The Sequel to Zombie 6:L’alba dei Tropici shambles from the forgotten sea - Zombie 7:Nave da Carico dei Morti

 

    Using the same crew and locations as Zombie 6 (they filmed it back to back to save money), the next and hopefully last installment of the Italian Zombie horror franchise comes to a bloody and unsatisfying end. Here is a short story based on the ill-fated film of the early 90s:

Zombie 7:

Nave da Carico dei Morti

 Captain Fowler stood at the helm of the shipping carrier vessel, the "Rising Sun", His weathered hands gripped the wheel tightly. The once proud and efficient crew was now reduced to a haunting army of undead, their vacant eyes and slack jaws opening and closing in unyielding hunger for fresh human flesh. He had watched helplessly as his crew turned one by one, their fate sealed by an act of compassion that had gone horribly wrong.

It had all started weeks ago when the "Rising Sun" came across a small rowboat adrift at sea. The ship's crew had quickly scrambled to rescue the occupants—a pair of young women who appeared disoriented and injured. Without thinking twice, the crew had brought them aboard, unaware of the terror they were about to unleash upon themselves.

As Captain Fowler gazed at the now deserted deck, he couldn't help but feel a profound sense of responsibility for what had transpired. The zombie women had attacked the crew without warning, spreading the infection like wildfire. Chaos had ensued as the ship's crew fought to contain the outbreak, but the virus proved relentless, turning one life after another into a mindless, ravenous beast.

A handful of crew members had managed to isolate themselves in various sections of the ship, but Captain Fowler knew it was only a matter of time before they succumbed to ravenous undead. The "Rising Sun" had become a floating tomb.

The only known survivors were Dr. Hobbath, the ship's surgeon, who had barricaded himself in the infirmary, Helen, a stowaway who had been hiding in an escape raft, Ronald, a sailor who had been on watch in the crow’s nest during the zombie women’s attack, and then there was Vince, a dishwasher from the galley, who had hidden himself in the cramped space of the pantry. Captain Fowler had been thrown into the crew barracks and protected from the initial onslaught.

Captain Fowler knew they were the last survivors on the ship. Their situation was dire. The ship was headed for a remote island where they could potentially find supplies and refuge. And escape the ship of zombies, of course.

"Alright, everyone," Captain Fowler called out, his voice steady despite the fear that gnawed at him. "We need to make it to that island. It's our only chance of survival. We stick together and stay alert. We'll make it through this."

The survivors gathered on the deck, their eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of the island. The once familiar sounds of the ship had been replaced by eerie silence, punctuated only by the creaking of the vessel and the occasional guttural moans from the undead that roamed in the lower cargo hold below, trapped by the survivors – for the time being.

Dr. Hobbath, a middle-aged man with a shock of graying hair, approached the group. "Captain, we can't let the infected spread to the mainland. We need to ensure that this ship doesn't make landfall until we've found a way to contain the virus."

"I agree, Doctor," Captain Fowler replied. "We'll do whatever it takes to prevent that. But first, we need to reach the island and find supplies. Without them, we won't last long."

Helen, the stowaway, stepped forward. "I'm with you, Captain. But we need to be careful. Those things below deck... they're not the crew we knew. They're monsters now."

Ronald, the sailor, nodded solemnly. "She's right. We can't let sentiment cloud our judgment. We have to focus on survival and finding a way out of this mess."

Vince, the dishwasher, remained silent, his eyes darting around as if searching for a way out of their nightmarish situation.

Captain Fowler took a deep breath, steeling himself for what lay ahead. "Agreed. Let's make our way to the bridge and see if we can plot a course for the island. We can radio for help from the bridge, too. Dr. Hobbath, bring whatever medical supplies you can carry. Helen, Ronald, stick close to me. Vince, watch our backs. We'll get through this together."

The survivors set off, navigating the desolate halls of the ship, their footsteps echoing through the metal interior. The once bustling corridors were now hauntingly empty, save for the occasional glimpse of an undead crew member yet uncontained roaming the shadows.

As they reached the bridge, Captain Fowler quickly assessed the navigational equipment. It had been damaged during the initial chaos, but with some effort, he managed to plot a rough course to the island.

"Alright, we have a heading," Captain Fowler announced, his gaze locking with his companions. "Let's move quickly and quietly. We don't know how many of those things are still loose on board."

The survivors made their way back to the deck. The once grand "Rising Sun" now carried a cargo far more valuable than any merchandise—it carried the fate of humanity itself.

The journey to the island would be treacherous, and the challenges ahead were as daunting as the undead that pursued them. But in the face of despair, this small group of survivors clung to hope, knowing that their will to survive and their bonds of camaraderie were their only weapons against the relentless power of the undead.

As the ship sailed onward, its battered hull cutting through the waves, the survivors braced themselves for what lay ahead. The undead were not their only adversaries; they would also face the darkness within themselves as they fought to retain their humanity in a world that had been overrun by chaos and death.

Dr. Hobbath led the way, his medical bag clutched tightly in his hand. He knew that finding a cure for the virus was a long shot, but he couldn't abandon the hope of saving humanity from this nightmare. The weight of responsibility weighed heavily on his shoulders, knowing that the lives of his companions and potentially the world rested on his ability to find a solution.

As they approached the ship's galley, the group heard the distant sound of clattering dishes. Vince tensed, recognizing the noise. "I know this place well," he whispered. "It's the galley. I used to work here before all of this happened."

Captain Fowler nodded. "We'll need to be cautious. There might still be some of them here."

The galley door creaked open, and the survivors peered inside. The kitchen was dimly lit, and the smell of rotting food mingled with the unmistakable stench of death. At first, the room appeared deserted, but then they saw a figure hunched over a pile of dirty dishes.

"Ronald," Helen whispered, recognizing the sailor who had sought refuge below deck.

Ronald's eyes were vacant, and his movements were slow and disjointed. He didn't seem to notice their presence as he continued to scrub at the dishes, his mind trapped in an endless loop of mundane routine.

Tears welled up in Helen's eyes as she watched her former crewmate reduced to this pitiful state. "We can't leave him like this," she said, her voice shaking with emotion.

Dr. Hobbath hesitated, torn between the urgency of their mission and his compassion for Ronald. "We don't know if we can help him," he said softly, placing a comforting hand on Helen's shoulder. "But we can try."

The survivors approached Ronald cautiously, and Vince stepped forward. "Hey, Ronald," he said gently. "It's me, Vince. We're here to help you."

For a moment, there was no response, but then Ronald's vacant eyes seemed to focus on Vince. He stopped scrubbing and stared at Vince, his expression a mix of confusion and recognition.

"Vince?" he muttered, his voice hoarse. "What... what happened?"

"We don't have time to explain right now," Captain Fowler interjected. "We need to keep moving. But we won't leave you behind. Come with us."

Ronald hesitated for a moment, as if grappling with his fragmented memories. Slowly, he stood up and joined the group, clinging to the semblance of humanity that remained within him.

The survivors continued their perilous journey through the ship, encountering more undead crew members along the way. Each encounter was a painful reminder of the lives lost and the horror that had befallen the "Rising Sun."

As they ventured deeper into the bowels of the ship, they came across a gruesome sight—the bodies of the two zombie women who had sparked the outbreak. Their lifeless forms lay sprawled on the floor.

Vince stared at the corpses, a mix of anger and sorrow in his eyes. "This is where it all began," he said quietly. "We never should have brought them aboard."

Captain Fowler placed a reassuring hand on Vince's shoulder. "We can't change the past, Vince," he said. "But we can learn from it and do everything in our power to prevent this from happening again."

The survivors pressed on, determined to reach the bridge and plot a course for the remote island. With each step, their fear and determination grew. The "Rising Sun" was a floating purgatory that held the fate of humanity in its cold embrace.

As they ascended the final flight of stairs, the survivors found themselves face to face with the last hurdle—the ship's bridge. The entrance was blocked by a throng of undead crew members, their arms outstretched in a macabre welcome.

"Stay behind me," Captain Fowler commanded, drawing his weapon. "We'll clear a path together."

The survivors fought their way through the horde. Dr. Hobbath wielded a scalpel with deadly precision, while Helen and Ronald used anything they could find as makeshift weapons. Vince's strength and agility were a formidable asset as he swung a metal pipe deftly against the skulls of the undead.

As they finally breached the bridge, Captain Fowler let out a sigh of relief. "We made it," he said.

Inside the bridge, Captain Fowler quickly assessed the navigational equipment. The island was within reach, but they still needed to find a way to bring the "Rising Sun" to a halt. The radio transmitter was beyond repair, seemingly torn apart intentionally.

The island was within reach, but they still needed to find a way to bring the "Rising Sun" to a halt.

"Dr. Hobbath, can you find a way to stop this ship?" Captain Fowler asked, his eyes never leaving the controls.

Dr. Hobbath scanned the console, his mind racing to find a solution. "Yes, I believe I can disable the engine from here," he replied.

Helen stood guard at the entrance, keeping an eye on the approaching undead. The situation was becoming dire, and she knew they had little time. The entire ship was still alien to her, but survival was paramount.

Suddenly, a group of zombies burst through the door, overwhelming Helen. She fought fiercely, but in the chaos, a zombie sank its teeth into her arm. She cried out in pain as Ronald rushed to her aid, using all his strength to fend off the undead.

"Captain, we need to hurry!" Dr. Hobbath called out as he worked frantically to shut down the ship's engine.

Captain Fowler and Vince fought side by side to protect Dr. Hobbath. The undead crew members seemed relentless, their numbers overwhelming.

"Almost there!" Dr. Hobbath shouted, his fingers flying over the controls.

With a final push, he managed to shut down the engine, causing the ship to shudder and slow to a halt. The sudden lurch threw the surviving crew members off balance, but it bought them a moment of respite.

However, as the engine went silent, the ship's alarms blared, drawing the attention of even more zombies from the lower decks. Their impromptu prison had been breached. The situation had become dire.

"We need to make a run for it," Captain Fowler said, his voice grim. "We can't stay here any longer."

They regrouped and made their way back through the ship, the relentless undead trailing close behind. The corridors were now teeming with zombies with little hope for escape.

As they reached the cargo hold, a group of zombies cornered them. The small space offered no room to maneuver, and the odds were against the survivors.

"Captain, take Helen and find a way out. We'll hold them off," Dr. Hobbath commanded.

Captain Fowler hesitated, but Helen nodded, urging him to go. "Go, Captain. We'll be right behind you."

Reluctantly, Captain Fowler led Helen away, leaving Dr. Hobbath, Ronald, and Vince to face the horde.

"We'll buy you some time," Ronald said, gripping a metal pipe tightly.

Vince nodded. "Thank you," he whispered before turning to follow Captain Fowler and Helen.

As the survivors made their way through the ship, they heard the sounds of the ensuing battle behind them. The desperate cries and struggles of their companions echoed through the metal corridors.

"We can't just leave them," Helen said, tears streaming down her face.

"We have to keep moving," Captain Fowler replied, his voice heavy with emotion. "There's nothing we can do for them now. We need to reach the lifeboats and get to the island."

They pressed on, the echoes of their friends' valiant efforts haunting them with each step. The ship had become a graveyard, and their chances of survival felt increasingly slim.

As they reached the upper deck, they spotted the lifeboats in the distance. But the undead were closing in from all sides, drawn by the noise and movement.

"We need to make a run for it," Captain Fowler said, his heart pounding in his chest.

They sprinted towards the lifeboats, their breaths labored as they fought against exhaustion and despair. The undead closed in, their outstretched hands mere inches away.

Just as they reached the lifeboats, a group of zombies lunged at them. Helen hesitated for a moment, her eyes meeting Captain Fowler's.

"Go," he said, his voice unwavering. "I'll hold them off."

Helen nodded, her heart breaking as she climbed into the lifeboat. "Thank you, Captain. I won't forget this."

As the lifeboat drifted away from the "Rising Sun," Helen watched in anguish as Captain Fowler fought valiantly against the undead. His last stand ended quickly as the zombies torn him apart with a gushing of blood and gore.

The lifeboat reached the shore of the remote island, and Helen and Vince stepped onto solid ground. The weight of loss and survival weighed heavily on their hearts as they looked back at the retched ship.

Captain Fowler's sacrifice and the bravery of their fallen friends would forever be etched in their memories. As they faced the uncertain future on the island, they knew that they would carry their companions' spirits with them, a beacon of courage and resilience in a world plagued by the relentless power of the undead.

As Helen and Vince explored the remote island, they found it to be eerily quiet and devoid of life. The dense jungle seemed to hold its secrets close, and every rustle of leaves set their nerves on edge. They knew they had to find food, water, and shelter. They were exhausted from the trials of the ship and their bodies collapsed on the sand.

Vince awoke to find Helen convulsing in the sand. He turned her over and saw she was transforming into a zombie. Horrified, he found a tarp nearby and tied her up in it. He couldn’t bring himself to destroy the woman he had fallen in love with so recently.

Her body grew still and Vince hoped that perhaps she had found the sweet solace of death. Minutes later, he knew he was wrong.

She convulsed and writhed, desperately trying to rid herself of the tarpaulin shroud. Vince may have only been a dishwasher, but he knew basic maritime knots. She was not getting free, Vince was confident.

Her thrashing about had drawn attention, though. From the nearby jungle, hundreds of zombies emerged. They blocked any hope for escape on the island. Vince knew the ship was no solace, either.

His only chance was the rowboat.

He ran for it, dodging zombies that had found their way to the beach sand from the waters. He boarded the tiny craft, rowing it into the open ocean. Back on the beach, Helen broke free from her tarpaulin wrappings.