Kevin dug under the console and work stations. He knew he'd seen a medical kit in here somewhere when they'd first explored the ship. Locating the white box, he grabbed it and handed it over quickly to George.

The priest tore open the box and rummaged through the stored items, selecting and taking what he needed. Cutting open Isabella's shirt around the stab wound, he examined the injury to determine its depth and the damage to the organs underneath. Certain there were no hemorrhaging organs or severed arteries, George took the necessary items from the kit and began stitching the wound closed. He applied disinfectant and a heavy layer of gauze before putting a large bandage on top.

Kevin and the people he'd brought with him checked the scavengers in the room, making certain they were dead. When the room was secure, Kevin divided the men into two groups, posting each one at a different door leading into the bridge. Returning to George, he checked on Isabella's condition.

"How is she?" Kevin asked.

"Not good," George answered without looking up from his ministrations. "She took some pretty deep wounds, and she lost a significant amount of blood. I just don't know if we got to her in time."

"We need to secure the ship," Kevin said, uncertain of how George would react to his suggestion.

George stood up and silently nodded his agreement. The look in his eyes made Kevin nervous. The priest didn't seem angry but strangely cold and calm as if his emotions had switched off.

"Barricade the doors," George instructed the men remaining behind to hold the bridge. He handed one of them the shotgun Isabella had been using of late. "Anyone tries to get in, shoot them."

"What if it's you?" the guard nervously asked.

"We won't come back in," George replied. "We'll call out to you from the hallway. If we walk through the hatch, it means the enemy has us at gunpoint and you need to be ready to start shooting. Remember, if that hatch opens, the enemy is coming in to kill you; kill them first."

George stepped over to the man and took a handful of his shirt near the collar and pulling him to within an inch of the priest.

"Guard this room with your life," George whispered. "If they get to her again, I'll kill you myself."

George released the terrified man and exited the bridge, either expecting Kevin to follow or not caring if he did.

Kevin swallowed hard as he trailed after the man dressed as a priest. His cop instincts were screaming at him that George was dangerous and a potential threat, but he didn't know what to do about it at the moment. After seeing the look in his eyes earlier, Kevin knew for certain he didn't want to get in the man's way.

George and Kevin headed to the engine room. Along the way, the two of them encountered several scavengers, but George dispatched them with his guns faster than Kevin could react. The moment Kevin saw them and started to turn his weapon in their direction, George fired and put them down. His shots were flawlessly precise, either striking his foes in the forehead or slipping between their pieces of armor to cut through the intruders at their weakest point.

Kevin felt as if he were following in the path of the Grim Reaper. George methodically and efficiently killed every opponent that appeared to challenge them, and through it all, his expression remained blank and emotionless. He was the hand of death itself.

The engine room was filled with the civilians George had enlisted to assist him in running the ship. They were completely unaware of the attack on the vessel as none of the intruders had gotten this far as yet. He had them barricade the doors into the compartment, leaving orders to attack anyone who tried to enter.

"Where to next?" Kevin asked as the engine room hatch closed and locked behind them.

"It will take too long to search the ship," George responded. "While we're looking, they could be killing our people. We need to gather the civilians who aren't going to fight into a central location that is easily defensible. Once they're secure, we can leave."

"Leave?" Kevin inquired.

"We control the bridge and engine room," George explained quickly as he began moving down the corridor. "We need to get out of scavenger territory."

"Right," Kevin agreed as he remembered what George had said earlier about the scavengers abandoning the rig and trying to take the ship rather than facing the undead coming out of the bay.

It was a possibility the raiding party currently onboard were here simply to delay their departure long enough for the remainder of their clan to arrive. The scavengers had become experts at taking armed ships of survivors, the wrecks in the bay waters proved it, and Kevin knew better than to underestimate his enemy.

The two men started in the lowest levels, sweeping forward from the stern of the ship and collecting every civilian they could. The refugees from Walton fell in behind the two experienced fighters and let them clear the path of hostiles.

The growing procession made its way to the mess hall. Tables and chairs were stacked in front of the other hatches leading into the room to block them and prevent their opening. Only one entrance was allowed, and George stationed men around it with knives taken from the kitchen.

"We will lead every group in, and our hands will be in the open," George told the people he'd entrusted with protecting the room and those within it. "If you see anyone enter without their hands raised, it's a threat. Do you understand?"

The fear and near panic on the faces of the civilians were clear to read, but neither Kevin nor George could do anything about it. The mental stability and morale of the refugees was secondary to survival at the moment. They would address the other problems when they had dealt with the immediate situation.

Closing the hatch and spinning the wheel crank to seal the room behind them. George and Kevin began the long and dangerous task of rounding up the remaining civilians.

Their steps sounded hollowly against the deck plating. Because they'd wanted to avoid attracting attention from the scavengers on the rig, the interior lights had been switched off, leaving the corridors dark and menacing.

Kevin wondered how George remained perfectly calm. He didn't even seem to be perspiring, either from exertion or nerves. Kevin's heart was racing, and a nervous sweat on his forehead was constantly threatening to run down into his eyes and blur his vision.

The former police officer would've preferred an open gun battle to creeping around empty passageways while waiting for bloodthirsty maniacs to jump out of the darkness and attack him. Every noise he heard had the potential to either be the natural sounds of a ship upon the waves or the approach of a scavenger strike team.

George halted beside an open hatch, holding up his hand for Kevin to wait. Holstering his gun, George drew out his sword. Without warning, he spun around and thrust his blade and one arm into the darkness of the open hatch.

Kevin heard the weapon slice through flesh and the grunt of pain as the sword found its mark. George retracted the katana, and a dead scavenger fell out of the side passage, landing at George's feet.

"How did you know he was there?" Kevin asked in disbelief.

"I've had some training," George answered without really telling Kevin anything.

Kevin shook his head as George cleaned his blade on the dead man's shirt and once more took the lead.

Room by room, George and Kevin collected the civilians and escorted them back to the mess hall. They were careful to announce themselves and have the newcomers slowly enter with their hands raised so as to not be perceived as a threat. After the fourth deck had been cleared, George stopped.

"This is taking too long," he complained to Kevin. He stepped over to an intercom and contacted the bridge. "We're going to get underway. I need one of you to pilot."

"None of us had ever done this before," came the near panicked response from the speaker.

"Can you find the wheel for steering?" George asked.

"Yes," the man answered.

"Can you see the shoreline, the wrecked ships, and the fires from the scavenger oil rig?" George questioned quickly.

"Yes," the man confirmed.

"Steer away from them and head toward the open sea," George instructed.

"Can't you ask someone else?" the man protested.

"I am not asking," George said coldly. "We're moving out. Either steer the ship or brace for collision."

He switched the intercom to the engine room.

"This is George Navarro," he told the crew in the engine compartment. "We're leaving scavenger territory. Retract the anchor and all ahead one quarter."

"Yes sir," came the swift acknowledgment as the men controlling the engines were used to following his instructions.

Kevin made no effort to stop George from ordering their departure. He understood the reasoning behind it, and he thought it might cause a few of the scavengers to abandon ship if they were going to be cut off from the rest of their kind.

The deep thrum of the engines started up, and the vessel pulled in its anchor before departing its position. A commotion broke out almost immediately on the forward deck, and George raced to investigate with Kevin following close behind.

Kevin felt relieved to be back in the open air. Darkness still covered the sky, clouds hiding the moon and stars from view. He liked it better than the narrow confines of the ship's hallways. Out here, he had a better field of vision and could see the enemy coming before they got too close.

A half dozen feet in front of him were the remnants of the scavenger boarding party. They were engaged in combat with Razor and Red. Although the two were doing very well, the odds were five to one in favor of the Coral Blade scavengers.

George jumped to the top of a tarp covered stack of cargo. Running across it, he jumped into the air and brought his sword down across the back of a scavenger as he landed. The sharp sword cut the man in half, but George was already moving past the bisected corpse before it fell.

Kevin preferred long range and used his bow to pick off a few of the raiders attacking his ship. After years of shooting hunting before the zombies showed up, kill shots were natural and effortless.

When a scavenger's head was skewered by an arrow and pinned to the side of cargo container, one of his clansmen made the mistake of turning to see where the arrow had come from. Razor stepped up behind him and sank his knife diagonally into the base of the man's neck where it met the shoulder.

The invading scavengers had given up all pretense of being strong and were trying to escape with their lives. One shoved his comrade toward George in order to buy him the few seconds he needed to jump overboard, followed by three others.

George easily sliced through the scavenger pushed toward him, cutting him down without trouble or even slowing his stride. He dropped his sword on a cargo crate and drew his gun taking aim at the four men swimming away from the ship.

Red chased after the last scavenger on deck. Kevin was about to shoot him when she slashed at the back of his calf muscle, dropping him on his face. Continuing forward, she dragged her kris in a long slice up the man's back, flaying open his spine in passing. The man screamed in pain, and Red stopped and spun in place, bringing her kris back around to stab through the man's right eye and silence his screams.

George fired, and his bullet found the head of his target, filling the dark waters with a tint of red.

"Exactly who were you before you put on that priestly outfit?" Kevin asked as he came to stand beside George.

"I've had a lot of practice doing what I do," George replied as he shot the second scavenger dead. He followed up with the third. As he took aim at the last man in the water, he answered Kevin's inquiry. "It's what I was paid for."

"You were a mercenary," Kevin concluded.

"No," George denied. He fired a final bullet, and the round struck high on the back of the scavenger's skull, releaving him of the upper portion of his head. George lowered his gun and as he turned to face Kevin. "I was an assassin."