I scrambled back, putting a line of work tables between me and the zombie. The workbench crashed into the table above me, scattering tools with a crash. Several fell onto me as I threw myself away. Then the zombie demolished the work table I’d just been hiding behind and I remembered the pistol in my hand. I shot at it and missed.

The zombie howled and swung at me as I desperately ducked and rolled away under a table. It’s howl was nothing like the sounds that other infected made- more like a roar. The broken remains of the table stymied it for a moment, giving me the time to get back to my feet and shoot it again. This time I hit it twice, once in the chest and once in the head.

The bullet that struck its skull bounced off.

In the time it took for me to process this fact it had gotten free of the table and turned to face me. A slight dribble of blood was all the evidence of the headshot. The bullet that struck its upper left chest didn’t even bleed at all.

While I was processing the fact that this zombie was apparantly bulletproof, it reached out to grab me with its improbably long arms. My body was already moving by the time I realized that it had missed. I shot at it again as I dashed away, taking my eyes off the zombie for a split second to look for a way out.

Two. The hatch I entered through and another. I dove over a table to evade a kick that would have turned my insides into chunky soup and ran for the other door. It was open. The one I entered was blocked by debris.

I almost made it. Another worktable slammed into my back, launching me forward and mostly through the open hatch. My left arm caught on the door frame for a split second, causing me to spin around as I fell to the deck.

My arm hurt, but I could use it. I coughed, my breath wheezing painfully as I rolled over to see why I wasn’t squished yet. Or being eaten alive.

The bulkhead jumped as the zombie slammed into it once, twice, then a third time in quick succession. Hatch openings were standard across all ships and stations at eight feet high. This giant of zombie kind was even bigger than that. The workbench that was partially blocking the opening must have been made from stronger stuff than I’d expected.

I aimed the pistol one handed at the zombie and fired. The bullet struck it in the hand as it waved wildly about, carving a bloody channel in it and otherwise achieving nothing. My second shot hit it in the shoulder and the third, carefully braced with my still weakened left hand, struck it in the forehead.

And once again bounced off.

Unless I could somehow hit it in the eye my bullets seemed to do nothing more than mildly annoy the giant creature. I looked around while I scrambled to my feet. The zombie roared and lunged forward again, striking the hatch frame like it was trying for a wrestling grab. Once again the bulkheads shook. Dust rained down into the main cargo bay where I found myself.

Getting back to my feet wasn’t happening, so I crawled across the deck to get away from my now enraged foe. Something popped in my back and I coughed, spitting out blood. I’d also smashed my nose against the deck, making me look even more like a zombie as blood dripped off my chin.

The worktable that was blocking the hatch was starting to flex alarmingly as I finally noticed what was around me. I was back in the cargo hold. The stasis container that I was leaning against was inactive, but the others glowed blue with the faces of refugees frozen in time. Fighting here might risk the refugees.

If I could get close enough without getting hit, I might be able to drain it. Given that the nearly starved zombies gave practically no energy, this one should be worth a lot. It might even accelerate my healing, given what had happened the last time I was injured-

The worktable finally broke with a sharp crack as the zombie put its whole body into the attack. There was no more time. I slapped a hand onto the inactive container and pushed my nanites into it. Bullets weren’t working. Maybe technology would.

The massive infected charged through the newly cleared hatch in a blink. A split second before it would have split me in half I triggered a command inside container. A blue field snapped into being. The zombie’s left knee that had been blurring forward a moment ago froze in place. The blue field crackled and flickered, but held just long enough.

One second the zombie was practically teleporting toward me. The next it spun to slam face first into the stasis container. All of that mass swiveled on a single point. The stasis container, nearly one and a half tons of metal and technology, rocked with the impact. It also jarred me away, saving me from being flattened as the container fell back down.

In the split second that the monstrous thing was stunned I launched myself at its head. I felt it begin to move as my nanites invaded its body, devouring the zombie nanites and weakening it- but it was slow going. There was also a pattern of circuitry built into the thing- right over its bones, all over the place. Several unknown implants were also inside it.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

I felt the zombie grab me with one hand, dragging me towards its mouth. Even weakened, it was strong. Too strong for me to effectively resist with the strength of my arms. I urged my nanites on, to drain faster.

Sharp, hot pain ripped through my hands, up my arms and into my chest. My arms weakened, but the monster that had me in its grip faltered as well. Another wave of agony tore into me. The creature dropped me, but somehow I maintained contact.

Again and again it came. I screamed my throat raw as it felt like white hot razor blades were slicing into me, starting with my hands and traveling up into my chest before spreading out to every other part of my body. I wanted to let go, to make the pain stop. Anything to make it stop. But my hands refused to obey my will.

I wasn’t concentrating on my nanites anymore. My eyes had long since shut. Even had they been open I doubt that sight was possible in that moment. My entire world was focused on my own suffering and the fact that the pain had to stop some time.

That was the last coherent thought I had before blacking out completely.

* * *

Everything hurt. Everything from the roots of my hair to the soles of my feet. My joints felt like molten lead had been poured into them. My muscles felt like they’d been dipped in acid. Even thinking caused pain. So I tried to stop thinking.

It didn’t work. At all.

Even with the knowledge that it would be a bad idea, I opened my eyes. The soft light coming off the stasis containers and the dim lights of the cargo hold proved to be too much. I squinted. Slowly, a the blurry world sharpened. Objects gained depth and definition.

There was a dead zombie nearby. The thing had to be nine feet tall. Greasy ash was still drifting off of it. That part still bothered me. Ash meant burnt. I didn’t get burned. Not when I drained zombies. Usually.

Space suits. I was supposed to be getting one. Getting off the ship. Back to Security Medical. See if the two survivors needed help. But moving hurt. Hell. Breathing hurt. Blinking was painful.

My stomach growled loudly. It sent a spike of pain through my guts to remind me to eat. It almost got lost in the background haze that beat into me in time with my pulse. I needed to eat.

My back was one giant bruise. I was covered in blood and greasy ash. That made getting up hard. But I needed food.

The trip back to the mess hall, and then the bridge was one long exhausting journey of “Ow.” I drank some water, and my lips stung as the water softened the crusted blood where my lips were split. Ate some meal bars and my teeth and jaw ached.

I don’t remember collapsing into the captain’s chair and passing out. I must have done so at some point. My subconscious must have gotten bored of my body’s constant chant of “make it stop” and turned off the recording function. For that I was thankful.

My dreams were once again of blood and violence. Sometimes I fought zombies. Sometimes I was a zombie. But I always fought. And in the end, I died, over and over again.

I awoke with a howl that for once did not come from a zombie or from my own throat. The speakers on the bridge were howling. Something like an alert siren. It was obnoxiously loud. If there were any zombies left on the ship, this would bring them.

That would not do. I jumped up and secured the bridge hatch, noting that I could jump up again was something I noted in passing. Survival took precedence first, though. Then I started hunting for something to make the damned alert stop.

A console on the port side was flashing amber and red. It was the communications station. I hadn’t paid much attention to it, not wanting to listen to all the sounds of dying humanity that were doubtlessly logged there for some future historian.

The alert was a universal mayday signal. Somewhere out in the black, a ship was in some sort of catastrophic trouble. After seven years, who knew what lack of maintenance had done out there? Probably a reactor bottle finally going out of its safety bounds and ejecting, resulting in the mayday. The only way to shut it off was to accept the transmission. So that’s what I did.

“-day, this is Maggie’s Pride out of Belter 317. Our drive is on her last legs and we’re drifting into the deep dark, crossing orbit three outsystem. Is there anybody out there in range for an assist?”

The woman’s voice sounded calm, despite the calamitous howl of the alert siren. I blinked. That was another human. That made three. Three people that survived so far. Maybe there were more.

“Mags, Durandal. Can’t help you any time soon, we’re too far behind you. There might be someone out in the Jovian sector that could reach you, but that’ll be months out.”

This time it was an older man. His voice sounded tired, but with grave concern.

“That’s no good Durandal. Onboard stores won’t last, and the hydroponics is sick. Anybody out there on a vector we could get to? The drive’s not completely gone, but the old girl don’t have much left. Power’s fine, just lacking the push.”

“Mags, Belter 442. You’ll be in our neck of the woods before you reach the Jovians. How far will your supplies stretch?”

“Belter, Mags. Two weeks, three at the outside and we’d be hurting bad.”

“Mags, Belter. Math don’t add up. No way to eek out any more thrust? I knew you were due in Mars sector soon. Deimos was wanting that ice.”

“Mags, Belter. That’s a no go. Main thrusters are well and truly fucked. Got some fuel left, but not enough to matter even if we did fix the thrusters.”

The three voices argued back and forth over the channel. They talked about things they could do, maybe stasis pods for a bit, maybe a gravity sling, but each possibility was shot down. Some due to equipment failure, other to lack of parts, others to the simple physics of the matter.

In the end, Durandal spoke up with the last plan available. It wasn’t a good one.

“Mags, Durandal. You’re going to have to make a choice. Who goes into the five functioning pods, who stays. I know that’s not what you want to hear. But there’s no other option. We are scrambling a ship that can reach you in no more than two months at the outside. Six and a half weeks at best.”

The calm woman’s voice trembled ever so slightly as she responded.

“Durandal, Mags. We understand. The kids will be in the pods. We’ve already discussed this-”

“How close are you to Earth orbit?”

Chaos erupted over the open com.