Enclave: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse

by Robert Morganbesser

  Neil stared at their ruined home with icy blue eyes. Taking out his last cig, he looked at it and then tossed it out of the chopper. “Fucking Lazarites are going to pay for this. Aren’t enough of the bastards just to make up for Clemens.”

  Moreau squeezed his hand as the Enclave faded from sight. At least they were alive to fight and live another day.

  That would have to be enough for now.

  08 November 2033

  Outside Enclave 9

  Near Phoenix, AZ

  The Lazarites staggered away from the ruins of the Enclave. They’d brought one down, but their losses were horrific. Who knew how many Blessed were destroyed? Of the sixty Lazarites in the assault party, the sixty who’d passed through the gates were all gone, trapped when the gate came down, undoubtedly dead when the aircraft struck. Fields and Capshaw were gone and their leadership and audacity would be missed. Another eight burned alive in the trucks. Another four, wounded, were taken by the Blessed. The eighteen remaining trudged away from the burning Enclave, weary beyond words, hoping to escape to live another day. The Lazarites would never know it, but Enclave command decided that what remained of E9 would be bombed to rubble. The Enclavers didn’t have the resources in the southwest area to retake it, so it had to be destroyed.

  A younger Lazarite was whistling a merry tune to the annoyance of the new leader of this group, a position gained by default, since Fields was dead. “What are you whistling for?” He growled.

  The younger one, eyes wide and bright, looked quite mad, but smiled and said, “We have won a great victory today! An Enclave has fallen! WE ARE VICTORIOUS!”

  The other Lazarites, dirty, some injured (fortunately for them, not bloody) stared at the youth. Their new leader drew his knife and, without warning, slashed it across the youth’s throat. As the blood whistled out of the wound, he pushed him to the ground and moved on. The others followed. The youth lay there, blood spurting out of the wound as the Blessed gathered around. He started to laugh, the wound making a whistling sound, and was still laughing as a zombie’s teeth tore out his voice box.

  The new leader of this group spat into the dust. A victory? Any more victories like this and the Order would cease to exist. He was still thinking these morbid thoughts when a napalm canister exploded, obliterating him and the remainders of his group.

  Overhead, the pilot of one of the Harriers, looking away from his infrared screen, sent to begin the destruction of Enclave 9, banked away, watching as the Lazarites disappeared in the fireball.

  The Lazarites had brought down an Enclave, but none of them would ever live to brag about it.

  The War would go on.

  Chapter 17 - Carrier

  13 June 2034

  Yankee Station

  U.S.S Nimitz

  Captain John Thompson rubbed his eyes and lifted his heavy ceramic cup of coffee. Decorated with his name, rank and the symbol of the Nimitz, it was a present from his wife when he got command of the giant ship. Sipping the steaming liquid, he briefly compared its color to his own. The coffee, with a few drops of canned milk, was slightly darker than he was. The heavy gold ring, with the Annapolis seal on it, stood out against his dark, weather-beaten skin.

  Funny thought Thompson, I went to Annapolis in ‘11 with the idea of a free education, playing football, completing my tour and making some money in the civilian market. Instead, I fell in love with the navy, stayed in and now I find myself in charge of one of the largest ships in the world, with problems I wouldn’t have wished on anyone. Not even a politician.

  Thompson tried to pay attention to what Laurie was saying. Commander Domini had been his XO for a long time now. She had repeatedly proven herself one of the best officers he had ever known. She would have eventually commanded her own ship, had, as they said in the navy, the shit not hit the fan, big time! A tall, slender, athletic woman, Domini had run track at the Academy. She would have been on the Olympic team had it not been for this mess. Laurie one of the new breed of officers: intelligent, athletic and computer friendly. If it weren’t for her, none of his reports would ever be filed. But they were diligently done, backups kept on flash drives. Thompson wondered why they bothered. Did anyone even read them? Domini would not hear of stopping the routine. There were times he wanted to boot his laptop over the side, salvage it as naval slang went. Thompson knew he was lucky to have her.

  Domini caught his eye and he could see her dark eyes flash. Uh-oh, Thompson thought. I’m in for it now, busted by my XO. The last time this happened, she read him the riot act. Domini didn’t waste time at her briefings and wouldn’t accept anything less than every attendee’s total attention. Thompson sat up straight and tried to pay closer attention.

  How had it come to this? Thompson rubbed the inner part of his wrist where his lifeunit was surgically implanted. All personnel on Navy ships had them, from the CO to the most junior sailor. Now the rescued civilians had them too. The device was a small microchip enclosed in a hypoallergenic shield. Originally created for astronauts on the ISS, as an easier way to monitor their life-signs, it was adapted to today’s world. If the bearer should die, a main board in CIC would scream an alert. Once this happened, the body was located and if it were a medical emergency, was rushed to sickbay where every attempt was made to save them. If it was a straight death, the corpse was dealt with by decapitation, or destruction of the brain, the name logged in the book of the dead, the remains buried at sea.

  Thompson glanced out of the bridge window – he insisted all briefings be held on the bridge rather than in CIC –and watched the two escort vessels, both nuclear powered like the Nimitz, keep pace. The closer one, CGN-60, U.S.S Brooklyn, was the newest (and last built) of the nuclear powered cruisers. The further one, the Baltimore, CGN-39 was a few years older. Both ships, like the Nimitz, had refueled when the crisis was young; both were still good for about three years of cruising.

  Thompson admired the ships, their sleek design, the way they slid through the water like sharks. The task group had recently been to the Isle of Wight, where they’d exchanged data with the British and refilled their oil bunkers. Even nuclear ships needed lubricating and hydraulic oil. Not having any nuclear ships other than submarines, the British Admiralty were happy to assist their American cousins, especially when an Alpha Strike from the Nimitz annihilated the last remaining zombies on the Isle, freeing the humans from that particular terror. It was the Brits, who’d, as part of their growing space agency, come up with the lifeunit idea. Now it was spreading through the Enclaves as well. It paid to monitor all personnel. The disaster caused natural deaths to be another of the many dangers to the living. An unattended corpse could and had wreaked havoc. Deaths had to be handled quickly, with ruthless efficiency. There was no room for sentimentality when it came to dealing with a corpse.

  There were three Carriers left operating: the Nimitz, the Enterprise, and the Lincoln. The Lincoln was on loan to the British, who were making good inroads on retaking islands in their home waters. The Brits, always a stalwart people reacted to the disaster that crippled parts of America quickly, somewhat differently. While larger cities had fallen as fast as in the states, the outer towns and smaller cities reacted vigorously. Certain ports and airfields in England were still in the Authorities hands and Parliament and the Prime Minister still ruled. Britain was fortunate in that the presence of the Lazarites was lesser there.

  In the U.S., while the President was nominally in charge, the various Enclaves were led by governors. There was talk of an election, since the VP inherited the post and simply remained in it, but so far that’s all there was, talk. Things were working out fairly well, but it wasn’t the same type of democracy as before the Rise. It appeared that Thurston would hold his position for the duration, safe within Camp David’s well defended boundaries.

  The Nimitz and the Enterprise, the latter on station in the Gulf of Mexico, were available to any Enclave with a landing field and refueling capabilities. When not assisting the Enclaves d
irectly, the planes flew reconnaissance missions as well as harassment and interdiction missions on the Lazarites. They also flew rescue missions. The Enterprise, crewed by 6000 naval personnel, had seen her compliment swelled to nearly 9000 with the rescuees. Many of them slept on cots in areas where they could be fit.

  Thompson rubbed his eyes. There were still times he couldn’t believe it. It sounded like a bad horror movie, the dead eating the living. What he found even harder to believe at first was that humans were living among the zombies and helping them!

  It amazed him how fast civilization fell. Some called it God’s retribution, others Mother Natures revenge. Whatever it was, Thompson didn’t care. There were days when he was glad his wife died in the early days of the rise, victim of an undiagnosed brain tumor. They had no children, so he didn’t have that worry. He was glad to know that since her body was cremated, she wasn’t up and stalking around. Even though those scientists still alive claimed only the recently dead revived, Thompson took what they said with a grain of salt. Even though they knew that Benton PharmCorp was responsible, they couldn’t diagnose why the dead revived, until they did, their ideas were circumspect.

  Thompson stifled a sigh. His staff was making plans to retake Norfolk, but they needed more information. The naval base was locked up tightly, the fences barricaded, but recon photos showed that the Lazarites, against all these precautions, had gained entry. It was a feeble hope that locking everything down would keep those parasites out. Especially when the mixed bag of Virginia State Troopers and National Guard fled the minute the Navy pulled out to sea. So far, the Lazarites were unable to use the ships remaining at dock, but the weapons lockers were still there. He wondered if any of the abandoned ships had nukes aboard. Most weapons were offloaded before docking, but in the chaos of the rise, records were lost, so there was that chance.

  Thompson had sworn if he even thought that the Lazarites had gotten a nuke, he’d blast the base out of existence, keep everyone from using any of it! Even if it meant expending one of his nuclear weapons. There were times when he was very close to playing that card. Domini earned more of his gratitude when she helped him keep his cool, avoiding what would have been a terrible decision.

  “So,” said Domini, noticing that Thompson was drifting again, “we’ve decided to strike Norfolk with nuclear tipped cruise missiles. That will be the best way to keep the Lazarites from bringing the Roosevelt on line.”

  “What!” Thompson sat straight up. The Roosevelt was in dry dock, but he felt that with a crew of hand picked navy personnel and Civilian strikers, they could put her back in service. She wouldn’t have an air group, but they could put civilians aboard her. It would make a fine civilian refugee ship. Perhaps they could get her over to England, let the Brits refit her; perhaps put a helo group on board. But if this happened, it was sometime in the future.

  The assembled officers laughed. The CAG, Captain Steve “Skull” Fern patted his friend on the shoulder and stared at the other officers. “Give the guy a break. I don’t see any of you volunteering to captain this tub.”

  No one, not even Domini disputed Fern’s words. As he looked around, his green cat-like eyes staring at each officer, a network of scars, fine white lines that covered the left side of his face and disappeared into his khaki shirt, flushed. He’d gotten the scars over Baghdad as a JG flying a Hornet. He had been a ‘wild weasel’, a pilot who actively sought out enemy anti-aircraft sites so they could be destroyed. He never spoke of his Gulf service, but the Navy Cross he rarely wore preferring to leave it on display in his quarters, let no one forget it.

  Domini smiled wryly. In a rare occurrence, she had gone on a bit, but she only included information she felt absolutely necessary. “All right,” she decided. “The briefing is complete. Flight ops begin at 0430 in the morning.”

  13 June 2034

  Yankee Station

  U.S.S Nimitz

  Thompson was alone in the mess when Domini came in. She lifted a cup, went to the coffee machine, and turned to face her Captain. Before Thompson opened his mouth she said, “You’re pushing yourself too hard, sir.”

  Thompson took a breath. In private, they used each other’s first names unless one wanted to speak seriously. This was going to be serious.

  Domini poured a fresh cup of black coffee. She ignored the condensed milk and despised non-dairy creamer. She would have liked some real milk, but it was hard to come by, unless they were close to shore, and even then, it wasn’t always certain. Some of the Enclaves had milk cows, but the amount drawn was so low that it wasn’t usually traded. Adding six sugars, she took a sip, grimaced at the heat and set the cup down.

  “Way too hard,” Domini continued. “You have a fine staff sir; you need to use it more. Let us do our jobs, take some of the burden off you.”

  Thompson had to agree with her, Domini’s logic was impeccable. “I know; things have been hard on all of us Laurie.”

  Domini sat back, “I know John. I still don’t have the slightest idea if my family is alive, if any of them made it into an Enclave.” The various Enclaves sent out lists monthly, but the going was slow. Still at times, it was amazing that people were still being rescued years after the Rise began. “The Lazarites are running around causing trouble. We have to do what we can to stop this madness. Rescue every survivor we can, destroy the Lazarites whenever we find them, re-take Norfolk when that's possible.”

  Thompson sat forward. “What about Roanoke? Do you think the idea is feasible?” Thompson had decided that the fleet needed to move most of the civilians off ship. While some had volunteered to become ‘strikers’ and learn a specialty under the guidance of an experienced sailor, essentially joining the Navy, others were just more mouths to feed, and they were, to be blunt, in the way.

  Thompson had chosen Roanoke Island as the place to put them. He got the idea from Governor’s Island in NY harbor. It was still a military base, having been taken over by the NY National Guard. They ran occasional missions into various parts of the city and served as an extra set of eyes and a forward base for Enclave 13, but, after a problem with civilians mutinying, added to being in the middle of a zombie-infested city, they wouldn’t accept any there. If it weren’t for various supply runs by helo and ship, the base itself would quickly become untenable. The island was small and wouldn’t be able to support a large amount of people. That was the official story, the truth was, the officer in charge, like Thompson, only wanted those who could contribute, not just more mouths to feed. It was a harsh way but ‘fish or cut bait’ had become the catchwords for the new world. There wasn’t any room for those who couldn’t contribute.

  “It would work fine,” said Laurie. “From the recon photos, there aren’t many zombies there. A good-sized force could go in, clean the place up in a few days. Then we could barricade and mine the beaches to defend against any Lazarites that might try a little visit. We can drop off as many civilians as the island will comfortably hold, after we implant them with lifeunits. We have a few officers at retirement age we could put in charge and several civilians who were former police and state troopers, along with others being trained for that type of work. By next year, they could have farms planted. We could use helos with nets to catch livestock and import them. Photos show plenty of wild pigs, they should do fine.” Domini stared at her coffee. “Maybe get them some milk cows,” she smiled at this comment.

  Thompson nodded. “Good, we'll put that op-plan on the front burner.” Thompson looked far away for a moment. “Do you remember what life was like before?”

  Domini’s eyes clouded. “Back when we could pull into any port we wanted? Not have to worry about anything other than the occasional mugging ashore? Or a divorce when a wife or husband couldn’t take being alone during another deployment to the gulf?” Laurie sighed. “I’d trade the next thirty years of my life to have those days back.”

  Thompson lifted the carafe of water before him, poured a glass. “The day I was in DC, at the Pentagon, when t
he barricades failed. If you hadn’t sent that chopper, I’d be dead or one of them now.”

  Domini shrugged the praise off. “I didn’t want command that way. How bad was it?”

  Thompson’s eyes looked haunted. In the past, he wouldn’t talk about the final days in DC, but now he felt it was the right time. Domini deserved that much. “Bad? Bad doesn’t begin to describe it. The secret service and soldiers were overwhelmed, pulled apart right before us. A chopper broke down on the lawn, so rather than two, only one bird could land at a time. We had to wait while the civilians were loaded first, we all insisted on it. It had just cleared the White House fence when a missile, a Stinger I’d imagine, slammed into it. It crashed in flames and as soon as the flames were gone, the zombies were there. We could hear one person screaming.” Thompson’s face went blank as he relived the moment. “Even over the noise of the fighting, we could hear one person screaming as they were eaten alive.”

  Thompson swallowed. “The zombies were fifteen feet away when the last chopper, Skull Fern at the stick, came in. He swooped down low over the zombies, blowing them back with the rotor wash. Then he came about and two marines dragged the doc and me aboard. As we were pulling up, I could see humans, normal humans among the creatures. Other than on TV, that was the first time I ever saw Lazarites. One of them started to raise a rifle and the door gunner of the chopper cut him to bits. As soon as the Lazarite was down, the zombies were on him. As we flew away I could see the White House starting to burn…” Thompson’s voice faded to silence.

  Domini patted Thompson’s hand. “Well, if we have things our way, bastards like the Lazarites will never get their wish. The world won’t ever be a dead world.”

  At that moment, one of the fighter Pilots, Lieutenant Alan "Tiger" Lee appeared in the mess. Lee was a handsome man. Before marrying, he’d put his looks to great advantage. He was one of the best pilots on the Nimitz.