02 Flotilla of the Dead

by David Forsyth

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Mayor, but I didn’t come here to be arrested or harassed. Even if you made me a prisoner here, you would only be doing the same to yourself – unless you want to walk out the front door into the arms of all those zombies on the street. There are United States Marines on the roof of this building who will not leave, or let you leave, until I return to my helicopter safely.”

  “Is that some kind of threat, Mr. Allen?”

  “No, but there’s only one helipad on this building and it’s occupied by my helicopter full of armed Marines with orders not to take off without me.”

  “I’m the mayor of Los Angeles! They’ll move that damned chopper if I order them to!”

  “No, Mr. Mayor, they won’t. General Barstow placed those men under my command himself. Then I rescued their families and gave them all sanctuary on my ship. The pilot has been my friend since kindergarten. I doubt that anyone could countermand my orders – certainly not you, since they are all listening to this interview on satellite radio right now and can hear how unbalanced you are becoming.”

  “You son of bitch! You’re looting my ports and inciting unrest and rebellion in my city.”

  “I was afraid this wouldn’t be a friendly visit, but I had hoped that it would remain civilized. There is too much barbarism out in the streets. Moreover, I have some important messages to deliver to the world, not just the people of Los Angeles. First of all, as I said yesterday, the survivors listening to me need to realize that Big Brother is not going to come to your rescue any time soon. You need to defend yourselves and make plans to get whatever you need to survive. If you need supplies, your credit card isn’t going be of any use and nobody will be waiting at the store to take your cash or check. If you are unarmed, you need to link up with survivors who have weapons. Please don’t fight other survivors over the limited resources. Join them instead and form groups to defend each other. Your rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness are yours to defend, or to lose, as you choose.

  “But there’s something else they aren’t telling you that I think you all should know. There are a lot of people trying to take advantage of this crisis, including those who want you to think it is some kind of biblical apocalypse. But this disease is not an act of God. It’s an act of terrorism. The zombie virus is a genetically designed weapon of mass destruction. Scientists on my ship have confirmed this and the CDC believes it too…”

  The live broadcast from GNN went off the air at that moment, leaving millions of viewers around the world hanging on the edge of their seats. When it became clear that the interview had been terminated, it frightened a lot of people and angered others. The angriest ones were among those who had been keeping the source of the zombie virus a secret.

  *****

  “That’s a wrap,” Fox Rusher interrupted Scott as he got the cut signal from the control booth. “You’ve gone too far, Commodore. They’ve cut the feed. Now what the fuck is going on here?”

  “I guess I’m leaving,” said Scott.

  “Like Hell you are!” exclaimed Mayor Del Fuego.

  “Well, we do still have some questions we’d like to ask you,” interjected Agent Corrigan.

  “I’m afraid my schedule is a bit tight, gentlemen. Now that we are off the air, if I don’t get back to the chopper soon, all Hell is going to break loose around here. There’s a squad of Force Recon Marines ready to come rescue me, if necessary. But I suppose I can spare a few more minutes for the FBI. What questions would you like to ask?”

  “What were you saying about the outbreak being a terrorist attack?” asked Corrigan.

  “Exactly that,” replied Scott evenly. “The outbreaks were linked to people exposed to the virus at dozens of airports around the world on March 15th. All of them, and everyone who caught it from them over the next two weeks, have been spreading it and they seem to have all turned into zombies at about the same time on April 1st. That’s statistically impossible for a naturally occurring disease. Moreover, the virus was designed to mutate when they became zombies, so now it only spreads by being bitten or direct contact with contaminated body fluids. Only a genetically engineered virus could do all of those things. It’s bio-terrorism or bio-warfare. Hasn’t anyone told you about this yet?”

  “There were rumors last week, but they were discounted by people higher up the chain of command,” Agent Corrigan said uncomfortably. “We’ve been busy enough just staying alive and trying to cope with the breakdown of civilization here. I haven’t had time to give the cause of the outbreak much thought, but I will now. Thank you, Commodore.”

  “You mean someone did this to us on purpose?” asked the incredulous Mayor.

  “Yes sir,” Scott answered firmly.

  “Don’t be foolish,” interrupted Fox Rusher. “We were warned by Washington about the possibility of fear mongers trying to spread this exact rumor. They told us to squash any story that even hinted of a terrorist link to the outbreak. And that’s what we’ve been doing. That’s why my producers pulled the plug on your interview. We gave our word to the President on day one that GNN would not broadcast irresponsible accusations like the one you just made.”

  “Someone is trying to hide the truth from people,” Scott explained. “They’re probably afraid it would cause as much fear and panic as the outbreak itself has, but they may have other motives too. Either way, it’s a cover up. And GNN is part of it, even if you don’t know it. We have evidence from the CDC, and the work of a scientist we rescued who conducted a study on an infected subject during the process of transformation into a zombie. We can prove it all to your audience, if you are interested in giving them the truth.”

  For once Fox Rusher seemed at a loss for words. Agent Corrigan decided to change the subject and asked, “What was your plan to provide supplies for the people of Los Angeles?”

  “Freight trains pulling flatbeds loaded with containers of food and other vital items,” replied Scott smoothly. “We’ve got one ready and waiting to go, but we would need you to make sure that all of the tracks are clear and the switch gear is set to direct the train where you want it to go.”

  “How are we supposed to do that?” asked the mayor in an almost pathetic voice.

  “You’ll have to send out police and fire, or public works, or transit employees to verify the track settings and change them if necessary,” Scott answered with more than a little condescension, as if talking to a child.

  “I’d be happy to do that, if I had any of those people left to give orders to!” Mayor Del Fuego sounded distraught and even Fox Rusher was becoming disturbed by his behavior. The mayor continued, “I’m lucky that a few helicopter crews are still loyal to their duty, but I can’t ask them to land at every railroad switch. None of the police cruisers or motorcycle units can be deployed anymore either. The roads are too dangerous and virtually impassable!”

  “Then send them by train,” suggested Scott. “They can clear and adjust the tracks as they go. Union Station is practically next door to your police helicopter base.”

  “They can’t get two feet out the door of Astro Division! There are thousands of zombies waiting outside! Helicopters coming and going attract them like flies! And Union Station is crawling with the bastards too. Your plan is a non-starter,” said Del Fuego in a hopeless voice.

  “But you haven’t even tried it,” Scott persisted. “You’re all hiding out in your bunkers, or flying between secure buildings, while the zombies rule the streets. And, worse, you’re telling the public to hide out too. Your constituents will run out of food and water long before you do, but by then they will be too weak to fight their way out! They need to be told what they can to do to save themselves now.”

  “That’s it! I’ve heard enough of this craziness!” yelled the mayor. “I said arrest him and I meant it!” Several policemen began to move towards Scott from the wings of the studio. Mark tensed and raised his crossed hands to his shoulder holsters.

  “Hold it!” said Special Agent in Cha
rge Corrigan. “We are not going to start a war among ourselves tonight. I’m convinced that Commodore Allen has good intentions, even if we don’t agree with all of his methods. So, calm down Mayor Del Fuego. You need to take a chill pill. Mr. Allen, you should probably return to your ship now. I’d like to fly my helicopter down and visit you tomorrow, if you are agreeable. Maybe we can figure out a way to help some people around here after all. But it won’t do anyone any good for us to fight among ourselves.”

  “I agree wholeheartedly,” Scott concurred. “I’ll look forward to your visit Agent Corrigan. Thanks for inviting me here tonight, Mr. Rusher. And I’m sorry if my views upset you, Mr. Mayor. But I think the people deserve to be told the truth and have their options explained to them.”

  *****

  Scott and Mark walked back up the stairs to the rooftop helipad, as there wasn’t enough emergency power in the building to use the elevators regularly. Special Agent Corrigan walked up with them, while the Mayor stayed to commiserate with Fox Rusher and his gang of ass kissers. “So, Commodore, I’d say you just kicked a hornet’s nest,” said Corrigan.

  “That’s something I’m getting good at,” said Scott with a smile. “Of course it usually seems to be a nest full of zombies these days, but handling them is more straight forward than politicians.”

  Corrigan laughed and said, “That’s probably true. The Mayor isn’t a bad man, or even a coward. But he has some well established ideas about how things should be done and he’s having trouble realizing that those ways won’t work anymore.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Agent Corrigan,” Scott responded. “But someone needs to get him to adapt to the new reality, or get him to step down and find someone else to take charge that can. This is a Darwinian event. It’s survival of the fittest, but that really means survival of those most able to adapt to the sudden changes forced upon us. If he’s not that kind of man, you need to find someone who is”

  “Me?” Corrigan sounded startled. “I have nothing to do with local governance.”

  “Then you need to adapt quickly too,” replied Scott. “You may have been a Fed last week, but you’re an Angelino now. The people here need a leader; someone who will recruit street gangs as militia if necessary. God knows they will do a better job of killing zombies than office workers would. But that means they also need a strong leader with the power to keep the troops in line, because there is a very fine line between salvage and pillage.”

  “I can’t quite tell if you are brilliant, or insane, Commodore” said Corrigan with a grin. “But I look forward to trying to figure it out. I’ll fly down there at about nine tomorrow morning, if that suits you.”

  “Absolutely, Special Agent in Charge, Corrigan,” replied Scott with a smile. “Don’t bother to eat breakfast first. I’ll have the chef prepare a big brunch for us on the Sovereign Spirit. And don’t worry; none of the food will have been looted from the Mayor’s port.” They both laughed at that and Scott shook the FBI agent’s hand before walking out onto the helipad where the Marines were holding everyone else at gunpoint. “Stand down,” yelled Scott. “And mount up. We’re going home now.” Sergeant Washington snapped off a crisp salute and the rest of the Marines raised their rifles and back peddled to the Super Huey. Scott glanced back at Corrigan as he climbed into the copilot’s seat and noticed him nodding with the hint of a smile on his face. Scott hoped that was a good sign.

  *****

  Interlude in Hell

  Chevron Refinery, El Segundo: 6:18 PM, April 10, 2012

  Carl cursed under his breath as the GNN Evening News was cut off without warning. He had been watching it on satellite TV inside of one of the motor homes. Karen, Chuck and Gus, as well as Max and his wife and two daughters who lived in the RV, were there with him. All of them were speechless for a few moments. Carl thought some of them were in shocked disbelief, but Carl was simply too angry to trust himself to speak yet. “So it was the fucking terrorists!” That was exactly what he had thought when he saw the first TSA agents go down in LAX. Someone had killed them, killed his wife Pricilla, and killed millions, if not billions, of others around the world. Some asshole had done this on purpose! The thought made his blood boil and run cold simultaneously.

  “What happened to the broadcast?” asked Karen when it became clear that the show was not coming back on the air and a canned FEMA disaster preparedness video filled the screen instead.

  “They want to shut him up,” replied Carl coldly.

  “Who wants to shut who up?” asked Gus with a stymied expression.

  “The network, or the Feds, or both. They cut off the commodore as soon as he tried to tell us that the outbreak was caused by terrorists, or an act of war,” explained Carl. “They’re hiding the truth from us, damn it. I thought from the beginning that this was some sort of terrorist attack. I’ve just been too busy staying alive to dwell on it, but now I’m sure of it.”

  “That commodore made a lot more sense than the mayor or Fox Rusher did,” Chuck commented. “He seems to be only one around here with any kind of plan for helping the rest of us survive, but they kept trying to make him look like a fool, or a criminal. Why would they do that?”

  “It’s all politics,” said Carl. “It’s the same sort of crap that got all of us into this mess. The mayor, the Feds, and the media all think that they know what’s best for us. None of them were prepared for this type of catastrophe and they have no idea what to do now that it’s happened. So they just keep smiling, telling people to remain calm and wait for help to arrive, while the damned zombies go from house to house eating everyone alive!”

  “That’s horrible,” commented Karen Slade. “It’s almost like they want most of the people to be killed.” Her comment triggered a deeper suspicion in Carl’s mind. Could she be right?

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Carl muttered. “I hope you’re wrong, but now that you mention it that might explain some things that have been bothering me.”

  “Like what?” Karen asked with a perplexed expression.

  “Like why the whole country has fallen apart so fast,” he mused. “What if there is some sort of conspiracy or plot to only protect a select group of people and let the rest of us get consumed by zombies?”

  “What are you saying?” asked Gus.

  “I’m not saying anything for sure, yet,” Carl clarified. “But something smells wrong.”

  “How so?” inquired Karen.

  “Regardless of how this all happened, whether it was terrorists or an act of God, the government and media should be telling people where to go to be protected by now,” Carl explained. “But they haven’t done that. Hell, you heard the mayor. He won’t even tell us where the safe havens are because they wouldn’t be able to handle an influx of refugees. We’re on our own, but the authorities won’t even admit that much! It’s almost as if they want most of us to get exterminated so they won’t have to worry about taking care of us.”

  “That’s crazy,” muttered Chuck.

  “What isn’t crazy these days?” replied Carl in an exasperated tone. “I’m not saying they actually want everyone to die, but that looks like the net effect of their policies right now. What really makes me sick is the idea that someone did this to the world on purpose.” Feeling discouraged and angry, Carl stood up and left the rest of them sitting in the RV as he walked out into the failing light of evening.

  The glow of sunset was fading it the west. The only sounds came from waves crashing on the shore half a mile away and the dull chunk, chunk, chunk, of the sprinklers along the fence line. Water, thought Carl. That was the answer to fighting these monsters. It was so simple. Why wasn’t anyone on TV, aside from this commodore fellow, talking about that? He was pondering that thought as a new sound rose on wind. The steadily growing thump of helicopter blades cut through the dusk and Carl turned to watch a large helicopter flying south over the 405. That would be the commodore and his Marines heading back to their ship.

  “Godspe
ed,” whispered Carl as the helicopter disappeared into the night. His thoughts were still troubled as he went to the Suburban and inflated the air mattress in the cargo area where he slept. He realized that the commodore’s ships were only about ten or fifteen miles away. They seemed to be the only organized group in the area and it sounded like they were establishing a large safe haven.

  Carl finally felt secure in the refinery, now that the sprinklers were proven to repel zombies from the fence, but was this really the place where he wanted to make a stand? After listening to the ranting mayor on TV he began to wonder what would happen if, no when, the remaining authorities learned that Carl and his fellow survivors had set up a safe haven at the refinery and were looting shopping centers to survive? These questions kept him up for several hours as he lay in the dark SUV. Tomorrow he would need to discuss his fears and ideas with the others. They had some major decisions to make.

  Chapter 5: Supply and Demand

  “In any ethical situation, the thing you want least to do is probably the right action.” – Jerry Pournelle

  When Scott returned to the Sovereign Spirit from his tumultuous interview at the GNN studios he received a hero’s welcome. Even on the helicopter he had been deluged with praise for standing up to the Mayor of LA, with the Marines assuring him that they would have come to liberate him if the mayor had actually arrested him. That was nothing compared to the welcome he received when they landed on the ship.

  Michelle was waiting next to the helipad and immediately dissuaded Scott from retreating to their master suite. She explained that everyone was waiting downstairs to hear what happened after the interview was cut off. Scott reluctantly agreed to make a brief appearance and statement. They descended to the Grand Salon and, as the elevator door opened, Scott was almost deafened by the thunderous cheers and applause that erupted when he came into sight. The atmosphere of celebration took Scott by surprise, as he was just getting over the tension that has gripped him during the interview and confrontation with the mayor. Nevertheless, he smiled and waved as he moved through the crowd, shaking hands and getting slapped on the back. When he reached the front of the room Scott held up his hand in a request for silence and the crowd calmed down a notch.