Islands of Rage and Hope

by John Ringo

  “That is because I didn’t pull it out, Doctor,” Lyons said. “The International Space Station is about peace and international brotherhood. But once a SEAL, always a SEAL, Doc. You don’t go to BUD/S, much less pass it, if part of you doesn’t long for combat. It was part of my frustration and stress being up there. That I couldn’t be down here in a very target-rich environment. Admittedly, like the majority of my SEAL buddies I would now be dead or infected. That does not reduce my desire to engage in the fight. Dr. Price, permission to attempt, again, to stand?”

  “Wait for the aides to return,” Price said. “If you break a bone it will hold you back even longer. Symptoms check.”

  “Continuing fever,” Commander Daniels said. “Still moderate. Malaise.”

  “The same,” Kuznetsov said.

  “So far so good,” Price said since nobody had any indications of negative effects.

  “Now if we could just do something,” Troy said, sighing hard. “I am more than ready for my next therapy session.”

  “Follow the program, Troy,” Price said. “You’ll get there.”

  “Astro unit,” the intercom squawked. “Be advised. Flag has left. We are undocking to move to our next objective.”

  “They don’t sit around much, do they?” Commander Daniels said.

  “Sort of my point,” Lyons replied. “They seem to know what they’re doing and I’d sure like to help . . .”

  CHAPTER 22

  I am done pretending

  You have failed to find what’s left

  I will suck you dry again

  Some are not worth saving

  You are such a pretty mess

  I will choke the life within

  —“Lights Out”

  Breaking Benjamin

  “I’m not sure about this,” Anna said. “Why should we get special treatment?”

  Anna Holmes, child star of the Wizard Wars movies, had been in St. Barts as a contestant in Celebrity Survivor: St. Barts. Decried as the most blatantly racist TV show since, well, ever, the show mixed a group of skinny white female celebrities with a group of hulking male celebrities, mostly drawn from MMA and WWE, and all “of color.”

  If Anna had paid more attention to the line-up, she would have passed on the opportunity. She probably should have, anyway. It wasn’t like she was one of the “reality TV” stars that made up most of the female side. She was just filling time between two A movies. And many of the “challenges” came down to an opportunity for the women to flirt to get the guys to do the work. “Build a rock wall for defense against zombies” was, ironically, one of the challenges. Anna had managed to lift about six of the massive rocks provided for the wall before she gave out entirely. But she at least tried!

  All that being said, she’d actually been enjoying it. She hated the majority of the other women. But most of the guys were very down to earth and grounded. She’d teamed with most of them at one point or another, throwing in with a will that was virtually unheard of among the rest of the “celebutantes.”

  Then the Plague had been announced. Their challenge coach, famous survivalist Tiger Dour, had just returned from New York and, as it turned out, brought along a hitchhiker called H7D3. So, naturally, the first person to go down from the disease was the one person you’d want in a survival situation.

  Air traffic was cut off as soon as Tiger was confirmed as a positive case but by then it was too late. Yachts started punching out in every direction but Anna and most of the cast and crew stayed. For one thing, it was hurricane season. Being in a yacht, even one of the megayachts, in a hurricane didn’t sound like a very good idea. And she, frankly, didn’t know most of the people well enough to trust them.

  Then events began to turn for the worst. Tiger was only the first to “turn.” He was quarantined but he wasn’t the only carrier. Others turned. The on-site producer. Crew. Her favorite cameraman. People throughout the island were turning to the point that the police couldn’t control it. Nobody could, judging from the news reports which became more and more sporadic as satellite up- and downlink began to fail. When one of the MMA fighters turned and the police wouldn’t even respond, everyone knew it was out of control.

  When the local police finally did respond it was in force and with an edict. The shoot was already shut down and they had their own ideas of how to handle things. The celebrities had been rounded up and marched to the police station for “protective custody.” Apparently that was going on with all the “names” on the island, as in Gustavia they had been herded in with another group.

  They were climbing the steep hill to the gray concrete building that housed the local gendarmerie and where they would, presumably, be safe until rescue could be arranged. But she had to wonder what was going to happen to the crew, not to mention most of the rest of the people on the island.

  “Because the worst possible thing that could happen to them is to have a bunch of celebrities bitching about how they were treated when this blows over,” Athena Perez said, shrugging. “Rich people will continue to have a lot of power but it’s not the same thing as having, well, you on Letterman or Leno, if they survive, talking about how poorly the St. Barts police handled the crisis. People will want to know about Celebrity Survivor: Zombie Apocalypse. They’re covering their asses.”

  Athena was, surprisingly, one of the women Anna did get along with. The heir to the Vinyards Inn fortune was a well known diva and had been among the most manipulative at getting the “guys” to do all the work. But she was also grounded and professional as long as a camera wasn’t on her. It was only when she knew she was being publicly observed that the “little princess” came to the fore.

  “Do you know what this place is?” Anna asked. Anna had quickly realized that the “photog whore” was the smartest and most knowledgeable woman in the group by far. “It looks like a fortress.”

  “Former DGSE electronic listening post,” Athena said. “This isn’t my first visit to St. Barts. I managed to wheedle my way in when it was still in use. I felt like a Russian spy or something. But the commander was a fan and I totally banged him for the tour.”

  Although, she was an unabashed slut. She hadn’t just been batting her eyes at the guys to get them to bow to her every command.

  “They turned it over to the local gendarmerie when it was deactivated,” Athena continued. “So it is, yeah, a fortress.”

  “How much farther do we have to walk?” Christy Southard whined.

  “Probably to the great big building, Christy,” Athena said, slowly and carefully. “Maybe if you had worn real shoes it wouldn’t seem so far.”

  The “singer” and reality TV star, mostly known for enormous boobs and being one of several live-in girlfriends of an eighty-year-old producer, had worn her de rigueur stiletto stripper heels for the walk across the island from Anse Grand Saline to the police headquarters. She’d worn them the whole shoot except for her occasional ventures into the water. Give her credit, she was actually good at underwater foraging. Athena had pointed out, on camera no less, that Christy had the benefit of a built in flotation system.

  “I’ll be happy to help you up the hill, miss,” an older English gentleman said, holding out his arm.

  “Do I know you?” Christy asked, warily.

  “Let me handle the introductions,” Athena said airily. “Jerome Arthurson, Top Speed announcer, Christy Southard, professional slut. Christy, Jerry, Jerry, Christy.”

  “Hello, Athena,” Jerome said, smiling broadly. “I see you’ve been enjoying the sunshine.”

  “Better than your show,” Athena said. “Does it ever not rain in Sheffield? And I swear I could still smell Michael Moore on the seats. It’s a distinct smell. Don’t you fumigate it? Ever?”

  “Positive and encouraging as always,” Jerome said. “Miss Southard, please let me take this opportunity to invite you on my show as soon as this unpleasantness is passed.”

  “What show?” Christy asked.

  “Top Speed?” Jer
ome said, sounding somewhat miffed. “Number one show on the Beeb?”

  “What’s the Beeb?” Christy asked, confused. “Is that like Bravo? I’ve got my own show on Bravo! It’s called Christy Says!”

  “Jerry,” Athena said. “You learn to dial it back a bit with Christy. Speak slowly and use words of no more than two syllables.”

  “It is a car show on the BBC,” Jerome said slowly.

  “They put a star in a cheap ass car,” Athena said. “And then you race around a track like a crazed squirrel.”

  “Oh, like NASCAR?” Christy said. “I just love NASCAR!”

  “How . . . unsurprising,” Jerome said. “Yes, somewhat like . . . NASCAR,” he finished with a wince.

  “What are you doing on Sunny St. Barts?” Athena asked.

  “Vacation, oddly enough,” Jerome said. “Quite ruined at this point.”

  “Unaccompanied?” Athena said.

  “My wife and I are having some complications,” Jerome said. “Nothing serious. Just time for a short change of scenery.”

  “Wasn’t what I asked,” Athena said archly. “That would be wife four, right? Interviewing for five were we?”

  “If I were I assure you I’d have a beautiful lady on both arms,” Jerome said. “And, no, just some time off. As it is . . .”

  “Worried about your family?” Anna asked.

  “Very,” Jerome said. “Friends, family. Family.”

  “We all are,” Athena said seriously. She patted him on the shoulder. “They’re not going to let anything happen to Jerome Arthurson’s family, Jerry.”

  “I think my educational background might have prepared me more for the eventuality that nothing ‘they’ can do may matter,” Jerome said. “I understand the Black Death is rather scarcely covered in American schools.”

  “I didn’t go to most schools,” Athena said. “Although I think Poe covered it best. It won’t get that bad, Jerry. She’ll be there when you get home.”

  “I’m worried about Steve,” Christy said. “The last time I got through to his cell all I got was voicemail. And that was two weeks ago.”

  “We’re all worried, Christy,” Anna said. “We all have people we’re worried about—”

  “Attencion!” a man with a bullhorn said. “We will use English, then I will translate to French and German. There are two storehouses for disaster materials in the building. You will be segregated by sex so as to avoid any . . . problems during the period of your, hopefully short, stay. It is hoped it shall be very short as there are minimal facilities of all types in this building. But it is the most secure building on the island and here we, the gendarmerie, can deal with any problems that arise much more swiftly and surely. Now, English speakers please wait while I translate . . .”

  “Well, it appears I must bid you adieu, fair lady,” Jerome said, kissing Christy’s hand. “I hope that you enjoy your ‘hopefully short’ stay in the castle.”

  “I’m already hoping for Prince Charming,” Athena said, looking up at the gray, three-story, precast concrete building. “Or princess. I’m easy.”

  “That you are, dear lady,” Jerome said. “That you are.” He winked at the group and headed over to the “male” side.

  * * *

  The room was, as promised, a storehouse. More like a warehouse. There were industrial shelves holding boxes, as well as pallets with more boxes and stacked five gallon cans. There were three windows but they were covered by roll-down hurricane shutters. If the lights went out, the room was going to be quite dim.

  What was entirely missing were cots, mattresses, blankets, sheets or, perhaps most importantly, a loo. Nor were there any apparent bottles of water. All of which was causing the various women who had been led to the room to have conniption fits.

  “I can only drink Holister Springs . . .”

  “Are there vegan meals . . . ?”

  “Where are we supposed to sleep . . . ?”

  “Where’s the bathroom . . . ?”

  “HEY!” Athena suddenly bellowed like a drill sergeant. “Shut up all you bitches or I swear to God I will cunt punt you. Next bitch says a word I will slap you silly. Monsieur,” she said, changing to a purr. “De la plus grande importance est la question d’une toilette? Et de l’eau?”

  “Mademoiselle,” the harried gendarme said, nodding in thanks. “We will take individuals to the toilet in the main police area. As to water, those boxes have emergency water bottles in them,” he added, pointing. “For the rest . . . there are currently no good answers and with that I must leave.”

  He quickly shut the door and was gone.

  “There is no way I’m—” Brenda McCartney started to say.

  Athena took two steps and hit the larger girl with a roundhouse slap so hard it knocked her off her feet.

  “We are in a fucking disaster!” Athena shouted, striding to each woman and looking them in the eye. “Not a fucking movie. Not a fucking reality show. Real reality. A fucking disaster! Who knows how much worse it’s going to get? Which of you are going to turn, huh? Am I? You feel sick? How’s that head? Huh? Spinny? Got a fever? Huh? We’ve all SEEN IT.

  “So forget the bullshit! We are fucked. Screwed. Blued and tattooed. There is no Evian! There are no special meals! There are no PAs with fruit baskets. There is no kosher if that’s your bitch. There is pure and simple really real survival. Not the fucking show. So start acting like it! All a human needs is a little nutrition and some water that’s hopefully not too fucked up. Or you can sit in the corner and starve, which in your case, Brenda, wouldn’t be a bad idea. But you will die in three days without water and I guarantee you you would drink piss long before that.

  “The real question is not whether there’s what you’d like. There are three big questions: How long are we going to be here? How long will the supplies hold out for all of us? How are we going to keep from killing each other when we turn? Anybody got any helpful suggestions?”

  “We’ve got one thing going for us,” Anna said.

  “What?” Athena said, spinning on her.

  “We’re all used to dieting.”

  There was a moment of silence, then a giggle. In a few seconds the whole group was laughing hysterically. Christy looked as if she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry and had settled on both.

  “So short rations won’t be a problem,” Athena said, nodding. “Good point.”

  “I’ve got a question besides those,” Brenda McCartney said, still holding her cheek. “Who put you in charge?”

  “I did,” Athena said. “Because I know all of you and you’re mostly airheaded idiots. And you fucking well know it. Any other stupid questions?”

  “Not a question,” Anna said, raising her hand. “But I second her self-nomination. Athena’s capable and you know it.”

  “There aren’t any guys in here to get to do all the work,” Brenda said, crossing her arms. “I’m not going to do it, that’s for sure.”

  “You know she’s come up with half the good ideas on the challenges,” Anna said. “And she is organized. You most certainly are not.”

  “You’re a leader,” Christy said quietly. “Why not you?”

  “Age,” Anna said, ticking off the reasons on her finger. “With it experience. Athena runs her businesses, she doesn’t just let others manage things. And force of personality. While I could and would . . . ahem . . . ‘cunt punt’ any of you if it were necessary, you’re rather less in fear of it than Athena’s threat. She has more force of personality. I do, however, back her one hundred percent. And as to that specific threat, I have played football since I was four. It would be a quite righteous cunt punting, I assure you.”

  “Any other takers?” Athena said. “And, Brenda, if you raise your hand I swear I will break it off at the wrist.”

  There weren’t.

  “Fine,” Athena said. “And, yes, I get the guys to do all the work. It’s called ‘delegation,’ Brenda. And if I delegate something to you, you’re going to do it. I
n fact . . . You wanted to know what kind of water. Fine. He said those boxes had water,” she said, pointing. “Find out what kind and how much. Take Sarah . . .”

  “Wait,” Sarah Cassill said, raising her hand. “I’ve got a question.”

  “What now?” Athena said, tiredly.

  “Um . . . What’s Brandon doing in here?”

  The crowd parted to reveal Brandon Jeeter, vocalist and every teen girl’s heartthrob.

  “Good question,” Athena said, her hands on her hips. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I wanted to go with the guys,” Brandon said, holding up his hands helplessly. “This cop just kept pushing me into the girl group.”

  “Figures,” Sarah said, laughing. “Nobody believes you’re a guy. Even French cops can figure out the truth.”

  “I am totally a dude,” Brandon said shrilly. “And, by the way, got nothing for any of you. That’s why I wanted to be with the guys. I told him, ‘Do you know who I am?’ and he, like, said ‘Nun’ or something. I am not a nun! I’m not even a chick!”

  Athena, Anna and at least three of the other women dropped their heads into their hands. Athena got enough of a look to know which had at least some clue.

  “The word is ‘non,’ ” Athena said. “French for ‘no.’ Meaning that he didn’t know who you were and could care less. Sarah and Janet help Brenda get an inventory of the water. Anna and . . . Oh, hello, Your Highness.”

  “Hello again, Athena,” Princess Julianna Gustavason said. “Nice of you to finally notice.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t raise your hand is all,” Athena said sweetly.

  “Like I wish to be in charge of this?” Princess Julianna said. “Why don’t Anna and I take the food stores?”

  “Thank you,” Athena said. “But hold off for a second. Any thoughts on how we’re going to keep from biting each other when one of us turns? Seeing Hector go all Hulk was really fucking unpleasant. It took half the crew to subdue him and he bit Terry and Phillip in the process. And it could happen any second.”