by Dave Brown
“I did not mean to frighten you!” Lana said and then opened her arms for a hug. Gone was the stern Svetlana Lebedova the Folly's crew had met months ago. Now Patty thought Lana was one of the warmest people she had ever met.
“What is wrong, Patya?” she said, stepping back. “You look... what is word, deflated?”
Patty smiled with her lips but she knew her eyes didn't match it. She thought of the horrific vision she saw sometimes when she closed her eyes. It wasn't something she wanted to talk about. “I don't know. All these changes, new faces, people leaving. I feel... disconnected.”
Lana smiled and hooked an arm through one of Patty's, leading her back toward the Folly's tower. “Well, we have lots of time to connect you up again.”
Chapter 32
The plan was to take the Folly east, towing the sea plane behind them. Once they reached the coast, Jimmy and Lana would take a series of flights inland, looking for concentrations of the dead. Back on the ship, Errol would begin modeling paths of infection with the data they brought back so the scientists at Midway could determine how best to distribute their new weapon. He thought it was a solid enough plan and was not surprised to feel optimistic as he ordered the engine up to cruising speed. It would take some time to reach the California coast.
The days passed pleasantly enough. Between doing the preparatory work on his new models, learning more about the new crew members, and getting used to living with Renee, there was plenty to do. Before he knew it, Jones was calling him on the intercom to tell him they were in view of Los Angeles. The next morning the sea plane took off on its first search pattern, zig-zagging northwest and going as far as fifty miles inland. The Folly sailed along the coast and met them at the end of each day, refueling the bird for its next trip. The committee had told them to burn up all the fuel they had and come back under sail. The mission was that important.
The fourth day started calmly and Errol would later wonder if he had felt some inkling that something was going to happen. The Folly was anchored a mile off the coast and about ten miles due west of a place called Lompoc, according to the map Errol was studying with Jimmy and Lana.
“I think you should make another pass over the town and then swing up to the Air Force base.” Errol tapped locations on the map with his finger. “It's the first significant military installation we've encountered. Maybe they held out.”
“Doubtful,” Lana said but she seemed intrigued rather than pessimistic.
Errol smiled. “So's finding the Russian/Canadian government flying by Okinawa, but we did that.”
She graced him with her warm smile and Jimmy slapped his shoulder, laughing. “Guess we're off then, eh? Keep dinner warm for us.”
Ten minutes later Errol watched their plane go bouncing across the water, then leap into the air and turn east. He went down to the galley where the computer from the committee was still set up and got back to work on his infection model. He hadn't been at it long when he was startled by Reg's voice over the intercom.
“Captain to the bridge, immediately. Repeat, Captain to the bridge.”
The note of tension in the man's voice was clear even over the scratchy old speaker on the galley wall. Errol wasted no time getting out of the hall and up the stairs. As he walked onto the bridge, he heard Jimmy calling out to them over the radio.
“Hong to Folly, Hong to Folly, we are taking fire. Folly, we are taking fire!”
“What the hell?” Errol said and grabbed the microphone from Reg's open hand. “We read you, Jimmy. What is your location?”
“We're over Lompoc. We're going down! Help us, Folly, please!”
Errol stared at the speaker, dumbfounded. Somebody was shooting at the plane? Who would should at a plane?
“Captain?” Reg said, and Errol snapped out of it.
“Roger, Jimmy, we're coming for you. Try to get somewhere high and secure. We're coming!” The radio speaker was silent. “Jimmy? Jimmy!” There was no response. He dropped the radio and turned to the bank of walkies in their charging bays. “Get on the intercom. I want Jones, Hayes, Patty, Anne, and Renee at the weapons locker, right now.” He was yanking radios out as he talked, stuffing them into the oversized pockets on his coverall. He was just about to leave the bridge when he noticed the binoculars hanging on the wall next to Jones's spyglass. He grabbed them, leaving the glass for Reg.
Jones was the first to arrive at the locker, and he immediately began raiding bins full of clips for the pistols he saw Errol taking off their hooks. “What's the score?” He said.
“Somebody's shooting at Jimmy and Lana. They said they're going down.” Errol checked the chamber on each weapon, as Jones had drilled him to do. Hayes and Patty appeared in the doorway together. “Bernard, get your medical kit. Patty, tools. We're going ashore,” he said.
“Are you arming everybody?” Jones asked, filling shoulder bags with clips and a few grenades.
“You, me, Renee. Anne's staying in the skiff but I want her to have one in case the Z's try to swamp it.” He put on a belt holster and secured his own weapon, then stopped and stared at his first mate. “I used to be a software engineer,” he said.
Jones grinned. “You still are,” he said, “just picked up a few skills along the way.”
Errol nodded. “What about Patty and Hayes?” he asked, back to business. “Can they handle a gun?”
“I wouldn't recommend it for Pat,” the Texan said. “Just hasn't got the stomach for it. Hayes isn't a good shot but he's careful and knows what not to do. I'd give one to him.”
Errol pulled another pistol off the wall and checked it over just as Renee hurried into the already crowded room. “Reg told me,” she said. “Jones, hand me that L85, please.”
“You're a lucky man, Errol,” said Jones as he passed the rifle back.
Loaded with weapons and gear, the six of them held onto the side of the skiff as George lowered them down. Anne sat at the controls, ready to get underway when Errol and Jones released the straps. As they began to descend, Errol's attention drifted to a large boxy addition to the Folly's stern. It was about ten feet long, five feet wide and a couple feet thick. It was hung at an angle, one end pointing down toward the water. He, Reg, and Jones had built and mounted it over the last month or so, since the incident with Pelozar at Midway. He hoped they would never have to use it.
“Hey, boss,” Jones said, apparently noticing his gaze. “Reg can handle things here. You need to focus on the job.”
Errol nodded and looked toward the shore instead of the ship. He saw a sandy beach, some green-tinged hills. It all looked perfectly normal. He looked at the sky above the land, knowing he wouldn't see the plane in all that clear blue but hoping anyway. The skiff hit the water and Jones moved toward the bow strap. Errol released the stern and then grabbed the side again as Anne shoved them forward a little too hard. As they sped toward the beach he couldn't resist a backward look at his ship, getting smaller by the second, and felt a sinking feeling that he would never see it again.
Chapter 33
Anne hadn't had a lot of practice piloting the skiff, as evidenced by the rough start she gave them when pulling away from the ship. After that, however, it was a simple job to go in a straight line toward the coast. The illusion that everything was normal over there broke as they got closer. There were a few forms, indistinct at first but slowly resolving to human shapes, shambling around the beach. Anne counted six of them. About the time she could make out appendages and torsos instead of just wandering dots, they began to move closer together. Anne didn't understand it at first but caught on when she saw the first one enter the water. They weren't moving toward each other, they were moving toward the boat.
“Anne, slow us down a bit,” Jones said. The electric motor on the skiff was quiet, no need for him to shout. “If we can lure 'em out a little farther, they won't be any trouble when we land.”
She backed off the throttle and the boat slowed. The zombies on the beach continued to wade into the s
urf. It wasn't long before their heads disappeared beneath the water. “Let 'em wander out a little more,” Jones said, “Then punch it toward the beach.” There was no way to see where the creatures were anymore, so Anne decided to count silently to thirty. She got to twenty-three when Jones tapped her shoulder. The skiff lurched as she applied the thrust too fast again, but after that they reached the shallow water near the beach without incident. Anne turned to starboard and cut the throttle when they could see the bottom about two feet down, just enough for the boat to maneuver back out again. Her friends scrambled over the sides and then started slogging ashore. Errol turned back to wave at her and then shouted, “Here they come!”
She turned and saw what he meant. The dead were walking back up out of the waves. The tallest of them had just cleared its chin. Its mouth opened and she expected to hear that horrible moan issue forth. Instead there was just a wet gurgle. Its lungs were full of water. She started to giggle. These creatures that had terrified her for so long had somehow turned comical. Maybe it was the sound, maybe the way they rose out of the water like extras in a bad student film. She turned the skiff south and started a slow circle, still laughing. Now and then she glanced back to check her friends' progress. They were on the beach and walking quickly inland. The Z's in the water were still pursuing Anne. Before long they would be beneath the water again as she waited farther out for her crew mates to return.
An hour later she was still waiting, though she didn't really expect them anytime soon. A cynical voice inside her even began to whisper that she would never see them at all. The beach was empty, the undead most likely walking in circles on the ocean floor beneath her. Errol and the rest of the team had long since disappeared from view. It was a quiet morning, soon to be afternoon. She'd be relaxed if it weren't for that cruel whisper.
A bird flew overhead, drawing her attention back to her surroundings. She glanced around, took in the beach, the ocean, the Folly, the beach again. Her head snapped back to the west. The Folly wasn't alone. A long low shape was floating a little farther out to sea, a dark tower rising out of it. She knew in an instant what it was. The Santa Fe. She scrambled toward the controls from her perch at the stern of the skiff, the radio her goal. Her hand was almost on it when the boat suddenly rocked to starboard. She looked over and saw a rotting hand gripping the rail at the side.
“Shit!” she yelled. How could they reach her? The water was at least twenty feet deep here. A second hand joined the first, shifting the boat even more to starboard. She saw fingers from yet another groping for purchase, just out of reach. If too many of them got hold of the boat, she would capsize. The pistol Jones had left her was lying in a coil of rope on the floor of the skiff. She grabbed it and ran through the checklist Jones had made her memorize. Check the chamber, check the clip, check the hammer, release the safety. The boat lurched again and she turned. The groping fingers had found their hold. She was bringing the gun around in both hands when the first creature's head rose into view. Jones had made her practice at ten yards and she'd gotten fairly good. She hit the seaweed balls they used as targets three times in five, a vast improvement from zero, where she'd started. These targets were much closer. She squeezed the trigger, exhaling at the same time, and the Z's head snapped back. Its hands let go and it fell away. The second one was jerked free when the boat rocked away to port, but when it didn't roll back to starboard again Anne whirled around. There were more of them on the left side, the momentary dip all they had needed to gain a hold. One of them had even gotten an arm up onto the smooth fiberglass at the bow. Its hand swept back and forth, looking for something to grab, and found the radio antenna. “NO!” she shouted, but it was already too late. The metal rod bent and then snapped. The putrid arm fell away, still grasping the antenna in its hand. Anne brought the gun up and found a target, firing another shot. This time she wasn't lucky enough to knock the others loose. Two more still had a good grip. She edged toward the port side, trying to keep away from their hands by moving toward the bow at the same time. Her view shifted and revealed their heads sticking out of the water. She glanced down and saw more just below the surface, reaching at the side of the boat. She couldn't be sure but she thought there was something underneath them, a wreck of some kind.
The port side of the skiff was sinking slowly toward the water, and there were hands still beneath the surface getting closer and closer to finding some hold. She aimed at one of the heads above the water line and fired, a clean hit. The creature let go and she waited for the boat to settle before lining up her next shot. One more squeeze and there were no corpses with a grip on the boat. She turned and slapped at the controls, kicking up the throttle. The skiff lurched beneath her and she fell backward, banging her shoulder into the edge of the bench on the port side. Pain flared there and she cried out, but regained herself quickly and got hold of the wheel. She looked back and saw hands still reaching out of the water.
She ran the engine for a minute more and then stopped, looking behind again. The hands had disappeared, the creatures probably coming toward her yet again. She peered over the side, shading her eyes as best she could from the sun's glare, and could see nothing in the water beneath her. This time she would be more careful. She reached for the rope on the floor and then realized she was still holding the gun. It was still cocked and ready to fire. She put the safety on and carefully lowered the hammer, then set the piece down on the floor of the skiff. Rope in hand, she tied on a metal weight that they normally used for fishing, and began lowering it into the water. It was some time before she felt any vibration. Dragging the rope back and forth, she was sure she had hit the bottom. She started pulling it back, using spans of her outstretched arms to measure length, and stopped counting at four spans. That should be plenty, she thought.
She sat, breathing hard and shaking. The sun was warm on her shoulders, which felt good, but there was also a growing ache in the left one. She rubbed it absently with her hand. She looked back toward the Folly, and realized she'd completely forgotten about the sub. It was partially obscured now that she had moved farther north, but she could still see the back end of it peeking out past the Folly's stern. She reached for the radio and remembered the snapping sound the antenna had made when the corpse had ripped it off. Errol hadn't left her a walkie since the skiff had its own transmitter.
Chapter 34
Patty inhaled deeply, taking in air that didn't smell like fish or seaweed or engine grease. She hadn't walked this far in one direction in almost five years. They were following a long straight piece of paved road. Lasalle Canyon Road, it was called. They had picked it up near the beach and followed it north until it turned east, and they had just passed a sign that said there were eight miles to go until they reached Lompoc. Patty figured that meant another two hours at least, probably more like three.
She couldn't decide if she felt amazed or fearful. On the one hand, they were walking on American soil again, strolling down a dusty highway in California on a sunny afternoon. On the other hand, she felt terribly exposed. Visibility was pretty good. The land here was mostly flat and the road seemed to stretch into infinity. Anything they could see would be able to see them. After hearing the news that Jimmy and Lana had been attacked, she wasn't sure Z's were the only thing to fear out here.
They had passed several cars along the way, but hadn't bothered to try any of them. Four years unattended in the open coastal air would almost certainly render them useless. The crew kept in shape on the Folly with exercise machines that doubled as electrical generators, so the walk wouldn't be a problem for them physically. Patty would have liked to cut down on travel time, though.
The land on the north side of the road was overgrown. Patty guessed it had once been farm land from the fences she could see poking out here and there through the dense vegetation. There were broken-down houses at irregular intervals, tucked into the growth with thinner patches leading down to the road, their paved or gravel driveways that had held out longer than the fiel
ds but eventually succumbed anyway.
Up ahead on the right, a house like many of the others they had seen stood closer to the road. The land around it was not bare but seemed so in comparison to the other farms around. The gravel drive leading from the road to the structure was almost clear of greenery. As they passed the place, Patty looked at a large sign hanging askew on the fence. It had once been painted, but the bright colors had mostly worn away. The letters on the sign were carved into the wood and showing signs of wear themselves, but she could still read them without effort. “Doc Gardener's Hospital for Afflicted Machinery,” it said.
The group continued down the road a few steps before stopping and turning around again. Doctor Hayes had stayed in front of the house, staring at the sign. “Hey, guys,” he said without looking away. “I think we should check this place out.”
“What? Why?” Errol said, sounding confused.
“We got a long walk still to go, Doc,” Jones said.
Hayes finally looked back at them and Patty noticed an excited gleam in his eye. “If I'm right, we'll be able to cut down on that significantly.”
Errol and Jones looked at each other, still confused.
“I'm in,” Patty said, the words out of her mouth before she knew she was going to say them.
“Let's take a look,” added Renee.
Errol shrugged and started heading back toward the gravel path leading away from the road. The five of them walked up the drive to the house, and Patty was surprised by the pleasure she felt at the sound of the tiny rocks crunching under their feet. The drive ended at a large garage with two doors. They were padlocked shut on a simple hinged hasp screwed into the wood. “In there, I think,” Hayes said.
Patty swung the tool bag off her shoulder and pulled out a pry bar. It only took her a minute to work it under the hasp and tear it free. Jones and Renee had drawn their guns and were holding them ready. Patty and Hayes each grasped one of the handles and pulled, swinging the big doors outward into the drive. Nothing moved in the dim interior of the structure. The garage was cluttered with a variety of different appliances and machines. In those first few seconds Patty took in a dishwasher, two wall-mounted air conditioners, a free-standing drill press and a cluster of neatly stacked toasters.
