Voyage of the Dead - Book One Sovereign Spirit Saga (21 page)

            George Hammer was dead tired as he steered the
Expiscator
through the relatively calm waters inside the wake of the
Sovereign Spirit. 
The big ship left a glowing phosphorescent trail, just like a highway, that George and the other boats behind him could easily follow even in the dead of night.  It was a beautiful and seemingly peaceful seascape that George beheld as he led the rag-tag flotilla north, but his thoughts were full of the horrors he seen in Cabo.    

            The television coverage had been unbelievable, more like a science fiction movie of the type that George detested, but coming face to face with actual
zombies
had nearly sent him off the deep end and into a spiral towards madness.  The worst memory that kept replaying in his mind was the look on the face of his son-in-law as George pulled the trigger that sent a .357 hollow point through his brain.  George never could have imagined himself doing that until he was faced with this new and deadly world full of zombies.

            He was replaying that scene once again, trying to think of any other option that he missed, when he heard someone enter the bridge behind him.  His newly awakened survival instincts made his head jerk around to check for any threat, but he relaxed when he saw that it was the woman he had rescued on the road in Predregal.

            “Hello Carla,” George said.  “Can I help you?”

            “You’ve already helped me, George,” she replied with a smile.  “I just wanted to see if there is anything I can do to help you.”  She was dressed in an outfit that must belong to Scott’s wife, Michelle, and would have been hanging in the closet in the master bedroom.  It complemented her shapely figure.  George tried not to read anything into her offer.

            “I’m fine, thank you,” George assured her.  “I’m just winding down from all of the excitement today.  This situation takes a lot of getting used to.  It still doesn’t seem real.”

            “I know how you feel, George,” said Carla as she crossed the bridge to stand beside him.   “I think it isn’t real,” she whispered in a conspiratorial tone.

            “What do you mean?” George asked quizzically. 

            “I mean this is all so crazy that maybe it’s all just a bad dream,” Carla said absently.  “It can’t be real, can it?”  George didn’t know how to respond to that, so he simply shook his head and stared out to sea.  He nearly jumped a moment later when Carla placed her hand on his thigh and slid it up to his crotch.

            “Hey now,” he gasped.  “What are you doing?”

            “Trying to help you,” said Carla in a seductive voice.  “I want to thank you for saving me today.  And I want to make you feel better too.”

            “Stop that,” said George as his penis began to harden.  “I’m a married man.”

            “I was a married woman,” whispered Carla as she pressed her body against him.  “But nothing matters anymore.  We’re alone in the middle of the ocean.  It’s the end of the world.  Nothing makes sense.  Nothing matters.  It isn’t even real.  If this is a dream, help me make it a good one.”  She continued to rub his swollen member as she breathed that into his ear and started kissing his neck.

            George was a strong man, a generally good man who had always been a loyal husband, but this sexual assault was too much for him to resist in his fragile emotional condition.  He turned towards Carla and met her kiss, half expecting her to bite off his tongue.  She didn’t.  After a minute of heated kissing and groping George reached down to engage the yacht’s autopilot and led Carla back to the skipper’s cabin behind the bridge.

*****

            Hours later Scott was still up and working on the computer in his office.  He had sent out a mass mailing to all of his email contacts, informing them that he was alive and aboard the
Sovereign Spirit
.  He gave a brief description of his intentions to take the ship up the coast of California and asked any of his friends who received his message and needed assistance to reply ASAP.  He didn’t expect many replies, but was pleasantly surprised when a few messages started coming in. 

            One in particular caught his eye.  It was from an old college friend in San Diego.  He wrote that he and his family were trapped in the penthouse of the student apartment building that he owned and operated.  Scott knew exactly where the building was, since he was one of the major investors in the venture.  So Scott typed a quick reply telling him to stay put and expect a rescue by helicopter within a few days.

            Another reply came in from an old friend in Scott’s home town of Santa Barbara.  He and his wife had a small yacht of their own and were currently anchored near Stern’s Warf, safe from zombies, but unsure of what to do next.  Scott wrote back suggesting that they sit tight for now and monitor the situation in Santa Barbara.  Scott also promised to look for them when the
Sovereign Spirit
made its way up the coast.    

Shortly before dawn on the West Coast, Scott went back to the multimedia room to watch an exhausted Fox Rusher on GNN.  The news remained dismal and alarming.  But Scott was surprised that none of the reports had mentioned any of the information that the CDC had given them about the origins of the disease.  GNN should have access to the same data that the CDC had shared with Scott.  Why would they withhold it from the public?  Scott’s troubled thoughts were interrupted by yet another news flash on the television.

“This is Fox Rusher with a GNN Special Report.  We have received confirmation that Air Force One crashed into a mountain near Colorado Springs at eleven o’clock Mountain Time last night.  Military helicopters have been searching the area since then, but have not found any survivors.  The President of the United States is missing and presumed dead.  I repeat, the President is missing and presumed dead following a catastrophic plane crash near Colorado Springs.”

Scott spilled his coffee as he leaned forward in shock.  He was no big fan of this president or his policies, but it was hard to think of any worse time for the nation to lose its leader.  Fox Rusher continued to describe the tragic event.

“Reports indicate that Air Force One, the familiar 747 used by the President, had been in the air for more than 72 hours and never landed after bringing the President back from Africa on April 1st.  It had used mid-air refueling from military tanker planes to keep the President airborne and circling over the Mid-West where he was protected from any dangers on the ground.

“It is not clear exactly what caused the plane to crash, but aviation experts have several theories.  Pilot fatigue is an obvious possibility on that long of a flight; even though we know that Air Force One carries a back-up crew.  Mechanical failure is also possible when a plane operates that long continuously.  We are also told that although Air Force One could receive in-flight refueling, it was not possible to add engine oil without landing. 

“In any event, we have been told that the President had decided to land in Colorado Springs and set up a temporary Western White House at the NORAD facility buried under Cheyenne Mountain.  Air Force One crashed into another mountain about ten miles from NORAD.  We will bring you further details as they become available.  For now, recapping this tragic news, GNN has confirmed that Air Force One crashed into a mountain late last night. The President is missing and presumed dead.  We have been told to expect a broadcast from the Vice-President, now President, Moe Bison who is now directing homeland security operations from an undisclosed location.”

The picture on the big plasma screen changed from showing the Presidential Seal to more breaking news on the Zombie Apocalypse.  A mob of zombies were shown chasing a woman along a beach.  Fox Rusher explained that this was a live web cam view of South Beach in Miami.   The woman almost made it to the ocean before the first zombie caught her.  Viewers caught a glimpse the woman’s terrified face before GNN switched to another web cam showing an endless traffic jam on a nameless freeway.  Scott had seen enough for a while.  He rose from his chair, wiped at the coffee stain on his shirt, and headed back to his suite to catch a few hours of much needed sleep.  He would be watching the news as much as possible for the next few days as the
Sovereign Spirit
cruised up the coast of Baja towards whatever was left of the United States of America.

*****

Interlude in Hell

Chevron Refinery, El Segundo, CA:  10:30 AM, April 4, 2012

Carl winched slightly as a fleck of molten metal singed the hair on his chest, but he didn’t stop welding the improvised crash guard onto the bumper mounts of the 4x4 Chevy Suburban that he was modifying for operations on the zombie infested streets of LA.  This was the sixth vehicle that he had made zombie-proof in the four days that he had spent inside the refinery and he had selected this one for his own use.  It was a heavy duty utility version with lots of bells and whistles that had been used by the Plant Manager.  But now it looked like something out of the movie Road Warrior.  Chain link fence was wrapped and welded over the exterior. 

As soon as he had arrived in the refinery’s motor pool, when Gus and Chuck rescued him, Carl had envisioned a plan.  The refinery seemed to be secure from zombie incursions, a least for the moment, due to the tall fences that had been built to keep intruders and terrorists off the grounds.  It also had electric generators and obviously enough fuel to keep them running for a hundred lifetimes; but food, weapons, and living quarters were in short supply.  The refinery was not exactly designed as a survival retreat, but it did have a secure perimeter and a lot of heavy duty vehicles.  The sight of those vehicles inspired Carl’s plan.

There were thirty-seven workers still inside of the refinery when Carl arrived.  The rest had either left to find their families or never showed up for work on April 1st.    The few workers who remained had shut down the refinery operations safely and closed the gates to keep the zombies out.  Carl was the only person to have made it over the fence since then, but the workers all had horror stories of those who tried and failed.  And they had watched as the city fell apart around them.  Carl had a better view of those events from the top of the water tower, including the carnage on the freeway and at LAX.   Carl had also listened to the chaos on the fire department radio and knew that the horror was widespread.   The workers in the refinery had less understanding of what was happening beyond the fence, but they had listened to AM radio news.  And they had clearly grasped the enormity of the disaster.  Their haunted eyes and hollow voices reflected the doom that all of them felt.  That mood was not improved by their limited and dwindling supply of candy bars and snack packs from the vending machines. 

Carl was a new face and source of hope at the refinery.  As such, he got to know most of the workers quickly and saw both potential and despair in their countenance.  As soon as he gathered his thoughts, Carl injected his own ideas.  He told them they needed to think about going out to get supplies, look for weapons, and possibly rescue other survivors.  Carl also explained that the police and firemen had been recalled to their stations and that everyone still alive in the city was basically on their own, at least for now.  Then he pointed out that the refinery was full of heavy equipment and service vehicles that could be modified, made zombie-proof, and force their way through the traffic jams blocking the roads to reach much needed sources of food and supplies.  Most of the refinery workers agreed with his plan. 

Carl had started with a giant four wheeled Caterpillar front end loader – some people would call it a bull dozer.  It was an earth moving machine with eight foot tall tires and a large scoop in front that could lift more than 50,000 pounds.  Carl had simply removed the access ladders, enclosed the operator’s compartment in chain link fencing, and declared it zombie-proof – as long as it had a support crew in another vehicle that could clear it of zombies before the operator tried to exit the vehicle.  The machine was more than powerful enough to clear crashed or abandoned vehicles off the roads.  It could literally scoop cars and trucks up and dump them out of the way.  It would also be able to tear through and crush entire packs of zombies in its path.

Soon all of the refinery workers pitched in to help zombie-proof more vehicles.  The next one in line was an eighteen wheel big rig with an empty cargo container on its trailer.  More chain link on the tractor cab and a plate of steel welded to the front end turned it into a zombie lawn mower.  Cutting firing slits into the sides and rear doors of the cargo container made it a mobile pill box that could also be filled with salvage and supplies.  Next up was a shuttle bus that had been used to move work crews around the refinery.  It also received a jacket of chain link covering all of the windows and welded crash bars on both ends of the vehicle.  This would be the recovery vehicle for any survivors they were able to rescue.   So Carl recommended adding an additional cage around the driver’s seat, in case any of the passengers turned into zombies while aboard.  The workers were skeptical of that until Carl recounted his experience in LAX and that taxi cab.  Then they scrambled to make the suggested modifications.