So that was our introduction to carrier life. Once the dog and pony show was over, the three dudes went their way and Robert and I went ours, and ours was a direct line to the cafeteria. We both had long hair and beards, and combined with our gray jumpsuits we definitely stuck out. I guessed most had seen their share of survivors and people kept glancing. Anyway, lunch was great: hamburgers and French fries. How damn American can you get?
I was led to a tiny but comfy stateroom. This one actually looked like it should be for one, but I was told that like everything else, it was made for two. Once again, the gods smiled on me and I had the mansion all to myself, at least for the time being. I spent the rest of the day going over the ship’s basics, trying to make sense of the massive vessel. I was told to wait here for the IT guys to bring me my computer and get me hooked up. I had two DVDs full of rules, maps, and SOPs I was supposed to watch before dinner. I unsuccessfully attempted to get comfortable on something I presumed was the bed. All in all, life is good. I am safe, I am not hungry, and I am warm. I guess I can take that deep breath now.
I stared at the grey metal ceiling. The bed was actually tolerable and I began to realize how tired I was. In Tennessee, people used the phrase bone tired. I guess this is what they mean. I just wanted everything to stop for just a little while. There was no gentle rocking like on Providence, but the stillness was reassuring and helped me relax. Retelling our story had been hard, but there were two of us there. I just mentioned facts and did not get into any real detail. It was only now on the carrier that I was ready to crack the door and truly relive some of the events. So many good people, gone in so little time, and for what? Even if we had made it to the islands, what would we have done? Stupid and naive, probably end up kicking the bucket from dehydration or disease. I never thought it would go down the way it did.
Endeavor to Persevere
Winston Churchill, or
Abraham Lincoln, or
Guy playing the old Indian chief in The Outlaw Josey Wales
Chapter 9 ~ New Friends
May, 24th
I eventually met the crew at some kind of storage facility/workshop surrounded by a high chain link fence topped with razor wire. It was your generic industrial park with a vast asphalt desert that, fortunately, looked deserted. I hadn’t seen any zombies for the last twenty minutes; at least since I left the more populated areas. Like all predators, they definitely congregate to where the action is, but how do they know where the action is?
It had been a surreal hell just getting here. Traffic everywhere, panicked people rushing pell-mell, no one knowing what to do, wrecks all over the place, abandoned cars lined the road. It seemed like everyone at once wanted out of Bangor, out of everywhere, but where would you go? We had all waited until the last minute thinking, it won’t make it all the way to us. One station I passed was in full riot even though multiple signs read, EMPTY – NO GAS! I was reminded of that scene from the old George Pal’s War of the Worlds movie, where the scientists are trying to leave LA in a school bus and run into a mob in complete panic. They attack and tear the bus apart. They throw out the very people who are their only hope, everyone’s hope.
When I slowed down, people pounded on my car and tried the doors. Four times, I had to point my gun at some desperate man trying to open the passenger door. One time, I could clearly see the guy’s family behind him, a couple of little children wrapped in a blanket. I was just as panicked and although I had plenty of room, didn’t even think of letting them in. If I open the door, I would get overwhelmed. I just wanted to make it to Liz. I tried the radio for a distraction. All it did was dial-up my anxiety level to eleven. Just one long stream of terrified reporters giving constant updates of zombies in the city, fires, widespread looting and rioting, things that everyone already knew. No new details and nothing to do if you were given them. Reports from Boston told of total destruction. New York City was in a blackout. Hell, the whole country is in a blackout.
I passed a deuce and a half full of national guardsmen heading into Bangor. They were moving slowly and I got a good look at the guys sitting in back. They were all way too young and obviously terrified. You signed up to get some money for college, make your first resume look good, and instead you get a suicide mission. What were they going to do? No hole was in the dike that you could plug with your finger. How are you going stop the ocean when you only have one little finger?
I double-checked the address I was given, 1026 Isherwood. Okay, here we go! There was a guy at the gate sitting in a cheap folding beach chair under a huge umbrella advertising Corona. He was wearing snakeskin boots on the outside of his jeans, a faded Van Halen t-shirt, black leather vest, cowboy hat, mirrored sunglasses, and holding an automatic weapon. Man, I hoped the address was right. I pulled up to the gate slowly and rolled my window down.
“Dr. Patrick?” It was more of an order than a question.
“Yes, I have ID.”
“Name's Tim, come on in, John, we’ve been expecting you.” He was young, maybe thirty, thin, with a goatee, and a strong New England accent. He opened the gate, and like me, he was looking around. Are they already here?
I pulled in. “Thanks, Tim, where to now?”
“Go on up around the side. You’ll see the garage doors open, so just pull on in.”
“Any trouble?” We shook hands.
“Here? Not yet.” As he closed the gate, Tim pointed to the southwest where columns of black smoke rose over the horizon.
“Shit.”
I drove off and left him all alone, standing guard at a flimsy gate at the far end of an empty parking lot during the end of the world. Wow, this is really happening.
In a large warehouse that used to be some kind of machine shop, people were swarming over two Winnebagos and a big black shiny Hummer. A slim twenty something redhead in farmer Johns waved me to the final resting place of my beloved Subaru.
“Just leave the keys and make sure everything is unlocked. You can stash your personal stuff over by that table. Name’s Jane, you must be Professor John.”
“John works for me, Jane.”
We shook hands. “Welcome on board. Liz is around somewhere.” She gave me a wink and walked away.
I left all the doors open and even went so far as to unlatch the hood and unlock the gas cap. My personal stuff was mostly clothes stored in two backpacks and a large duffel bag. I probably wouldn’t need all the clothes, particularly my winter stuff, but I don’t give a damn. If I am going to the Caribbean, some of that shit was expensive.
Everyone seemed to be either working on a vehicle, or running around looking very much like they knew what they were doing. And what they were doing was getting the final touches on an armored convoy that would take us the forty or so miles to the harbor. The Winnebagos had been tricked out with mesh on the glassless windows and diamond plate shielding skirting the bottom, but leaving the tires exposed. Smart, we can change a tire. A hole was cut in the roof and with a series of straps and webbing, acted as a kind of turret. The roof could not easily support the weight of a normal adult, plus gun and ammo, so they used PVC tubes to give a flying chair some struts and a series of contours for a 360 degree effect. The first thought through my rapidly disassociating from reality brain was, damn, that is some pervert who put that thing together. There were also shooting slits cut in the side. I was impressed that they used the cross technique for the slits, like you see in the old westerns, because it gives you a better angle of fire.
The Hummer was an H3T. The Hummer that wanted to be a pick-up truck with four doors, mesh over glassless windows, removable hardtop, and a diamond plate skirt. The front of the black Hummer was retrofitted with something resembling a locomotive cowcatcher. It appeared angry. From the looks of it, I would guess this retrofit was not done yesterday. I stood back for a better view. All the vehicles had that Road Warrior look that said, ‘DON’T FUCK WITH ME,’ very moody, very effective.
Liz was on the far side with a clipboard, rea
ding some kind of list. I went over, wrapped my arms around her and gave her a kiss.
“Oh, thank God, you made it. From the news reports, I was beginning to get really worried. Most of the gang has been camped here for the past few days. This will be my third night. I missed you.”
“I missed you, too. I can’t believe that you are right in front of me.” All Liz could do was smile.
“I’ve seen the smoke. Is it as bad as everything we heard? All the radio spews is doom and gloom.” All of this was said in exactly two seconds. We embraced and suddenly, I felt that things might not be that bad.
“It’s really going down fast, Liz. Everything is just chaos. It’s weird. I mean it happened so quickly. The roads will be a serious problem.” Okay, next appropriate thing to say might sound like, ‘I hope your ex has thought this through.’ Probably a better thing to say would be, “Hey, we have each other.” It doesn’t really matter since I went ahead and said both, in that order.
I saw her eyes change. “You dickhead! We have been working our asses off! Where the hell have you been? I have been calling for days! John, I have been scared shitless and you better have a good answer.”
“Before you get really mad, it was probably a ten thousand to one shot your call got through at all. Liz, we’re some of the lucky ones.” Oh, my God, we really were. How many hundreds of thousands, millions, whose last final excruciation, would be to absolutely know they would never be with their loved ones again, or have any idea what happened to them. I have a small reprieve. I knew my mother and sister were gone when Providence fell three days ago.
“Liz, why all this work? The zombies don’t use guns, I think. Let’s just go now!”
“John, this is Roy’s operation. We are waiting on a couple he has known since childhood. We all know we are entering the refugee game a bit late and we’re not taking any chances.”
With the exception of Liz, I didn’t know these people from Adam. They were isolated and may not be truly aware that everything was progressing from very bad to fucking terrible on the outside.
“I’m sorry. Can this really be happening?” I just held her and tried to hold back the tears. A tiny ray of light had broken through. I had found my Elizabeth.
She started to introduce me. It was name after name; I was given no last names. There were about twenty in total, most in their thirties and forties with no kids. Two of the more unusual people in our group were a pair of middle-aged twin sisters, deaf twin sisters. Madeline and Matilda were in their mid to late thirties, with short brown hair, thank God for different cuts, average height and build, and deep green eyes. Liz told me they stay to themselves and was related to Roy’s wife.
“Liz, can you or anyone here sign?”
“No, but they can write.” She poked me in the head and we moved on. I was nervous to meet Roy. Shit, let's find out on the eve of the End Times that your girlfriend's ex is some kind of survivalist nut with a havoc fetish. This would have any red-blooded anthropologist wondering why that free university gym pass was never applied for, but he asked me to come along.
Roy was a mountain of a man, easily 6-4, heavyset, beard, short hair, piercing hazel eyes, and very friendly. He resembled some crazed Al Borland from the TV show Home Improvement. He looked to be in his young fifties, fit, and clearly in control. This was Roy's Game and I was playing for Roy's Team. We exchanged some small talk about road conditions and Bangor. I didn’t know how to interact; was anxious and all I wanted to say was, ‘IT IS TIME TO GO!’ Instead, I just cruised with some chit chat. He approved my choice of handgun. The Ruger had a reputation that I was clueless about. I was instructed to carry it at all times, and make sure it's loaded and safety off. His road partner was another huge guy (huge, like a dump-truck is both large and massive) called Hammer, and when Roy declared, “Hammer's in the Hummer,” I almost burst out laughing, but Hammer turned out to be like Roy, another vet and a really good guy. I was glad he was with us. He was bald and actually looked like the semi-enemy Kingpin from the old Spider Man comics.
Everyone was busy and Roy put me to work helping with the supply inventory. I added my meager amount to the communal stock. I should have brought the mushrooms. Liz informed me we would leave the next morning. Well, at least I had Elizabeth and time to figure who the hell each person was and what they did. Everyone pitched in. I knew we were all scared, but trying really hard to hide it. Actually, I was in a pretty good mood
I hit it off with a retired engineer, Robert. He had one of the sailboats. He was an ex academic from Orono. I guess I was also an ex academic. We shared jokes and talked about the good times at U Maine, while I packed food and gear and checked them off, or added them to the list. He made it a point to brag about some of the classic Maine football victories over one of my Alma Maters, URI. Later, he pulled me aside and explained with fatherly patience and in agonizing detail what the hell was attached to my waist and how to use it. He also deactivated the magazine safety so I could fire the chambered round with the magazine removed.
Dinner that night was on the roof of the warehouse. Hammer had set some ladders and hauled up a bunch of lawn chairs and a propane grill. Hamburgers and hot dogs with all the fixings the Hannaford Market still had, at least three days ago. The sun didn’t set till around nine and everyone was on the lookout to spot the first zombie. Roy put up a bottle of Jack Daniels to the person who did. I guess that meant I was the only one to have seen a real zombie. At least three major fires were burning to the south and there was the constant distant wail of sirens, combined with the occasional gunshot. I said a silent prayer for the brave rescue workers, who must know they are fighting a losing battle, but were staying and doing their duty. Big, big, balls. Every bone in my body was telling me to run! So I did and they stayed.
During dinner, we went around, introduced ourselves, and gave a quick synopsis of who we are, what we did, and how we got here. There were twenty of us. I have spent my life talking in front of people I don’t know, but now, I am nervous. I was so concerned about what to say that when it came my time, I said something, but I have no clue as to what. I also don’t remember anything anyone else said. We reviewed the plan that Roy, Robert, and a guy called, Doc, had devised. People were assigned to a Winnebago and given special duties. Although the industrial park gave a false impression of isolation, the biggest concern was traffic. Panicked animals want to move, and with the large RVs, we were limited in our choices of acceptable terrain. Why didn’t we just put together some killer ATVs and get our asses out of here?
John, not your game.
Play for the team. You’re lucky your ass is alive. All in all, we thought it might take us a day or two to reach the harbor. I was assigned to Winnie Two, as was Liz. My particular position was at the back. I was part of a team of three assigned to cover the ass end of our little caravan.
We had a couple of survival radios that not only were waterproof, but also ran on electricity, batteries, and hand crank. I don’t know, but they ran on even sea water maybe. They were pretty cool. We listened to the reports from Bangor and the rest of the East Coast. Rescue Stations had been set up a week ago but who wants to leave their home when they don’t have to? Who wants to go live in a government camp and let them protect your family? When you did realize you couldn’t do it on your own, it was too late. New England fell just like the rest of the country, just like the rest of the world. Once a town or city reported infection, it was gone very quickly. Everything was in confusion. The plan to establish these rescue stations obviously did not take into account the seriousness of our current zombie issue. Some fell in hours, others, days. This was the first time I heard of swarms. Swarms, also called hordes, are a gathering of zombies in a particular location, sometimes in the thousands. There are so many and they are so close together that they almost seem to react as one, and once a prey has been identified, it is pursued to its end, the zombies just don’t give up. It was the swarms that were taking out the rescue centers.
; I pulled Liz aside and asked about Roy's wife. She said that Elaine was in New York on a business trip when the quarantine of the city went into effect.
“John, there is no hope for her. She was a real sweetheart. You would have liked her. I think Roy is keeping himself busy so he doesn’t dwell on her.” I knew about New York, I heard about it days ago. Images on YouTube. Once the tunnels and bridges were clogged, things went Medieval overnight. New York, one of the greatest cities man has ever known, was gone, God damn.
I spotted the zombie shuffling down the middle of the road. Why say anything, I was the newcomer and didn't drink. At least I did not drink now, but if this shit keeps up, who knows. The honor of first sighting went to Paul, our ace mechanic, who before dinner, was last seen shouting epithets in perhaps an Eastern European language and ripping something out of the bowels of my poor Subaru. The zombie had once been a postman in his summer uniform with those crazy postal shorts. His left leg was not the pasty white of his right and even though I did not have binoculars, I knew it was blood. He didn't seem to notice us and just shambled on, heading southeast, same direction we were to travel; huh, great muscle coordination, I wondered if we would see him again.
The group was quiet so I decided to break the ice a bit and wondered out loud, “How come we have to get Danny Boyle zombies and not George Romero zombies?” Everyone looked at me and then started to move a bit away. I was saved when a guy named Zack explained the difference between fast and slow zombies. Ah, a kindred soul! We started chatting and eventually digressed from movies to zombie literature (although we did have an extended conversation on the zombie versus shark scene from the Italian film, Zombi 2, brilliant). It seemed that Zack had also succumbed to the bug of the undead, from a Creature Feature Night of the Living Dead on WKBG channel fifty-six out of Boston when he was eleven. I became hooked when I was sixteen, sitting by myself , watching a midnight showing of Dawn of the Dead at the Meadowbrook Cinema in Warwick, Rhode Island. For the next hour, we proceed to have an almost scholarly discussion on the topic. We covered everything; from Brian Keen, through Stephen King and Max Brooks, from the Autumn series to the Morning Star series to the Monster series. I was able to catch him when it came to one of my favorites, Day By Day Armageddon, but then again, we were living in Armageddon. Well, this is going to be great fun, two zombie nerds get to experience the destruction of the human race by, of all things…wait for it…Zombies!
Brutal Planet: A Zombie Novel Page 13
