03 Deluge of the Dead (28 page)

“I do Doc,” Scott said. “I think it’s time for you to pull these tubes out and find me that mask. Too much is at stake for to sit here and do nothing.”

Bernhard stared at him for only a moment before nodding and turning to his assistant. “Miss Hansen? Please get a set of surgical gloves and mask for the commodore.” Turning back to Scott he continued, “This might be a mistake, but it wouldn’t be the first one I’ve made. Probably not the last either. The deciding factor for me is that I think you probably will help to save more lives than you will endanger resuming command of your Flotilla.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Scott said as Bernhard began to shut down the transfusion pump. “But while we’re waiting for my mask and gloves, is there anything else I should know about my new condition?”

“Many things,” the professor replied absently. “Don’t ever share a tooth brush, or let anyone drink from your glass, or use your utensils without washing them thoroughly. Don’t spit in public, or use a public restroom without sterilizing the seat afterwards. We really have no idea how contagious you are.”

Scott didn’t think the professor was joking, but couldn’t help smiling as he said, “How about any good news?”     

“Good news?” The professor paused and looked up from the blood pump for a moment as he pondered his answer. “I suppose you might consider it good news to learn that you cannot be infected by bites from the infected now.”

“Cool,” said Clint who had been listening from the other gurney.

“What?” Scott asked excitedly. “You mean I’m impervious to zombies?”

 “Impervious?” Professor Bernhard scoffed. “No, of course you’re not impervious. The infected can still rip your guts out and eat them, or bite you so bad that you bleed out, or simply tear you to pieces. Any of those things and many others will kill you, but a simple bite, or scratch, or other mode of viral transmission will not infect you with Super Rabies. That’s because you are already infected, don’t you see? Your antibodies will fight off the virus, but you will need to use the rest of your body and any weapons at your disposal to defend yourself from being killed by what you call zombies.”

*****

There were more people arriving at the refinery when Carl and Karen returned with Lucy, the young woman Carl had run-over-accidentally-on-purpose. He spotted the FBI armored vehicle directing buses of survivors through the gate and was not really surprised when the same female agent stepped out and flagged him down.

“Hello again, special agent,” Carl said through the chain link covering the open window. “How can I help you?”

“This rig of yours looks like it’s seen some action lately,” Helen commented casually as she noted the welded blades and chain link fence that had transformed the Suburban into a zombie killing machine. “Do you know the best way to the Terminal Island Safe Haven?”

“Yes,” Carl answered. “Why?”

“I’ve been ordered down there immediately, but I don’t want to pull my team off the rescue mission here. Is there any chance of hitching a ride to the Commodore’s ship with you?”

Carl thought it over for only a moment and said, “Sure, as long as the rest of your people can handle security for the refinery and rescue operations here.” Helen Slidell agreed and the arrangements were made quickly. Karen suggested that if they were going to the port it would be best to bring Lucy too, so a real doctor could examine her legs.  They moved her into the rear cargo area where Carl kept his air mattress and camping gear. She grumbled, but found a spot to cuddle up with her swelling legs elevated. Then Helen and an agent armed with a deadly looking rifle climbed into the Suburban.  Introductions were made as they drove through the rain, ending up with the sniper who identified himself simply as Lance.

The drive to the port was much faster without a convoy in tow, or hordes of zombies filling the streets. The path cleared for the refinery convoy by the big Cat remained clear so he retraced the course they had taken the first time instead of heading towards the freeway. Had it really only been yesterday that he led them all to the port? Yes, even in the dark the roads looked familiar and even though they were able to drive faster, Carl had more of a chance to look at his surroundings. The view was depressing.

For the first half of the drive they didn’t see any sign of survivors. Then, as they began driving down streets lined with homes and apartments, they started seeing groups and individuals waving flashlights from windows, or running out into the rain. Carl swore under his breath and said, “We don’t have room to pick up any other survivors this time.”

“And we don’t have time for it right now either,” said Agent Slidell steadily.

“We have to do something,” Karen protested.

Yes, we do,” Carl agreed. He picked up the PA and said, “We don’t have room to take you with us, but we’re calling for buses and trucks to come here. They should be able to take you to safety. If you have a vehicle, there’s a clear path to the refinery stronghold on Sepulveda Boulevard and the infected will stay off the streets during the rain. So you can make your own way to the refinery, or the Port of Los Angeles, or you can wait here for a rescue convoy.”  Carl continued to repeat variations of that announcement whenever they came across more survivors. Agent Slidell was also using her radio to let the rest of her team at the refinery know where the survivors located.

“This is crazy,” Karen said. “How will they be able to find enough buses and trucks to drive down every street picking people up before it stops raining?”

Carl said, “They won’t. But they’ll get to as many as they can. What more can we do?” They drove on in silence, broken only by occasional announcements when they spotted survivors. After what Carl considered to be the half-way mark he changed his message and told people to head for the port. He made no more mention of waiting for rescue. Karen was right. There were simply not enough rescuers. Finding so many survivors coming out of hiding during the storm should have been cause for celebration, but Carl was stricken by the thought that many of them would never make it to safety. It was made all the worse when he noticed that many of the survivors looked like concentration camp victims after two weeks of hiding from the zombies. He doubted many of them had the strength left to make it to the port on their own, but that’s what he encouraged them to do. It was their only hope. 

The worst part of the drive for Carl was driving down the street where he had lost Chuck. There were numerous bodies near the last spot he seen Chuck. Most of them were those of zombies that Chuck had killed before he went down. It made Carl sick when he realized that he hoped one of the bodies was Chucks too. If not, it could only mean that Chuck was hiding from the rain with the rest of the zombie horde. That was a fate Carl wouldn’t wish on anyone, so he hoped that Chuck had saved a shotgun shell for himself. Of course he wasn’t about to stop and check.

As they approached the bridge to Terminal Island Carl was surprised to see a checkpoint manned by dozens of Marines with trucks and armored vehicles, as well as an honest to God tank! This was a lot more firepower and men than O’Hara had fielded this morning. Where had they all come from? He slowed as he approached them and was relieved when his headlights revealed O’Hara standing near the front of a group of Marines. He rolled down his window and called out, “Sergeant Major O’Hara! Do you have a second?”

O’Hara recognized Carl’s voice and the unique Suburban immediately and smiled as he walked over. “Mr. Stiller, sir!” he said. “It’s a pleasure to see you back here. What can I do for you?”

“Well, first, I was wondering where all of these Marines came from?” Carl asked.

“They arrived on a ship from San Diego after you flew away and left me holding the bag on that horde of zombies you rounded up,” O’Hara explained with a smile.

“What happened down there? Did you keep them contained?” Carl asked with a tinge of guilt for not thinking to ask sooner.

“Damn right we did,” O’Hara beamed. “We blew at least a thousand of the puss buckets away while the barricade was being built. In fact, I just returned from showing some of these boys our handiwork. They’re planning to use the rest of the Zekes for target practice, or maybe just run them all down with a tank.”

Carl nodded and asked, “So how is the rescue mission going?”

“We already received at least a dozen convoys of buses coming down the Harbor freeway,” O’Hara said. “Boat loads of people are coming into the port too. The Navy is just watching, but my fellow Marines are willing to help. How did it go for you? I heard you went to set up the refinery as another safe haven.”

“Yeah, we did,” Carl replied. “We brought in a few hundred survivors and a bunch of motor homes for shelter. We even got some help from the FBI.” He gestured at his passengers in the back seat. “I’m giving them a lift to meet their boss over at the ship. But if these Marines are really here to help, we drove by a lot of people that we couldn’t pick up on the way. Some of them looked like they were starving and on their last legs. They could really use a lift.”

“Consider it done,” O’Hara said. He called over a Marine officer and quickly explained the situation. Carl pointed out their route on a map and some of the Marines started up a pair of duce-and-a-half trucks to go out and retrieve survivors. It helped assuage Carl’s feels of guilt at having to drive by so many people in obvious need. O’Hara returned to the Suburban and said, “I’ll follow you to the
Sovereign Spirit
. It’s about time for another pow-wow and I haven’t heard from the Commodore since we left. We don’t have much more time to compare notes with him and a lot has happened since you left this morning.”    

*****

The Professor allowed Scott to leave the Z-Lab at shortly after ten-o’clock that evening. He wore his own clothes, with the addition of a surgical mask and latex gloves. It would take some getting used to, but at least it was hoped that these precautions would allow him to interact with others safely. Scott considered doing so vital to the success of the rescue mission and future of the Flotilla. There were too many uncertainties in play. Not the least of which was the fact that after news of Scott’s infection and the formation of the Captains’ Council that morning, most people probably thought Scott was already dead.

That assumption was confirmed by the reaction he got while walking through the ship. Crew and passengers alike did a double-take when they recognized him. Those who saw the surgical mask tended to give him a wide berth in the passageways. It was disconcerting, but understandable. Over twelve hours had passed since he had been bitten by a zombie. By all rights he should be trying to attack everyone in sight by now, or have taken a bullet to the brain. Scott ignored the looks and went straight to the bridge.

“Hi Jordy,” Scott said to Captain Fisher as he entered the nerve center of the
Sovereign Spirit
. “What’s our status?”

“Scott!,” Fisher exclaimed. “My God, I thought we had already lost you when they called you down to sick bay this afternoon. But shouldn’t you be there now?” His question was tinged with apprehension as he wondered if Scott would turn dangerously violent at any moment.

 “My condition has changed somewhat,” Scott replied. “Apparently I am in no immediate danger from the infection, but I need to catch up on what’s been happening while I was out of action. Are the Marines still surrounding us? Has there been any further communication from the Navy? What about the rescue operations?”

Fisher motioned for Scott to follow him off the bridge towards his Ready Room to discuss the situation while the rest of the bridge crew looked on in stunned silence. “There’s still a small group of Marines on the dock here, but they’re acting more like defenders than aggressors,” Fisher began. “The rest of the Marines are actually assisting our people in the rescue operations, so I guess your meeting with their commander must have gone well. The Navy ships are just sitting there, watching us. No direct communications, but no interference with the Flotilla either. Our boats are spread out along the coast picking up hundreds of survivors. Convoys of refugees are arriving by land too. I’d say the results are encouraging so far. So what’s your condition, Commodore?”

“It’s a bit complicated, Jordy, but the professor tells me that I’m not going to die.”

“That’s fantastic, Scott! So that means you weren’t infected?”

“Oh I was infected alright,” Scott said. “I’m still infected and I’m probably contagious too.” He saw the captain’s eyes go wide as he took an involuntary step back. “But the professor has been pumping Clint’s blood into me since he called me down to the lab. He thinks that I now have the antibodies to fight off the virus and survive it. I’d rather explain it all to everyone at once. Can you call a meeting of senior officers and anyone available from the new Captain’s Council as soon as possible?”

“Absolutely,” Fisher agreed. “But what’s with the mask?”

“Just a precaution, Jordy,” Scott said with a smile that couldn’t be seen, except by the movement of muscles around his eyes. “It’s for your protection, not mine. Oh and tell George he can bring Billy and Michelle back now too. I want them at the meeting.”

“Will do, sir.  By the way, that FBI special agent is also here asking to see you and I just got word that O’Hara and Carl Stiller have entered the port and are on their way here. Mick and Mark have also been asking about you.”

“Good, invite them all to the conference room.”

*****

Billy knew he would be killed soon and almost didn’t care. Scarface, whom he had heard others call “Scag,” might have killed him already, if he didn’t need him to operate the
Expiscator
and teach others to do the same. Billy would have refused, if not for Scag’s threat to rape Michelle unless he did. Billy suspected the bastard would kill him and rape his mother anyway as soon as he wasn’t needed anymore. And Billy knew that he would die trying to stop them from touching her. He had nothing else to live for.

His father must be dead or dying by now and Billy had seen these “pirates” throw the seemingly lifeless body of George Hammer overboard as they coerced Billy to pilot the yacht out of Long Beach Harbor. His mood was further darkened by the screams and laughter coming from the main salon and Billy didn’t want to think about what was happening to the Hammer family and the college girls that had been captured below. These “pirates” had no compassion for anyone. Michelle was bound and tied in the captain’s cabin behind the bridge, so Billy knew his Mom was safe for now. However, their long term prospects looked grim.