s let go.
* * *
Sulu found himself glancing at the empty seat to his right more times than was surely healthy. He kept expecting Chekov to come back, but that wasn’t going to happen now. The bridge suddenly seemed lonely without the boy, and Sulu came to realize how little he’d actually known about the boy he worked with. He should have kept to himself less and tried to be friendlier to Chekov. The boy was always yammering on excitedly to everyone else, always cheerful and eager to help anyone no matter what they were doing.
Sulu chanced a glance back at the captain’s chair and found him staring absently at the same vacant seat Sulu kept drawing back to himself. Kirk’s eyes were red and his face dishevelled. Some of it was clearly from McCoy, but it was obvious to everyone how awful the captain felt about Chekov’s fate. Neither he nor Spock had shown any symptoms or contained any trace of the mysterious virus that had slowly worked its way though the ensign.
Sulu sighed and turned back to his controls. At least the virus hadn’t seemed contagious.
The bridge was quiet. If anyone had to say anything, it was done so in hushed whispers. It seemed a good portion of the crew was in mourning.
“Sickbay to bridge.” The communication echoed loudly in the quiet room. The captain didn’t seem to heed to message. “Sickbay to bridge!” Sulu recognized McCoy’s voice. He sounded agitated, but then again when did the good doctor not sound agitated?
Kirk sighed and lazily leaned over to activate his end of the communicator. “This is the captain…”
“We have a situation, Captain,” McCoy said quickly. “You need to get down here. Now.”
There was a good deal of background noise mingling with McCoy’s voice, but the captain didn’t seem to care. “What is it, Bones?”
“It’s Chekov, sir.” Kirk snapped up to attention. Everyone else on the bridge froze.
“What do you mean?” demanded Kirk.
“I… I don’t know how to explain.” McCoy was speaking even faster now. “Just get down-” The message abruptly stopped. Kirk seemed to come alive only a moment later, leaping out of his chair and dashing towards the lift.
He could not get to sickbay fast enough, cursing as he sprinted through the decks, skidding to a halt and nearly falling through the sickbay doors. What he saw froze him in his tracks. The place was a mess, instruments thrown across the room in disarray. A nurse lay by one of the beds, and Kirk had to bring his hand up to his mouth to prevent himself from vomiting as he took in the whole sight. She was dead, her bowels having been pulled out and smeared across the floor. Kirk carefully stepped over the body, his boot sliding through the blood on the floor and sending him crashing. He swore and turned to get up, but froze as the lifeless face of a medical officer gaped back at him.
“Bones? Bones!” He slipped in the blood again before he managed to right himself, looking around for any sign of his friend. “BONES!”
“Jim…!” The voice was strained and coming from McCoy’s office.
“Bones, are you all right?” called Kirk, crossing the room as quickly as he could. “What happened here? Where’s…?” His voice trailed off as he crashed through the office door.
McCoy was on the floor in the corner, struggling against his attacker as the figure snapped and groped at the doctor. McCoy had the figure by the throat, trying to keep it from sinking its teeth into his flesh as grey fingers clawed at his arms. Kirk gaped as he realized the man attacking McCoy was none other than Pavel Chekov.
“I thought you said he was dead!” cried Kirk. “Ensign Chekov, unhand Doctor McCoy!”
“He is dead, Jim!” growled McCoy.
“He doesn’t look dead to me!” With a great effort, Kirk shoved aside McCoy’s desk and seized Chekov by the shoulder. As Kirk pulled, McCoy let go of the young boy’s throat who turned to face the captain.
Kirk let go of Chekov like he’d just been burned and stumbled backwards. Chekov’s lifeless eyes were fixed on Kirk, his jaw slack and mouth agape. As he reached for Kirk, jaw snapping hungrily, the captain noticed his front was smeared with red and a foul brown liquid that was dribbling down his chin.
Chekov shuffled forward as Kirk backed away, letting loose a loud and anguished moan. It was echoed by others back in the main room, and Kirk turned to see the medical officer slowly rising to his feet and the gutted nurse dragging herself across the floor.
McCoy came to the rescue, swinging one of his large textbooks at Chekov. The heavy book collided with the boy and sent him pitching forward. Kirk ducked and Chekov tumbled over him and through the door. He then activated the door panel and watched the door close, sealing him and McCoy safely inside the office.
McCoy’s breath was haggard and pained as he sank to the floor and tossed the book aside, nursing his arm. Chekov and the others were pounding on the door. Kirk turned away from it to address McCoy.
“What…the…hell?!” he shouted.
“I… I don’t know!” panted McCoy. “I was in here and then suddenly one of the nurses screamed! I run out and there’s the kid, alert as can be and… and… and fucking insane!”
“He’s behaving like one of those things on the Hermes,” said Kirk, watching the door. “You said he just got right back up?”
“But he’s still medically dead. He didn’t have a pulse or anything and yet there he is, up and walking and… and eating my staff!”
Kirk frowned, listening to the dull banging on the other side of the door. He could hear several fists pounding one after the other. Three sets. Then two. Then just the single solitary thumping that reminded Kirk eerily of the pounding from the Hermes’ lift.
Bom… bom… bom…
“Sickbay’s doors were open,” Kirk said suddenly. “Bones, we’re on the wrong side of this door.”
“The comm on my desk might still work,” rasped McCoy.
Kirk examined the communicator. He was relieved when it crackled to life. He cleared his throat, focusing on keeping his voice calm and level. “This is your captain speaking. I am ordering a mandatory quarantine of Medical and all surrounding levels. I repeat, Medical and all immediate areas are under mandatory quarantine.”
“You think that will work?” asked McCoy when Kirk had finished his announcement.
“I don’t know. But what do you want me to do? Order an evacuation? Abandon ship?”
“It would have done wonders for the crew of the Hermes,” said McCoy, resting his head against the wall. “Jim?” Kirk turned. “I know zombies are a fucking crazy idea… But that wound on Chekov’s ankle was a bite. And he was very dead right before he got up and started craving human flesh!”
“That pathogen you found in his blood…” Kirk said slowly, crouching by McCoy. “It could have come from the ship.” He frowned, thinking. “But Spock and I weren’t infected. It’s not airborne then.”
McCoy shook his head. “No. But the nurse… My theory is it’s passed through direct contact with infected blood. Like a bite…” McCoy dropped his hand to his side. The cloth was torn and bloody. Kirk looked from the wound to McCoy.
“Oh Bones… no…”
McCoy smiled grimly. “Bastard’s faster than he looks…”
“How do you feel?” asked Kirk, searching around for something to wrap McCoy’s arm in.
“Nevermind me… There are blood thirsty cretins running amok on your ship.” McCoy nodded at the door. “What are you going to do, Captain?”
Kirk cast about the room, his eyes resting on McCoy’s overturned chair. Picking up one of the discarded textbooks he brought it down on the chair. A few more blows and one of the legs came free. He picked up the metal cylinder and weighed it in his hands.
“There’s a problem on my ship and I’m going to fix it.” He gave the chair leg a few practice swings and nodded at McCoy. “I want you to open that door. There’s only three of them. We’ll get out of here just fine.”
“I think it might be better if I stayed here…”
“No. We’ll deal with your arm later. I’m not going to leave you here to have your entrails ripped out like that poor nurse.” He gripped the chair leg and readied himself. “The door, Bones.”
McCoy got to his feet and steadied himself by the door. At Kirk’s nod, he punched in the door code, and with a small hiss it slid open. Kirk brought his arm back to swing the chair leg, but paused when he realized no one was standing on the other side.
“The floor!” Kirk looked down. The crippled nurse had been the one scratching at the door, her lips curled back in a snarl. With one swift motion, Kirk brought the rod down on her head. There was a crack, but the nurse continued to move forward. Kirk brought the rod down again, breaking through the skull this time. The nurse fell forward, face down and ceased to move.
Sickbay was empty, but Kirk could see a trail of bloody footprints leading out into the ship’s corridor. With a wave of his hand, he motioned for McCoy to follow him.
* * *
“Sir, they're not responding.”
Uhura had been trying for several minutes to get a response out of sickbay, but there was only silence. She looked over at Spock, who was deep in thought. The message from sickbay had been strange and Kirk had just left without a word to anyone. Then there was the sudden quarantine of Medical and the surrounding areas. The bridge had had no contact from the captain since.
“Commander Spock?” One of the communications officers addressed the Vulcan, glancing wearily back at his station. “I'm receiving a very strange message from Mess.”
“What is it, Lieutenant?”
Spock looked only mildly interested and the officer wasn't quite sure what to say. “Well... they're saying... They're saying they're under attack.”
“Commander, I'm receiving a similar message from Engineering,” added another officer.
Spock strode swiftly over to the communications panels, and patched himself through to the lower bowels of the ship. “Bridge to Engineering, this is Commander Spock. Officer Scott, are you there?”
“Aye,” came the reply, a little flustered and shaky.
“We've received reports you are faced with hostiles?”
“Well that's one way to put it! Look, sir, I don't know what they are – okay, I do because they usually work with me, but it's different now, and where the hell is the captain?”
“I do not understand,” said Spock. “We have had no contact with any outside-”
“This isn't outside, Commander, it's the bloody crew! They've gone mad and are – shit!” The signal went silent. Spock tried to hail the engineering officer again, but the signal was decidedly dead. Something was going on all across the ship, but the bridge was being left in the dark.
* * *
Kirk could find no sign of Chekov. The two pairs of prints had split apart and he wasn't sure which one belonged to the ensign. It was no use anyway, as he and McCoy slowly made their way through the ship more tracks could be found. The virus was spreading, and more crew members were slinking off, dead but hungry.
The outbreak was moving swiftly through the Enterprise. Her corridors and rooms were full of the screams and shouts of people trying to fend off or pleading with fellow crewmembers who had been quite normal only just earlier. And not everyone who was taken down managed to get back up. Upon passing by the mess area, Kirk could ascertain that there were maybe half a dozen infected monsters, and the rest of the occupants were little more than picked over food.
McCoy swore as he took in the sight, places overturned and human remains smeared across the floor. At the sound, one of the infected lifted her head, a string of flesh hanging out of her mouth. Upon seeing the two men, she rose to her feet and let out a moan. It echoed around the empty chamber and was answered by others. Kirk looked around. They were coming from all directions, slow and awkward but unrelenting. They would have to run, but as he looked at McCoy, Kirk realized the doctor was barely hanging in as it was.
It was too dangerous to push through the corridor. They'd end up cornered, or something might lash out at them from a room they passed. Kirk remembered well what had happened to Odell back on the Hermes. But the mess hall had two entrances, and offered an open space for a better chance of avoiding their attackers. He held McCoy close who managed a hacking cough in response, and darted into the mess hall, the metal chair leg held tightly in his hand.
Kirk set his sights on the far end of the room, dashing by tables as infected crew slowly ambled towards him. Watching them stumble and shuffle after him, Kirk had to wonder how things had gotten so bad to begin with. One open wound was all it took to infect, but they were so slow! How had the virus spread itself so quickly?
But while his mind tried to work its way around the how and why of everything going wrong, Kirk failed to see the creature on the floor, slinking out from beneath one of the tables. It reached for his leg, tripping him up and sending him and McCoy to the floor. McCoy rolled away, groaning and cursing.
The creature, clearly once a security officer, pulled itself towards Kirk, its teeth getting dangerously close to the captain. Kirk kicked hard, scrambling across the floor. The officer tore at the captain's leg but came loose, and Kirk managed to flip himself onto his back. The officer attacked again, and Kirk delivered a sound kick to the head. He could hear the creature's jaw crack, but it didn't stop, clawing at the captain's uniform as he crawled forward.
Feeling the chair leg still clutched in his hand, Kirk swung his arm, burying the rod into the officer's neck. The officer spit a sick brown liquid onto the captain, but didn't appear to so much as flinch, tongue lolling loosely in its broken maw.
A shadow suddenly fell across Kirk and the officer. He looked up to see McCoy, out of breath but his face determined. In his good hand he held a phaser. He must have picked it off of one of the bodies in the room. Kirk barely had time to duck as McCoy fired, the phaser searing through the security officer's left eye. The officer froze, suspended above Kirk for a brief moment before he collapsed, jaw still agape but moving no more.
Kirk lay back against the floor, taking the time to thank his damn lucky stars before rolling the officer's body off. There wasn't time to rest, however, as Kirk could hear the shuffling footsteps of other infected closing in. McCoy looked around dimly as Kirk got to his feet. They were coming in from the other door now too. This had been a very bad idea.
Kirk half dragged McCoy towards the kitchens, praying there weren't any reanimated kitchen staff waiting. What staff did litter the floor didn't show signs of waking up yet, but Kirk didn't want to wait around and see how long it would take. He pulled McCoy out a side door, across another corridor and into a dark room. Activating the lights he saw that it was mercifully empty and closed the door securely behind them.
McCoy looked around, slouching into a nearby chair. “Your great escape was to the bar?”
“I don't know about you, but a stiff drink would be amazing right about now,” panted Kirk, leaning against the door. McCoy didn't argue, so Kirk pulled him to his feet and dragged him behind the bar where they both sunk to the floor, gazing at the bottles of liquor around them.
“That was a good shot,” continued the captain, uncapping the nearest bottle and giving it a sniff. “He actually went down.”
“It's the brain,” McCoy said breathlessly.
“That only happens in movies, Bones.”
McCoy shook his head, coughing before continuing. “Just listen for a damn moment. The virus spreads through the blood stream, killing the host. So then how does the body reanimate?” He tapped his head emphatically. “The brain, Jim. It controls everything. If the virus is in the brain then it uses the body like a puppet. Nothing else is important just that giant database inside the head.”
Kirk screwed up his face, mulling over McCoy’s theory. “But if nothing else is working, how does the brain keep going? Doesn’t it need oxygen?”
“The virus could somehow tap into the electrical pulses inside the organ.” McCoy reached over and grabbed the bottle out of Kirk's hands. “That last officer makes two that went down when you injured their heads.”
“Can't argue with results,” sighed Kirk. He glanced over at McCoy, looking over the man's arm. The wound had stopped bleeding, but McCoy was pale and sweaty. “How are you feeling?”
McCoy didn't say a word, tipping back the bottle and sighing contentedly. They sat silently for a while, Kirk listening to the sounds of infected crew trying to pound their way through the door, and McCoy's unsteady breathing. He closed his eyes, trying not to think about what was happening to the man next to him, what was happening to the rest of the ship... what had happened to Chekov. They'd unknowingly brought a plague back from the Hermes and had turned the Enterprise into a death trap. He wondered how many of his crew were lost. Perhaps all of them now, at the rate this thing had spread. There had been no word from the bridge. The ship seemed effectively dead, and here he was, her captain, locked in a room and hiding behind a bar. Some voyage this had turned out to be.
They sat for hours, unmoving, McCoy drifting in and out of consciousness. Kirk knew it was coming but refused to acknowledge any notion of McCoy not making it. He was his friend, and maybe the only person he knew left alive aboard the ship. But when the doctor suddenly spoke, it didn't sound promising.
“I don't feel so hot, Jim.” His voice was soft and distant.
“Shut up, Bones, we're both going to make it.”
“Jim-” McCoy interrupted himself by turning and hunching over. Kirk could hear him heaving and turned in time to see the man wretch, spilling foul sick all over the floor. Kirk reached over and helped him sit back up, patting the man's arm reassuringly. But McCoy looked like hell and he was shaking. “It's not safe, you know... sitting in here with me...”
“I'm refusing to think about that,” answered Kirk. He knew the risk, and yes, it was a really stupid thing to do. But McCoy was his friend and he couldn't bring himself to simply leave the man... or do him in himself.
So when McCoy pressed the phaser into Kirk's hand, the captain very nearly panicked. He shook his head emphatically and told McCoy he was ten different kinds of crazy to even begin to think of such a thing.
“That Russian bastard bit me,” growled McCoy. “And I really don't want to end up staggering around like all those jackasses on the other side of that door.” He took a deep breath. “It's better this way...”
Kirk knew he was right. It was better this way, wasn't it? But Kirk trembled as he wrapped his fingers around the phaser. McCoy’s eyes were pleading, boring into him in a way Kirk had never seen before. His friend had often begged him not to do anything stupid, but there was always that hint in his voice that he was already resigned to letting the captain have his own way. Not this time. But Kirk couldn’t do it – wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill a man like this; especially not someone he considered his best friend. But even more, he couldn't face the idea of being left entirely alone.
* * *
Spock was trying to establish a connection with Starfleet when the first zombie found its way onto the bridge. As the door slid open, everyone turned, expecting and hoping to see the captain. But what they saw was a grey ghoul, limping out of the lift. It had a large hole in its side, and amidst a mess of cracked bone and brown matter, the fleshy pink of a deflated lung could be seen. Nobody moved, too stunned and confused at the thing now on the bridge, until it seized the nearest officer and sunk its teeth into their flesh.
At that moment, the bridge dissolved into chaos as officers abandoned their stations and made for the exit, Spock trying to retain order by shouting over the bedlam. Sulu meanwhile pushed his way across the bridge and over to the ghoul, knocking it off the poor officer. There was a clunk and a crack as the creature’s head smashed into a panel of instruments and went still. He looked from the creature, to the poor dead officer, and then back at Spock.
“Commander?”
“Communication with the rest of the ship is dead,” said Uhura, eyeing the two bodies suspiciously. “If those things are all over the ship…”
Spock nodded. “We have no other option than to assume the worst. The ship must be evacuated.”
But there was still the question of the captain’s whereabouts. It seemed unlikely that he was still alive, but then again Kirk seemed to be defying the odds since the day he was born. It would be risky and foolish to search the entire ship, however, and Spock was torn between the logical thing to do and his reluctant affection towards the captain.
Fortunately for Spock, he didn’t have to struggle with the decision for long. Sulu announced he’d slip down to sickbay and see if he could discover the captain. It was dangerous and probably stupid, but at the thought of abandoning the captain his mind wandered back to his first adventure above Vulcan and how Kirk, who owed him nothing and probably didn’t even know his name at that point, had recklessly jumped after him when he fell from the Romulan drill. Sulu was determined to return the favour.
Spock informed Sulu he would give him one hour. If he hadn’t shown up in that time, they would assume the worst and leave without him. Sulu nodded; an hour was plenty. But, he thought, as he left the lift on the level housing his quarters, he’d need to make a little side trek for his baby.
The hallways of the Enterprise stank of blood and death. He could hear shouts and growls from the surrounding quarters, and while he wondered if anyone was still truly alive around him, he didn’t dare stop to find out. Dashing into his quarters, he ran his eyes over his trophy wall. He’d decorated it with various swords - prized rapiers and even an elegant katana. He considered them all for a moment before selecting the katana. It would be good for a serious offense, and allow him to keep moving.
As Sulu left his quarters, he came face to face with a gurgling science officer. Sulu kicked him back and dashed down the hall. But he found his path blocked by several more ghouls who, raising their arms moaned longingly. His jaw set, the helmsman charged, cutting the creatures down in a flash of steel. As they fell, he turned back to survey his work, and was unpleasantly startled to discover the creatures were still moving. Whether or not they could still stand made little difference as those that couldn’t dragged themselves across the floor.
Sulu didn’t understand. They should be dead or dying, but they weren’t even bleeding. Flesh was hanging limply, and one of the creatures had even lost a good portion of its bowels which now tangled around its feet, but they were still snapping and moaning, continuing to close in on him.
He brought his sword down again on the nearest creature, impaling it through the temple. The impact was jarring and pain shot up Sulu’s arm, but the creature suddenly lay still, black filth oozing from the wound. Then it hit him. Of course; it was the head. These crazy ravenous monsters were like something out of a nightmare or really bad film, so he may as well use really bad film tactics against them.
Sulu quickly learned that if he could aim for the neck and sever the head, he could get by easily enough, as long as he was careful to avoid the heads snapping at his ankles. The things were mercifully slow as well, and as long as he kept moving, he seemed to think he’d be all right. The infected were spread out sporadically as well, stumbling through hallways and rooms in search of someone to eat. As he made his way through the levels of the Enterprise, Sulu would meet groups of two or three, but never any more. That is, until he ran into the mob outside the mess hall.
There must have been dozens, moaning and scrambling over each other as they tried to knock down a door tucked away in the corner of the room. Sulu stood in the doorway, watching. None of the creatures seemed to notice him. They were too busy scrabbling towards a door at the far end that Sulu knew led into the ship’s canteen. Those closest to the door were moaning loudly, scratching and banging at it. He didn’t know why he didn’t just leave, slink away and continue on towards medical. But something in his gut told him there was something behind that door, someone who might still be alive. And Hikaru Sulu wasn’t about to run away.
“Hey, uglies!” he called, standing in the doorway. There were too many to take on all at once, but maybe if he could kite them through the door one by one he could take them out. A few of the creatures nearest him turned their heads, fixing him with their lifeless milky gazes. Mouths open they limped towards him. Sulu stood his ground, bracing himself as more and more turned away from the kitchen and the cantina door to go after what looked like easier prey.
One slice of the sword and a head rolled away. Then another, and another. Sulu moved methodically – remove the head and kick it away, remove the head and kick it away. As the bodies began to pile up at his feet, he chanced a step inside the room, shifting from defensive to aggressive as he began to move towards the depleting number of infected crew.
He moved swiftly, climbing over tables and sending heads rolling as the hungry crew stumbled and groped for him. Eventually, there were no longer any standing and while the crawling ones could take you by surprise if you weren’t careful, Sulu kept his feet beyond their teeth as he kicked and stabbed.
Leaping across tables, he landed by the canteen door, pausing to catch his breath. Nothing in the room appeared to be moving so, satisfied, he turned to the door and after typing a code into the panel, watched it slide open.
The canteen was silent and appeared empty. He was ready for them, but could see no ghouls. He took a cautious step forward, unsure if he should call out or not. He didn’t know what might answer him. But then he saw the dark liquid oozing across the floor and around the edge of the bar.
Sulu stepped forward, careful not to slip in the mess as he peered behind the bar. He froze, eyes widening as he saw the captain, slumped over the body of the ship’s chief medical officer. McCoy’s eyes were open and blank, and Sulu could see the hole in his temple, perfectly round and carved out by a phaser blast. Blood was still dripping from the wound. The phaser lay forgotten by Kirk, who was perfectly still, his fingers curled into the medical officer’s shirt.
“Captain…?” Sulu feared the man was dead, but Kirk made a small strangled sound when Sulu spoke. He took a step closer to the man.
Kirk slowly lifted his head, looking up at the helmsman. His eyes were puffy and he blinked blearily. Even though he was looking right at him, Sulu didn’t think the captain was really seeing him. So he tried again, his voice as soft and gentle as he could muster.
“What happened here…? Are you hurt?”
“He got Bones…” the captain croaked. Sulu looked at the lifeless officer. He didn’t understand. “He bit him and… and if they bite it’s…”
“Come on, I’m getting you out of here, sir,” interrupted Sulu, pulling the captain to his feet. The man resisted, protesting and muttering McCoy’s name. Sulu wished he had one of the late doctor’s hyposprays on him as he dragged the protesting captain out of the cantina and through the halls. They had to get down to engineering and the shuttle before Spock took off.
The trek through the ship was long and arduous with Kirk’s dead weight on Sulu. He tried to shake the captain back to his senses a few times, but Kirk was largely unresponsive, muttering to himself about McCoy, and Chekov, and the Hermes. Movement was slow, and Sulu didn’t like being an easier target for the creatures. But as they neared engineering, a moan from up ahead seemed to rattle Kirk back to his senses. His head shot up, eyes sharp and gleaming, and moved away from Sulu’s support.
It was Chekov. The ensign had been crouched over a body Sulu recognized as Officer Scott, but upon noticing the two men, he tuned his attention away from the ravaged carcass. Sulu could almost see the gears turning inside the captain’s head as he looked from the young boy to the mangled and broken body. He was going to do something; Sulu could see it written all over his face. But before he could stop him, Kirk ran forward and with a cry of rage slammed into Chekov.
The two bodies went tumbling to the floor in a mess of snarls, fists, and teeth. The captain punched and tore at the ensign who didn’t appear the least bit phased as he craned his neck to try and sink his teeth into Kirk. Sulu was rooted to the spot, baffled at what he was seeing before him. Kirk seemed completely mad and Chekov… well… he didn’t really look like the kid anymore. Kirk’s punches were solid, but they left no marks, and Chekov barely seemed to feel them, squirming and snapping relentlessly.
And more creatures were coming, staggering out of engineering. It was no use calling to the captain; he seemed blind with a desperation and rage all focused on the ensign creature. Sulu would have to act before they became surrounded. Dodging by the wrestling pair, he met the engineering ghouls with a whirl of flesh and blade. Heads rolled and bodies fell as the senseless creatures continued to press forward. Sulu began to wonder if Spock and Uhura had made it this far. The odds didn’t seem likely.
A cry, startled and pained, snapped Sulu to attention. There was a moment of brief panic as he wondered if the sound had come from him. But the creatures had been held off and he was unharmed. That meant…
Sulu turned. Chekov had somehow managed to get on top of Kirk and had inadvertently pinned him on Officer Scott’s body. A broken piece of the rib cage, snapped apart for the Chekov monster to scoop out the inside of the chest had imbedded itself in Kirk’s shoulder when he fell. Skewered like a piece of meat, he brought his good arm up to try and hold the ghoul back. But the hungry Chekov had the clear advantage.
Sulu could barely comprehend what was happening. It was the kid he sat next to, the one he had never bothered to properly get to know, who was all smiles and cheerfulness to everyone around him and had – he thought – died. And yet, he wasn’t the Enterprise’s collective child anymore. He was something else; something that didn’t feel, that didn’t think, something that only wanted to eat whatever living thing it could get its hands on, grabbing the captain with its thin bloody hands, staring down at him with milky lifeless eyes…
Sulu was moving before he realized what he was doing. As Chekov lurched forward to bite, Sulu’s blade cut swiftly through the air, deftly removing the late ensign’s head. It tumbled to the floor as the body sank forward onto the captain and, refusing to look the lifeless face in the eyes, Sulu stabbed. The jaw went slack and neither part of the creature moved any further.
Kirk’s breathing was pained and shallow, coming in quick wheezy gasps. Trying to catch his own breath and refusing to think about what he had just done, Sulu rolled the lifeless body off the captain. In spite of everything, the captain managed a smile.
“That was one hell of a move.” He grimaced. “Now, how about helping me up?”
Kirk braced himself as Sulu took hold of his shoulder and pulled upwards. Kirk clenched his jaw as his shoulder exploded in pain, a sharp stabbing running down his back and turning his legs to jelly. Sulu winced at the expression on the captain’s face as he sat him upwards and pressed his hand to the wound on Kirk’s back.
“I don’t suppose you’re good at stitching people up?” asked Kirk with a grimace.
Sulu brought his hand away to look at the captain’s wound. “I’m sure we can figure out some first aid on the shuttle.”
Kirk turned his head sharply. “Shuttle?”
Sulu nodded. “Commander Spock and Lieutenant Uhura are waiting. Come on.”
Kirk looked utterly amazed as Sulu helped him to his feet, slinging his arm around his neck for support. Locked away in the canteen he thought he was the only person left alive on the ship, but Sulu had saved him. And now there was Spock and Uhura too. Kirk’s grin was wide as he and Sulu limped and ducked their way through the maze of engineering and down to the shuttles. Undead crew were everywhere and Kirk was little help in fending them off. Every time Sulu would turn and flash his sword, Kirk would be greeted by a fresh jolt of pain in his shoulder. But eventually he could see the end of their trip – the shuttle loomed, the doorway and catwalk open and inviting. In the entrance stood Uhura, phaser in hand and eyes alert. She gave a shout when she saw them, and Kirk raised his hand in a casual wave.
“You look like hell,” she observed. Kirk managed a snort in response as Sulu helped him on board.
Spock was waiting by the controls, and Kirk couldn’t help but notice that the first officer wore the slightest hint of relief – or whatever the Vulcan equivalent was. “It is pleasing to see you have not succumbed as the rest of the crew, Captain. This is a most favourable turn of events.”
“Yeah, it’s good to see you too, Spock,” replied Kirk, sinking into a seat as Sulu moved to take the controls.
“I am afraid that I still do not understand, however,” continued Spock, his eyes wandering over the captain’s bleeding shoulder. “The strange madness that came over the crew… Did it originate in medical? And how…?”
Kirk’s eyes fell, staring at the floor. “I’ll explain as much as I can… but only after we’ve put a good distance between us and the Enterprise.” There was a pause, and he suddenly looked up and around at the shuttle’s other three occupants. “All of you are all right? No one bit you, did they?”
The other three exchanged looks but affirmed that they were unharmed. Kirk sighed, relieved.
No one spoke as the shuttle departed the dying Enterprise. Kirk chanced a look out the window but quickly turned away. The site of the ship – his ship – falling behind them in the blackness was too much. He thought of McCoy left lying on the floor in the canteen, and of Chekov who had somehow been the source of everything. Now the ship would become a second version of the Hermes, with people he had once known and commanded wandering around her decks forever. The thought filled him with a sickening chill.
There was some solace in the fact that the four of them had escaped. If only there had been more of them. He frowned, staring across into emptiness. He imagined he could see the doctor and the kid sitting across from him. McCoy was glowering at him, probably cooking up a biting lecture about his shoulder. Chekov was smiling, just like he always seemed to be doing. Guilt began to tug at the captain again. This had all been his fault. If he’d had better judgment…
The twin visions exchanged looks. McCoy seemed to mutter something, and Chekov, still smiling that innocent smile, shook his head.
That’s when Kirk realized he was suddenly very hot. And a sickening feeling was beginning to twist around in the pit of his stomach…
THE END
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: PG-13 due to violence and language
Length: 11,008 words (plus three illustrations)
Summary: After an excursion aboard a ruined Federation vessel, the crew discovers they've returned with a little hitchhiker.
Notes: This is what happens when your friends suck you into a new fandom right after you've finished reading a bunch of books featuring zombies. But if Pride and Prejudice can have zombies, then Star Trek can too! THANK YOU, STARTREK_CRACK FOR EXISTING!
The distress signal had been received at 0700. An hour later, the crew of the Enterprise was assembled on the bridge, watching the source of the distress call float aimlessly across the void. The ship appeared to be an old Federation model – one of the earliest assembled on Earth, and would have been considered something of an outdated antique by modern standards. For something that old to have been drifting for so long, it was unlikely any members of the ship’s crew were still alive. Whatever had caused their distress signal had probably killed them all long ago. Yet the exterior of the ship was curiously devoid of any damage or trauma, and Kirk couldn’t help but feel curious. He wanted to know what had gone on to maroon such a ship, and besides it was still Federation no matter how old it was, and therefore they had a duty to investigate.
Spock objected to the venture, of course. To waist time on exploring a ship so ancient as to make the probability of finding any survivors so minute was highly illogical. But Kirk was more interested in the how and why of the ship’s state, and the fate of its crew. The vessel was ripe for adventure, and Kirk quickly selected his boarding team, consisting of himself, Spock, and a young ensign named Odell.
Odell was young and nervous, and nearly fainted when the captain called his name. To him, the image outside the ship was threatening and forbidding. The fact that the old ship looked perfectly fine only increased the amount of terror he felt. It wasn’t so much that Odell doubted himself, or even doubted his captain. James Kirk was a fine captain of an even finer crew, but his reckless sense of adventure and occasional lapses of judgment meant the Enterprise and her crew often found themselves in life threatening situations and the entire crew didn’t always make it out alive.
As such, Odell was greatly relieved when the young navigator suddenly stood up from his position and addressed the captain.
“Captain, with your permission I would like to volunteer for the envoy.” He spoke slowly and carefully, trying to make his English as clear as possible. The captain often had trouble understanding the navigator’s heavy Russian accent, primarily because Kirk just didn’t bother trying all that much.
“Ensign Chekov,” began Kirk, but Chekov interrupted before he could be turned down.
“Please, Captain! I wish to help. I know I am young, but if you’d just let me prove-”
Kirk held up his hand and Chekov, defeated, fell silent. But Kirk was smiling as Spock shook his head. “Very well. Myself, Spock, Odell, and Chekov will go aboard. Suit up, people!” Odell silently cursed his poor luck.
The four crew members boarded one of the Enterprise’s shuttles and took off for the abandoned ship. Odell could make out the ship’s faint registration number and name. Her name had been the Hermes, and Odell couldn’t help but shiver as her bulk loomed closer and closer.
He glanced around at his crewmates. Spock looked silent and stoic as he always did. The captain’s eyes were dark and intense, staring straight ahead at the ruined vessel. Chekov looked positively delighted, his eyes bright and shining with the anticipation of adventure and discovery. It made Odell want to be sick.
With a shudder and a groan, the Enterprise’s shuttle made contact with the Hermes. Odell found himself shrouded in darkness as the lights of the Enterprise disappeared, shielded from the shuttle by the gaping dark of the Hermes. Kirk jumped up, quickly making for the shuttle door. But before he could open the door and step out into the unknown, Spock pulled him back, carefully checking that the captain’s suit was in proper order. The life support systems of the Hermes were most likely offline; a lack of oxygen adding yet more danger to the task at hand.
The shuttle door opened and Kirk cautiously made his way down the causeway. The Hermes was dark and silent, and Odell knew something was terribly wrong. What it was he couldn’t put his finger on, but it was bad.
Their progression was slow and silent, and mercifully uneventful. Spock had his tricorder out, muttering to the captain every once in a while. Kirk didn’t seem to notice or care about what his first officer was telling him; Odell could see a clear look of determination on the lighted face of the captain. But so far, the ship did seem quite abandoned.
Odell was startled suddenly by a cry from Chekov that nearly sent the private jumping right out of his space suit. Everyone turned quickly, shining lights on the young ensign. Odell sighed in relief as he saw the young boy had simply stumbled as the wall he’d been feeling his way along gave way to an open doorway. But a moment later, all the colour drained from Odell’s face as he saw what lay in the room before them.
Bones. Bunches of bones, scattered around the corners of the room. Odell stood frozen as Kirk and Spock moved past Chekov into the room. Kirk cast a light about the place, illuminating the grizzly sight while Spock bent down and picked up what looked like a femur… a human femur.
“There are several small markings along the bone, Captain,” he said, turning it over in his hands.
“From a blade?” asked Kirk.
Spock shook his head. “No, Captain. They appear to have been made by teeth.”
“An animal, perhaps?” suggested Chekov.
“Negative. These appear to have been made by a person.”
Odell nearly threw up. Someone had chewed on that bone. Someone had most likely chewed on all of those bones, meaning someone had eaten the crew. “This is bad, Captain…”
At Odell’s voice, Kirk turned away from the bones and nodded. “It looks that way. But this is only part of the crew… part of the story. There must have been more on board.”
Odell wanted to protest, but he knew there was no deterring James Kirk when the man was on a mission. Terrified, he resigned himself into step beside Chekov, trying hard not to visibly tremble when the young kid looked so bright and excited.
The group pressed on into the darkness. As they progressed, the remains of crew members began to appear more frequently. Odell noticed that several skulls had been crushed or damaged in some way, and they were even beginning to see dirty smears along the walls and floor at various points. It was so old they couldn’t identify the filth, but as much as Odell wanted to believe it was mud, the bodies around him said otherwise.
Kirk suggested they make for the ship’s bridge. They’d find the captain’s log there which would give them all the answers they needed to piece together what had happened on board the Hermes. Odell’s heart began to beat louder as they moved through the halls, each dark room a new graveyard of murdered men. He tried to calm himself down but it was no use, and when the other three stopped short of the ship’s lift, he was sure they could hear his heart pounding too.
But it wasn’t his heart that had alerted their group. Something else was pounding, a distinct thumping coming from just ahead.
Bom… bom… bom…
“It appears to be coming from the lift, Captain,” Spock said softly. He and Kirk exchanged a glance and Spock approached the lift. Odell took a step back, and Chekov looked at the captain uncertainly. Kirk held out his arm to shield the young ensign and pulled out his phaser. Odell watched, his body tense, as Spock looked at Kirk. His phaser held tightly, he nodded at the Vulcan who tried the lift activation panel.
Nothing happened. Odell let out a sigh of relief.
Bom… bom… bom…
Something was still banging away at the other side of the lift door. It was incessant and almost rhythmic, pounding again… and again… and again…
With a sudden burst of light, Kirk fired the phaser, blasting a hole through the lift door. Sparks flew and the banging stopped. Odell swore his heart did too, as the four men peered through the gap in the door. Odell could see nothing. Neither could the other three. But then they heard it, echoing though the ship’s stagnant atmosphere. A moan, long, tired, and pained emanating from inside the lift. It made Odell shiver; the moan was horrible and inhuman and seemed so loud in the silent and dead ship.
As the moan trailed off, a hand suddenly shot through the hole Kirk had blasted in the door. It was boney and grey, and Kirk swore as he jumped back from it. It grasped desperately at the bare air as a second groan erupted from the lift, identical to the first. But this time, it wasn’t alone. More groans accompanied this one, building to a chorus of echoing misery. Odell looked around, his light illuminating figures in the dark, staggering down the hallways and out of rooms towards them.
“C-Captain…!” he stammered, his voice an embarrassingly high pitch. “Captain, there are others!”
“What are they…?” wondered Chekov, casting his light in the direction of Odell’s. It lit up one of the creature’s faces, a gaping maw of what seemed to have once been human, but was now little more than grey flesh, sunken cheeks, and milky eyes. Its head turned in the direction of the light and it raised its arms towards them, its hands groping the air.
“I think that’s the crew,” answered Kirk, firing his phaser at the nearest stalker. The beam hit the figure in the chest, but the body didn’t so much as stumble back. It just kept coming, a foul brown liquid trickling from the hole in its chest. Kirk stood, dumbfounded for a moment, before wheeling around and giving the order. “Back to the Enterprise!”
Odell was already speeding down the hallway, eager to get back into the safety of the shuttle and leave this dungeon behind. He heard the captain yell at him to keep group, but Odell’s legs were moving on their own accord, instinct telling him to get away as fast as he could.
Suddenly, a hand shot out of the darkness, fingers clamping into his shoulder and throwing off his balance. Odell tripped and stumbled forward, hearing a crack as he fell to the floor. For one brief moment of terror he thought perhaps he had broken something in his fall as something in the darkness gripped him tightly. Panicking, he groped at the thing on his shoulder and yanked it off, scrambling to his feet. He looked down at the floor. An arm, severed just above the elbow lay at his feet, the bone brittle and the muscle brown. He took a step back as the bouncing lights of the others drew closer to catching up, when suddenly a grey face loomed in front of him, jaw slack and eyes sunken and lidless.
Odell screamed as the creature fell on him, its one remaining arm clawing at his suit, teeth gnashing against the glass of his visor. A blast from a phaser streaked by, cutting through the creature’s groping arm but doing nothing. Odell struggled and managed to push the creature off, but as he rolled to get to his feet, the creature’s grey hand tightened around his oxygen tube and pulled.
There was a pop and a hiss and Odell found himself suddenly gasping for air he knew would no longer come. A desperate kick at the creature which was pulling itself up to him again, and the neck split. The head rolled away, still snapping at air. Odell lay on the floor, dizzy and sick, his breath coming in short desperate gasps. He couldn’t breathe. He was going to die and never make it off this godforsaken wreck of a ship.
As his vision began to fade, he saw two more figures appear out of the darkness and loom above him. A feeling of relief washed over him as he imagined it was his captain, come to save him. But then there was a sharp pain in his leg as something tore through his suit and through his flesh. With his last breath he screamed as teeth tore into him.
Kirk couldn’t see Odell, only the things ripping and tearing at him. With a cry of rage, he delivered a swift kick to the nearest monster’s head, shattering bone. The other looked up and snarled, rising to its feat. It lunged at Kirk who twisted aside and darted forward. He called back to Spock and Chekov to move as he did. He wasn’t losing anyone else to these shuffling cannibals.
Spock rammed the creature aside with his shoulder as Chekov ran by, nearly falling as he saw Odell’s body spread-eagled on the floor. He was temporarily frozen, stunned at the sight of a dead body, until Spock grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along after him. The three men took off down the corridor, not daring to slow down even if their pursuers weren’t exactly fast. Every doorway was dangerous now, every side hallway a trap waiting to be sprung.
But the shuttle was just ahead. Chekov could see it now. And as he began to gradually calm down, his terror beginning to subside at the sight of sure safety, he began to become aware of a pain in his foot. He realized he was limping suddenly, and as his foot came down, something dug into his ankle and he yelped before he could help himself.
Spock stopped and turned, looking at Chekov and then looking down. Chekov saw the Vulcan’s eyes widen and, fearful, he followed his gaze. A head, one belonging to the cannibalistic crew was gnawing on his ankle. Chekov’s voice caught in his throat, but Spock was quick, tearing the head away and lobbing it away down the corridor behind him.
“What was it? What was it?” Kirk demanded as Spock helped Chekov into the shuttle. Chekov looked down at his ankle, but Kirk didn’t follow. He seemed caught up in his own adrenaline, head spinning over what had happened, and barking orders back to the Enterprise to prepare sickbay and get the damn ship as far away from the Hermes as possible. Even Spock looked perturbed. Chekov just felt ill.
Upon reaching the Enterprise, Kirk ordered Spock to report to the bridge and give the order to leave the system immediately. He was then to make his way to sickbay and have himself checked out… just in case. He would meanwhile help Chekov there himself and, he added, smiling mildly, “Face the brunt of Bones’ inevitable lecture.”
Chekov smiled weakly as the captain helped him to his feet. As his helmet came off, Chekov was relieved to feel cool air on his face. He realized he was sweating, but the others looked warm and winded too. His ankle, however, was burning, and glancing down he could see the torn material of his suit, stained with what could only be blood. It hurt, but he was made of stronger stuff, and Chekov clenched his jaw, determined not to make a sound in the presence of his captain.
McCoy was waiting for them in sickbay, stormy and agitated. He didn’t say a word as Kirk led Chekov to one of the beds, but he didn’t have to. The glare that followed the captain managed to express the entirety of the doctor’s displeasure at having once again gone recklessly into a danger zone. And this time he wasn’t the one returning to the ship with an injury.
“Did you at least find what you were looking for?” McCoy asked irritably, helping Chekov peel away his spacesuit.
“I found enough,” answered Kirk, sitting on a nearby bed and feeling just as miserable as McCoy looked. “Half the crew was long dead, the other half was… something.”
“It bit me,” said Chekov, watching as McCoy examined him, paying particular attention to his ankle. “It bit me and ate Odell!”
McCoy cocked an eyebrow at Kirk. “You arrived just in time for dinner?”
“Really funny,” snapped Kirk. “It was just weird. I think they were the crew but they didn’t look like… um…” He rubbed his head, trying to find the right words. “You know those old Earth movies? I’m talking really old ones where-”
McCoy laughed. Kirk and Chekov both stared. The man was actually laughing. “Zombies, Jim? Really? You believe you found a ship full of the animated dead? Dead bodies come back to life to devour the living? Real live zombies?” McCoy dissolved into peals of laughter.
Kirk did not look impressed.
“Are we going to go searching for vampires and werewolves next, Captain?” snickered McCoy, grinning smugly. “Shall I prepare the garlic for the next trip off ship?”
“You’re a real comedian, you know,” said Kirk, rising to his feet. He looked both irritated and sheepish. The idea had made sense in his head. Then again, a lot of things started off making sense but sometimes got a bit garbled as they came out. Still… the phasers had done nothing to their attackers, and that sort of thing made sense in films. “Just take care of the kid.”
“Oh he’s all right,” replied McCoy, patting Chekov on the head. “It’s only a small cut. He’ll be back and single-handedly running your ship in no time. As for you…” He grabbed Kirk by the wrist before he could retreat, sitting him back down on the bed. “I’m not done yet.”
Chekov was indeed back on his feet in no time at all, and began to even feel a little better. His ankle was still burning, but the sickness in the pit of his stomach had subsided, though he wasn’t sure if it was because McCoy had patched him up right or if he was just woozy and numb from the many “necessary” inoculations against various extraterrestrial diseases. Those vaccinations had hurt, but at least he hadn’t cried like the captain had.
McCoy was still ragging on Kirk and his zombie theory at every available opportunity, driving the man crazy and putting him in a very foul mood, made only the more fouler by the discovery that several crew members had taken to snickering behind his back about the whole incident. Only Spock remained silent on the matter, which didn’t surprise anyone.
It wasn’t until a week after the encounter with the Hermes that things began to go awry. Chekov awoke one morning to discover the fire in his ankle was back with a vengeance, as was the ill feeling in the pit of his stomach. Dizzy and lightheaded, he staggered through the ship, limping at the pain in his ankle and trying to find his way towards sickbay. Fortunately, he ran into Sulu, slumping into the helmsman’s chest and letting out a soft and miserable groan. Sulu staggered under the weight, startled at the sight of the young kid. Chekov’s usually bright eyes were dim and his skin pale and clammy. Sulu cringed, expecting Chekov to get sick all over him at any moment.
“Are you all right, Ensign?” The question was rhetorical, but it seemed like the polite thing to ask. Chekov made a weak and pitiable noise in response. “I see… let’s get you down to sickbay.”
Chekov could barely recognize sickbay, his vision little more than a blur of light and shadows. He felt himself passed from Sulu’s support to someone else, and then he was lying on a bed, with McCoy’s stern face swimming in and out of focus.
McCoy knew exactly what the problem must be and immediately checked the young boy’s ankle. But the cut – while curiously not healing – remained free of infection. Yet Chekov was clearly ill, and a full exam revealed a dangerous spike in his temperature. McCoy was at a loss. All of his symptoms pointed to infection, but the wound on Chekov’s ankle was clean. He decided on a blood test, though he didn’t know if it would yield anything of value.
Sulu was sent to inform the captain of the sudden turn of events, and Kirk came down to sickbay in time to be informed of the results of Chekov’s blood test.
“It is an infection,” confirmed McCoy, “but I don’t know how. The wound is perfectly clean so I don’t see how he could have caught anything!”
“Yeah, you pumped us full of enough medicine to be sure of that,” Kirk said dryly.
McCoy shot him a look clearly intending to shut him up. Kirk complied and McCoy continued. “I’ve isolated the pathogen but I can’t identify it. It’s something new, nothing I’ve ever encountered before, and I can’t find anything matching its characteristics in any of the books or records.”
“Have you asked Spock? I think he has a brain the size of a planet or something.”
“Are you saying that pointy-eared elf knows more about medicine than the ship’s chief medical officer?” McCoy’s cheeks were flushed in anger and embarrassment.
Kirk took a cautious step back, holding up his hands in apology. “Of course not. Just that Spock’s an alien and whatever infection Chekov has is alien so… he might have an idea about what it is?”
McCoy begrudgingly followed Kirk’s advice and brought Spock into the situation, but upon reviewing McCoy’s data, Spock affirmed he had no knowledge of any such bacterium or virus. And still Chekov’s condition worsened, his fever well beyond the lethal limits of the human body. Whatever was in him was killing him, and was doing a good job of making the process slow and painful.
McCoy did his best to make the boy comfortable and even made several attempts at a cure. But as the days dragged on, nothing seemed to improve Chekov’s condition who now suffered from cold sweats and uncontrollable shivering. At day five, he could no longer manage speech, and could barely make any noise at all. His breathing became more ragged and laboured, and McCoy was on constant watch for fear he might suddenly give up and crash. Chekov had frequent visitors from crew members though and while he was strictly against his sickbay turning into a place for social gathering, McCoy felt he could forgive himself for making an exception in this case.
As Chekov’s condition increasingly deteriorated, Kirk became a more frequent visitor until it seemed like he never left at all. The captain tried to remain expressionless, but McCoy knew him too well. Guilt was eating at him. He never should have taken Chekov aboard the Hermes. The kid was too young for that sort of thing and was better suited to remaining on board the Enterprise. Kirk had misjudged and made a mistake. And he was never supposed to make a mistake. Mistakes cost lives. It probably didn’t help that Chekov kept looking at him with those big round eyes.
McCoy sighed. With no one else around, he would have to give Kirk the pep talk the man so desperately needed. And he hated doing that sort of thing. He was not the ship’s psychiatrist, but somehow he had become the captain’s. McCoy put his hand on Kirk’s shoulder, wracking his brain for something to say. But he didn’t have to say anything at all. Kirk began talking on his own.
“It’s my fault this is happening,” he said suddenly. “Spock said it was a stupid idea to go aboard and he was right. And when the kid wanted to go I should have said no. Why can’t I ever say no? It’s my job to say no!”
“I’m doing everything I can, Jim.”
“Only none of it’s working. He isn’t getting better.” He shot McCoy an accusing glare. “You have a cure for everything, Bones, so why haven’t you used one on him yet?”
“I’m a doctor, not a magician,” McCoy snapped irritably. “I can’t just conjure one out of nowhere.”
“You have a cure for space fleas but can’t lower a fucking fever?”
“Well what do you want me to do? Wiggle my nose and magically will him better? Medicine doesn’t work that way, Jim!”
Kirk moved so sudden and unexpectedly, that McCoy was unable to react before the fist connected with his jaw. He stumbled back, stunned, and had barely recovered before Kirk swung again. McCoy caught the punch this time and returned it with his own, sending the captain reeling backwards. There was a brief moment of pause as McCoy waited for Kirk to get a hold of himself, but something inside the man had snapped and he was determined to take it out on the doctor.
They fell to the floor, Kirk raging and McCoy determined to beat some sense into the hot-headed captain. They rolled and tumbled across the floor, Kirk hitting whatever he could get his fists at while McCoy shouted every curse he could think of and returned each punch with his own.
Security officers had to pull them apart, Kirk snorting and wheezing like a winded bull, his lip split and his nose bleeding. McCoy wiped his own bleeding lip, and glared at Kirk but said nothing. Kirk continued to struggle until he noticed Chekov’s gaze on him. The tired blue eyes bore into his own and Kirk gave up, allowing the officers to remove him from the room.
Chekov’s fight ended not long after the doctor and the captain’s. McCoy had removed himself from his office and was sitting near Chekov’s bed, hunched over his work. Nurses hovered in the background, pretending to be busy, but whispering to each other about the room’s only patient. McCoy was trying very hard to focus on his own work, but was brought back around by a sudden sound from Chekov. It was faint and more like a gurgle, but McCoy looked up to find the young boy looking back at him. His eyes were filled with a brightness McCoy hadn’t seen in days, and with a great effort, his hand came up, groping at air.
McCoy moved closer to the patient, wishing he could force himself to believe that this was a good sign. Chekov’s face was sunken and grey, and the doctor knew all too well what was coming. Leonard McCoy was not known for his bedside manner, but he took the boy’s hand, feeling boney fingers weakly wrap around his own. His hand was cold.
“You’re all right, kid,” he managed to mumble, forcing himself to look Chekov in the eyes. He could see the lights behind the kid’s blue eyes, and imagined they were flickering, on the verge of going out. This was always the hard part, and something he always thought the nurses were better suited for. But Chekov had locked onto him, and he couldn’t abandon him now.
With a great amount of effort, Chekov managed to rasp something to McCoy. Unfortunately, it was Russian and he didn’t understand a word of it, but he nodded all the same. This seemed to please the boy, who let out a soft sigh and seemed to relax. McCoy frowned; the lights were going out.
“Don’t do this, kid,” he hissed, casting about the room. Perhaps a shot of adrenaline would do the trick. But as he made to move, Chekov gave his hand a small squeeze. McCoy turned. As sick as he was, the boy looked all right, like he couldn’t feel anything anymore. McCoy returned to his position, resigned to do nothing. He was too far gone now.
One by one, the lights in Chekov’s eyes flickered out. McCoy watched, unable to do anything but give the boy an encouraging smile as, with one last shallow sigh, Chekov closed his eyes. His chest rose and fell a few more times before stopping altogether, and the nearby monitors whirled into alarm as the thin hand in McCoy’s let go.
Sulu found himself glancing at the empty seat to his right more times than was surely healthy. He kept expecting Chekov to come back, but that wasn’t going to happen now. The bridge suddenly seemed lonely without the boy, and Sulu came to realize how little he’d actually known about the boy he worked with. He should have kept to himself less and tried to be friendlier to Chekov. The boy was always yammering on excitedly to everyone else, always cheerful and eager to help anyone no matter what they were doing.
Sulu chanced a glance back at the captain’s chair and found him staring absently at the same vacant seat Sulu kept drawing back to himself. Kirk’s eyes were red and his face dishevelled. Some of it was clearly from McCoy, but it was obvious to everyone how awful the captain felt about Chekov’s fate. Neither he nor Spock had shown any symptoms or contained any trace of the mysterious virus that had slowly worked its way though the ensign.
Sulu sighed and turned back to his controls. At least the virus hadn’t seemed contagious.
The bridge was quiet. If anyone had to say anything, it was done so in hushed whispers. It seemed a good portion of the crew was in mourning.
“Sickbay to bridge.” The communication echoed loudly in the quiet room. The captain didn’t seem to heed to message. “Sickbay to bridge!” Sulu recognized McCoy’s voice. He sounded agitated, but then again when did the good doctor not sound agitated?
Kirk sighed and lazily leaned over to activate his end of the communicator. “This is the captain…”
“We have a situation, Captain,” McCoy said quickly. “You need to get down here. Now.”
There was a good deal of background noise mingling with McCoy’s voice, but the captain didn’t seem to care. “What is it, Bones?”
“It’s Chekov, sir.” Kirk snapped up to attention. Everyone else on the bridge froze.
“What do you mean?” demanded Kirk.
“I… I don’t know how to explain.” McCoy was speaking even faster now. “Just get down-” The message abruptly stopped. Kirk seemed to come alive only a moment later, leaping out of his chair and dashing towards the lift.
He could not get to sickbay fast enough, cursing as he sprinted through the decks, skidding to a halt and nearly falling through the sickbay doors. What he saw froze him in his tracks. The place was a mess, instruments thrown across the room in disarray. A nurse lay by one of the beds, and Kirk had to bring his hand up to his mouth to prevent himself from vomiting as he took in the whole sight. She was dead, her bowels having been pulled out and smeared across the floor. Kirk carefully stepped over the body, his boot sliding through the blood on the floor and sending him crashing. He swore and turned to get up, but froze as the lifeless face of a medical officer gaped back at him.
“Bones? Bones!” He slipped in the blood again before he managed to right himself, looking around for any sign of his friend. “BONES!”
“Jim…!” The voice was strained and coming from McCoy’s office.
“Bones, are you all right?” called Kirk, crossing the room as quickly as he could. “What happened here? Where’s…?” His voice trailed off as he crashed through the office door.
McCoy was on the floor in the corner, struggling against his attacker as the figure snapped and groped at the doctor. McCoy had the figure by the throat, trying to keep it from sinking its teeth into his flesh as grey fingers clawed at his arms. Kirk gaped as he realized the man attacking McCoy was none other than Pavel Chekov.
“I thought you said he was dead!” cried Kirk. “Ensign Chekov, unhand Doctor McCoy!”
“He is dead, Jim!” growled McCoy.
“He doesn’t look dead to me!” With a great effort, Kirk shoved aside McCoy’s desk and seized Chekov by the shoulder. As Kirk pulled, McCoy let go of the young boy’s throat who turned to face the captain.
Kirk let go of Chekov like he’d just been burned and stumbled backwards. Chekov’s lifeless eyes were fixed on Kirk, his jaw slack and mouth agape. As he reached for Kirk, jaw snapping hungrily, the captain noticed his front was smeared with red and a foul brown liquid that was dribbling down his chin.
Chekov shuffled forward as Kirk backed away, letting loose a loud and anguished moan. It was echoed by others back in the main room, and Kirk turned to see the medical officer slowly rising to his feet and the gutted nurse dragging herself across the floor.
McCoy came to the rescue, swinging one of his large textbooks at Chekov. The heavy book collided with the boy and sent him pitching forward. Kirk ducked and Chekov tumbled over him and through the door. He then activated the door panel and watched the door close, sealing him and McCoy safely inside the office.
McCoy’s breath was haggard and pained as he sank to the floor and tossed the book aside, nursing his arm. Chekov and the others were pounding on the door. Kirk turned away from it to address McCoy.
“What…the…hell?!” he shouted.
“I… I don’t know!” panted McCoy. “I was in here and then suddenly one of the nurses screamed! I run out and there’s the kid, alert as can be and… and… and fucking insane!”
“He’s behaving like one of those things on the Hermes,” said Kirk, watching the door. “You said he just got right back up?”
“But he’s still medically dead. He didn’t have a pulse or anything and yet there he is, up and walking and… and eating my staff!”
Kirk frowned, listening to the dull banging on the other side of the door. He could hear several fists pounding one after the other. Three sets. Then two. Then just the single solitary thumping that reminded Kirk eerily of the pounding from the Hermes’ lift.
Bom… bom… bom…
“Sickbay’s doors were open,” Kirk said suddenly. “Bones, we’re on the wrong side of this door.”
“The comm on my desk might still work,” rasped McCoy.
Kirk examined the communicator. He was relieved when it crackled to life. He cleared his throat, focusing on keeping his voice calm and level. “This is your captain speaking. I am ordering a mandatory quarantine of Medical and all surrounding levels. I repeat, Medical and all immediate areas are under mandatory quarantine.”
“You think that will work?” asked McCoy when Kirk had finished his announcement.
“I don’t know. But what do you want me to do? Order an evacuation? Abandon ship?”
“It would have done wonders for the crew of the Hermes,” said McCoy, resting his head against the wall. “Jim?” Kirk turned. “I know zombies are a fucking crazy idea… But that wound on Chekov’s ankle was a bite. And he was very dead right before he got up and started craving human flesh!”
“That pathogen you found in his blood…” Kirk said slowly, crouching by McCoy. “It could have come from the ship.” He frowned, thinking. “But Spock and I weren’t infected. It’s not airborne then.”
McCoy shook his head. “No. But the nurse… My theory is it’s passed through direct contact with infected blood. Like a bite…” McCoy dropped his hand to his side. The cloth was torn and bloody. Kirk looked from the wound to McCoy.
“Oh Bones… no…”
McCoy smiled grimly. “Bastard’s faster than he looks…”
“How do you feel?” asked Kirk, searching around for something to wrap McCoy’s arm in.
“Nevermind me… There are blood thirsty cretins running amok on your ship.” McCoy nodded at the door. “What are you going to do, Captain?”
Kirk cast about the room, his eyes resting on McCoy’s overturned chair. Picking up one of the discarded textbooks he brought it down on the chair. A few more blows and one of the legs came free. He picked up the metal cylinder and weighed it in his hands.
“There’s a problem on my ship and I’m going to fix it.” He gave the chair leg a few practice swings and nodded at McCoy. “I want you to open that door. There’s only three of them. We’ll get out of here just fine.”
“I think it might be better if I stayed here…”
“No. We’ll deal with your arm later. I’m not going to leave you here to have your entrails ripped out like that poor nurse.” He gripped the chair leg and readied himself. “The door, Bones.”
McCoy got to his feet and steadied himself by the door. At Kirk’s nod, he punched in the door code, and with a small hiss it slid open. Kirk brought his arm back to swing the chair leg, but paused when he realized no one was standing on the other side.
“The floor!” Kirk looked down. The crippled nurse had been the one scratching at the door, her lips curled back in a snarl. With one swift motion, Kirk brought the rod down on her head. There was a crack, but the nurse continued to move forward. Kirk brought the rod down again, breaking through the skull this time. The nurse fell forward, face down and ceased to move.
Sickbay was empty, but Kirk could see a trail of bloody footprints leading out into the ship’s corridor. With a wave of his hand, he motioned for McCoy to follow him.
“Sir, they're not responding.”
Uhura had been trying for several minutes to get a response out of sickbay, but there was only silence. She looked over at Spock, who was deep in thought. The message from sickbay had been strange and Kirk had just left without a word to anyone. Then there was the sudden quarantine of Medical and the surrounding areas. The bridge had had no contact from the captain since.
“Commander Spock?” One of the communications officers addressed the Vulcan, glancing wearily back at his station. “I'm receiving a very strange message from Mess.”
“What is it, Lieutenant?”
Spock looked only mildly interested and the officer wasn't quite sure what to say. “Well... they're saying... They're saying they're under attack.”
“Commander, I'm receiving a similar message from Engineering,” added another officer.
Spock strode swiftly over to the communications panels, and patched himself through to the lower bowels of the ship. “Bridge to Engineering, this is Commander Spock. Officer Scott, are you there?”
“Aye,” came the reply, a little flustered and shaky.
“We've received reports you are faced with hostiles?”
“Well that's one way to put it! Look, sir, I don't know what they are – okay, I do because they usually work with me, but it's different now, and where the hell is the captain?”
“I do not understand,” said Spock. “We have had no contact with any outside-”
“This isn't outside, Commander, it's the bloody crew! They've gone mad and are – shit!” The signal went silent. Spock tried to hail the engineering officer again, but the signal was decidedly dead. Something was going on all across the ship, but the bridge was being left in the dark.
Kirk could find no sign of Chekov. The two pairs of prints had split apart and he wasn't sure which one belonged to the ensign. It was no use anyway, as he and McCoy slowly made their way through the ship more tracks could be found. The virus was spreading, and more crew members were slinking off, dead but hungry.
The outbreak was moving swiftly through the Enterprise. Her corridors and rooms were full of the screams and shouts of people trying to fend off or pleading with fellow crewmembers who had been quite normal only just earlier. And not everyone who was taken down managed to get back up. Upon passing by the mess area, Kirk could ascertain that there were maybe half a dozen infected monsters, and the rest of the occupants were little more than picked over food.
McCoy swore as he took in the sight, places overturned and human remains smeared across the floor. At the sound, one of the infected lifted her head, a string of flesh hanging out of her mouth. Upon seeing the two men, she rose to her feet and let out a moan. It echoed around the empty chamber and was answered by others. Kirk looked around. They were coming from all directions, slow and awkward but unrelenting. They would have to run, but as he looked at McCoy, Kirk realized the doctor was barely hanging in as it was.
It was too dangerous to push through the corridor. They'd end up cornered, or something might lash out at them from a room they passed. Kirk remembered well what had happened to Odell back on the Hermes. But the mess hall had two entrances, and offered an open space for a better chance of avoiding their attackers. He held McCoy close who managed a hacking cough in response, and darted into the mess hall, the metal chair leg held tightly in his hand.
Kirk set his sights on the far end of the room, dashing by tables as infected crew slowly ambled towards him. Watching them stumble and shuffle after him, Kirk had to wonder how things had gotten so bad to begin with. One open wound was all it took to infect, but they were so slow! How had the virus spread itself so quickly?
But while his mind tried to work its way around the how and why of everything going wrong, Kirk failed to see the creature on the floor, slinking out from beneath one of the tables. It reached for his leg, tripping him up and sending him and McCoy to the floor. McCoy rolled away, groaning and cursing.
The creature, clearly once a security officer, pulled itself towards Kirk, its teeth getting dangerously close to the captain. Kirk kicked hard, scrambling across the floor. The officer tore at the captain's leg but came loose, and Kirk managed to flip himself onto his back. The officer attacked again, and Kirk delivered a sound kick to the head. He could hear the creature's jaw crack, but it didn't stop, clawing at the captain's uniform as he crawled forward.
Feeling the chair leg still clutched in his hand, Kirk swung his arm, burying the rod into the officer's neck. The officer spit a sick brown liquid onto the captain, but didn't appear to so much as flinch, tongue lolling loosely in its broken maw.
A shadow suddenly fell across Kirk and the officer. He looked up to see McCoy, out of breath but his face determined. In his good hand he held a phaser. He must have picked it off of one of the bodies in the room. Kirk barely had time to duck as McCoy fired, the phaser searing through the security officer's left eye. The officer froze, suspended above Kirk for a brief moment before he collapsed, jaw still agape but moving no more.
Kirk lay back against the floor, taking the time to thank his damn lucky stars before rolling the officer's body off. There wasn't time to rest, however, as Kirk could hear the shuffling footsteps of other infected closing in. McCoy looked around dimly as Kirk got to his feet. They were coming in from the other door now too. This had been a very bad idea.
Kirk half dragged McCoy towards the kitchens, praying there weren't any reanimated kitchen staff waiting. What staff did litter the floor didn't show signs of waking up yet, but Kirk didn't want to wait around and see how long it would take. He pulled McCoy out a side door, across another corridor and into a dark room. Activating the lights he saw that it was mercifully empty and closed the door securely behind them.
McCoy looked around, slouching into a nearby chair. “Your great escape was to the bar?”
“I don't know about you, but a stiff drink would be amazing right about now,” panted Kirk, leaning against the door. McCoy didn't argue, so Kirk pulled him to his feet and dragged him behind the bar where they both sunk to the floor, gazing at the bottles of liquor around them.
“That was a good shot,” continued the captain, uncapping the nearest bottle and giving it a sniff. “He actually went down.”
“It's the brain,” McCoy said breathlessly.
“That only happens in movies, Bones.”
McCoy shook his head, coughing before continuing. “Just listen for a damn moment. The virus spreads through the blood stream, killing the host. So then how does the body reanimate?” He tapped his head emphatically. “The brain, Jim. It controls everything. If the virus is in the brain then it uses the body like a puppet. Nothing else is important just that giant database inside the head.”
Kirk screwed up his face, mulling over McCoy’s theory. “But if nothing else is working, how does the brain keep going? Doesn’t it need oxygen?”
“The virus could somehow tap into the electrical pulses inside the organ.” McCoy reached over and grabbed the bottle out of Kirk's hands. “That last officer makes two that went down when you injured their heads.”
“Can't argue with results,” sighed Kirk. He glanced over at McCoy, looking over the man's arm. The wound had stopped bleeding, but McCoy was pale and sweaty. “How are you feeling?”
McCoy didn't say a word, tipping back the bottle and sighing contentedly. They sat silently for a while, Kirk listening to the sounds of infected crew trying to pound their way through the door, and McCoy's unsteady breathing. He closed his eyes, trying not to think about what was happening to the man next to him, what was happening to the rest of the ship... what had happened to Chekov. They'd unknowingly brought a plague back from the Hermes and had turned the Enterprise into a death trap. He wondered how many of his crew were lost. Perhaps all of them now, at the rate this thing had spread. There had been no word from the bridge. The ship seemed effectively dead, and here he was, her captain, locked in a room and hiding behind a bar. Some voyage this had turned out to be.
They sat for hours, unmoving, McCoy drifting in and out of consciousness. Kirk knew it was coming but refused to acknowledge any notion of McCoy not making it. He was his friend, and maybe the only person he knew left alive aboard the ship. But when the doctor suddenly spoke, it didn't sound promising.
“I don't feel so hot, Jim.” His voice was soft and distant.
“Shut up, Bones, we're both going to make it.”
“Jim-” McCoy interrupted himself by turning and hunching over. Kirk could hear him heaving and turned in time to see the man wretch, spilling foul sick all over the floor. Kirk reached over and helped him sit back up, patting the man's arm reassuringly. But McCoy looked like hell and he was shaking. “It's not safe, you know... sitting in here with me...”
“I'm refusing to think about that,” answered Kirk. He knew the risk, and yes, it was a really stupid thing to do. But McCoy was his friend and he couldn't bring himself to simply leave the man... or do him in himself.
So when McCoy pressed the phaser into Kirk's hand, the captain very nearly panicked. He shook his head emphatically and told McCoy he was ten different kinds of crazy to even begin to think of such a thing.
“That Russian bastard bit me,” growled McCoy. “And I really don't want to end up staggering around like all those jackasses on the other side of that door.” He took a deep breath. “It's better this way...”
Kirk knew he was right. It was better this way, wasn't it? But Kirk trembled as he wrapped his fingers around the phaser. McCoy’s eyes were pleading, boring into him in a way Kirk had never seen before. His friend had often begged him not to do anything stupid, but there was always that hint in his voice that he was already resigned to letting the captain have his own way. Not this time. But Kirk couldn’t do it – wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill a man like this; especially not someone he considered his best friend. But even more, he couldn't face the idea of being left entirely alone.
Spock was trying to establish a connection with Starfleet when the first zombie found its way onto the bridge. As the door slid open, everyone turned, expecting and hoping to see the captain. But what they saw was a grey ghoul, limping out of the lift. It had a large hole in its side, and amidst a mess of cracked bone and brown matter, the fleshy pink of a deflated lung could be seen. Nobody moved, too stunned and confused at the thing now on the bridge, until it seized the nearest officer and sunk its teeth into their flesh.
At that moment, the bridge dissolved into chaos as officers abandoned their stations and made for the exit, Spock trying to retain order by shouting over the bedlam. Sulu meanwhile pushed his way across the bridge and over to the ghoul, knocking it off the poor officer. There was a clunk and a crack as the creature’s head smashed into a panel of instruments and went still. He looked from the creature, to the poor dead officer, and then back at Spock.
“Commander?”
“Communication with the rest of the ship is dead,” said Uhura, eyeing the two bodies suspiciously. “If those things are all over the ship…”
Spock nodded. “We have no other option than to assume the worst. The ship must be evacuated.”
But there was still the question of the captain’s whereabouts. It seemed unlikely that he was still alive, but then again Kirk seemed to be defying the odds since the day he was born. It would be risky and foolish to search the entire ship, however, and Spock was torn between the logical thing to do and his reluctant affection towards the captain.
Fortunately for Spock, he didn’t have to struggle with the decision for long. Sulu announced he’d slip down to sickbay and see if he could discover the captain. It was dangerous and probably stupid, but at the thought of abandoning the captain his mind wandered back to his first adventure above Vulcan and how Kirk, who owed him nothing and probably didn’t even know his name at that point, had recklessly jumped after him when he fell from the Romulan drill. Sulu was determined to return the favour.
Spock informed Sulu he would give him one hour. If he hadn’t shown up in that time, they would assume the worst and leave without him. Sulu nodded; an hour was plenty. But, he thought, as he left the lift on the level housing his quarters, he’d need to make a little side trek for his baby.
The hallways of the Enterprise stank of blood and death. He could hear shouts and growls from the surrounding quarters, and while he wondered if anyone was still truly alive around him, he didn’t dare stop to find out. Dashing into his quarters, he ran his eyes over his trophy wall. He’d decorated it with various swords - prized rapiers and even an elegant katana. He considered them all for a moment before selecting the katana. It would be good for a serious offense, and allow him to keep moving.
As Sulu left his quarters, he came face to face with a gurgling science officer. Sulu kicked him back and dashed down the hall. But he found his path blocked by several more ghouls who, raising their arms moaned longingly. His jaw set, the helmsman charged, cutting the creatures down in a flash of steel. As they fell, he turned back to survey his work, and was unpleasantly startled to discover the creatures were still moving. Whether or not they could still stand made little difference as those that couldn’t dragged themselves across the floor.
Sulu didn’t understand. They should be dead or dying, but they weren’t even bleeding. Flesh was hanging limply, and one of the creatures had even lost a good portion of its bowels which now tangled around its feet, but they were still snapping and moaning, continuing to close in on him.
He brought his sword down again on the nearest creature, impaling it through the temple. The impact was jarring and pain shot up Sulu’s arm, but the creature suddenly lay still, black filth oozing from the wound. Then it hit him. Of course; it was the head. These crazy ravenous monsters were like something out of a nightmare or really bad film, so he may as well use really bad film tactics against them.
Sulu quickly learned that if he could aim for the neck and sever the head, he could get by easily enough, as long as he was careful to avoid the heads snapping at his ankles. The things were mercifully slow as well, and as long as he kept moving, he seemed to think he’d be all right. The infected were spread out sporadically as well, stumbling through hallways and rooms in search of someone to eat. As he made his way through the levels of the Enterprise, Sulu would meet groups of two or three, but never any more. That is, until he ran into the mob outside the mess hall.
There must have been dozens, moaning and scrambling over each other as they tried to knock down a door tucked away in the corner of the room. Sulu stood in the doorway, watching. None of the creatures seemed to notice him. They were too busy scrabbling towards a door at the far end that Sulu knew led into the ship’s canteen. Those closest to the door were moaning loudly, scratching and banging at it. He didn’t know why he didn’t just leave, slink away and continue on towards medical. But something in his gut told him there was something behind that door, someone who might still be alive. And Hikaru Sulu wasn’t about to run away.
“Hey, uglies!” he called, standing in the doorway. There were too many to take on all at once, but maybe if he could kite them through the door one by one he could take them out. A few of the creatures nearest him turned their heads, fixing him with their lifeless milky gazes. Mouths open they limped towards him. Sulu stood his ground, bracing himself as more and more turned away from the kitchen and the cantina door to go after what looked like easier prey.
One slice of the sword and a head rolled away. Then another, and another. Sulu moved methodically – remove the head and kick it away, remove the head and kick it away. As the bodies began to pile up at his feet, he chanced a step inside the room, shifting from defensive to aggressive as he began to move towards the depleting number of infected crew.
He moved swiftly, climbing over tables and sending heads rolling as the hungry crew stumbled and groped for him. Eventually, there were no longer any standing and while the crawling ones could take you by surprise if you weren’t careful, Sulu kept his feet beyond their teeth as he kicked and stabbed.
Leaping across tables, he landed by the canteen door, pausing to catch his breath. Nothing in the room appeared to be moving so, satisfied, he turned to the door and after typing a code into the panel, watched it slide open.
The canteen was silent and appeared empty. He was ready for them, but could see no ghouls. He took a cautious step forward, unsure if he should call out or not. He didn’t know what might answer him. But then he saw the dark liquid oozing across the floor and around the edge of the bar.
Sulu stepped forward, careful not to slip in the mess as he peered behind the bar. He froze, eyes widening as he saw the captain, slumped over the body of the ship’s chief medical officer. McCoy’s eyes were open and blank, and Sulu could see the hole in his temple, perfectly round and carved out by a phaser blast. Blood was still dripping from the wound. The phaser lay forgotten by Kirk, who was perfectly still, his fingers curled into the medical officer’s shirt.
“Captain…?” Sulu feared the man was dead, but Kirk made a small strangled sound when Sulu spoke. He took a step closer to the man.
Kirk slowly lifted his head, looking up at the helmsman. His eyes were puffy and he blinked blearily. Even though he was looking right at him, Sulu didn’t think the captain was really seeing him. So he tried again, his voice as soft and gentle as he could muster.
“What happened here…? Are you hurt?”
“He got Bones…” the captain croaked. Sulu looked at the lifeless officer. He didn’t understand. “He bit him and… and if they bite it’s…”
“Come on, I’m getting you out of here, sir,” interrupted Sulu, pulling the captain to his feet. The man resisted, protesting and muttering McCoy’s name. Sulu wished he had one of the late doctor’s hyposprays on him as he dragged the protesting captain out of the cantina and through the halls. They had to get down to engineering and the shuttle before Spock took off.
The trek through the ship was long and arduous with Kirk’s dead weight on Sulu. He tried to shake the captain back to his senses a few times, but Kirk was largely unresponsive, muttering to himself about McCoy, and Chekov, and the Hermes. Movement was slow, and Sulu didn’t like being an easier target for the creatures. But as they neared engineering, a moan from up ahead seemed to rattle Kirk back to his senses. His head shot up, eyes sharp and gleaming, and moved away from Sulu’s support.
It was Chekov. The ensign had been crouched over a body Sulu recognized as Officer Scott, but upon noticing the two men, he tuned his attention away from the ravaged carcass. Sulu could almost see the gears turning inside the captain’s head as he looked from the young boy to the mangled and broken body. He was going to do something; Sulu could see it written all over his face. But before he could stop him, Kirk ran forward and with a cry of rage slammed into Chekov.
The two bodies went tumbling to the floor in a mess of snarls, fists, and teeth. The captain punched and tore at the ensign who didn’t appear the least bit phased as he craned his neck to try and sink his teeth into Kirk. Sulu was rooted to the spot, baffled at what he was seeing before him. Kirk seemed completely mad and Chekov… well… he didn’t really look like the kid anymore. Kirk’s punches were solid, but they left no marks, and Chekov barely seemed to feel them, squirming and snapping relentlessly.
And more creatures were coming, staggering out of engineering. It was no use calling to the captain; he seemed blind with a desperation and rage all focused on the ensign creature. Sulu would have to act before they became surrounded. Dodging by the wrestling pair, he met the engineering ghouls with a whirl of flesh and blade. Heads rolled and bodies fell as the senseless creatures continued to press forward. Sulu began to wonder if Spock and Uhura had made it this far. The odds didn’t seem likely.
A cry, startled and pained, snapped Sulu to attention. There was a moment of brief panic as he wondered if the sound had come from him. But the creatures had been held off and he was unharmed. That meant…
Sulu turned. Chekov had somehow managed to get on top of Kirk and had inadvertently pinned him on Officer Scott’s body. A broken piece of the rib cage, snapped apart for the Chekov monster to scoop out the inside of the chest had imbedded itself in Kirk’s shoulder when he fell. Skewered like a piece of meat, he brought his good arm up to try and hold the ghoul back. But the hungry Chekov had the clear advantage.
Sulu could barely comprehend what was happening. It was the kid he sat next to, the one he had never bothered to properly get to know, who was all smiles and cheerfulness to everyone around him and had – he thought – died. And yet, he wasn’t the Enterprise’s collective child anymore. He was something else; something that didn’t feel, that didn’t think, something that only wanted to eat whatever living thing it could get its hands on, grabbing the captain with its thin bloody hands, staring down at him with milky lifeless eyes…
Sulu was moving before he realized what he was doing. As Chekov lurched forward to bite, Sulu’s blade cut swiftly through the air, deftly removing the late ensign’s head. It tumbled to the floor as the body sank forward onto the captain and, refusing to look the lifeless face in the eyes, Sulu stabbed. The jaw went slack and neither part of the creature moved any further.
Kirk’s breathing was pained and shallow, coming in quick wheezy gasps. Trying to catch his own breath and refusing to think about what he had just done, Sulu rolled the lifeless body off the captain. In spite of everything, the captain managed a smile.
“That was one hell of a move.” He grimaced. “Now, how about helping me up?”
Kirk braced himself as Sulu took hold of his shoulder and pulled upwards. Kirk clenched his jaw as his shoulder exploded in pain, a sharp stabbing running down his back and turning his legs to jelly. Sulu winced at the expression on the captain’s face as he sat him upwards and pressed his hand to the wound on Kirk’s back.
“I don’t suppose you’re good at stitching people up?” asked Kirk with a grimace.
Sulu brought his hand away to look at the captain’s wound. “I’m sure we can figure out some first aid on the shuttle.”
Kirk turned his head sharply. “Shuttle?”
Sulu nodded. “Commander Spock and Lieutenant Uhura are waiting. Come on.”
Kirk looked utterly amazed as Sulu helped him to his feet, slinging his arm around his neck for support. Locked away in the canteen he thought he was the only person left alive on the ship, but Sulu had saved him. And now there was Spock and Uhura too. Kirk’s grin was wide as he and Sulu limped and ducked their way through the maze of engineering and down to the shuttles. Undead crew were everywhere and Kirk was little help in fending them off. Every time Sulu would turn and flash his sword, Kirk would be greeted by a fresh jolt of pain in his shoulder. But eventually he could see the end of their trip – the shuttle loomed, the doorway and catwalk open and inviting. In the entrance stood Uhura, phaser in hand and eyes alert. She gave a shout when she saw them, and Kirk raised his hand in a casual wave.
“You look like hell,” she observed. Kirk managed a snort in response as Sulu helped him on board.
Spock was waiting by the controls, and Kirk couldn’t help but notice that the first officer wore the slightest hint of relief – or whatever the Vulcan equivalent was. “It is pleasing to see you have not succumbed as the rest of the crew, Captain. This is a most favourable turn of events.”
“Yeah, it’s good to see you too, Spock,” replied Kirk, sinking into a seat as Sulu moved to take the controls.
“I am afraid that I still do not understand, however,” continued Spock, his eyes wandering over the captain’s bleeding shoulder. “The strange madness that came over the crew… Did it originate in medical? And how…?”
Kirk’s eyes fell, staring at the floor. “I’ll explain as much as I can… but only after we’ve put a good distance between us and the Enterprise.” There was a pause, and he suddenly looked up and around at the shuttle’s other three occupants. “All of you are all right? No one bit you, did they?”
The other three exchanged looks but affirmed that they were unharmed. Kirk sighed, relieved.
No one spoke as the shuttle departed the dying Enterprise. Kirk chanced a look out the window but quickly turned away. The site of the ship – his ship – falling behind them in the blackness was too much. He thought of McCoy left lying on the floor in the canteen, and of Chekov who had somehow been the source of everything. Now the ship would become a second version of the Hermes, with people he had once known and commanded wandering around her decks forever. The thought filled him with a sickening chill.
There was some solace in the fact that the four of them had escaped. If only there had been more of them. He frowned, staring across into emptiness. He imagined he could see the doctor and the kid sitting across from him. McCoy was glowering at him, probably cooking up a biting lecture about his shoulder. Chekov was smiling, just like he always seemed to be doing. Guilt began to tug at the captain again. This had all been his fault. If he’d had better judgment…
The twin visions exchanged looks. McCoy seemed to mutter something, and Chekov, still smiling that innocent smile, shook his head.
That’s when Kirk realized he was suddenly very hot. And a sickening feeling was beginning to twist around in the pit of his stomach…
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borg totally dont count. You have no idea how much I love you for doing this.no subject
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You win the internets, sooooo many internets.
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Glad you liked it!
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The ending was actually quite different originally before I rewrote it. It's difficult, I think, to come up with decent endings for this sort of genre.
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You are my hero! I laughed, I cried, I was freaked the hell out.
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