Chapter 2: Juggling Chainsaws

The screeching call of the crazed space zombie horde made the color drain from Bradley’s face. It probably did the same to mine, to be honest, but I wasn’t about to let him see me scared. Because the horde had been asleep in the opposite corridor, we most likely had a whole twenty seconds to get the tanks of Argon fuel into the airlock. That wasn’t happening.

Instead, I reached to the side and snagged one of the space suits hanging on a hook by the airlock door. It was one of the three-piece kinds, with a pair of pants that interlocked into a heavy top that held the motor controls, and then the helmet up above on a shelf. The only problem was they built it for Revaulos, not humans.

“You’re up, spook,” Bradley called. He had also jumped into a pair of Revaulo space pants and was busy trying to get the top-half on when the first dead thing rounded the corner and spotted us.

I quickly jumped into the oversized pants and put the elastic suspenders up over my shoulders while the zombie closed the distance. Its buddies wouldn’t be far behind. I didn’t have time to further suit up, and instead hefted my staff with its titanium tip, holding my focus crystal. Pushing energy into the crystal, I swung the staff around to club the rampaging zombie right on the noggin. The crystal released its energy and, along with the stunning force of the swing, I dislodged its immediate “kill the breathing people” instinct.

Three more zombies came charging out of the still-open door back to the engine compartment, but I at least had one under control. “Hold them back,” I commanded. It obeyed without a second’s hesitation. I quietly thanked the stars the zombies were far enough gone that I didn’t have to do much mental gymnastics to dominate them. Instead, I grabbed the top half of the space suit and pulled it on, pinching my arm on the metal latch in the process.

“Hurry up, trash man,” I yelled over the sudden sounds of fighting. I wasn’t looking at the zombie on zombie struggle because I was looking for a helmet that would fit the suit (why didn’t they make one-size-fits-all), but I could definitely tell my new minion would not last long.

Bradley heaved the fallen tank over the lip of the rounded airlock door. Pressure hates corners. That’s why most engineered airlocks are cylindrical, but it sure made moving stuff into them a pain when it was heavy. I needed to buy more time.

Ignoring the lack of helmet, I turned to face the fighting behind me. There was Mr. minion doing his very best to keep the throng of zombies back, but he was beaten and his blood flowed from hundreds of cuts and scrapes.

Good thing his nerves were as dead as his brain.

I gripped my staff and pushed more willpower into the focusing crystal on the top, the battery light on the side slowly changing from purple to red to green. I could feel the mental strain as I pumped energy into the staff. Once the green light blinked, I knew it was fully charged, so I leaped forward and jabbed the tip into the ribs of the nearest Revaulo zombie.

Mr. Minion 2.0 at my service.

I gave it the same directive I gave the last one and moved to turn a third to my service. Bradley grunted as he placed another argon tank in the airlock behind me. Just as I felt like I had enough of a fleshy defensive wall behind me, no less than ten more Revaulo zombies hurled themselves against my minions.

There was a sudden psychic assault flung against my minions, and all three immediately lost their animating force. The zombie-brain was gone, but so was my control.

Karla, you idiot. Revaulos have a hive intellect. The more of them in one place, the smarter each one becomes.

The group of half-stupefied zombie aliens had just thrashed my domination magic. Sure, they had effectively amputated themselves to do it, but now I was staring down the barrel of a bunch of dead things that wanted to eat my liver with no defense.

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“Bradley. It’s definitely time to go.”

“I’m not done yet. Hold those blasted things off.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be an option for much longer,” I called, swinging my staff into the skull of another zombie. Minion number three lasted a whole fifteen seconds before the combined Revaulos recognized I had turned another of their number. They shut that one off with the same psychic assault as the first two. I waited until they finished their mental volley before I smacked two more.

This was working to a point, but they were inching closer. I still didn’t have a helmet, and time was not on our side. It was like juggling flaming chainsaws. One of them was eventually bound to fall on my head.

The next psychic blast truncated my latest batch of friendly, dead aliens, and this time I was too close when they removed my hired help. The nearest zombie lashed at me with their clawed hands and another whipped their tail into the back of my space suit. I heard an electric crackle as its tail broke something that was probably important. I fell backwards, tripping over the cart still holding two Argon tanks. Luckily, I didn’t drop my staff and, as the zombie that had clawed at me fell atop the cart to finish killing me off, I jammed the end of my staff into its face. The motion drained the last of the power in the crystal, but it worked in stopping the thing cold.

Having felt a few of the Revaulo’s mental assaults at this point, I could tell they were building their power up to short-circuit my newest friend’s brainstem. Before they could do that, I scrambled backwards and snagged a helmet that had fallen on the ground near the airlock door.

“Now’s not the time to get greedy, trash man. Let’s get out of here.”

Bradley nodded his agreement, and we leaped through the airlock door. He slammed the big, red button on the console next to us, and the door hissed shut just before the zombies crossed the threshold. The decompression cycle started automatically, and we both breathed out a sigh of relief. We hadn’t gotten all six of the tanks, but four was still enough to make the trip worth it.

Staring at us with crazed and hungry expressions, the Revaulo zombies hammered on the interior door to the airlock. The dial on the console showed an ever-decreasing pressure percentage, but the zombies either didn’t care, or didn’t have the brainpower to recognize the danger. It was suddenly a race to see which would give in first, the outer door’s protocols, or the inner door’s seal.

I latched the helmet on my head and its display came up automatically. A little voice started speaking at me in what sounded like a warning tone, but I didn’t know Revauli, so that wasn’t any good. I was able to at least change the language of the display to something I could understand, and just before the door opened, I realized what the alert was for.

The outer door opened without a sound because in space no one can hear you scream. That was especially true now since apparently that tail lash I had taken a moment before had knocked out my communication. Bradley couldn’t hear me and I couldn’t hear him.

Our ship wasn’t attached to the Revaulo craft because the airlocks didn’t match up. I figured someone had an airlock adapter and made a truckload of money off selling it. Bradley had parked his ship a little way off. He had tied the tanks to the back of his suit and started moving towards his airlock when the damn zombies burst through the inner door.

Immediately, the atmosphere inside rushed out, sending me spinning end over end along with a cloud of debris and zombie body parts into space. That wasn’t the worst part, though. The worst part was that a piece of that debris knocked my mobility controls offline.

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