Carl waited until all of the other vehicles were inside the gate before he followed them and used the remote control on the sun visor to close the gates again. He would send a team back to watch that gate and see how many of the zombies returned and how long it took them to get there. For now they all drove back to the motor pool and operations building where they began to unload the loot.
“This is quite a set up,” said Karen as she looked around at the zombie-proof convoy and the motor homes in various stages of conversion into mobile bunkers. “Are you planning to take this show on the road?”
“Not exactly,” Carl replied. “We plan to make more provisioning trips for supplies, and we are always looking for more survivors to take in, but I think we will try to turn this refinery into a permanent base, if we can. It has all the fuel we will ever need and, as long as the sprinkler defense system keeps the zombies away, it seems to be secure. But we can’t count on that. So we are making as many vehicles zombie-proof as possible, just in case we ever have to evacuate.”
“That makes sense,” Karen nodded. She looked like she wanted to say more, but just then a man came out of the nearest RV and waved Carl over excitedly.
“Hey, Carl,” he called out. “You gotta see what’s on the news!”
“What is it, Max?” Carl asked the man. He was one the father of one of the families that had followed Carl back from the RV park.
“The GNN news chopper just flew over Long Beach and spotted a bunch of ships and boats around the Queen Mary. Then some commodore flew up in a helicopter and explained that they are securing part of the port as a safe haven!”
“Really?” asked Carl with pleasant surprise. “That sounds promising.”
“Maybe,” said Max hesitantly. “But he also said that the only way to get to them would be by boat or helicopter. He says all the roads and highways are overrun and impassable.” Carl just nodded and smiled as he paused to look at the zombie-proof convoy around him.
The evening did not go well at the refinery. Carl was called over to the burn treatment room in the refinery’s fire station shortly before midnight. Frank had taken a turn for the worse. By the time Carl arrived, the once strong oil worker looked like a withered junky. His skin was pale and sallow. His eyes were bloodshot and yellow. He was barely conscious as Carl approached his raised treatment gurney. Frank was strapped to it and seemed to be thrashing feebly.
“Frank, buddy?” said Carl in a chocked voice. “How’s it going?”
“Aghhhlll fuck…” Frank groaned. “Shoot me… Ahgm a gonner. Somesings in my shed. Sit tickles… Shit hurts… Fuck me…” Frank went into convulsions. His head slammed against the bed as his legs and feet flailed.
The next few moments seemed like a vision from Hell as Frank lost himself in the grips of the virus that consumed his mind. Carl stood next to him, speechless, as this man who had become a friend turned into something totally unrecognizable. It was a rapid transition, without warning. Suddenly the man became a monster and thrashed against his restraints with the force of a titan. His eyes opened again and Carl saw no life there; only hunger, craving, and a desire that bordered on sexual lust for feeding.
Carl reluctantly reached for the ice axe hanging from his belt and hefted it above his head, pausing for a moment to search the crazed eyes for any remnant of a man named Frank, before driving the pick end of the axe into the brain of the zombie.
Chapter 4: Introductions and Interviews
“It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent that survives. It is the one that is the most adaptable to change.” – Charles Darwin
Scott woke up with a smile on his face, until he remembered that Clint’s life was hanging on a thread. He turned to give Michelle a brief kiss and told he loved her, then jumped up to grab some clean clothes and headed down to the sickbay. There was an armed crewman standing outside the door when he arrived.
“Good morning sir,” said engineering mate Craig Felling.
“Any news on the patient?” asked Scott abruptly.
“Only that I was told to wait out here with a gun in case he turns into a zombie when he wakes up, sir.”
“Thanks for accepting the assignment, but if it comes to that I want be the one who takes care of the problem. I cut off his arm and I’ll blow off his head if need be. He’s my friend. You understand?”
“Yes sir,” said Felling, obviously uncomfortable with the situation.
“Don’t worry, Craig,” said Scott as he realized the position he was putting the man in. “It’s not your fault. Thanks for standing guard. The most important thing is to defend Dr. Greenburg and the rest of us on this ship. Carry on.” Scott shook hands with the man and walked into the sickbay. Dr. Greenburg was sitting at the same desk and looked like she might not have moved since last night.
“Hi Scott,” said the doctor. “I knew you would be here early. I haven’t tried to wake him up yet. After what you said yesterday I thought that you’d want to be here, for better or worse. And by the way, you were great on TV yesterday. I missed it live, but they’ve been replaying it all night and now they’re doing promotions for your interview on the evening news tonight.” She pointed up at the flat screen on the wall next to the door and Scott turned to see himself smiling and waving from the pilot’s seat of his helicopter.
“Oh shit,” said Scott. “I’ll never live this down, will I?”
“Live it down?” she asked sarcastically. “You really were great. And I’m sure you’ll be even more impressive tonight. We’re all very proud to be here with you too. But let’s set that all aside for a moment and go check on Clint. His vitals were still strong a few hours ago and the sedatives should be wearing off. From what I could find out on the internet, even a minor bite should have caused the transformation by now. If he is still even close to normal, you’ll have something else to brag about on TV. I’ve also had a hard time keeping the Mad Doctor from the Z-Lab away from my patient. I’ve kept him satisfied with blood samples every few hours, but he does want to examine Clint if he becomes a zombie.”
“Screw that,” said Scott. “I just want my friend to live. So let’s cut the crap and face the music. I brought my pistol, just in case, but I’m hoping and praying that I won’t need it.” Grace nodded and led Scott through the door into sickbay. It was a large room separated by partitions into treatment areas, similar to the layout of many small emergency rooms. Various pieces of medical equipment were mounted or secured to the walls so they wouldn’t move in rough seas. At the far end was an isolation and operating room. Grace went straight to that door and looked through the wire glass window before reaching to open it.
Clint was strapped to the bed and appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Grace moved to the far side of the bed as Scott approach hesitantly. Scott noted the bandaged stump of Clint’s left arm and felt a slight shiver as he recalled the experience of cutting it off. That had been the most difficult thing Scott had ever done, in terms of overcoming instinctive revulsion, but it would be worth it if Clint survived.
“Clint?” Scott said softly. “Can you hear me, buddy?” There was no response. “Clint?” Scott repeated a little louder as he reached out hesitantly to touch him on the shoulder. It was only a light touch, but Clint’s eyes flew open and he struggled to sit up, thrashing as he felt the restraints holding him down. Scott jumped back alarmed and his hand moved instinctively towards his holstered gun. Clint grunted and moaned as he tossed his head around wildly with a blank look in his eyes. “God damn it!” cursed Scott as he drew his gun and aimed it at what had been his friend’s head. Clint’s face turned to look at him as Scott released the safety and began to squeeze the trigger.
“Wh… Where am I?” croaked Clint. “Shit, it wasn’t enough for you to cut off my arm? Now you want to shoot me too? That’s just fucked up, dude.”
“Clint!” exclaimed Scott in relief as he lowered the gun and moved towards the bed again. “I’m so sorry. You scared the shi
t out of me. I thought you’d turned into a zombie. I almost blew your head off!”
“I think the arm was quite enough, thank you,” said Clint with something approaching a smile. He tried to lift what remained of his left arm for emphasis and winced in pain. That was a very good sign, since zombies didn’t feel pain, but Scott still felt a tinge of irrational guilt for having been the one who performed the amputation. It was only a passing thought that was immediately replaced by joy that Clint was still human. Scott reached over and grasped Clint’s remaining hand firmly.
“You’ve still got another one,” Scott said with an effort at humor.
“Thanks to you, bro,” replied Clint soberly. “I would have blown my own head off, if I had any bullets left. You saved my life, man.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Scott dismissively. “You’d have done the same for me.”
“Nah,” said Clint with a pained grin. “I wouldn’t have thought of cutting off the arm. I would have just blown your head off.”
“Well, now you know, in case it ever happens again,” said Scott matter-of-factly. “So what do you think Doc? Is he okay now?”
Grace Greenburg was standing back with a neutral expression on her face, taking notes on a clipboard. She looked up and smiled, but Scott saw something deeper in her eyes. Nevertheless, she nodded and looked down at her patient saying, “Your chances look good, Clint. All the reports indicate that the transformation is total within twelve to twenty-four hours with even a minor infection, such as a small bite or a drop of contaminated blood in the eye or mouth. You are past the eighteen hour mark now, with no sign of conversion. But I need to keep you here, under restraints, for at least another day. It’s not only to make certain that you are free of infection, but also to treat your elbow and make sure you don’t get any normal, but equally deadly, infections in your arm. So you can plan on being in sickbay for at least a few days.”
“Okay, Doc,” said Clint reasonably. “I don’t feel like doing much anyway at the moment. I’ll be happy enough to sit here and count my lucky stars for a while. I do feel a little hungry though. Is there anything to eat?”
“Sure,” said Scott. “I’ll have something sent right down. What would you like?”
“Well,” said Clint. “I have this craving for raw meat.” Both Scott and Grace looked at him sharply. “Just kidding,” said Clint with a laugh that turned into a cough. Scott was glad to see he hadn’t lost his sense of humor. Clint continued, “I think my mom would have prescribed some chicken soup with a side of macaroni and cheese. Is that okay, Doc?”
“Your mother was a wise woman,” confirmed Grace with a smile. “I’ll send for it.”
“And is there anything to watch on that TV?” Clint pointed to the flat screen on the wall of the treatment room that was currently turned off.
“More than you might think,” said Grace with a genuine smile. “A lot happened while you were sleeping. Scott is famous now. He did an interview on GNN and is scheduled to do another one tonight.”
“No shit?” Clint said with obvious interest. “I’ve gotta see this!”
“I’m out of here,” said Scott quickly. “Take care of him, Doc, and don’t fill his head with any crazy ideas about getting rich and famous. It’s not what it’s cracked up to be.”
*****
The rest of the morning went smoothly as more containers of food were identified and loaded aboard the Traveling Trader. A scouting mission from the Stratton also found five commercial fishing boats docked next to a cannery. Plans were made to provide crews for the fishing boats and load up as much canned or preserved seafood from the cannery as possible. The Marines also made a quick sweep across Terminal Island in the two AAVs, killing over a hundred wandering zombies in the process, and positioned empty cargo containers as barricades on the bridges connecting the island to the cities of San Pedro and Wilmington. The barriers would need to be improved eventually, but they would be enough to halt any major influx of zombies onto Terminal Island.
Shortly after noon Scott met Captain Fisher, Sergeant Major O’Hara and George Hammer on the helicopter pad. Mick and Sam were already there, doing their pre-flight inspections. The six of them would fly to the Cape Inscription in the Super Huey. Captain McCloud would fly there in one his Dolphins, along with an armed escort of four Coast Guardsmen. O’Hara, with his M-4 carbine, would be the only armed Marine in their delegation. Scott and the others would only wear side arms, but Scott brought his M-203 and web gear full of ammo to the helicopter in case they ran into any unexpected trouble.
Since they were ready to go ahead of schedule, Scott decided to take-off early and make a scouting flight around the area. They all strapped in and Mick lifted off in a low level flight path over Long Beach. There were still a lot of boats in the marinas, including many tied up on docks that remained secure from zombie incursions. Some of the boats were probably occupied by survivors, but others were sitting there empty and unused. Scott decided he would have a talk with George about gathering unused boats for future use by survivors who would undoubtedly find their way to this safe haven, especially after his interviews on GNN. That thought reminded him that there were also several RV and trailer sales centers within a few miles of Long Beach. Maybe they could organize a convoy to liberate dozens of motor homes and bring them back to parking lots inside the port. The RVs had their own generators and everything. With some of those he could set up a much better refugee camp than the Navy was providing on Coronado. These thoughts were interrupted when Mick Williams began talking on the intercom.
“Look down there, Scott,” said Mick. “You see all the bleachers along the road down there? As I recall, the Long Beach Grand Prix races were supposed to be held this week. See how they had already blocked off a lot of the roads?”
“Yes,” agreed Scott. “I think you’re right. So what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that if we ever clear out enough zombies, it might be fun to take some of your sports cars over there and have our own race!” explained Mick. Scott laughed, but he knew that Mick was totally serious. Scott even took a moment to agree silently that it was something he would like to do, but it wasn’t realistic, so he changed the subject.
“Nice idea, Mick,” Scott said. “But let’s stick to useful things for now. Take us down the coast a couple of miles. There’s a navy base there where they store bunkers full of weapons. Don’t fly over it. I don’t want to get shot down. But let’s see if there’s any sign of life along the shoreline.”
“Okay,” replied Mick. “You got it.” He banked back out over the ocean and they flew past the manmade oil islands, named after the Apollo 1 astronauts who died in a fire during training; Island Grissom, Island White and Island Chaffey. Now those islands were surrounded by hundreds of boats full of refugees and Scott could see people waving from the islands too. Those islands had been the only zombie-free land in the area until the Flotilla arrived. People from the smaller boats had set up camp on their rocky shores. A mile or two past Island Chaffey they saw another small port surrounded by mostly undeveloped marsh land and dozens of earthen bunkers farther inland.
“That’s the Seal Beach Naval Weapons Center,” said Sergeant Major O’Hara. “I’ve been aboard ships that stopped there to pick up ammunition before deploying overseas. It’s a secure base, so it’s probably still manned and operational.”
“That’s what I thought too,” said Scott. “I don’t want to bother them now. Maybe it would be best if the Coast Guard were the ones to approach them, or you Sergeant Major. But I want to make sure that we get on friendly terms with them, since they look like the closest organized neighbors to our new safe haven.”
“Good thinking, Commodore,” replied O’Hara. “They also have enough naval weapons stockpiled there to arm a fleet, not to mention bunkers full of small arms and ammunition for SEALS and Marines. Of course they won’t be eager to hand it out, and the Navy in San Diego might be coming to requisition a lot of it soon. But you
’re right to become friendly with them, if they let us.”
“Okay,” Scott responded. “Let’s keep that in mind. Now we should head back to rendezvous with Captain McCloud for our visit to the Navy Mole.”
*****
Scott’s Super Huey and the Stratton’s Dolphin flew in loose formation for the two minute flight around Terminal Island to the Navy Mole. Everyone on the Huey was anxious to see it and the ships that Captain McCloud had described. The Dolphin took the lead as they approached the tip of the Mole and slowed to about fifty miles per hour. Still at an altitude of 500, the helicopters flew single file down the offshore side of the Mole.
Scott was impressed by his first look at the Mole and the three ships docked there. The strip of land looked to be almost 500 feet wide and it was over a mile in length to the narrowest point, where it was perhaps a football field in width. That was where Captain McCloud had suggested building a zombie barrier. The Dolphin circled that spot to make sure Scott and his companions saw it, and headed back up along the inside of the Mole. The water in the manmade harbor looked deep and Scott saw several empty piers, including the long fueling dock. He also noticed that four sets of train tracks ran down the length of the Mole. There was even a freight train parked on it now, with close to a hundred empty flat beds ready to be loaded with shipping containers. That was something else to keep in mind.
Of course it was the view of the ships docked near the end of the Mole that captured everyone’s attention. First was a pier with a single ship tied up to it. That had to be the Cape Inscription. Painted Navy gray, it was over 600 feet long and had a smooth deck forward with a large superstructure near the stern. She had a pair of cranes mounted near her bow that could load cargo containers or vehicles onto the deck. What really made her different from most cargo ships was the big ramp that lowered at an angle from the starboard side of her stern. That was the roll-on-roll-off ramp used to load and unload hundreds of military vehicles when they were deployed overseas. It could be used on any typical cargo pier, but currently the ramp was raised partially to prevent zombies from boarding her.
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