Observations on long term effects of starvation on homo zombicus: Nomad.

Once my eyes adjusted to the light my first look at the interior of the ship was not promising. The bloodstained deck and piles of trash greeted me like a broken window, portending nothing good. Above that was the faintly shimmering blue glow of a stasis field. Unlike the individual pods of the Hospital, this one covered the entire container.

Within were dozens of people. I could only see their faces through the glow, their bodies covered by the protective metal barrier that closed off the container. Their eyes were closed as if sleeping, but I imagined I could see the stress and worry they’d carried written there despite their immobility.

Another cold weight settled silently into my chest. These people… could be saved.

There was much to do before I attempted to free them. Were I to do so now, with the massive horde outside and whatever unknown threats or problems inside, they might not survive. Was there even enough food on the ship to feed them until- what? Until we could get down to the surface?

There was no telling whether or not the ship would even work once it was disconnected from Walker’s failing power grid. The surface was still highly dangerous as well. Even if I could get them all safely back to Security Medical there was no telling how long that stash of meal bars and nutrient paste would last. My stomach growled again, reminding me of its own needs.

The quiet hum of working machinery echoed softly through the hull as I once again shut a door behind me that probably didn’t need to be shut. Artificial gravity had not failed on the ship and was still active as I set foot inside. It felt strange to feel my own body weight after so many years. I felt heavy and slow. My bare feet pressed into the deck, slowly warming back up. Blood from my open wounds started to ooze slowly downward.

I hadn’t been on a ship in over a decade. Not since the small shuttle that had taken me from the university to Walker itself. Never on a trading vessel at all, though a younger me had been fascinated by anything related to space. The cavernous hold with its cargo class stasis pods stacked all the way to the ceiling far above would have seemed a grand adventure to explore.

Somewhere on the ship would be another airlock. There would probably be another space suit in there. Hopefully one that would fit. With a space suit, I could go over the hull and reach the Headquarters airlock without encountering the horde. But first, I needed food. And rest.

I limped around the trash piles. The typical zombie refuse that would have been floating around in microgravity was pushed to the side here, likely kicked away by wandering feet. There was a stairway at the end that I climbed slowly, and beyond that would be the working areas of the ship according to the diagram on the bulkhead.

A zombie groan sounded from somewhere ahead. I’d known there had to be zombies here based on the debris and the bloodstains. The only question was, where?

I checked the rooms to either side on my way forward. No zombies. Stacks of smaller cargo crates were stored neatly in several of them along with racks of equipment. Hull patches, those I recognized. But the rest of it was a mystery to me. Another stairway appeared tucked away alongside the corridor.

The top of the stairway opened up to a wider compartment. Tables were bolted to the floor and what looked like a nutrient paste dispenser and stasis container were installed beside a standard dispensary just like I’d seen on Earth decades ago. And there were zombies.

As one, they howled and charged at me. They did not bounce and flail around as those in microgravity did. They swarmed forward, uncaring of obstacles. Over benches and around the tables, I was firing at them before I even noticed the pistol in my hand.

The first first zombie to fall tripped the two behind it. Another caught a bullet a bullet in the throat, stumbling to a halt and a third’s howl was cut off abruptly as its lungs suddenly stopped working. I hit one more in the leg before the slide locked back. Empty magazine.

There were only two spares in the kit I’d grabbed on the way out of the combat suit but I didn’t hesitate to grab a new one and slam it home. The zombies were almost on top of me as I backed down the stairs, firing up at the first one to appear in my sights. Missed. It fell over the railing onto the stairs and quickly crawled towards me, lunging at my leg.

My next two shots hit its lower back as I tried to jump away. It was a partial success. The zombie didn’t get to grab me. But I didn’t get to stay upright. More zombies were falling over the railing as I kicked myself away, my hips and lower back protesting slightly. The stolen energy I’d gotten from the implant zombie was still surging in me.

The first one to reach me lunged forward as I shot past it, missing and hitting another zombie in the mob now packed into the stairwell. I kicked it in the chest, pushing it back as I rolled aside. Being able to get back up unmolested surprised me. The zombies weren’t attacking yet because they had packed together so tightly that none of them could quickly get free.

That gave me an potentially terrible idea.

I lunged forward, grabbing a head that stuck out of the pile. As I drove my nanites in deeper and further than ever before several clawed hands dug into my arm and shoulder. One blindly kicked me as it thrashed and another managed to bite down on my leg. The same leg that had been bitten and bruised before.

Then almost as one, the zombies began to scream. High pitched shrieks made my ears hurt as I struggled to focus on the nanites and keeping the drain active. I could feel my energy level and stamina dropping like I’d just run two marathons back to back. And now had to spring uphill.

I couldn’t stop. The moment I did the surviving zombies would tear me apart. What had I been thinking? I sank to one knee. Several claws were still embedded in my flesh, but their strength was waning fast. I gasped for breath, feeling weaker than ever.

Couldn’t stop the drain. Had to reach every zombie in the pile. As soon as a tiny bit of energy came back to me it got fed right back into my nanites to keep the drain active. Time seemed to slow down.

The zombie pile was still. I could hear several of them still breathing, keening out a high pitched wail as I tried to force my nanites to expand the drain once more. It felt like a kick to the stomach as my stamina dropped to new lows. My vision started to grow dim.

All of a sudden the pile shifted and collapsed. Greasy ash was stirred up as I fell backward on my butt. No more howls sounded. Only the slight hum vibrating through the deck and the soft whoosh of the ventilation system disturbed the quiet.

My stomach felt like an angry badger had taken up residence in it and my head pounded in time with my still hammering pulse. I tried to address the wounds on my leg and arm with my nanites. They responded sluggishly, barely moving before a sharp pain in my stomach made me stop. The nanite bloat was worse than I’d ever felt it, pressing against my insides like an overfilled water balloon.

I ended up tearing strips off my already tattered shirt to stop the bleeding. It took most of the shirt to wrap up my arm. Several claws had ripped into me. My right hand worked, but I couldn’t raise my arm much above my waist and when I tried it nearly made me pass out. Tying the makeshift bandages with my teeth and one hand took long minutes of swearing and gasping.

By the time I was done and the blood stopped flowing I was sitting in a sticky pool of my own blood, feeling lightheaded, exhausted, and absolutely starving.

What the hell was I doing? Picking fights with large groups of zombies is insane. There was only one and a half magazines left for the pistol. One or two zombies, that was still possible. But just a handful of zombies had nearly killed me once before in the Hospital.

Sure there were more people now. Two. Probably. If they were still alive. If they’d managed to get to safety before the horde caught them. Running towards danger like that… that wasn’t me. The injured people in the pods. The ones in the refugee pods here. Even the only other two people that I knew for sure had been alive the last time I’d seen them. There had to be a way to save them.

And until there was someone else to carry the load, it was on me.

Even the bones were starting to break down into ash and dust as I slowly climbed the stairs again, leaning heavily on the bulkhead. Something about how they broke down like that bothered me. Human bodies didn’t do that. Not without intense heat or pressure. Zombies were based on the human frame and biology. They ate and they breathed. Howled and screamed and hunted and were absolute shit in microgravity.

But they worked together in hordes. Here they’d just gotten in each others’ way on the stairs. It felt like there was something significant in that, but I couldn’t figure out what.

The mess hall certainly lived up to its name. Long dried blood looked black and fuzzy where it had splattered on the deck and the walls. I could see mold growing where it was thickest. But there was food here that I needed. Food, then sleep. Somewhere safe.

The nutrient paste dispenser was empty. It beeped disconsolately at me as I numbly pressed the activation button. The stasis container rejected my attempts to access it. The various cupboards and compartments I checked frustrated me as well. I checked the locker at the back of the room.

Jackpot.

Several crates of meal bars lay within covered in a thin layer of dust. That did not bother me in the least. Meal bars never went bad. Well. Not for half a century at least, by the advertisements they used to run. They were an emergency supply food designed to supply all the major nutrition, vitamin, and mineral needs for an active adult. And to most people, they tasted like cardboard.

I grabbed a crate. Correction. I attempted to grab a crate. It broke open when I couldn’t hold it, spilling its cargo over the deck. Unable to wait any longer I collapsed to the ground and tore into the first one with my teeth.

Several empty wrappers later I could not eat any more. Stomach full, still hungry. Still extremely bloated with nanites. Still unable to use my right arm, limping on one good leg. My other injuries made their presence known with hot, stabbing, aching, and pounding pains. My arm was bleeding again. Slowly. I’d tried to catch the crate and missed.

My nanites responded lethargically as I directed them to the wounds in my arm. Slowly, ever so slowly, I directed them to push out the foreign material, the dirt and debris. Threads from my ripped tee shirt had made their way into some of the wounds as well.

The third time I blinked and realized I’d forgotten to open my eyes again gave my tired brain a small shock. It wasn’t safe to sleep out here in the open, near a pile of decomposing corpses and lying on the filthy deck. It couldn’t be healthy either, right next to the moldy blood splatter.

I got up with difficulty. There were two more ways out of the mess hall, one leading forward to the bridge section and the other aft towards the sleeping areas. The bridge sounded like it would have fewer zombies. Ideally, no zombies. Hopefully a door or a hatch I could put between me and potential danger.

The next thing I knew I was stopped, facing a bulkhead with a red double slash on it. That meant there was a medkit behind the panel. That would help with the bleeding. I looked around. It was hard to focus on anything, but it was clear that I’d made it to the bridge. And nothing had decided to eat me.

Consoles and blinking lights lined the bulkheads and armor glass covered the view above and forward. There were three seats to the fore, one each port and starboard, plus the captain’s station. The bridge hatch was right beside me standing open. Through it I could hear a zombie groan in the distance.

I shut and dogged the hatch as well as I could with one arm. Then I collapsed into the captain’s chair as it was the closest. Sleep snatched me away and I dreamed of monsters chasing me through the dark. Time and again they found me and destroyed me until I saw my own hands turn into claws. A howl ripped itself from my throat. I hungered for hot blood and flesh.