03 Deluge of the Dead (19 page)

“Thanks, Freddy, and God bless you,” O’Hara said as a command and control variant of the AAV-7 pulled up between them. The rear ramp was lowered and an officer walked out to meet them. Sergeant Major O’Hara snapped to attention and performed a parade ground salute which he held until it was crisply returned.

“As you were, Sergeant Major,” said the tall man in a commanding but marginally friendly voice. “I was hoping you’d be here when we hit the beach, O’Hara. I hope you can help prevent any misunderstandings. General Barstow told me to get your sit-rep ASAP.” The officer looked at Scott intently, extended his hand, and said, “Major David Connors, commanding 2
^nd
Battalion of the 1
^st
Marine Expeditionary Force.”

O’Hara gestured to Scott. “Sir, allow me to introduce Commodore Allen of the
Sovereign Spirit
, leader of the Survival Flotilla and founder of this safe haven.”

Scott shook the proffered hand as he replied, “Welcome to Terminal Island, Major. I take it this isn’t a social call.”

 “No, Commodore,” the Major replied with the hint of a smile. “My orders are to secure this port and all the stockpiles here. Let’s get out of this rain to discuss it. Will you gentlemen join me in the Amtrac for a chat?”

“Yes sir,” replied O’Hara and nodded for Scott to follow the Marine officer into the AAV. It was laid out much differently from the other Amtracs Scott had seen. Computer screens and communications gear lined the forward half of the main compartment, with swivel bucket seats between them. The rear area held a narrow conference and map table folded out between bench seats.  The officer sat on one side of the table and motioned them to slide onto the bench opposite him. 

Wasting no time, O’Hara asked, “Who issued your orders, sir?”

“The policy decision was made by Admiral Winchester,” the Major answered with a sour look. “But General Barstow issued the marching orders and rules of engagement. That’s good news for you and your people.”

“How’s that?” asked Scott, already feeling betrayed by Bastard Butch Barstow.

“Well, Commodore,” said the major. “The way the general explained it to me, privately mind you, is that as soon as the
Cape Inscription
arrived at Coronado, full of all those supplies, Admiral Winchester saw it as a sign from God and decided the Navy needed to secure the rest of the goodies. He planned to do this with his SEALS and a full Carrier Battle Group or Amphibious Squadron of assault ships.  Winchester wanted to absorb all useful assets into his naval command, including all the ships and boats you’ve gathered here. However, the general has been following your progress and he met with the Marine you sent down on the transport. I guess he likes what he heard. It was quite an argument, but General Barstow convinced the Admiral to send us up here to protect and defend this port, instead of conquering it.”

“What’s the difference?” Scott asked. “It looks like you plan to take over the port anyway.”  

“There’s a big difference,” Major Connors replied smiling. “This show of force is as much for the crews watching from those warships out there as it is for you. They need to see us take charge and move out, but my orders from the general are not to interfere with your activities regarding the establishment and governance of this safe haven, or the movement and command of your vessels.”

  Scott raised his eyebrows and pondered the major’s explanation for a moment before replying, “So just what do your orders instruct you to do here, Major? As you may know, especially if you’ve been using all this communications gear, we’re in the middle of a massive rescue and evacuation operation. We have most of our boats deployed along the coast and convoys moving inland to pick up survivors to bring here during the storm. Will your Marines, or those Navy ships, interfere with that?”

“No, sir,” said the major. “In fact, I’d like to help in any way we can.” He sounded sincere.

“Outstanding,” O’Hara commented. “We can use all the help we can get, sir.”

“What about the stockpiles in this port?” Scott pressed. “We have over ten thousand people here now and are expecting tens of thousands more. We’ve also made commitments to provide supplies for other safe havens being established in Los Angeles. Will you let us feed those people too?”

“I hear you,” said Major Connor with emotion. “I know you have priorities, but so do we. There are well over a hundred thousand survivors on Coronado Island now. Packed in like sardines. That includes residents, military and dependents, plus refugees from San Diego and beyond. It’s a madhouse. So don’t think that ship load of food wasn’t welcomed. It was, desperately. They tasted the food of the gods and they like it. They love it. They want more of it. The real problem is that Admiral Winchester is their prophet.”

“Damn him,” Scott muttered. “I just wanted to show that we could help. That he was right to let us continue our mission. I wanted to make peace with the Navy and help the survivors down in San Diego, not screw the people up here.”

“Winchester’s got them all riled up,” Connors explained. “He promises more than he can deliver on his own and has no qualms about taking it from others. General Barstow and our Marines are kicking Zeke’s ass, but Winchester is the one taking names. He keeps talking about the end of days and the chosen few.” The major paused and pounded his fist on the table for emphasis. “I don’t know God’s plan, but I’m damned sure it’s not the same as Winchester’s. So don’t worry, Commodore. I’ve heard a lot about you in the last week and I like what I’ve seen so far. The sergeant major seems to support you and that seals the deal for me. You and I can work together to make sure these resources are distributed equitably.”   

Scott chuckled and said, “I wish that could be true, Major. I’m glad you’re willing to work with the Flotilla, but I won’t be part of it for long. You see, I have a nasty little secret that I haven’t told you yet.” Scott lowered his head and felt like he might be feeling the first symptoms of the infection.

“Major,” O’Hara spoke up. “The commodore was bitten by a Zeke today. He doesn’t have much time left.”

“Holy crap!” exclaimed Major Connors. “That’s horrible. This could screw up the whole thing. All of General Barstow’s arguments were based on his faith in the Commodore’s accomplishments and intentions. So what’s your plan?”

“My plan is to go back to my ship and settle my affairs,” Scott said woodenly. “But I’ve already set up a Captains’ Council to govern this port and the Flotilla. You’ll need to take up your concerns with them, I suppose. Luckily for you, Sergeant Major O’Hara has already been appointed to the Council as the ranking Marine in the Flotilla. I’m sure that he can either represent or defer to you, sir. I’ll have to take you on your word regarding your intentions. If you’re telling the truth, I’m very glad you’re here.”

“Well this just sucks,” said Major Connors. “I thought I would be bringing you good news, but you just pulled out the rug. What the hell should we do now?”

“Just what you said, if you meant it,” Scott replied. “Secure the port and assist in the rescue operation. God knows we can use your help. The Sergeant Major can fill you in on our plans and how your Marines can be most useful. After the storm passes… Well, I will have passed by then too, but there are good people here. I hope you’ll work with them to continue what we started. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m not feeling quite myself. So, if you’ll excuse me…”

“Of course, sir,” said Connors with obvious concern and sympathy. “I can’t tell you how sad this makes me. It’s been an honor to meet you and I give you my word that I’ll do as much as I can to help your people.”

Scott nodded as he stood, reached out to shake Major Connors’ hand again, and turned to exit the armored vehicle. “Oh, one more thing you should know,” the major added. “My Marines aren’t the only people General Barstow sent up here on the
Cape Inscription.
 I understand you left a list of people you were hoping to find among the survivors in San Diego?”

“Yes, we did,” Scott replied with renewed interest. “You found them?”

“Not all of them, of course,” replied Connors sadly. “But a few of them. There are five people from your list aboard the transport.”

“Really?” Scott said excitedly. “That’s fantastic.  I wish I had time to welcome them.” He turned again and walked out into the rain. O’Hara remained to confer with the major as Scott made his way back to the
Sovereign Spirit.
He didn’t really feel sick yet, just tired and drained of energy. He kept trying to tell himself that everything would turn out fine for his friends and family now, that the arrival of the Marines was a good thing, and that his own passing would not screw things up too badly. He kept telling himself that, but it just wasn’t working.

Scott paused to look up at the
Sovereign Spirit
. Her white paint shimmered in the rain. The setting sun broke through the clouds momentarily behind him and created a rainbow above the ship for a few brief seconds. It was a beautiful, if fleeting, image that Scott decided to take as a good omen for the future of the ship and those aboard her. A second glance at the Marines assembled on the dock also brought a renewed sense of confidence in the future. If Major Connors could be trusted, this force should ensure the long term survival of the safe haven. He took a deep breath, still feeling healthy, turned back to his ship and boarded her for what he fully expected to be the last time.

As soon as he re-entered the ship Scott was intercepted on the vehicle deck by Doctor Greenburg. He glanced at his Rolex and saw that he should still have a few more hours before her deadline, literally, on his life expectancy. “What can I do for you, Doc?” he asked.

“Thank God I found you, Scott,” she replied breathlessly. “You have to come with me right now. The Professor is waiting and he says there isn’t much time left.”

“I know there’s not a lot of time,” Scott replied. “But I’m not feeling sick yet and I have something of a crisis to deal with. I don’t know if you noticed, but the port has been invaded by the Navy and Marines and I’m really not sure they’re all friendly.”

“Never mind that now,” she replied sternly. “Come with me, if you want to live.”

*****

Billy was fuming. He couldn’t accept that his father was infected. It didn’t seem real. He’d come up to the suite from monitoring emails in the internet café to find his mother and father in tears. Billy had joined in their grief as soon as he heard the story, but had been in too much shock to grasp the finality of the news. By the time he got his head around the reality of it, his Dad had already left for a final meeting with the other leaders of the Flotilla.

Billy waited for his father to return, thinking of all the things he needed to say to him, but Scott didn’t come back. It had started to rain and Billy knew that his Dad was busy launching the planned rescue operations. It was just like him to put his responsibilities to others ahead of his own needs, even in his last hours of life. Billy cursed him for that, but waited patiently with his mother, who was even more broken up emotionally than Billy was. He needed to be strong for her and knew she was trying to be strong for him too.  So they sat together in the suite, sure that Scott would return to them at least one more time before the infection stole him away for good.

It didn’t happen. Instead there came news of Marines landing and surrounding the ship. Captain Fisher came to the suite with a couple of the crew and literally forced Billy and Michelle to leave on the
Expiscator.
Billy was too upset to argue much, until he realized that by leaving the ship he had lost his last chance to see his father again. That realization sent him ballistic. He almost got into a fist fight with George Hammer trying to get off the
Expiscator
before the yacht pulled away from the ship.

Billy was yelling and Michelle was weeping as Stan Dawson steered the boat across the harbor. George Hammer pointed across the port and said, “Just stop and look out there, Billy. You see all those Marines on the dock? You see that warship with its big gun pointed at the
Sovereign Spirit
? We don’t know their intentions. Your Dad is going to find out what they want, but he wanted to make sure that you and your Mom are out of harm’s way. I guess he didn’t have a chance to explain it all to you, Billy, but your Dad has set things up so that you and your mother will be important leaders of the Flotilla when he’s gone. That’s your ship.” George pointed at the
Sovereign Spirit
. “But if those Marines seize it, it’s vital that they don’t capture you and your mother too.”

“Why?” Billy asked. “What’s so important about us?”

“First of all, your safety means everything to your Dad, but it’s more than that,” George explained. “Scott created the Flotilla and people will look to you and your mother for hope and guidance when he’s gone. Like it or not, you’re the heir apparent to command the
Sovereign Spirit
and lead whatever community we can scrape together out of this mess, even if you’re just a figurehead until you’re ready to be a real leader. So it’s my job to keep you safe. We’ll lay low on the other side of the port tonight. If things go bad here, we’ll go to Catalina. We’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, for your Dad and the Flotilla.”

“Don’t you understand, Mr. Hammer?” Billy pleaded. “My Dad only has a few hours left and you’re keeping me from spending them with him. I don’t care about anything else. Not now.”

“I do understand, Billy, I really do,” George said sadly. “But you need to understand that your Dad wouldn’t want you there at the end, to see him suffer before he turns. And honestly, Billy, you shouldn’t want to see that either. You should want to remember him as the strong and good man that he is now. Listen, once we drop anchor near the Queen Mary, I’ll see if we can get your Dad on the sat-phone. You should still be able to talk to him, unless he runs into trouble with the Marines. If that happens, being back on the ship wouldn’t help.”

Billy lowered his head in reluctant acceptance of fate. The rain beat down on the deck of the yacht, further lowering his spirits, as the light of afternoon faded towards premature darkness beneath the weeping clouds.