Voyage of the Dead - Book One Sovereign Spirit Saga (3 page)

“What the Hell is happening?” asked Fisher, without expecting an answer.  Scott simply shook his head and frowned.
 

“Although we have received no official direction from Federal authorities, GNN now cautions all viewers to stay calm, stay where you are, and lock your doors to protect yourselves from this mysterious outbreak of violence.  We will return with more breaking news after this short public service announcement on disaster preparedness.”

            Scott leaned back and turned towards Captain Fisher as the screen switched to a test pattern.  “Jordy, please tell Marty in the com-room to DVR this channel and all other satellite news programming from every country we can pick up.  We’ll want to be able to review all the news available if this situation continues to deteriorate.”

            “Why do you think the situation will deteriorate?” asked Fisher.

            “You heard him,” responded Scott.  “They’re already losing contact with some cities.  We need to record as much news as we can now, because we might not be able to get any news later.”

            “You think it’s so bad that we’ll lose communications?” Fisher asked with a frown.

            “I think it might be a lot worse than that.  We might lose all of civilization!  But let’s not panic the rest of the crew and passengers just yet.  Tell Marty to cut off TV and internet to all cabins, staterooms, and public areas except this room and your office.  Oh, and let Miguel watch and record the Spanish news channels in the navigation room.  We’re heading towards Mexico at the moment and I want to know what’s happening there too.  Tell Marty to leave the on-demand movies working, so the passengers don’t get too upset.  Just have him tell anyone who asks that the satellite feed is down.  Then come back and we can try to sort this out and decide what we are going to tell everyone else aboard.  The last thing we need right now is a panic on this ship.”  Captain Fisher nodded and left the room.  Scott looked tired as he keyed in the BBC on the satellite remote control.  The female anchor looked scared…

“There is mass murder and mayhem taking place in London.  Alarms are sounding here in the BBC studios.   Violent intruders are reported on this floor.  We need security now.  Does anyone here have a gun?”

Scott shook his head sadly.  Those progressive UK gun laws had just become a suicide pact.  It was time to change the channel.  He wanted news of what was happening back home in Southern California.  It was still just the click of a remote away…

“This is live coverage from Sky Eye 3 over the Santa Monica Freeway.  Forget about traffic reports.  As you can see, nothing is moving down there except for fleeing victims and murderous zombies.  That’s right folks, I said zombies.  I’ve been watching this develop as the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard and it’s the real Dawn of the Dead down there.  Do not leave your house this morning.  If you have already left your home, try to get back now. Lock your doors. Don’t take the kids to school.  Don’t open your door to get the paper.  This looks like Armageddon…”

            Since the Captain would be gone for a few minutes at least, Scott decided it was time to wake his wife, Michelle, and tell her the crazy news.  He walked quietly into the bedroom of the master suite and bent to kiss her on the cheek.  Her long blond hair was draped across half of the regal and gorgeous face that had once graced the cover of fashion magazines.  Scott took a moment to appreciate her beauty and his good fortune.

            “Honey?  Wake up baby,” he said gently.  She stirred and opened her eyes slowly.

            “It’s too early, Scott,” she complained.  “I was up most of the night reading a book.  Let me sleep, honey.  Please…”

            “Sorry, baby, but you need to wake up now,” Scott pressed.  “I’m afraid there’s some terrible news.”

            “What is it?” Michelle said as she sat up quickly.  “Are the kids okay?”

            “Take it easy,” said Scott soothingly.  “Everyone on the ship seems fine.”  He paused and tried to figure out how to explain the news to her.  “The problem isn’t here.  It’s the rest of the world.  People everywhere are going crazy.  They’re acting like zombies and killing each other.  From what they’re showing on the news, it looks like the whole world is falling apart, or most of it anyway.”

            “Stop it, Scott, that’s not funny,” she responded in a tone of voice that he recognized as impending anger.  “I know it’s April Fool’s Day, damn it, but that has got to be the worst joke you have ever made.”

            For just a moment Scott had to stop and wonder if she were right.  It was April first.  Could this be a practical joke of some kind?  One concocted by the media?  Something like Orson Wells did on his radio show with
“War of the Worlds”
back in the 1930s?  Was it possible? Special effects were so advanced that they could generate anything with a computer these days.  But whatever false hope he grasped at in that moment was crushed as he recalled how all of the news networks were reporting the same catastrophes.  This was the real deal.  Michelle must have seen the moment of doubtful hope in his eyes, followed by despair, and that more than anything else brought her up short.

            “You’re really serious, aren’t you?” she said in a much more timid voice.  Scott nodded sadly and bent down to give her a hug.

            “I don’t know exactly what’s happening,” Scott said, “But whatever it is, honey, I promise I’m going to do everything I can to protect you and our family and everyone on this ship.  But the first step in doing that is learning as much as possible about what’s going on out there.  So I’m going back to meet the captain in the media room now.  We’ll call a meeting of everyone aboard as soon as we get a grip on what’s happening and what we plan to do about it.”  Michelle gave Scott a haunted look as she gathered the down comforter around her.

            Scott returned to the media room and began channel surfing again.  He stopped on C-SPAN when he noticed that it was displaying a test pattern with the words “Emergency Broadcast System” across it.  The speakers relayed the familiar buzzing alarm that usually accompanied regular tests of the alert system.  Then an automated voice gave a different announcement than Scott was used to hearing as printed words scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

“This is the Emergency Broadcast System.  This is not a test.  A state of emergency has been declared for the following areas: The United States of America.  This satellite network will provide national alert bulletins from the Federal Emergency Management Agency and Department of Homeland Security.  Please tune into local radio and television stations for news and instructions in your area.  This is not a test.  A state of emergency has been declared for the following areas: The United States of America.  This is the Emergency Broadcast System. This is not a test.”

That disturbing announcement was followed by the familiar buzzing alarm tones and then the message repeated.  Scott listened and reread the words as they scrolled across the screen once more.  He felt a shiver run down his spine.  Somehow this emergency announcement was more chilling than watching people tear each other apart.  Those scenes on the news could have come from any special effects studio, but this announcement made it all too real.  He changed the channel.

Interlude in Hell

Near Los Angeles International Airport:  6:25 AM, April 1, 2012

            Carl Stiller was still awake when the first hint of dawn filtered through the windows of the ambulance.  In fact, the thought of sleep had never crossed his mind.  Snarling and moaning bodies continued to pound against the exterior of the vehicle.  He knew that he was in shock, but he didn’t know what to do about it.  Nothing made any sense. 

His wife had turned into a homicidal maniac and apparently killed the cab driver.  A paramedic that he had turned to for help had tried to kill him.  And now there were a lot more lunatics outside trying to tear the ambulance open with their bare hands.  Carl had sat there in disbelief for hours.  But the thin light of dawn seemed to trigger his survival instincts again.  He was alive and he wanted to stay that way.

 Moving slowly, Carl made his way up to the driver’s compartment of the ambulance.  He had been there once before to lock the doors immediately after climbing into the vehicle.  After that he had moved back into the rear compartment and huddled in confused terror.  But now he wanted to look outside and try to understand what was happening. 

 The taxi cab was still nosed into the side of the ambulance.  Carl couldn’t tell if there was anyone still moving inside it.  He knew that his priority should be finding out if his wife, Pricilla, was still alive and in need of assistance.  But he couldn’t forget the image of her teeth ripping into the cabby’s neck.  There was no way that Pricilla could ever have done that.  Ergo: that was not Pricilla.  His mind couldn’t explain it, but his soul was certain of it.  So Carl’s attention slipped past the taxi and took in the crowd of other lunatics surrounding the ambulance.   There were at least six of them in his line of sight and he suddenly realized that he was now in theirs too.  The interior of the Ambulance was still quite dark, but at least two of the maniacs outside seemed to be staring at him and were moving towards the windows with outstretched arms and gaping mouths.

“What the fuck?” Carl muttered to himself.  There was something about these people that triggered an instinctive and primal fear in his gut.  They also reminded him of the creatures he had seen depicted in previews for zombie movies.  Carl had never watched a zombie movie himself.  He thought they were stupid and unrealistic.  Now he found himself questioning that assumption when something that certainly looked like a zombie, complete with ripped flesh and bloody teeth, pressed up against the passenger side window next to him.

Carl glanced over and saw that the keys were still in the ignition.  Without a second thought, except escape, he slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.  The headlights came on automatically and every fiend in the area charged towards him.  He dropped the gear shift into drive and hit the gas, knocking zombies out the way as the ambulance ripped off the taxi’s front bumper and fishtailed out of the parking lot onto Sepulveda Boulevard.     

He turned north at first, but there was a major pileup at the intersection with Lincoln, so he made a quick U-turn that almost rolled the ambulance over and sped south, back towards LAX.  The zombies – yes he decided to call them zombies – that had chased him out of the urgent care parking lot filled the street.  Carl just closed his eyes and stepped on the gas as he plowed through them.  The ambulance lurched and started making unusual sounds, but it kept running.  Carl accelerated past the turnoff for the LAX terminals and rental car returns before he realized that he was heading for the tunnel that crossed below the runways.

 Carl hesitated and started to lift his foot off the gas, but more zombies were pouring onto the street from every direction.  He really didn’t have much choice but to press on into the tunnel.  He swerved to avoid a wrecked Volkswagen that seemed to have imploded when it hit a zombie.  Then he saw them.  Dozens of zombies were swarming around a shuttle bus that had crashed into the tunnel wall behind the little Volkswagen.  Perhaps the maniacs were trying to reach other uninfected people trapped inside.  Carl didn’t have time to worry about their fate.  There was just enough room for the ambulance to pass the wreck, but the gap was full of zombies.

Once again Carl stepped down on the gas and aimed for the zombies.  This time his path of travel was so tight that he was afraid to close his eyes, so he saw all the details of the impacts, especially the one that drove the head of a zombie through the center of his windshield.   Carl kept accelerating as the ghoul in front of his face flapped its broken arms outside the windshield.  Jaws snapped open and closed inside the tatters of a nightmarish face that was lodged mere inches from Carl’s hands which were clenched to the steering wheel. 

Carl swallowed the bile rising in his throat and leaned away from the grotesquely animated zombie head as he struggled to maneuver the battered ambulance through the remainder of the tunnel.  It was a terrifying gauntlet, full of more impacts with uncaring bodies, but there was light at the end of the tunnel.  As soon as he emerged into the pale glow of dawn and left the crowd of zombies behind, Carl stopped the ambulance, opened the door and puked.  

 While he was bent out of the door he noticed a multipurpose fireman’s tool strapped next to his seat.  Without much thought he reached down to retrieve it.  There was a small axe head and opposing pick spike on one end and a curved pry-bar on the other end.   It was solid steel and felt good in his hand.  Carl looked back at the flailing zombie in the windshield and made a decision.  He raised the tool with the spike forward and drove its point into the top of the zombie’s head, producing a satisfying crunch.  The body stopped moving immediately.  Carl found himself grinning stupidly as he pulled the spike out of the skull and raised his foot to push the now truly dead zombie back out of the windshield.  The ambulance was shaking and grinding as Carl shifted it back into gear and started driving south.