Voyage of the Dead - Book One Sovereign Spirit Saga (27 page)

“You know, Scott,” McCloud commented.  “I really hope this letter is genuine.  It will be a relief to have orders to help people again.  Our current mission that the Navy pressed upon us has been quite disagreeable.   I understand the concept of quarantine and containment, but who are we trying to protect?  Those orders came through three days ago, but the infection had already spread across the whole country by then.  I’ve had to turn away more than a dozen ships, most of whom had no sign of infection aboard, including a cruise ship full of innocent civilians.  God’s knows where they will go: probably down to Mexico, where you tell me things are just as bad, or worse, than up here.  And you were right.  I do have orders to commandeer ships with valuable cargos or capabilities.  We have already seized a cargo ship full of bananas from El Salvador, an oil tanker from Mexico, and a Ro-Ro bulk carrier full of cars and SUVs from Japan.  We escorted them to the entrance of San Diego Bay and the Navy took over from there.  That’s what they have planned for your ship too.”

“I figured as much,” said Scott.  “And thanks for telling me the truth.  But let me ask one more question.  If you did turn us over to the Navy, what would happen to everyone aboard this ship and all the boats following us?”

“I’m really not sure.  They might let the smaller boats drop anchor in the bay and leave them alone, maybe even let them sail away, or they might want to commandeer some of them too.  But they would draft, or impress, some the officers and crew of this ship to help them run her.  You and the rest of your passenger would probably be moved to a refugee camp on Coronado, if the smaller boats couldn’t take you all aboard.  I doubt they would line you all up and shoot you, but I have my doubts about the long term safety of the refugees on Coronado too.  I don’t see how the military will keep them all supplied with food and water for long.  But I guess they’ll be eating a lot of Salvadoran bananas for a while.”  They both tried and failed to smile at that.  McCloud concluded by saying, “Of course, pending confirmation of this letter, you shouldn’t have to worry about that now.”

The boarding party returned to the vehicle deck and filed past the “honor guard” that remained at a semblance of attention next to the ramp.  Scott and Captain Fisher shook hands with Captain McCloud and expressed their hope to see him again later in the morning. 

Captain McCloud’s thoughts were both heavy and hopeful as he re-boarded the Prosecutor and reversed course to the
Stratton.
  They cruised up the other side of the
Sovereign Spirit
this time and McCloud noted without surprise that there was indeed an amphibious tour vehicle hanging from the starboard davits.  ‘
This ship really is something else.  They can do a lot of good for a lot of people, if they really do intend to conduct rescue operations,’
he thought.

*****

Interlude in Hell

Chevron Refinery, El Segundo, CA, 7:12 AM, April 6, 2012

Carl pressed the remote control on the sun visor of the suburban and watched the main gate of the refinery roll open.  There were no zombies in sight yet, but he knew that they were coming.  Zombies seemed to be attracted to the sound of engines and machinery.  Carl was leading a small convoy of heavy vehicles that shook the earth and the sound of their engines reverberated through the air.  The Chevron workers were going shopping. 

Carl and the one remaining security guard at the refinery were the only ones with guns.  And they were short on ammunition.  So Carl had suggested that their first priority should be finding a store that stocked guns and ammunition.  The oil workers were more familiar with the area than Carl was, so they mapped out the course for this first expedition.  The first stop would be a Big 5 sporting goods store that was only a few blocks east on El Segundo Boulevard.  It was next door to the Big 5 corporate headquarters and the local Big 5 warehouse.  It was also across the street from the Los Angeles Air Force Base.  So they might even find other survivors in secure locations.     

Gus was riding “shotgun” in the Suburban, although his only weapons were an axe and a crow bar.   Carl wore the pistol he had appropriated from the zombie cop and his trusty fireman’s pick-axe.  They drove slowly up El Segundo Boulevard and the rest of the zombie-proof convoy followed.  Next in line behind the Suburban was the big front end loader that would be used as a wrecker to clear traffic jams from their path.  Behind that was the armored fire engine.  Following it was the modified eighteen wheeler, with the shuttle bus bringing up the rear.   It wouldn’t take long for them to attract attention.

The road looked clear of zombies and vehicles in both directions, but Carl knew from what he had witnessed atop the water tower that this open stretch was the result of massive traffic jams from crashes sites in every direction.  They arrived at a massive accident scene at the intersection with Aviation Boulevard.  It was ugly.  A bus had crashed into a truck and the combined tangle of metal blocked the entire intersection.  It was hard to see beyond the accident scene, but Carl was positive that he saw movement and it wasn’t reassuring.    Carl hesitated to clear the wrecks, because it would open the highway for zombies to stream towards the refinery, but he had been told that the Big 5 complex on the other side of the intersection was a goldmine of survival gear.

There was no time for Carl to express his reservations as the earthmover passed the Suburban and muscled through the wreckage.  The bus and truck were pushed out of the way as if they were merely children’s toys and the big Caterpillar pressed forward into the intersection.    As Carl had feared, it was teaming with zombies.  They swarmed towards the opening where the bus had been.  The operator of the Cat didn’t pause as he lowered the big scoop to waist height and plowed into the crowd of zombies.  He swerved back and forth, knocking zombies to the ground and crushing them with the giant wheels of the earthmover.  None of the zombies had any chance to climb onto the vehicle, especially since Carl had used a torch to cut off the access ladders below the operator’s cab.  After crossing the intersection the Cat made a U-turn and drove back over the remaining zombies.  This time the skillful operator raised and lowered the front end scoop bucket, smashing it down with thousands of pounds of pressure on top of the mangled zombies that were squirming around on the ground.  Skulls burst like overripe fruit and bones snapped like match sticks. 

Of the more than twenty zombies that had filled the road moments earlier, only three were still on their feet, with half a dozen more reduced to crawling cripples.  Carl was surprised at how effective the Cat had been at taking out the undead mob.  He drove the Suburban through the carnage and past the Cat as it turned again to finish off the rest.   The other vehicles of the little convoy followed Carl into the Big 5 parking lot where he fully expected dozens more of the infected to converge on them.

There were few cars in the lot, but almost all of them were clustered around the entrance to the store with little or no regard for delineated parking stalls.  Carl figured that the cars belonged to people who had come here after the outbreak in search of the same kind of supplies he was looking for.  The fact that the cars were still here meant that those people were still inside the store, or they weren’t really people anymore.  Either option implied danger ahead.  That assumption was confirmed by the horde of zombies that erupted from the sporting goods store as the convoy arrived in front of it. 

There were well over a hundred zombies this time.  Far more zombies than Carl and the security guard from the refinery had bullets.  It was time to see if Carl’s zombie-proof convoy concept would work.  Carl turned the Suburban along the fringe of the undead stampede and accelerated, aiming to take out the front row of zombies with the triangular crash-guard and extended bumper and mirror protector cutting blades.  He also engaged the four wheel drive and made sure that all of the windows were rolled up.  Seconds later he was slashing through the leading ranks of zombies at over 30 miles per hour.

The experience was revolting and satisfying at the same time.  The added armor and anti-zombie hardware that Carl had attached to the big SUV worked perfectly.  Zombies in front of the Suburban were simultaneously ripped apart and thrown aside by the sharpened triangular wedge of quarter inch thick steel welded to the crash guard on the front end at hood and bumper level.  They were similar to a cattle catcher on an old locomotive, except that these were sharpened piecies of steel five feet and three feet above the ground and extending five feet in front of the SUV at its point, where a sharpened vertical blade connected and supported them.  These arrowhead-like blades ripped through the crowd like a scythe in a ripe wheat field.  The improvised blades caught many of them at close to neck height and sliced off their heads cleanly.  Well, not so cleanly when their blood spurted onto the windshield and their heads bounced off the chain link fencing – hence the revolting part of the experience.  But Carl just held down the wash and wipe button to clear his vision as he stepped down on the accelerator.  That first pass took out at least fifteen of the fiendish maniacs.  Gus was cheering as Carl performed a tight U-turn to make another run.

“Hot shit!” Gus said.  “You’re cutting them to pieces.  This idea of yours kicks ass.”

“Hold the kudos until we survive this,” Carl replied. 

“Cujos?” asked Gus.  “What the fuck is that?  Like the killer dog in that movie?”

“Never mind,” Carl replied as he cut through the crowd a second time.  “Just hold on and pray that this works.”  It was working.  The zombies in front of the Suburban were decapitated by the upper arrowhead blade, cut in half by the lower blade, or smashed by the crash-guard; while those approaching from the side were sliced to pieces by the blades welded in front of the side mirrors and extending out from the front and rear bumpers.  Carl was gaining confidence as he turned for his third pass.  Dozens of decapitated, disfigured and dismembered zombies marked the course of his first two runs through the crowd.  But a multitude of zombies continued to pour out of the sporting goods store.

The good news was that these creatures didn’t seem to learn any lesson from the carnage in the parking lot.  They were an implacable and fearless foe.  All of the zombies continued to rush out onto the open expanse of asphalt.  The rest of the convoy held back as Carl made his third pass, taking down at least another dozen zombies.  The Suburban rocked and roared as it ran over bodies on the ground and sliced those standing in its path to pieces.  Breaking clear of the mob, Carl made a turn out into the parking lot and flashed his headlights as a signal for the other vehicles to join him in the zombie demolition derby.

The specialized fire truck rolled towards the crowd.  It was a German model known as a Panther with eight large wheels and a powerful water canon mounted above the Plexiglas driver’s compartment, designed to fight fires at airports and oil refineries.  The canon operator, sitting next to the driver, unleashed a massive burst of water at the zombies as the big vehicle approached them.  Carl was curious to see their reaction after hearing a news report that zombies were afraid of water.  The water canon had a dramatic effect.  Those hit directly by the powerful stream of water pumped out at a rate of close to 2,000 gallons per minute were obviously thrown back into the mob behind them, but it was the reaction of the zombies around them that interested Carl the most.  They actually shied away from the water; some of them even turned and began moving away from the fire truck. 

From everything Carl had heard about zombies, this was unprecedented behavior.  All reports indicated that zombies were fearless, single-minded attackers.  Everyone said that nothing short of destroying their brain could deter a zombie from advancing on its prey, but many of these zombies were retreating from the water.   Those who didn’t turn away were clearly agitated.  Some jumped up and down with arms flailing wildly, while those knocked down by the jet of water seemed to go into convulsions as they squirmed on the ground.  This development sparked many possibilities in Carl’s mind.  Unfortunately, the fire truck only carried enough water to operate the canon for about a minute.  That wouldn’t be enough to disperse a large group of zombies like this one, but it helped to blunt their advance. 

The Panther continued forward and plowed through the mob, running over many of the disoriented zombies that the high pressure jet of water had thrown to the ground.  As the fire engine emerged from the crowd it shut off the water canon to conserve its supply.  Then it circled back towards the rest of the convoy.  The zombies resumed their advance.  

By this time the Caterpillar had caught up to the rest of the vehicles.  It moved forward with ponderous purpose and accelerated with the big scoop poised at knee level.  Tearing into the approaching zombies it actually scooped a dozen of more of them into the bucket and raised the scoop as its big wheels rolled over any other zombie that crossed its path.  Then it dumped the zombies in its scoop and smashed the bucket down to crush them flat.  It was quite effective.  The operator repeated that process several times and Carl realized that the mob of hundreds had been reduced to several dozen by the combined efforts of the little convoy.  Not a single gunshot had been fired.  Carl smiled as he drove the Suburban back towards the remaining zombies.  The zombie-proofed big rig and shuttle bus followed behind the Panther to run down any zombies that evaded the Caterpillar and Suburban.