Under a Graveyard Sky-eARC

by John Ringo

“Zombies?” Hooch asked.

  “No,” Faith said. “That was the tough part. They hadn’t zombied. There was no salt-water still. I mean…”

  “There was a pack for one,” Sophia said. “It had been opened. But the still was gone. Maybe they could read the directions, set it up, but didn’t hook it up right and it drifted away. But it was gone. They’d died of dehydration.”

  “Oh…crap,” Hooch said.

  “That one still…” Faith said, her face working. “I mean, they must have tried really hard. They at least got the still out, you know?”

  “Empty rafts,” Sophia said. “What happened? Who knows. Rafts with zombies and bits of the rest of the crew. Lifeboats with corpses and one zombie. Or even that’s dead. Just putrid bits of meat and intestines all over the fucking place…” She took another hit of the scotch and breathed it through her nose. “So I’m fifteen and I’m shooting for cirrhosis of the liver by thirty. Sue me. We earn this.”

  * * *

  “We barely touched the Grace’s tanks,” Isham said, looking at the computer. “I mean, the Alpha took them down but less than a quarter. There’s three times a fill-up for the Alpha in Grace’s tanks and the Alpha wasn’t dry. And we’ve filled the Large. I figured with the Coasties on it, they weren’t going to up and run off with it.”

  “We were just preparing for a supply run when the word broke about the plague,” Victor Gilbert, First Mate of the Offshore Support Vessel M/V Grace Tan said. “We sort of packed along our…” He stopped and his face worked. “We packed along our families. Just a little…cruise…”

  “Mr. Gilbert,” Steve said, handing him a glass dark with whiskey. “The same thing would have happened if they were on land.”

  “Yeah,” Gilbert said, taking a drink. “But I wouldn’t have had to watch my wife and kids turn. You know?”

  “I’m one of the few who doesn’t,” Steve admitted, shrugging. “Luck. Planning.”

  “Bloody-mindedness,” Isham said.

  “That as well,” Steve said. “Issues?

  “No,” Isham said. “Just keeping it in mind.”

  “So I ended up in the compartment with Stella, Larry Ashley’s wife and… Christ, Luis is Jeff Busler’s kid. Jeff was the deck boss. Larry was maintenance. And Sharon, she’s Chad Wilborn’s daughter, and Rich, he’s Sherri and Bob Tilley’s son, Sherri was the systems tech. Nobody has anybody…”

  “No,” Steve said, “You all have each other. Captain Gilbert, those are the only children except Tina we’ve found. Alive anyway. This plague may or may not have wiped out civilization, but it has wiped out an entire generation.”

  “Yeah, but there seems to be a new one on the way,” Isham said, chuckling.

  “Pardon?” Gilbert said.

  “Ahem,” Steve said. “I’m not going to pry, but I suspect Stella is pregnant?”

  “How’d you…” Gilbert said, his eyes flaring. “Look…!”

  “No worries, mate,” Steve said, shaking his head. “Just about every woman who was in a compartment with a man is pregnant. And we can usually sort out the rapes from the other.”

  “Vic,” Isham said to the still visibly upset captain. “Take a deep breath. What Steve is saying is that it’s how things are, now. Part of the new now. Hell, there’s even a meme.”

  “Meme?” Gilbert said. “Like LOLKatz or something?”

  “Sort of,” Steve said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if someone hasn’t photoshopped it onto a picture of a pregnant woman. The saying is ‘What happened in the compartment, stays in the compartment.’ Goes two ways. There’s stuff that happens that you’re really ashamed of. On boats, in compartments. Having to kill somebody who turned.”

  “Or, hell,” Isham said, “There’s one boat where there was a death that people just don’t talk about. It came out slow, they sort of hemmed and hawed…”

  “And the response is, what happened in the compartment, stays in the compartment,” Steve said. “If there’s a complaint, we investigate it. To the extent we can. But… Stella hasn’t even hinted it was rape…”

  “It wasn’t, honest,” Gilbert said, holding up his hands. “Hell, it just sort of…”

  “You can talk about it if you want,” Steve said, shrugging. “Or keep it in the compartment. But you don’t have to be guilty about it. Yes, her husband was recently dead. So was your wife. The ‘right’ way, even if you’d liked each other before, was to ‘wait a decent period.’ You were alone in a compartment with nothing else to do and death all around you.”

  “Except the kids in this case,” Isham said.

  “We waited til they were asleep and did it real quiet,” Gilbert said. “Sue me.”

  “Again and again if necessary,” Steve said. “No worries. One of the women from a liferaft, the man with her had to kill her husband when he turned. And she’s pregnant and they’re a couple. Humans adjust to the incredible. The survivors do. And one of the ways we adjust is things like ‘What happened in the compartment, stays in the compartment.’ Nobody but the people in the compartment, life raft, what have you, can really judge. It is one of the reasons that people in unusual jobs are given different courts than common citizens. Seamen have their own courts. Military. Because there is a reality to ‘You weren’t there. You can’t know. You can’t understand.’”

  “And then there’s the prison thing,” Isham said, smirking.

  “Prison thing…” Gilbert said, then grimaced.

  “What happened in the compartment,” Steve said.

  “Stays in the compartment,” Gilbert said. “Got it.”

  “So, seriously, no issues,” Steve said. “The real issue is that while we’re starting to find some professionals, most of our crews are not professional seamen. Most of our captains are not professional seamen. And we have a real, critical, shortage of engineering personnel. Even mechanics. So when something breaks on a boat, the crews are generally stuck. And although most of them have been through storms, it’s mostly been stuck in compartments or puking up their guts and holding on for dear life in lifeboats and rafts.”

  “No storms while you’ve been doing this?” Gilbert asked.

  “Nothing serious,” Steve said, shrugging. “High summer and we’ve only had one tropical come up this way. That was before we started clearing and it was only a storm by the time it got here.”

  “I remember that one,” Gilbert said.

  “Me too,” Isham said.

  “So we’re going to have to move,” Steve said.

  “Move?” Isham said. “Why? We’ve got a good harbor here.”

  “You’ve got Bermuda harbor,” Gilbert said. “Which is an okay harbor. You get hit by a really hard late season, I’m-going-to-rip-you-a-new-asshole hurricane, this is not the harbor you want to be in.”

  “And with the ships, absent a truly excellent harbor, it’s better to be at sea,” Steve said. “If you’ve got the right crew. Which we don’t. And the small craft… There’s a reason they call it a ‘small craft advisory.’ Between the late season hurricanes that we’re going to get soon and the diurnals and winter storms… I’m thinking Canary Islands?”

  “Good choice,” Gilbert said, nodding. “We’re going to have to fuel. I mean, the Grace has plenty for herself and could probably enough for a while for the small boats. But not to constantly refuel the Alpha.”

  “Could you tow a full sized tanker?” Steve asked.

  “Yes,” Gilbert said. “But I’d need a tow crew who knew what they were doing.”

  “How about a guy who knows what he is doing and some people willing to learn?” Steve said, grinning. “Because that is the best you are going to get for any job in this flotilla.”

  “What fun what fun,” Gilbert said, grimacing. “In that case, I can try. But I’ll be perfectly content to cut it loose.”

  “Works,” Steve said. “ I think we’re going to have to leave the Vicky. I really should have gotten Mike in on this. But you’ve got quite a few accommodations from what
I saw.”

  “We could have carried a lot more people than we did,” Gilbert said, then sighed. “I don’t think that would have been a good idea.”

  “There were few good choices,” Steve said. “As I said, my family was lucky. Although,” he added, shrugging. “The basic plan would have worked. I wouldn’t have been able to do this without one aspect but… Be that as it may, we can put more people on the Grace. We can put people on the Alpha. I’m willing to push it to the first diurnal or if we see a cyclone coming this way. For the diurnal we’ll bring the small boats in. But when either happens, we are upping stakes and heading away from the northeast Atlantic.”

  “There are still a lot of boats and rafts out there,” Isham pointed out.

  “And we can’t rescue anyone if we’re dead,” Steve said. “I am audacious, not stupid. Thereafter we will head to the Canaries and do this same thing, more or less. There are distress beacons everywhere and only we few, we happy few, to clear them. Depending on how many EPIRBs there are in that area, we may cut back across the ocean to the Carribean in winter. I would like to be off of Cuba by January. But I do not want to do that at the cost of leaving many behind. Which means we need more boats and more captains… Despite that, I’m going to start shutting down the thirty-fives, including the Endeavor. And I’m going to drag Captain Sherill out if it’s the last thing I do.”

  “Good luck,” Isham said.

  “Sherill?”

  “Fully rated captain,” Steve said. “Who is totally stuck on his tiny little Bertram Thirty-Five. Used to run freighters for Maersk and chucked it, had a hissy fit as he puts it, for being a charter captain out of Charleston. Doesn’t want the responsibility. I’m going to have to convince him otherwise.”

  “Like I said,” Isham said. “Good luck.”

  There was a knock on the door and Isham looked at Steve.

  “Enter!” Steve called.

  “Commodore,” the young woman said nervously. “Sorry, but Captain Sherill is calling and he says it’s urgent.”

  “Speaking of Captain Gilligan,” Steve said. “Where’s the radio room on this tub?”

  * * *

  “What’s up, Gi… Sea Fit?” Steve said.

  “You need to get out here,” Sherill replied, instantly. “Now.”

  Steve was used to the irrascible skipper’s usual tones. Desperately serious was a new one.

  “Details,” he replied.

  “You know how you’re always talking about people dying waiting for rescue in compartments?”

  “Yes,” Steve said.

  “It’s a cruise ship. I’m watching that in real time. Get in your fucking tub and get your Aussie ass and all the guns you can find out here. I’ll help clear this one. There are people still alive in their staterooms and they’re looking at me. I’m making a banner that says ‘Help is on the way. Hold on.’ Get out here, Wolf. Now.”

  “All ships, relay that information to all receiving stations,” Steve said. “All vessels converge His Sea Fit’s location. Large, time to earn your munificent pay from your friendly Uncle. And time to fish or cut bait on the arms locker. Victoria, begin transfer all personnel and mobile equipment to Grace. Endeavor, Endeavor, Endeavor, Commodore, are you in radio range, over?”

  “En— vo— proce— Sea-fit…”

  “Endeavor’s about twenty miles away, Commodore,” Sherill called. “Their response was proceeding our location.”

  “Begin surface clearance,” Steve said. “Do not do entry until I arrive. Relay that, Sherill. Commodore moving to location now. All vessels: don’t spare the horses. Wolf, out.”

  He looked over at Isham and Gilbert.

  “Get all of Victoria’s personnel and stores on your boat, Gilbert,” Steve said. “And any of the SLLs left. When you’re cross-loaded, head to the location. Isham, tell Captain Miguel to make ready for sea.”

  “Are you taking this?”

  “No time,” Steve said. “I wish I had something faster than the Toy.”

  * * *

  “That tears it,” Galloway said.

  “Sir…” Commander Freeman said.

  “I’m not talking about the captaincy, Commander,” Galloway said. “But we’re also not going to stand by and let who knows how many survivors die sealed into a cruise ship. Get me the Dallas and Charlotte…”

  CHAPTER 28

  “Time, time, time,” Steve said pushing the throttles of the Toy forward again. It didn’t give him any more speed. “Ask me for anything but…”

  He stopped speaking as an attack boat made a fast surface off his starboard bow at about 1000 yards. He noted in the back of his mind that they’d surfaced upwind.

  “Tina’s Toy, USS Dallas, over,” the radio crackled.

  “Steve!” Stacey screamed from below.

  “I see it,” Steve said, picking up the radio. “Wolf Actual, over.”

  “Wolf, all possible support has been authorized for this operation,” the Dallas said. “USS Charlotte is in the process of taking the Campbell under tow to bring it to the cruise ship. We cannot supply clearance personnel but access to all USCG materials are, say again, are authorized and USCG personnel are to place themselves, temporarily, under your command for clearance and rescue support. We don’t have much in the way of shotgun rounds but we’re going to float what we have off in a boat, as will Charlotte upon arrival, to assist your clearance teams. Current weather report is no fronts or tropical activity for this area for a minimum of ten days. Some convection storms are possible but they are scattered. We will be monitoring all area channels but are now authorized to direct communicate. We will be taking over Marine Channel Thirty-Three. We will continue to give what support we can without being contaminated. Do you have any questions at this time?”

  “Not that I can think of,” Steve said.

  “We will draw ahead of you and drop off a radio on a float,” Dallas said, speeding up.

  The Tina’s Toy was a fairly fast yacht. Not a racing yacht but no lubber. The Dallas just left it behind. On the surface.

  “That radio is for your use and your use only, Commodore Wolf,” Dallas continued. “Higher would like to have a secure chat. Proceeding to the Sea Fit’s location. Good luck, Wolf.”

  A bright orange buoy ejected from a launcher and the Dallas slipped below the waves. Steve was pretty sure by the time it disappeared it was going faster than a cigarette boat.

  Stacey sat down next to him and wrapped her arms around him. Her eyes were misty.

  “We’re in contact,” Steve said, hugging her.

  “That’s not what I’m crying about,” Stacey said.

  “What’s wrong?” Steve asked.

  “Nothing,” Stacey said, hugging him again. “The commander of a U.S. Navy nuclear submarine called you ‘Commodore.’ And I don’t think he even realized he’d said it.”

  “Oh, that,” Steve said, slowing the boat as Pat pulled out a boat hook to catch the buoy. “No worries, wife ’o mine. I’m sure he’s regretting it already.”

  * * *

  “Where do you want me to put it, Faith?” Sophia asked.

  “How the fuck should I know?” Faith said. She sounded desperate. There was reason to be.

  The cruise ship was massive. Really seriously stupidly huge. The boats around it were so many mice, no, fleas circling an elephant. A wounded and still bleeding elephant. Because rising as high as a sky scraper, or so it seemed from the water-line, there were state rooms. With exterior balconies. And on at least a dozen of those there were people watching the circling craft. People that looked like survivors of the death camps. Most of them couldn’t even stand. They were leaning against the railings, just staring with glassy eyes at the help just a few hundred yards away.

  One of them on a lower balcony lurched to his feet and started to climb the rail.

  “No, no, no,” Faith shouted.

  “No! No! Sharks! Sharks! Sharks!” Sophia shouted over the loudhailer.

  The man could
n’t seem to hear or understand. He more fell than dove over the side.

  Hocieniec started firing from the aft deck but there was no way. There were sharks everywhere. It was unlikely that he was the first person who’d taken that way out in preference to starvation or dehydration. The man didn’t even scream as he was taken under.

  “Why, damnit, why?” Faith shouted. She picked up the mike for the loudhailer. “STAY WHERE YOU FUCKING ARE! WE WILL COME FOR YOU. JUST HOLD ON!”

  “How?” Sophia asked. “There’s no entries. And that promenade…”

  It wasn’t really a promenade. It was the life-boat deck. And that was fifty feet above the flying bridge of the Endeavor.

  “How the hell am I supposed to know?” Faith repeated.

  “You’re the entry specialist,” Sophia said, calmly. “I’m trying not to stress you. I really am asking.”

  “Hooch,” Faith shouted. “How would the Marines board this thing?”

  “A helicopter!” Hooch shouted back. “Or a boarding ladder.”

  “There’s a helo on the Alpha,” Sophia said.

  “You know how to fly one?” Faith asked, somewhat hysterically.

  “Faith, take some breaths, sis,” Sophia said, calmly. “We’re going to do this. We are.”

  “Okay, okay,” Faith said. “We get a grapnel up. Then… I dunno, maybe with some knots in it or something?”

  “There we go,” Sophia said. “It’s going to be a bitch to climb.”

  “Yeah,” Faith said. “Especially in armor. And if we drop in the drink… Shit…”

  “Keep going,” Sophia said.

  “Well…” Faith said, then stopped. “Or maybe we could ask the sub if they’ve got an idea.”

  “What su…” Sophia said, looking around, then stopped.

  “Local Wolf Squadron boats, USS Dallas. Looking for the boarding action commander. Please switch to Channel Thirty-Three. All captains may monitor but request not break. Again, USS Dallas looking for boarding action commander. Shewolf, you on the Endeavor, over?”

  “So we’re Wolf Squadron, huh?” Sophia said, picking up the radio and handing it to Faith. “Faith, honey, take a deep breath and don’t get hysterical when you’re talking to him.”