Voyage of the Dead - Book One Sovereign Spirit Saga (42 page)

            “You think that’s a good thing?” asked Amanda Steinbeck skeptically.

            “Not for them, maybe,” replied Shawn.  “But it would have been a lot worse for all of us if we got overrun by zombies
and
desperate refugees from the rest of LA.”

            “You’re right, Shawn,” Brad Thomas said.  “Just look at what happened up at my house.  Those bastards that attacked us weren’t from Malibu.  They were outlaws, running from zombies and looking for loot.”

            “I’m sorry we couldn’t get there sooner,” said Billy. 

            “It’s not your fault,” said Amanda.  “You saved us, Billy.  We all owe your our lives.”

            “More than that,” said Brad.  “We owe you for taking us aboard this ship too.  I can’t think of a better place to ride out the zombie apocalypse than this.”  Everyone nodded in agreement.  Amanda moved over to plant a kiss on Billy’s cheek and he actually blushed.   

            “Let’s talk about something else,” Billy suggested.  “Did I tell you there’s a video arcade downstairs?”  That broke the tension and they all laughed for a moment, but each of them knew that their lives could never be the same as before.

*****

            “George and the rest of the Flotilla will be arriving soon,” said Captain Fisher as he conferred with Scott, Sergeant Major O’Hara, and Captain McCloud on the bridge.  “I suggest we remain offshore until morning.  I don’t want to go into Long Beach Harbor at night.”

            “I agree,sugg said Scott and looked to Captain McCloud for confirmation.

            “Absolutely,” said McCloud.  “We have no idea what type of reception you’ll find in the port.   If you’re lucky, it will still be controlled by normal people, but even they might not be friendly.  At worst, it could be swarming with zombies by now.”

            “We’ll be ready for any type of reception committee,” interjected O’Hara.  “But I wouldn’t mind some daylight for our first contact, especially without advance recon.  If we show up at night and unannounced, we might end up in a firefight with potentially friendly forces.”

            “Good point,” Captain Fisher agreed.

            “So, Commodore,” said Captain McCloud.  “Now that you have performed your mission for the CDC and rescued Dr. Bernhard, what are your intentions?”

            “Obviously we need to keep him safe and facilitate his research here,” replied Scott.  “But my next priority has to be securing a safe haven for the flotilla of boat people.  They will all need a safe port or anchorage, and they will all need access to provisions, fuel and other supplies.  I’m hoping that we will find all of those things in the Port of Long Beach and the adjoining Port of Los Angeles.”

            “We lost contact with the Coast Guard Station there on day one of the outbreak,” commented Captain McCloud.  “I can’t provide you with any updates on the conditions there, but we should assume that the entire port complex has been overrun.”

            “I agree with your assessment,” Scott said.  “But it wasn’t really a populated area.  The ports are surrounded by cities like Long Beach and San Pedro, but the docks themselves are industrial areas.  Aside from those who worked there, there wouldn’t have been a lot of people around during the outbreak.  So I’m hoping that the infestation won’t be as concentrated as it would be in residential or urban areas.”

            “You’re probably right about that,” said Captain Fisher.  “But there could still be hundreds or thousands of those zombies near the docks.”

            “Sad as it may sound, I’m actually hoping that it is overrun by zombies,” said Scott in a tone that surprised his companions.  He received several sharp looks and hurried to explain, “My plan won’t work if the port is being held by its rightful owners.”

            “What do you mean?” asked Sergeant Major O’Hara.

            “Well,” Scott said slowly.  “This is not going to be a flotilla of pirates or thieves.  I won’t try to take any supplies or resources away from other survivors.  But my opinion, which I think can be argued as a valid legal position, is that any assets which have been abandoned or overrun by zombies become fair game for any civilized survivors who can secure them.  At that point it’s not looting, it’s salvage.”

            “That is a logical position,” said Captain McCloud. “It’s even roughly in line with maritime law.  Although I’m not sure how it would stand up in a California court.”

            “I don’t think there will be any California courts convening in the foreseeable future, but I’ll be willing to argue my case if they do,” Scott said with a smile.  “In the meantime the Survival Flotilla will operate under the spirit, if not the letter, of maritime law.  In the absence of organized civilian government, our rules will extend to any safe havens we establish ashore too.  So, assuming that the port is overrun by zombies, we will be within our rights to secure whatever provisions and assets we can for the Flotilla.”

            “And if there are people still holding the port?” asked O’Hara.  “Then what, sir?”

            “Then we will try to trade with them, or help them, if they ask for it,” Scott replied.  “Maybe we’ll ask them to join us.  If none of that works, we’ll look for provisions in other places that
have
been overrun.  What we won’t do is take anything that has already been claimed by other survivors.  That’s the core of my plan so far.”  

            “I like it,” said Captain McCloud.  The rest of the men on the bridge nodded their agreement.  “Whoever made you a commodore and put you in charge of this flotilla made a wise choice,” the Coast Guard Captain concluded with a smile.  Scott couldn’t help but laugh at that.  Then he looked out the windows of the ship’s bridge and saw the red glow of distant fires outlining the dark skyline of Long Beach on the horizon.  A shiver went down his spine as he imagined the carnage and suffering hidden within the darkened city.   Tomorrow they would discover what horrors it held in store for them.

*****

Interlude in Hell

Chevron Refinery, El Segundo, CA, 01:15 AM, April 6, 2012

            Carl settled into his sleeping bag atop his air mattress and looked forward to his first comfortable night’s sleep since Z-Day.  He had folded down the back seats of the Suburban and moved his gear to clear space for his mattress.  He left the windows cracked open for fresh air, but locked the doors and made sure that his guns and pick axe were within easy reach.  Now, for the first time since this whole nightmare began, Carl finally felt secure. 

            It had been one hell of a day and he was exhausted, but his mind wasn’t quite ready to shut off yet.   He replayed the day’s events in his mind, trying not to dwell upon the sprays of blood that had clouded his vision during the murderous drives to the sporting goods store and the beach.  He had done things that day that he never imagined he could or would do.  If he didn’t have such a deep and burning hatred for the infected zombies, he wouldn’t have been able to live with his actions.  But Carl realized that he had a strong survival instinct and that portion of his brain seemed to approve of everything he done so far.  The proof of that conviction was the fact that he finally felt safe and comfortable.

            Feeling content, but far from fully satisfied, Carl rolled over in his sleeping bag and reached for an electronic device next to him.  He had found it in the center compartment under the arm rest between the front seats of the Suburban.  It had probably belonged to the missing Plant Superintendent who used to drive the SUV.  The device looked like an oversized smart phone, or a small tablet PC.  Carl pressed a small button on one end and the screen sprang to life with the words “Kindle Fire”.  It was an electronic book reader and multimedia tablet.   Carl leafed through the large collection of books and a few movies that were stored on the device, pausing to consider a few.  The previous owner must have been a fan of science fiction and horror stories.  Finally he selected one that looked interesting began to read.  

*****

This concludes Book One of the
Sovereign Spirit Saga
.  Read on for a sneak peek at the opening chapter of Book Two:
Flotilla of the Dead
.
 
Or buy it now at
http://www.amazon.com/Flotilla-Dead-Sovereign-Spirit-ebook/dp/B007QOJJIC/
 
 

 
If you have enjoyed this book and want to be informed when future books in the Sovereign Spirit Saga are released, or you want to provide comments, suggestions, or criticism, please email
[email protected]
  You can also visit
 
www.sovereignspirit.net
  for updates and help (when the apocalypse arrives), or follow my blog and even become a fan at
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5620466.David_P_Forsyth
  
Thank you for reading and hopefully enjoying my first novel.
 

Excerpt from
Flotilla of the Dead: Book Two of the Sovereign Spirit Saga
by David P. Forsyth

[The voyage continues at
http://www.amazon.com/Flotilla-Dead-Sovereign-Spirit-ebook/dp/B007QOJJIC/
]

Chapter 1: God Save the Queen

"We're surrounded. That simplifies the problem!” –
Lt. General "Chesty" Puller, USMC

            Conrad Kroeker was worried.  He knew that the supplies would not last much longer.  People were already complaining about the lack of variety in the food, the absence of fresh produce, and the shortage of alcohol.  But it was the water that worried him the most.  The pressure had been falling, slowly but noticeably, for several days.  What could he do if it stopped flowing altogether?  He was a hotel manager, not a survivalist.  Conrad stood at the rail on the deck of the
RMS Queen Mary
and gazed down at hundreds of zombies who wandered around the parking lot and occasionally moaned in his direction.

            There were over three hundred people trapped aboard the old cruise ship come hotel and tourist attraction.  Only two policemen aboard had guns.  They were stuck there, surrounded by water on three sides and zombies on the other.  Even if he knew how to launch the decorative lifeboats on the harbor side of the ship, they would end up trapped within the protective breakwater.  Zombies sometimes climbed along the rocks there too.  Conrad thought he had been clever to have all the gantry walkways destroyed or doors in the hull closed up tight on the day of the apocalypse.  He still thought it had been the right thing to do.  It had certainly kept the zombies off the ship, after all.  But now it seemed as if he had simply prolonged the inevitable.  His hopes of rescue or a return of law and order had been squashed. 

The two policemen who had made it aboard on the afternoon of the first day, right before Conrad ordered the final cargo door into the old ship sealed, had brought news of wholesale slaughter in Long Beach.  The TV news, while it lasted, had been equally abysmal.  They hadn’t received any news for days now – ever since the power went out.  More and more zombies were wandering down to the docks.  Less and less food and water for those trapped aboard the ship.  Soon, Conrad feared, there would be more ghosts to join the legacy of spirits already reported aboard the once grand ocean liner. 

Maybe he should have tried to leave when the news broke on the morning of the first day.  Perhaps he could have made it out of the city, through the traffic, and off into the desert.  No zombies there, but probably the same problems with food and water.  No, there might not be anywhere safe anymore.  At least here he was still in charge, still had a purpose, and if he should die here, at least he would go in a place that he had loved.  The old ship still had a character and charm that even the end of the world couldn’t tarnish completely.  It was his destiny to defend her from the indignity of being invaded and corrupted by the living dead.   

Conrad turned away from the rail overlooking the zombie filled parking lot and started to return inside the ship.  Then he caught sight of something unusual off the old ship’s stern.  It was another ship!  A rather small cruise ship, less than half the size of the
Queen
from the look of it, but a working ship nonetheless.  Conrad ran as fast as he could to the
Queen Mary’s
old signal deck and quickly raised the flags he had prepared a few days ago with the help of the ship’s aging engineer who had once been a real sailor.  He could only hope that someone on that other ship could read the old signal flags and would still give a damn.