umbilical, caught his eye. One of the crewmembers, or what he thought to be one since it wore the telltale amber jumpsuit of the RSN, slowly staggered forward from the shadows as it noticed Jason. Its face, hideously scarred and bloodied with grotesque chunks of flesh missing from its cheeks, stared mindlessly at Jason.
Jason, in horrified confusion, flinched at the sight of the deformity that was slowly approaching him and then turned to flee the room. Looking back over his shoulder as he reached the doors, he slammed his hand against the entry pad.
Locked!
As the zombified crewmember slowly made his way toward the Captain, a sickening gurgle emanating from his torn throat, Jason frantically scanned the room for an answer. Suddenly, the display at the center of the circle of pods flickered to life.
The disturbing image of Frank, the Doradoan, appeared on the feed, his eyes glowing neon yellow - his entire body upside down in the image.
"Happy All Hallow's Eve, Captain," Frank boomed.
"You?"
"Frank..." the alien corrected.
"You did this?" the Captain screamed.
"Why yes, Captain. I resolved the conundrum of how one can be... undead, as you call it. Do you approve?" Frank asked innocently.
"What the Hell are you doing? Let me out of here!" Jason commanded.
"I'm sorry, Captain," Isis interrupted over the confusion. "I can't do that..."
Jason stood with his jaw agape at the terrifying turn of events. The remainder of the crew, also hideously transformed, made their own appearances out from behind their respective pods and made for the beleaguered commander.
"Isis! Open the door to the crew compartment! NOW!" Jason commanded in a frantic cry.
No response.
"Captain Jason Brightside ordering an emergency failsafe!" he barked into the panel next to the entryway.
“Why Captain, don’t you think I would have thought of that?” Frank hissed wickedly from the display. “Isis has been under my control for quite some time now. I thought that you would have figured that out.”
“Why are you doing this, Frank?” the Captain cried, as one of the zombies swiped at him.
He shakily grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall and hammered the metal base of it into the side of the zombie crewmember’s head, splitting the side of its face in a sickening splatter of blood and flesh. The zombie quickly dropped to the floor and twitched as it attempted to regain its balance and footing.
"We are both warriors, Captain," Frank explained, his three arms, which the crew had mistaken for legs, undulating at his side. “Surely, you grasp why this is happening. You had me at a disadvantage, and what is a war without soldiers? I merely procured what was necessary for me to bring war to your homeland. Warrior versus warrior. And now, you will become one of my warriors,” he said knowingly.
Jason, speechless, slammed himself violently against the thick, metal doors. They would not budge.
The crew of zombies quickly converged on him.
The Captain valiantly swung the fire extinguisher in a semi-circle around him, the heavy container glancing off several of their skulls, before two of them yanked it from his hands and tossed it out of reach into the center of the room.
In a last, futile effort of defense, he balled his fists and swung mightily at the bloodthirsty group as they ripped into his flesh.
Two days later...
"Excelsior, this is Mission Control," the technician cooed suavely into the communicator. "You are go for final approach to dock at Space Station Foxtrot, over."
The loudspeaker in the Mission Control bay chirped twice.
"Roger, Control," Captain Jason Brightside's voice said warmly from the other end of the transmission, as the technician smiled and recorded the event in his digi-log. "Executing final maneuvers. Glad to be home."
“Welcome back, Jason. And Happy Halloween. Here’s a little something to get you in the spirit,” the technician added, flicking at a holographic control off to his left.
The speaker suddenly burst back to life with the sounds of 'Monster Mash' playing within the Excelsior’s command deck.
"Thanks, Control," Jason said.
On the Excelsior...
"Captain, preparing orbital maneuver thrusters for final docking sequence," Isis confirmed over the subtle din of the command deck's processors.
Frank, draped over the Captain's chair and terminating the communication with the wave of one of his protuberances, confirmed the directive - in Jason's voice. "Excellent, Isis."
He slowly rotated the chair to face Captain Jason Brightside, who sat next to him - expressionless. A stream of caked blood flowed from the crater in the side of his skull, where chunky flecks of gelatinous brain matter leaked out and found their way onto his stained jumpsuit.
“Prepare for boarding, Captain.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
R. James Stevens, born in a small, sleepy town in Western Pennsylvania, had always taken a deep interest in reading and creative writing as a young boy. While focusing primarily on Sci-Fi and Fantasy as a child, he also found reading historical novels fascinating. Several of his literature teachers throughout his academic career encouraged him to pour his mind out onto paper when doing assignments, which freed his ability to write stories they way he imagined them, rather than sticking to strict conventions of storytelling. During his time in the US Air Force, he met his wife. He happily put writing on the back burner for nearly 15 years while he worked at his career to support his growing family, hoping that some day he would find a reason to put pen to paper once more.
Catch up with R. James Stevens:
Facebook: facebook.com/rjamesstevensauthor
Blog: rjamesstevens.com
Twitter: @RJamesStevens
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