SPACESHIP ZOMBIE CRUISE

FILE ENTRY 20.0

Bella Starr

With the infected steward's glazed-over eyes following my every move, I snoop around the storage room searching for something to use as a weapon. I can't throw toilet paper at the sick people as they shriek toward me in the corridor, but if I could find something harder that might make a dent or leave a mark, that might be doable. I pick up a can of air freshener, skim the contents on the label, and put it back on the shelf. If only the can of rosy bloom scent was flammable I could use a lighter to make a blowtorch, but I doubt that would work. First, I don't have a lighter and even if I had one, the lady at the security checkpoint at Neptune Shores would've confiscated it. I never would've gotten it to the space station in the first place. And after the quick scan of the air freshener's contents, I discovered it wasn't flammable anyway. Like they would make anything for a spaceship that could start a fire? No, a fire in space is about the worst thing imaginable, apart from a viral zombie apocalypse.

I snort. The sick people aren't zombies. Caprica is NOT a zombie. She can't be dead. Cap is my friend. Blood flushes my cheeks. Swelling heat and moisture radiate behind my eyes. Truth is, I want to cry. I want to flat out ball like a baby. Let a river of tears break the dam wide open and flood down my face. But I hold the emotions back. Astra doesn't need to see me weak, and Halo doesn't need to see it either. If I cry in front of them, they'll doubt my mental toughness.

A laugh bursts from my lips.

"What's so funny?" Halo says

"Nothing," I reply. "Just trying to deal with it all."

"We all are," Astra says.

I shake my head—I don't feel tough. One look over at the infected person makes me cower, and the smell makes me want to wrap my head with paper towels. That's when I remember the original meaning of my given name, Bellatrix...conquering female warrior. That's a laugh that I don't give myself the luxury to let out.

Behind me, Halo rambles through a side closet, looking for a weapon. And Astra stands behind him, craning her neck over his shoulder, occasionally peering over at the infected person.

Speaking of the sick steward. Again—for lack of a better term—the creature or zombie observes me curiously. The woman seems to have accepted the fact that she can't reach us. But I've learned since reaching the storage room, while the infected is in a state of indifference or tolerance to our presence, to avoid quick movements. If I move too fast, the steward whips her head toward me and snarls. But those nasty sounds and facial expressions fade if I stand still for a while. With the sounds come the smell. I'm positive that it comes from the woman's breath and makes me wish my tank top was a loose fitting t-shirt so I could use it to cover my nose.

"I found us some weapons." Halo appears from the closet, wielding a broom, a rather hefty wrench, and a very long screwdriver.

The steward jerks her head toward Halo, who stands in front of Astra.

The woman hisses and shakes the cage.

That's a first. I haven't seen one of the infected hiss like a feline. I've seen plenty of mountain lions in California, in the desert mountains. They hunt deer. Most of the sick people remind me of a pack of wild dogs. They act like animals plain and simple. The woman doesn't exhibit any signs of the human she once was...which makes me think about sticking the long screwdriver in the steward's eye. Putting an end to her existence. Putting her out of her misery.

I could go for a bottle of water right now, and that thing is blocking my path.

But then Caprica comes to mind. Could I put an end to her life so easily? Do I have the right too?