The view of Earth and the stars helped to settle my nerves. I wouldn’t be using a safety line this time. There were methods to using two lines to stay in constant contact while traveling over the hull, but I didn’t know them and hadn’t practiced. I would be trusting in the maneuvering pack and my own judgment to know how much thrust to use, when and how to stop. And where the correct airlock was. I knew what it looked like from the inside. And that there were telltales on the outside to let you know where you were entering.

But I hadn’t put that theoretical knowledge into practice. Yet.

I knew roughly which way to go. Down, obviously, but the narrow dock at the top of Walker pointed towards Earth. My point of entry was counter clockwise about forty-five degrees and down two decks. The airlock access would be covered by the exterior hull, so I would need to work my way under it. That meant little to no light. I flicked the suit lights on and started to follow the curve of the hull down.

The exterior armor plates started immediately below the dock, massive slabs of layered, compressed metal. There were few ways to get beneath the armor, but one was just below the dock. The airlocks had their own exterior access but from the outside it was hard to tell where they were. Everything looked the same.

Inside the armor it was dark. Pitch black where my suit lights didn’t cover. I had basic orienteering capability in my HUD but it was severely limited. I had a basic direction to follow, but the farther I traveled the more uncertainty went in to the program. It wasn’t made for wildernesses or lightless depths. I set out anyway, pacing my way across the inner hull. I could have used the suit jets. But doing that might get me lost quicker.

It didn’t take long to find the first airlock. It glowed in my suit lights, proclaiming to the be AIRLOCK 01B (HEADQUARTERS). Couldn’t miss that. Next would be the Hospital Level lock, then Habitat 1, and finally the one I was looking for. Either my sense of direction was good enough or the little program I’d loaded was good enough. The holodrama I’d queued up should be playing about now overlaid with the howler on an eccentric loop. That would show realistic humans, though only formed from light and play an authentic zombie howl to draw in the horde. And hopefully the randoms and wanderers through the halls.

It was time to find out if the zombies were taken in. I opened the lock and stepped inside and dogged the hatch behind me. It was far messier inside the Habitat lock than it had been at the one at Headquarters. That should have been obvious, but I hadn’t considered it. Perhaps people had escaped Walker through this airlock. To where? That I didn’t know. Were there ships that weren’t infected out there?

The pumps hissed and rattled as they restored pressure. The interior hatch had a rectangular observation port that showed the interior of the station. I could see bodies floating in the corridor ahead. Zombie bodies. I eased the hatch open. It squeaked softly but the zombies did not stir.

The sound of a hunting howl in the distance startled me as I entered the corridor. I was on the right level of the Habitat, but there was a ways yet to go before I reached G-447-A. The first body I reached was already dead, shot through the face. Someone in the Habs had fought, at least. The next two were also dead. I turned the corner to find more zombie corpses. That was good.

So I automatically distrusted it. Desperate zombies might chew on other dead zombies, but they preferred live prey. Then they’d go after human food. Carrion wasn’t their preferred taste, apparently. Something would go wrong on this run. I knew it in my gut. The rational part of my brain pointed out the obvious fallacy of that proposition. And it was. But that did not stop the feeling.

Three more turns brought me to the G section, and two more after that to the 400s block. My apartment was a level down and in the Z block. I didn’t even think about checking it out. That was too close to the main horde. There were no bodies floating near G-447-A. I checked the door and found it locked. Every door in the Habitat level should be locked, what with the quarantine and shelter in place order that the cowardly former administration of Walker had left us with as they fled.

A little nudge with nanites was all it took to get the door lock to disengage. It took longer to get through the space suit’s gloves than to convince the simple mechanism that I was authorized. I slid the door open and flicked on the lights.

The zombie saw me at the same time I saw it. I shot it twice in the chest but not before it began to howl. Answering howls sounded in the distance. There was no time left.

The small stasis pod was right next to the zombie’s nest, this one made of castoff clothing and long rotten bits of food. Switching the pod to onboard power caused it to beep at me in irritation. The charge indicator showed 13%. That would have to be long enough. I picked up the now portable box under my arm like a football and launched myself into the hallway. My earlier premonition of trouble became reality as I looked to the path I’d taken to get here. It was packed with zombies. Far too many to fight.

I turned and burned, goosing the suit jets as I leapt for the farther intersection. There were howls coming from both in front and behind me now, but I thought- I hoped- that there were fewer in the direction I was traveling. A pair of infected appeared in the corridor ahead just as I turned down a new path. No zombies ahead. A lot of zombies behind. I started using the jets more, bouncing around the corridor to dodge anything that looked to have significant mass.

A zombie crashed through a door just as I was hurtling past and latched on to my boot. The added weight caused me to slam into the deck, then the bulkheads as I twisted around to shoot it. I missed several times before I hit the arm grasping on to me. The zombie was dead by then, but it was also dead weight. I kicked it loose and turned to continue my path forward but saw several more zombies bursting out of doors ahead of me. There was another intersection close and I took it.

Twice more I had to detour when the path ahead started to get clogged with potential facemunchers. I had to switch magazines on the fly quite literally and nearly dropped the new one when I had to dodge another surprise ambush from a behind a closed door. It took me far too long to recognize where I was as I fled.

Zombies were not intelligent. But they’d somehow, by chance or exceptionally poor luck on my part, herded me close to the main concourse. The howls behind me would reach the main horde soon. Then it would be all over but the screaming.

I couldn’t wait for the hordes to box me in.

There was another option. The main horde was below me, the newly emerging horde was behind me. Above was still an option. As was across. I chose to go up.

The distraction below was still playing, but several zombies managed to catch a glimpse of me as I burst into their sight. They predictably howled their glee at potential prey in flight. That was all it took. The rest of the horde followed suit in a massive wall of sound that crashed into me like a tidal wave. It shook me with its force even as I holstered the pistol and grabbed a decorative railing to help redirect my momentum into the upper level.

The railing snapped and I bounced off the ceiling, narrowly avoiding a protruding sign advertising low cost cosmetic surgery and implants. Those things were a scam anyway. I kicked off the sign awkwardly, my leg and shoulder protesting loudly and my lower back and chest burning with hot agony. Acceleration did those wounds no favors as I goosed the jets. Zombies were already closing in from below.

Meaty smacks sounded from behind me as zombies slammed into the ceiling and bounced off, only to be driven back by those that followed. I knew roughly where the upper level airlock was. There were faded signs pointing the way here and there, but not all of them had survived the descent into chaos that marked Walker’s fall from civilization.

A zombie burst from one of the apartments ahead of me. The upper level had larger units. More expensive places to lay your head at night. That meant there were probably fewer zombies. Potentially. I ducked around the clumsy swipe and shot at it as I passed by. I might have even hit it. But there was no way I’d be slowing down to check with the horde hot on my tail.

I took turns here and there, as those seemed to slow my pursuers more than me. Twice more zombies burst from their doors into my path and twice more I avoided them by the skin of my teeth. I could feel myself tiring. The damage I’d taken the day before was not yet healed and here I was running from a horde again. The stasis pod under my arm blinked its status light steadily. The crash into the ceiling had done me no favors, but I’d protected the pod as well as I could. It hadn’t failed yet. But that was no guarantee.

Another wall of sound blasted me from the concourse as I passed through another intersection. More of the horde had found me. It didn’t matter that I was only visible for an instant, they would cluster in the spot that they’d seen me in hopes that they or another would take up the call and the hunting howls would summon them again. I dashed further on, hooking around a corner as my entire body seemed to scream with white hot, stabbing pain.

A funny thing about that feeling, pain. When there’s nothing to drive me, a hungry horde of zombies for instance, and there are no non-hungry zombies that I know of, it becomes more difficult to ignore. There has to be something more important than the pain. Even if it feels like pulling a bone spike all the way through my leg would be less intense. Saving whoever was in the tiny stasis box was reason enough. That and escaping those that wanted to eat my liver along with the rest of me. I knew, intellectually speaking, that I’d be feeling the abuse I was putting myself under later. But that was a problem for future me.

I caught sight of a sign pointing the way to the airlock just before the turn it required me to take. The jets roared to slow me down but still bounced me jarringly off the far wall as I made the turn. While reorienting myself to follow the signs one of the leading zombies caught sight of me once again and screamed in glee. I pushed off again and flew down the corridor. The airlock was dead ahead. And it was dogged shut.

A glance behind showed the first members of the horde were on their way, howling like the hounds of hell. First blood was mine as I shot a howler in the mouth, still flying backward towards the lock. The dead one fouled up the other two for a moment. That would have to do.

I spun as I flew. The zombies wouldn’t be slowing down so neither could I. But I hit the hatch with my boots, absorbing as much of the velocity as I could with my legs. The leg that had been stabbed wouldn’t support my weight and I fell. On the way down I hit the hatch wheel and cranked it around as fast as I could. Then, not looking back, I swung it open and darted inside. Two zombies shot into the airlock with me.

The first one smacked into the exterior hatch hard. Something must have broken inside it because it did not rise again, but the other used the first to cushion its fall. It leapt at me as I heaved the interior hatch closed. That became easier as bodies began to slam into it, hurling the door closed. It rebounded only to slam shut again as the zombie reached me, its slow motion jump finally bringing it within reach only to get shot. The bullets hit it in the chest but it still clawed at me with frantic strength, snapping its jaws inches away from my helmet. I held it at bay with one arm, the other struggled to dog the hatch closed. My bitten shoulder and scratched chest protested as I torqued it as hard as I could. The airlock wouldn’t open without a solid seal on the inside.

I didn’t notice for a moment as I struggled with both it and the zombie that the hatch wheel wasn’t moving. Once I did, I punched the zombie with one hand and triggered the jets to push us towards the other hatch with the zombie between me and the controls. I used the zombie’s head to hit the lever to pump down, swinging us both around with a pain filled grunt of effort.

Then I heard it. A stressed sounding squeal. The interior hatch had a crack in it, something black and nasty looking growing in the crack. Just like the scratch that had scarred the combat suit. The zombies were eating through the hatch. Somehow.

The zombie seized on my distraction to bite down on the arm of my space suit. With a yell of frustration I grabbed its head and drained it, flinging the suddenly limp and weak corpse aside. Just like the last time, energy flooded into me. I felt full of strength again. The air was still being drawn out of the airlock, but a tiny bit was leaking through the crack the zombies were making. The airlock would never release at this rate.

I grabbed onto the controls, driving my nanites into the panel. There were hardware lockouts to keep the hatch from opening, but the software was more paranoid. It wouldn’t let release the door while there was some pressure in the airlock, but the hardware didn’t care about a little pressure. Only that the inner door was sealed and most of the air was out of the lock. I sabotaged the controls messily, pulling out of the panel and spinning the exterior hatch open.

It was nearly too late.

The exterior hatch slammed open, dragging me with it and nearly wrenching my arm out of its socket. I crashed into the exterior armor from the inside, clutching the small stasis pod to my chest to protect it. The pod beeped in complaint at the rough handling, but it was still intact for the moment. I was still alive. Unexpectedly.

Seconds later a foul geyser of zombie parts exploded onto the armor from the airlock. The zombies had finally breached the interior hatch. It hadn’t done them much good. Inside Walker, blast doors would be slamming down, blocking off the breach and keeping as much atmosphere inside the space station as they could. Whatever zombies were left alive in the affected section would have to learn to breathe without air.

The jets failed on my way back up to the Headquarters dock and I had to make my way back on foot. It had been battered and abused too much. Fortunately my internal air supply remained intact. Climbing up to the dock was less challenging than I’d feared. All I had to do is put my foot on the wall and walk up.

I left a trail of flaking blood and gore for the cleaner bots to clean all the way back to Security Medical. The surge of energy that from the drained zombie had trickled away on the trip back and I felt exhausted and, wrung out. Being that close to that many zombies and living to tell the tale had been beyond terrifying. At any moment, any one thing that hadn’t gone just the way it did once I shot the first apartment zombie and I would have been swarmed, peeled like a lobster, and eaten. I hit the decontamination cycle automatically just as the stasis pod started to fail.

“Oh no. Nonononono!” I forced the revive and release and unlatched my helmet with my other hand. The pod opened just as the cleaner sprays started. I scooped up something furry with too many legs and stuck it in my helmet as I latched it back, cleaning fluid sloshing down my shirt to collect around my boxers. It was cold. The furry whatsit stirred on my head as I waited for the decontamination cycle to complete.

Once it finished I trudged into the loot room, stripping off the space suit as I went. The wounds on my chest and shoulder had reopened and I could feel blood trickling down my leg. Whether that was the stab wound in my leg or lower back, or both, I couldn’t tell. I plucked the tiny furry thing off my head. Well, I tried to. It was stuck to my hair. I carefully detached six sets of paws and held it up to look at it.

“What in Heaven’s name are you?”

It was something like a cross between a cat, a dog, and maybe a spider. It had six legs.

“Mi~! Miiii~!”

Like all infants it had a big head. Triangular, cat-like ears with tufts of white fur sticking out of them adorned its head. At the end of the six legs were oversized paws now grasping at the air. Its eyes were closed and it licked its lips. Probably hungry. I’d have to figure out what it was in order to learn what it ate. So I cradled the fuzzball with one hand and went hunting for a console under the piles of loot, snagging a couple of meal bars and nutrient paste as I went.

As I suspected there were consoles hidden under piles of random crap. Clearing one off completely would take a while, but pushing stuff aside worked well enough for the moment. The fuzzball trilled noisily as it wriggled in the crook of my arm.

“Quit that. I’m trying to find out how to feed you.”

Surprisingly, it stopped. Coincidence or no, I’d take it. The thing had nearly wriggled its way into the air, and while it wouldn’t drop in microgravity, I didn’t want to have to go hunting after it. It trilled again every so often as I skimmed through the medical archives on pets. Then exotic pets, because this obviously wasn’t a parrot or a pet rat. A few minutes later I found it. And what it ate. Which was pretty much everything.

“What in the world is a Wampus Cat?”