Islands of Rage and Hope

by John Ringo

  “None apparently, sir,” Hamilton said. “There is a real dearth of what you might call survivalist types. Despite the fact that the first group rescued were the female survivors from Celebrity Survivor: St. Barts. We have determined that the males all succumbed to the virus.”

  “That is so . . . wrong,” Steve said.

  “There isn’t a single person with anything resembling military training, LEO or even paramilitary, sir,” Hamilton said. “There are only a few with the vaguest familiarity with firearms. And as I noted, there is still a noticeable infected presence, sir. They have one and all declined to stay on the island. The only one who might have been willing to fight it out is both . . . elderly and an American citizen who has requested repatriation. Most of them don’t think much of the boats, either, sir.”

  “Sounds like you’re having boatloads of fun,” Steve said. “Pardon the pun. I will dispatch a potential solution to your locale tonight, Colonel. I have a specific cat herder for this sort of thing. In the meantime, move on to the next objective as soon as you’re ready.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hamilton said.

  “Squadron out,” Steve said, closing the circuit.

  * * *

  Steve leaned back in his chair and chuckled for a moment.

  “ ‘I was an interrogator at Guantanamo Bay,’ ” he said, imitating Hamilton’s Northeastern accent. “ ‘You sure you want to take this up with me? I’ve still got my waterboard.’ ” He chuckled again, then bellowed: “ISHAM!”

  “You can use the intercom, you know,” Isham said over the intercom a second later.

  “There are times I just prefer to yell,” Steve said. “Got to get some fun out of this job. Speaking of which . . . Tell Ernie he has ten minutes to pack. He’s going on a tropical island cruise . . .”

  * * *

  Faith set her tray down across the mess table from Sophia and leaned on the table with hands spread.

  “ ‘Do you know who I am?’ ” Faith said, looking her sister in the eye angrily.

  “Oh!” Sophia said, holding her hands up as if to strangle someone. “Do NOT get me started!”

  “But I met Harold Chrysler!” Faith squealed. Quietly.

  “Me too!” Sophia said, bouncing in her seat. “And he was so—”

  “COOL!” they both squealed.

  “Most of the rest sucked ass, though,” Faith said, sitting down.

  “Oh, God, yeah,” Sophia said, taking a bite of mashed potatoes. “You might want to check on your troops, though. Christy Southard was last seen trying to find out where the Marine barracks were at.”

  “I think I’m going to consider that an NCO issue,” Faith said, tasting a bite of dolphin. Which was not bad. “Although I’m not sure how the gunny will react. I’d say ‘Let ’em at it.’ They deserve some pussy after this mission.”

  “Good God, Sis,” Sophia said, chuckling. “Being a Marine just so suits you. At least tell ’em to use a condom—” She stopped and gulped down her food. “Oh, hi . . .”

  “Am I interrupting?” Anna Holmes asked.

  “I didn’t think this was mess time for the civilians,” Faith said. “But grab a chair.”

  “That means no, you’re not,” Sophia said. “How did you get in?”

  “The guard on the door was a fan,” Anna said, shrugging and smiling. “And I told him I knew you and you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Technically, I should ream his ass,” Faith said, taking another bite of dolphin. “But again, I’m gonna let it slide. I don’t mind and it has been one bitch of a day.”

  “Fighting your way across the island must have been tough,” Anna said worriedly.

  “Oh, that was a picnic,” Faith said, shrugging. “I’m starting to think I prefer liners to the land, though. Fricking infected come out of nowhere on the land. But it wasn’t like there was a heavy concentration . . .”

  “You’re welcome,” Sophia said.

  “Yeah, Sis,” Faith said. “Thanks. Go Navy. But it was the uninfected who were the pain.”

  “ ‘I’m the Chairman of the Board of . . . ’ some company I’ve never heard of,” Sophia said. “ ‘I’m the mother of . . . ’ ”

  “Rapunzel had it together compared to most of them,” Faith said.

  “I have to keep stopping myself from calling Julianna Rapunzel,” Anna said, snorting in a ladylike fashion. “It shouldn’t be so funny.”

  “Well, she’s a princess,” Faith said, ticking points off on her fingers. “And she was trapped on top of a building . . .”

  “Oh, I got the reference,” Anna said, laughing. “We all did. Except Christy but it was a bit complicated for her. She’ll probably start laughing anywhere from a day to a week from now. May I bring up a delicate subject?”

  “Go,” Faith said.

  “If it’s the thing about . . .” Sophia said. “The compartment . . .”

  “I read the brochure,” Anna said. “I am still . . . troubled.”

  “Try seeing bleeding bodies in your sleep every night,” Faith said. “Although, I suspect you’ve got your own nightmares.”

  “Yes,” Anna said quietly. “I do.”

  “When you want to talk about it, come see me,” Faith said, taking another bite. “And, yes, there’s a reason. My da actually covered the omerta with us before we ever got into this.”

  “The omerta?” Anna asked. “Like a Mafia secret?”

  “There is a secret known only to people who have taken lives in violence,” Sophia said. “And if you’re not part of that group, you’re not let in on the omerta. Unless your da happens to be one of them and wants you prepared as you can be in case you have to. And even then he approaches it delicately. Short version: Know all those feelings you’ve got? To say ‘you’re not alone’ is an understatement.”

  “Tell me about it,” Faith said. “There’s a reason I do what I do, Anna. Lots of reasons. And you know most of them, now. You wouldn’t have, literally couldn’t have, understood them back when you were a nice little famous actress from a liberal background. If I’d talked about them to you, you’d have called the cops. Now . . . you’re already in the omerta. Honestly, I like you better now that you’re part of the sisterhood. What you don’t know is how to cope with them. So . . . when you’re ready, we’ll talk. Or Soph, if you feel more comfortable.”

  “Okay,” Anna said, still unsure. “When I’m ready I will. But I don’t think you really know what I’m thinking.”

  “Bet you a dollar,” Sophia said, leaning over and whispering in her ear.

  “I wish you hadn’t said that,” Anna said, grimacing.

  “There’s ways to handle it, Anna,” Sophia said. “There are ways to deal with it. And the payment is when it’s your time to talk to somebody about the omerta, you bring them in on it.”

  “Make it soon,” Faith said. “Otherwise it gets to be an issue. And you don’t want it to get to be an issue. ’Cause you may feel pretty billy badass from your experiences but you’re not. The good news is there are three billion zeds on this planet. And even if we can clear all the zeds, then we get brigands and pirates and raiders. War red war is the future of this world for a long time. You ain’t done by a long shot.”

  “What’s the other delicate subject?” Sophia asked.

  “I asked about enlisting,” Anna said. “And I was told that as a British subject, I couldn’t.”

  “There, right there,” Faith said, grinning and knife-handing her. “That is the omerta. Reenlistment rates in Iraq were sometimes one hundred percent. And now you know why. Like I said, welcome to the sisterhood.”

  “I hope it’s not that,” Anna said. “Really?”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Sophia said, shaking her head. “My sister has her uses . . .”

  “Opening jars for you . . .” Faith said.

  “But she is fucking nuts,” Sophia said. “You’re not her. I’m not her. Take those feelings, add in a barely controlled vicious streak and then pump up the bass.”
r />   “Oh, yeah,” Faith said, grinning ferally. “This is the only world where I really fit.”

  “I’ll talk to the chain of command about it,” Sophia said. “There are waivers for everything. And you can work my boat until we get some determination. Which means you’ll be around two almost sane members of the sisterhood.”

  “Wait,” Faith said. “You think I’m less sane than Olga?”

  “Faith, I think you’re less sane than Charles Manson . . .”

  CHAPTER 26

  “The Trans-Canada highway is clear of infected from Wawa to Thunder Bay. Long ride on a snowmobile, ey? But at least the Mounties weren’t on me for speeding . . .”

  From: Collected Radio Transmissions of The Fall

  University of the South Press 2053

  “That’s no space station,” Faith said, looking up at the island of Saba. “That’s a moon!”

  Saba was quite simply a currently inactive volcano rising up out of the Caribbean Sea. It looked like a shorter version of Mount Rainier with fewer trees. There was a small “harbor” big enough to get a few yachts in and cliffs with straggling bright green vegetation trying to keep hold.

  From the satellites and the limited intel on the island, the main town, “The Bottom,” was at the top of the mountain in the caldera of the extinct volcano. The entire area had been cloudy during the one direct overhead pass and images were blurred. They, thus, had no intel on survivors or probable infected numbers. From her own experience, right at eight hundred infected would be about right.

  “Now fill it with twenty-eight thousand heavily armed, fanatical, Japanese soldiers in bunkers and you’ve got some idea what taking Iwo Jima was like, Lieutenant,” Gunnery Sergeant Sands said. “It’s even got a sulfur mine.”

  Faith thought about it for a few seconds, took another look through the binoculars and shook her head.

  “There’s no way,” she said. “Taking this place against an armed force would be impossible.”

  “Not for the United States Marine Corps, Lieutenant,” Gunny Sands said proudly.

  “That climb is going to be a bitch,” Faith said, looking up at what could be seen of the road. Seeing the island on the satellite overhead had not prepared her for the reality.

  “No, Lieutenant,” Sands said, pointing at the vertical cliffs. “Climbing that would be a bitch, ma’am. And if that was what it took to complete the mission, that is what we would do, ma’am. Climbing the road will be a minor hump. Especially compared to some of the stuff we’ve done in Afghanistan.”

  “Point,” Faith said, nodding. “Very valid point, Gunnery Sergeant. Never thought of Marines as mountain climbers but . . . Well, time to get it on and go for a little stroll. And we’d better make sure everybody drinks!”

  It was ninety degrees and despite the trade winds the conditions were sweltering.

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” Gunny Sands said, smiling slightly.

  * * *

  “I think we need to stay frosty on this one, Gunny,” Faith said as they landed on the small breakwater. She had gotten a pretty good feel for how many infected to expect the Navy to chew up compared to the population density. Total pre-plague population of Saba in the off-season was about 1800. From that and given only two “clearance” points, the other on the far side of the island, there should have been about three hundred infected chewed up on the beach. There were barely twenty.

  “Not enough carrion, ma’am?” Gunny Sands said.

  “Not nearly enough,” Faith replied. “I want us to proceed with caution on this one. There’s going to be a concentration, somewhere. In The Bottom would be the most obvious choice. We’re going to do a hold for more two-forty ammo and I’m going to go ‘coordinate’ with the Navy landing force.”

  * * *

  “That’s not enough bodies, Sis,” Sophia said, gesturing with her chin to the small pile.

  “Noticed that,” Faith said. “My guess is most of the rest are going to be in the Bottom. From there they just wouldn’t have noticed the lights and sound. And even if they did they might not have been able to find this place. I’m bringing up more two-forty ammo. My intent is to move up to the pass, then recon the objective. We may need resupply runs and, as usual in the fricking Caribbean, there aren’t any cars.”

  There were a few cars. Tidal surge had pushed most of them off into the harbor or the surrounding waters. The few on land were on their sides or, in one case, high-sided on a wall. It must have been one hell of a storm.

  “You think your people can hump the ammo or do we need to come back for it?”

  “We can do that,” Sophia said, nodding. “I mean, if you’ve got the people free . . . But if you need it we’re there.”

  “I’m going to commo up with higher,” Faith said. “Get approvals on that. But I’m pretty sure we’re going to need the support at some point. . . .”

  * * *

  “That’s the sitrep, Force. Hotwash is majority threat not say again not eliminated by Naval fire. Request on-call materials support from NavLand if necessary, over.”

  “Understood,” Hamilton said, nodding. “Concur. Note: Personnel not materially prepared for scrum. Avoid physical engagement.”

  “Concur, Force. Not interested in scrumming in regular uniform. Any further, over?”

  “Negative,” Hamilton said, looking at the narrow road up to the main town. “Use caution and in this case will remind you of Maxim Thirty-Seven.”

  “Maxim Thirty-Seven, aye, Force. That’s why we’re calling for more ammo. First Platoon, out.”

  “Maxim Thirty-Seven?” Ernest Zumwald asked curiously. The former Hollywood executive had rendezvoused with the Force at sea during the crossing and had been designated to “handle” the refugees from St. Barts who couldn’t figure out that a zombie apocalypse trumped “do you know who I am?” He was getting ready for the first meeting on the subject and “touching base” with the colonel on what he’d like covered.

  “There is no overkill,” Colonel Hamilton said. “There is only ‘Open Fire’ and ‘Cover me while I reload!’ ”

  “Cover me while I reload!” Sergeant Smith shouted, ripping out another magazine.

  The road up from the harbor to the pass had been nearly straight uphill, twisting back and forth through a narrow gorge but only hairpinning once. The road was broken concrete with a small “curb” less than knee height on the sweating Marines marching up it. The sides were nearly vertical walls of rough pumice with viney vegetation and straggling grasses covering the black earth and rock. The vegetation hadn’t been enough to keep the material together in one or more tropical storms: there were several washouts and landslides, one of them completely covering the road in dirt and rock.

  But there had also been zero infected. Apparently all the ones with territories on the seaward side had turned up for the party.

  The road down from the pass hairpinned several times. At one point there was a small turnaround or water run-off point, Faith wasn’t sure which. But it was a large enough, fairly open area that was protected on most sides by vertical rock walls or the road cuts of the road itself with a good overlook of the terrain. She had had the platoon hold there while they evaluated the situation.

  Barely had the Marines dropped their rucks when the first infected came into view. Smitty had, on orders, taken it out with a single aimed shot. Even with a stock M4, a Marine Scout Sniper does that sort of thing. Then the birds had descended. Then more infected had showed up to see what the birds were eating. Then more. And more. And then they realized the Marines on the overlook were fresh meat.

  There was a trail of bodies from the hairpin where the first infected had been killed. And it was getting inexorably closer to the Marines as more and more and MORE infected turned up for the feast. The only good part was, the terrain was so steep they were channeled into the road.

  “Grenades!” Faith yelled as the lead group of infected got within thirty meters.

  NCOs stopped firing and pulled o
ut grenades instead.

  “On my command!” Faith said, pulling the pin on an M87. “All ready? Good . . . Throw! TAKE COVER!”

  The Marines ducked down behind the low wall as the grenades went off in a series of loud “pops” followed by howling. Faith counted the grenades and waited until all five had gone off.

  “UP AND AT ’EM!”

  “This is where dialing in the long-range accuracy would have helped, ma’am,” Gunny Sands said, taking another head shot.

  “You get my dad to schedule the range time, Gunny, and I’ll get the ammo,” Faith said. “Where the fuck is Sophia with the damn Singer ammo?”

  “You rang?” Sophia said as Yu dumped a pile of .308 ammo by the machine gun team. He went ahead and started opening boxes since it looked as if Edwards was out. She looked at the pile at the switchback and the trail up the road. “Oh, my, that is a lot isn’t it?”

  “A few,” Faith said, bagging another one with a double tap. “A few.” There were several hundred bodies on the narrow road. And the infected seemed at this point to be ignoring them in favor of trying to close with the Marines.

  “Want some help?” Sophia asked.

  “Your accuracy would be a benefit,” Faith said, missing her next shot. “I’m not so sure about the rest of your team, no offense. So, no, we’ve got this. We just needed the ammo. Thanks. I don’t think we needed it so much for here as this probably isn’t all of them.”

  The flood of infected was clearly starting to fall off.

  “I’m going to go back up to the pass and see about holding this point,” Sophia said. “We can use it for hand-off and get LandTwo to hold the harbor up to the pass. Nothing’s getting past this to the harbor.”

  “Roger,” Faith said, standing up. There was still a trickle of infected coming up the road but as they came to points that the 240 could spot them they were being engaged and made good zombies. Sergeant Hoag had been essentially useless as a squad leader. She was fairly good as a machine gun team leader. As long as somebody else carried it.