02 Flotilla of the Dead

by David Forsyth

  “We’re now getting the results of our unscientific online poll, which is the only type we can run now, and the responses show more than a 50 point advantage to the previously unknown Commodore Scott Allen. That’s right, the results indicate that 73% of our viewers with internet access and the desire to respond seem to agree with the commodore, while only 17% support the opinions expressed by Los Angeles mayor Antonio Del Fuego. The other 10% are uncertain.”

  “This way please, gentlemen,” Scott said, pretending not to have heard what was being shown on the news. “I thought we could meet in the Library where we can find some peace and quiet. We’ll have brunch after that. Follow me please.”

  A short walk down the central corridor brought them to the Library, which was right across the hall from the Internet Café. Corrigan and the mayor took a peek inside the Café as they passed and noted the young people clustered around computer terminals. “That’s my online research team,” Scott commented. “Most of them are my son’s friends. They wanted to go out and hunt zombies with the Marines, but I’ve convinced them that they can be of more help by contacting other survivors online and mapping their locations for future contact. The internet won’t last forever. More and more major nodes are failing, but we still have a direct satellite interface. So this might be our only chance to catalog other survival communities and strongholds around the world.”

  “Why is that so important?” asked the mayor.

  “We are putting together a better picture of the state of the world than we could hope to get from the remaining media outlets,” Scott replied. “And we are taking special notice of any safe zones or strongholds on, or near, the ocean. That will be valuable in establishing future trade routes and lines of communications.”

  “You certainly think big,” commented Corrigan. “I’m not sure if anyone else has thought that far ahead yet.”

  “Perhaps it’s easier to do when we’re safe aboard the Sovereign Spirit, instead of besieged by undead zombies ashore,” suggested Scott. “It also helps that we just completed a voyage around the world. We’re still thinking in terms of the big picture, and being on a ship gives us hope of being able to actually go to many of those places again someday. Now, let’s step into the Library and get down to business. I’m sure you came here for more than just a tour of my ship.”

  When they were all seated around the conference table in the library Scott asked, “So what brings you all out here this morning? I was expecting Special Agent Corrigan, but I would think that LA’s mayor and police chief have more pressing concerns to deal with right now.”

  “That depends on how you look at things, Commodore,” answered Corrigan, apparently speaking for everyone. “We had our own little meeting after you left the GNN studio last night. The mayor realized that he may have been a little premature in his condemnation of your actions and opinions. Isn’t that right, Mr. Mayor?”

  “Yes indeed, Commodore,” replied Mayor Del Fuego, as if eating crow. “I didn’t realize the scope and motives of your operation here. I must admit that I thought of you simply as a looter, or a pirate, who had come to plunder our ports. If I had given you more of a chance to explain yourself, I might have realized that you were offering to help us. God knows we need it.”

  “Apology accepted,” said Scott. “So I can assume that these policemen are not here to try arresting me again?”

  “Certainly not, Commodore,” answered Chief Harris. “Commander Austin and I are here to offer coordination for the distribution of survival goods to the remaining population of Los Angeles. Agent Corrigan has told us about your plan to bring freight trains from the port with food and other supplies. It’s the best idea anyone has come up with yet, especially since most of the roads and highways are impassable. A freight train could punch straight through even the worst zombie infestations. But the challenge will be clearing the tracks, adjusting the switches, and finding secure places to unload and distribute the supplies.”

  “That’s quite true,” Scott agreed. “I think we can get a train with up to a hundred loaded containers up the Alameda Corridor towards Downtown LA, but I don’t know where to drop it off. There are a few yards were we could drop container cars off the back of the train down in Carson, but once the train enters the Alameda Corridor trench there’s no place to stop until we get up to Los Angeles. That’s a shame, because it’ll be going right through some of the areas that probably need the most help, including Compton and Watts.”

  “Nothing can be done about that,” said the mayor flatly. “We need to focus our resources on communities with the best chance of survival anyway.”

  Scott bridled at his tone, although there was more than a little logic in the argument. Scott thought the mayor was missing something though. “That’s exactly my point, Mr. Mayor,” Scott countered. “Those communities are probably the best armed in the city and the people there are more accustomed to surviving hard times than a lot of suburbanites. As I mentioned to Special Agent Corrigan yesterday, the street gangs of LA are probably better prepared to survive than anyone else around here.”

  “In that case, they don’t need our help anyway,” replied the mayor dismissively. “And as you said, there’s no place to drop off supplies in South Central LA because the railroad runs down a big trench through there. So the point is moot.”

  “Sadly, that’s true,” said Chief Harris with what appeared to be genuine remorse. “But the train trench ends near the Produce and Warehouse Districts downtown. That would be a logical destination for some of the cargo, wouldn’t it?”

  “Only if you can secure that area and either bring citizens to get it, or find a way to get the supplies distributed to them from there,” Scott said. “Not many people really live near there, do they?”

  “No, but there is a bus depot across the street from the produce markets on 7th Street,” replied Chief Harris. “Perhaps we can clear some routes for buses to residential areas.”

  “That might be a good idea, but I think you’d be better off using the buses to bring people to safe havens that can be supplied by the trains, rather than bringing supplies to their current homes or bringing people to go shopping,” Scott pressed his point. “For example, there are rail lines that run along both sides of the USC Medical Center. What’s the situation there?”

  “Horrific,” replied the chief. “The hospitals were the first places to be overrun, mostly from the inside out. People who had been bitten turned into zombies in the emergency rooms. There could be some normal people still trapped on the upper floors, but the whole area is swarming with Zs. We don’t have the manpower or firepower to clean them out of there.”

  “Too bad,” Scott said sadly. He had been afraid of that. Most of the best places to establish safe havens had already been infested. “What about the Cal State LA university campus? It’s only a little farther east. There’s a Metrolink station on the south side and a freight rail yard close to it on the north side. In fact, I did a little research online and discovered that there’s also a big blood plasma production lab near the campus that might be instrumental in developing a cure to the Super Rabies virus.” That news took everyone by surprise.

  “What makes you say that?” asked Corrigan.

  “I had my research team in the internet café look at the train routes on Google Earth,” explained Scott. “They found this biomedical complex. So I asked our resident scientist about it. He seems to think it could be priceless. Before Z-Day it produced millions of liters of blood plasma per year and it has state of the art biomedical labs. If anyone can find a cure, or a vaccine, that plant could probably produce enough of it to make a real difference. So what do you people think about turning Cal State LA and this lab complex into a defended safe haven?”

  “How would we secure that big an area?” asked the mayor doubtfully.

  “Cal State LA is only a mile or two from the Sheriff’s Headquarters, as well as the LA County Fire Headquarters, the Sheriff’s Heliport and SWAT base, not
to mention the ISD motor pool where you service all of the county sheriff and fire vehicles. You even have the old women’s jail there that was closed after the Northridge earthquake. That would be a very secure stronghold for refugees, even if it wouldn’t be very comfortable. You must have kept control of all those assets, right?” Scott had all of them looking at him intently and wondering how he knew all of this.

  “Yes, that hill is one of the secure areas that we were able to establish last week,” admitted the mayor. “But but we haven’t been able to resupply it, except by helicopter and, as you said, it’s over a mile away from the Cal State LA campus.”

  “Sure it is,” replied Scott. “But it shouldn’t be too hard for you to establish a safe corridor down Eastern Avenue and across Interstate 10 using chain link fences and armed patrols. Then you would have mutual support bases on either side of the freeway, both of them on hills that zombies don’t like to climb. It won’t be easy, but it would give you a large hour-glass shaped safe haven with options to expand outward and a route of resupply by rail from the stockpiles here on Terminal Island. It’s also a place that many people would be able to get to if you use the Metrolink Silver Line to bring them in.”

  “That’s a very interesting plan,” said Special Agent Corrigan. “I think it’s something we can take back to the E.O.C. for serious consideration. Do you have any other suggestions?”

  “Not many for inland safe zones, except to look for places that can be secured along rail lines, if you want us to help keep them supplied. For example, the railroad runs pretty close to Dodger Stadium and there are supermarket warehouses along the tracks near there too. There are railroad tracks running north through the San Fernando Valley too. It goes right past the Burbank airport and I think there’s a small National Guard base there too, isn’t there? Maybe you can secure the airport as a safe haven.” Scott said hopefully. His guests exchanged looks of surprise and interest. Was it possible that they really hadn’t considered these options yet?

  “However,” Scott continued. “I must admit that I’ve focused most of my attention on coastal safe havens. Our projects on Terminal Island have taken almost all of my time since we arrived three days ago. In that short time we have set up the Queen Mary and the Mole here as strongholds. We’ve sealed the bridges and choke points leading to the Port of Long Beach and Terminal Island. We’re loading ships full of food to send to San Diego and Catalina. We have a train ready to be loaded with food and other useful supplies to run up the Alameda Corridor whenever you are ready to receive it. And at this very moment I have a team trying to energize the Terminal Island Power Station.” That last comment produced looks of shocked surprise.

  “If everything goes as planned, we will also be able to accept thousands of refugees from Los Angeles into the Terminal Island Safe Haven to work in the canneries and on the docks and railroad too,” Scott added. “We also plan to turn part of the island into a refugee camp. The Federal Prison there would be a good stronghold for at least a thousand people, after we clear it of zombies of course. We could bring refugees back here on the trains. The Flotilla will retain control of the Mole, Pier 400 and the Port of Long Beach, including the area surrounding the Queen Mary. The Coast Guard will reestablish control of their base on the north-west end of the island, next to the prison. We will all share the output from the power plant. That’s the general plan, but it will take time to implement. In any case, it will take a week or more to secure this safe haven properly and I need to leave here tomorrow for a few days.”

  “You’re leaving?” exclaimed the mayor. “You can’t do that! We need your help here.”

  “You didn’t think so last night, Mr. Mayor,” Scott pointed out. “Besides, too many boat people are running out of vital supplies for us to wait here any longer, but don’t worry, I’ll be back.” There was a hint of an Austrian accent in that last phrase. “I’m also leaving a competent Harbor Master along with some heavily armed Marines and Coast Guard personnel to defend the safe haven. We’ve been training and arming a militia composed of boat people headquartered on the Queen Mary. We even have some high tech allies, who you’ll meet a little later. I think they’ll be a real asset to all of us in the long run. But, yes, I’ll be taking the Sovereign Spirit to sea again tomorrow. We still have some friends and family to rescue up north and thousands of boat people who need our assistance. Besides, aside from killing all the zombies here, I know don’t what more I can do to help you at the moment.”

  “Are you sure you need to leave so soon?” asked Special Agent in Charge Corrigan. “We have so much to do here. We won’t even be able secure and prepare the CSU safe haven you suggested for at least another week.”

  “That’s exactly why I have to go now,” explained Scott. “There are people out there that need to be saved immediately. Not a week from now. In fact, if I leave tomorrow, I can probably be back in a week. I know that hundreds of thousands of people could die in Los Angeles County while I’m gone, but I also know that I can’t do anything to save them if I stayed. So, yes, I do need to leave tomorrow and help the people that I have promised to rescue first. Then we’ll come back to help save as many more as possible here.”

  “I understand your position,” said Chief Harris. “But there will be a lot of coordination required in setting up safe zones along the rail lines.”

  “I’ll be available for consultation by satellite phone, internet, or radio if all else fails. And I won’t be more than an hour away by air if there’s a crisis back here. In the mean time there might be some other things we can do to help you prepare for the distribution of supplies from Terminal Island. Some of those things will become clearer during the tour I have planned for you this afternoon. But all this talk about giving people food is making me hungry. Shall we adjourn for brunch?” His guests looked a bit startled by the abrupt change of topic, but they all rose to follow Scott out of the room, exchanging uncertain glances among themselves.

  “I’ve invited some other guests to join us, as well as most of my passengers and crew,” explained Scott as he led them into the Main Dining Room. It was currently set up to seat about 200 people, but was designed to seat over 500. Close to a hundred and fifty people were present and a hush fell upon the crowd as Scott and the delegation from Los Angeles entered the room. Everyone turned to stare, but most were smiling and nodding in a welcoming way.

  The center of the dining room was dominated by a thirty foot long buffet and salad bar. Beyond that was a large reserved VIP table where over a dozen people were already seated. Scott led his guests towards that table, past the buffet, and their eyes widened as they saw the type and quantity of food waiting for them. Heated serving dishes were piled high with steaming sausages, bacon, scrambled eggs, French toast, and hash brown potatoes. Other serving bowls rested in beds of ice containing slices of fresh fruit, piles of sliced lox, and jumbo shrimp next to a bowl of cocktail sauce. The salad bar was also fully stocked and two chefs at the end of the buffet were manning stations offering fresh omelets and carved roast beef.

  “This is something of a special occasion,” Scott explained. “We’re celebrating the establishment of the Navy Mole and Queen Mary strongholds, as well as the founding of our Terminal Island Safe Haven. We have representatives here from all of the major entities of the Flotilla. Let me introduce you to them.” Scott proceeded to lead the LA delegation from one end of the table to the other. First he introduced Captain Fisher at one end of the table. Captain McCloud sat next to him. Next in line was Mr. Kroeker of the Queen Mary, followed by George Hammer, the new Harbor Master. Captain Crenshaw and Captain Kim were also at the main table, as were Mick Williams and Mark Argus. Billy sat next to Michelle at what would be the right hand of Scott’s seat when he took his spot at the head of the table. But the guests on the other side of the table were the ones who really raised the eyebrows of the LA Delegation.

  “Let me introduce the newest members of the Flotilla,” said Scott. “These are representative
s of the Sea Launch Team from the two specialized ships docked on the Mole that can launch communications satellites into orbit. Until we are in a position to reconstitute a space program, they have agreed to dedicate the capabilities of their unique vessels, as well as their scientists and their facilities here on the Mole, to the Flotilla’s mission of survival.”

  “That’s quite a coup for your Flotilla,” commented the mayor. Turning to Captain Knight he asked, “What makes you want to join the Commodore’s Flotilla? Are you sure you wouldn’t rather work directly with the City of Los Angeles?”

  “The Commodore and his Flotilla removed the zombies that had besieged us and made it possible for us to get badly needed supplies. If not for the Flotilla we would have had to put to sea in search of a zombie free island or anchorage. The City of LA hasn’t helped us at all. Besides, we are what the Commodore calls Boat People too. The Flotilla is where we belong and can do the most good,” answered Captain Knight. “We can do a lot more to help other Boat People than we ever could to help the people ashore.” The mayor didn’t seem to like that answer, but he nodded and took an empty seat at the table.

  Then Scott invited everyone to help themselves to the buffet saying, “Everything except the eggs is fresh or previously frozen. I’m afraid the scrambled eggs and omelets are from frozen and pasteurized pre-scrambled eggs that we store in bulk, since we don’t have chickens aboard. But it’s the best brand our chef could find and I think you’ll like them.” The people at the VIP table were given priority on one side of the buffet and all of them served themselves within a few minutes. The rest of the people in the room continued to line up and happily fill their plates with the bountiful and appetizing buffet. Servers from the kitchen kept replacing empty serving dishes with full ones and two servers appeared at the VIP table to pour mimosas.