03 Deluge of the Dead (26 page)

“In that case, how would you feel about leaving most of your team and coming here directly? You think they can handle the round-up on their own?” He forgot to say “over,” so the pause stretched out uncomfortably.

“They can handle it, sir,” Helen finally replied. “But I’d like to leave them the Bearcat in case the rain stops. We’ll drop off some survivors at the refinery. Then I’ll secure alternate transportation and head directly to the port, over.”

“Fine,” Ralph agreed. “But don’t come alone. Bring at least one agent with you, preferably one of the snipers, over.”

“Wilco, sir, I’ll be there as soon as possible. Slidell over and out.”

“Thanks Helen,” Ralph answered. “Use tactical radios to contact me or the helicopter pilot when you arrive. We’re currently aboard the
Sea Launch Commander
.”  He turned away from the radio and gazed out over the harbor. Most of the Marines had dispersed, leaving only half a dozen vehicles surrounding the
Sovereign Spirit
. The Navy warships remained offshore, neither helping nor hindering the vessels of the Flotilla as they dispersed up and down the coast in search of survivors. Ralph hoped that was a good sign. He couldn’t put his finger on what made him so uneasy.

*****

Sergeant Major O’Hara accompanied Major Connors in the command and control trac as they led most of the battalion off the Mole and towards the perimeter of the safe haven. He sat and listened as the Major used a secure transmitter to update the frigate and guided missile cruiser.

“I have secured the area around the Flotilla flagship and met with their commodore. He understands our mission and will not offer any resistance. As we suspected from their broadcast today, they are engaged in a maximum effort to rescue other survivors during the storm. I assured them that we will not interfere with the rescue operation and will offer appropriate assistance. In return, they will cooperate with our mission to secure stockpiles of vital supplies in the port.”

“
Port Royal
copies your message, Major,” replied a voice over the radio. “Proceed with your primary mission to secure the port and organize transfer of cargo to the
Cape Inscription
for shipment to Coronado. We will not interfere with civilian vessels engaged in rescue efforts, but are not authorized to render assistance at this time, over.”

“Copy that,
Port Royal,
” Connors responded. “However, I recommend delaying transfer of cargo until the storm passes. All civilian personnel in the port are busy with rescue operations and my men are not prepared to identify and move heavy cargo during this storm. If we wait for the rain to pass and these people to complete their current rescue missions, the process of transferring cargo will be much more efficient. I also intend to assist in the efforts to save civilian refugees. Our help will be seen as proof of our goodwill and increase their level of cooperation.”

There was a much longer delay in the response from the guided missile cruiser. The eventual reply was, “Your advice has been passed on to COMCOR and you can proceed at your own discretion until we receive a reply.”

Major Connors turned to O’Hara and smiled grimly. “Looks like I bought us a little time, but now you can see what I have to deal with here. They will push me to start loading up food and other vital supplies as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir,” O’Hara replied. “I can see your position clearly. I even agree with the plan to send supplies to Coronado. So does the Commodore. That’s why he sent the
Cape Inscription
down there to begin with, to show our goodwill. He intended to keep sending supplies every week or so too. It’s a shame the Navy is so panicked that they feel the need to grab it all at once.”

“Agreed, Sergeant Major,” Connors said. “Let’s kick this up the chain and rattle some cages.” He paused to pull a satellite phone out of a small locker and said, “We can talk privately with General Barstow on this. He’s on speed dial and he sent another phone for you too.” Connors passed over a second phone before activating the power on his. He also connected an auxiliary antenna wire to the Amtrac’s communication console. “We’ll need this to get a signal in here, but yours should work fine on the internal antenna when you’re outside.”

“Outstanding,” O’Hara said, slipping his new phone into a pocket on his combat vest and waiting for the major to make contact with the general. Conners activated the speaker phone function as soon as it started to ring.

 “Barstow,” was the terse statement when the call was answered.

“General? This is Connors with O’Hara on Terminal Island. We have something of a situation here, sir.”

“Who doesn’t?” the General replied. “O’Hara? Can you hear me?”

“Affirmative, Butch, you old bastard,” O’Hara said.

“Same to you, Ashley. At least you remembered the secret code words,” said the General with a chuckle. “It’s good to hear your voice, old man. How’s it hanging up there?”

“It could be better, sir. You were right about Commodore Allen. It’s been a pleasure serving with him. Thanks for sending backup led by a good officer too,” O’Hara said, with a nod to Major Connors. “But I’m concerned about the intentions of the Navy. We’re in the middle of a big rescue op and we could use all the help we can get, but the squibs want to start grabbing supplies while the rest of us are busy saving lives. That won’t make the Navy many friends here, sir.”

“I read you loud and clear, O’Hara, but I had to lay my ass on the line to keep them from invading that port and taking over outright. That’s why I sent Major Connors and the rest of your Battalion to run interference. What more can I do?”

“Well, sir,” Connors replied. “I asked the Navy to stand-down until the storm passes before raiding the stockpiles. I think we can get a lot more cooperation from the Flotilla and the locals if we actually help them with their rescue operations too.”

“Yes, I can see that perspective, Major,” General Barstow said slowly. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’ve left a platoon guarding the Flotilla flagship, just to keep up appearances for the Navy. Sergeant Major O’Hara and I are moving the bulk of the battalion to assist in the rescue and screening of refugees arriving by land during the storm. The Sergeant Major also told me about thousands of Zekes contained near here and thinks it might be a good idea to wipe them out before they break out. What we need is an order from you to postpone provisioning operations for the duration of the storm and to assist in the rescue operations until then. The Navy won’t be able to supersede your chain of command.”

“Alright, I’ll issue that order immediately,” the general agreed. “But after the storm passes, you’ll need to proceed with the requisitions as planned. Try to explain it to Commodore Allen the way I explained it you, David. I’m sure he will understand the necessity of cooperating. He seemed like a level headed guy.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Major Connors stiffly. “He is, and I already did, but I’m afraid he won’t be calling the shots here by then.”

“Why not?” demanded Barstow.

O’Hara answered by saying, “He got a Zeke bite, Butch. Damned zombie bitch bit him on his ass this morning. I doubt he’ll make it through the night.”

“Son of a bitch!” Barstow exclaimed. “What else can go wrong?”

*****

 Stan Dawson was excited as he hopped off the tugboat onto the ferry dock. The
Jet Cat Express
looked like a sleek predatory bird of prey, with lines more akin to a jet airplane than a ferry boat. It might not be as fast as the Cigarette Top Gun, but it was a lot faster than any of the yachts or ships in the Flotilla. It could probably even outrun the
Stratton
and the warships in the bay. Of course Stan would be using this boat’s speed and passenger capacity to pick up refugees from piers and harbors along the coast, not trying to outrun other boats. Stan spotted the two men he had been told to expect. They were standing in the door to the ferry, beckoning him aboard. Stan waved the tugboat off, signaling that everything was okay, and jogged up the boarding ramp.

“I’m Stan Dawson, your new skipper,” he called out. “Are we ready to cast off?”

“Just about, skipper,” Terrance called back. “As soon as we’re sure you can drive this thing.”

“No worries there,” Stan said with a smile as he reached the door. He stopped abruptly when he saw all of the poncho clad people waiting inside the ferry. He turned to Terrance and said, “You picked up refugees already?”

“Not exactly, captain,” said a big man sitting in a passenger seat in front of the door. “We’re just waiting here to pick you up, so come aboard and fire up the engines on this bad boy. We got places to be and things to do.  And, by the way, we’re not refugees. We’re pirates.” His laugh was chilling. It was joined by hoots and cackles from the rest of the men and a few women in the ferry. Stan started to back out the door, but Terrance and Floyd blocked his path, pushing him inside and removing the pistol he carried in a shoulder holster.

“What’s this all about?” Stan demanded.

“It’s about the end of the world and taking care of ourselves,” the obvious leader of the group said. “We listened to your commodore and he has some good ideas. One of them was not relying on anyone else to save us, or take care of us. So we have no intention of being cooped up in that safe haven across the bay. Another good idea was getting a boat and going to sea. So that’s what we’re doing. We’ll start with this boat and we need you to drive it. Get the picture?”

“Yeah,” Stan said as the wheels turned in his head. “But you’re making a big mistake. We can offer you and your people other boats to live on. There are plenty of them sitting abandoned in marinas along the coast. You’d be safer and have more supplies if you join the Flotilla, but we won’t force that on you. In fact, I’m supposed to take this ferry south to pick up other survivors, but I can drop you all off at another marina. You can set up your own safe haven there, or grab some abandoned yachts and go wherever you like. It’s not too late for us to work together.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” the man replied with a smile that showed off the massive scar on his left cheek. “But I have a better one. Go upstairs and start up this boat. I’ll tell you where to drive it. And if you do anything I don’t like, I’ll blow your brains out.”

*****

Billy sat at the computer in the Sky Lounge behind the bridge on the
Expiscator.
He had logged onto SovereignSpirit.net to check the latest posts coming in from other survivors. It wasn’t something he enjoyed. There were too many sad stories and pleas for help, but at least they took his mind off his own troubles and grief.  However, Billy had also made a few new online friends who had more hope than fear to share. One of them was a man struggling to survive in a Venezuelan jungle with nothing but a pistol, machete, and sat-phone to keep him company. After killing at least a dozen zombies who had been his coworkers at an ecological research station, the man had set off through the jungle, trying to reach the coast and eventually get to an island. Billy hadn’t heard from him lately, which didn’t bode well unless his phone had simply run out of juice. Nevertheless, Billy sent him another message and watched for a reply.

Checking for new messages was never fun. Most of them were quite depressing. That was the case with the first email he looked at that evening.

I’m trapped at work in a Max security wing of Pelican Bay prison....Secured in the control room.....they are everywhere.....I am safe in here for the time being, no way they can break in. Ballistic glass is my savior at the moment, but may also become the walls of my coffin....I’ve got enough food and water to last another week....If only I could get to the armory at the end of the corridor, a 100 meter dash through hell...If anyone gets this  message, a little bit of help would be appreciated. Make sure you bring some guns, some big guns and plenty of ammo- Loboz 

Billy had to look up Pelican Bay Prison and was interested to see that it was located near the coast of Northern California, hundreds of miles beyond San Francisco. He supposed it might be possible for someone from the Flotilla to get there, but doubted it would be a priority in the coming weeks. Billy could only hope that the guard would survive in the control room, or somehow make it the armory. He couldn’t imagine being trapped a prison overrun by infected inmates. He wondered how many prisoners were still trapped in their cells, and how many of those weren’t even infected, but were simply starving to death, or turning to cannibalism of a different sort as their cellmates weakened and died. What a nightmare!

Billy was skimming a few more emails as he noticed the sleek ferry pulling out of Rainbow Harbor. He knew Stan had been sent over to command her and would be taking it south to pick up refugees. Billy wished he was allowed to go with him, but George had been adamant that he needed to stay on the
Expiscator
, in case Scott called or sent word that it was safe to return to the
Sovereign Spirit.

The ferry moved slowly across the bay at the mouth of the Los Angeles River Bed and turned to pass the
Queen Mary
. Billy was a bit surprised when it turned and slowed further, maneuvering alongside the
Expiscator
. Maybe Stan had forgotten something, or needed more charts, or navigation gear. Maybe he needed Billy to come with him after all. He was about to go find out when his mother, Michelle, walked into the Sky Lounge. Her eyes were still red rimmed from crying and she wore the saddest expression he could remember.

“What is it, Mom? Are you okay? Is there any news from Dad?”

“No,” she replied. “Not yet. That’s what worries me. I’m going crazy wondering what is taking him so long to call us. I just came to see how you’re doing.”

“I’m okay, Mom. I’m just trying not to think about it, you know? And I was wondering why Stan is bringing that big ferry over here.” He pointed out the window and Michelle noticed the
Catalina Jet Cat
sliding into place next to their yacht. They moved to the window and watched as a door on the side of the ferry opened and figures wearing dark ponchos leapt onto the rear deck of the
Expiscator.