“Yes, Mr. Lunt, we might,” agreed Scott. “But we will need those amphibious vehicles for the missions that we’re planning and I can’t launch and recover them from a vehicle ramp that is six feet above the water line. Sure we could drive them, or even the Amtracs, off the end of the ramp and they would splash and float and be able to swim ashore. But we couldn’t get them back onto the ship. The crane on the stern won’t lift that much weight, but the boat davits will.”
“What if we ever really need the life boats?” asked Captain Fisher seriously.
“Well, we’d still have the two speed boats, the landing craft and the Aqua Terra, as well as all the automated life raft dispensers, not to mention the water craft, boats and even a submarine on the vehicle deck. That’s enough capacity for at least seven hundred people, which is a lot more than we have aboard right now anyway,” Scott reasoned. “But you might also want to consider what would make us need lifeboats at all. We shouldn’t have to deal with any hurricanes or excessive seas around here. I don’t expect you to run us into any rocks or collide with another ship. Fire is always a hazard at sea, but this ship is full of suppression systems and sprinklers. However, one danger we might face is pirates, be they foreign or domestic. Right now almost any armed vessel could sink us or force us to abandon ship. But consider our options if we had a LAV-25 hanging from each side of the ship with a 25 millimeter rapid fire cannon to fire armor piercing shells at hostile ships or aircraft.”
“Holy shit!” exclaimed Captain Fisher. “I didn’t think of that, Scott. You’re right! That would give us almost as much firepower as the Stratton for broadside and off-angle shots. Hell, if we ever need to fire astern we could just lower the rear ramp and roll the other LAV out to open fire. Only a true warship would be able to mess with us then.”
A look of understanding flooded Mr. Lunt’s face as Captain Fisher connected the dots for him. “That might actually be worth trading the lifeboats for,” he said.
Sergeant Major O’Hara had been listening with a growing smile on his face, as if visions of sugar plums danced in his head. He finally shook his head and started laughing with a depth of humor that he hadn’t displayed since coming aboard the Sovereign Spirit. The other men turned to give him questioning gazes.
“You’re a natural tactician, Commodore,” said O’Hara after he controlled his outburst. Still grinning he said, “My men would be proud to serve the main batteries of your flag ship, sir. And we’ll fire on any threat to this ship and the Flotilla, short of the US Navy.”
“Then let’s make sure the Navy isn’t one of our enemies. We’ll take the Sovereign Spirit and the replenishment task force to Catalina tomorrow, and I’d like to see a LAV on each side of her when we do, but the Cape Inscription will sail with supplies for Coronado. I’d like you to send at least one Marine aboard the Cape Inscription with orders to contact General Barstow upon arrival. I want your man to make an independent report on the value of the Flotilla. Feel free to brief your Marine however you like and attach your own report. Can I expect it to be favorable?”
“Are you kidding, sir?” O’Hara had to visibly restrain more laughter. “Favorable is far too mundane a description for what you’ve done with the Flotilla. Hell, sir, in less than a week you’ve won the loyalty of some damned hardnosed Marines, including me, not to mention all of the boat people you’re helping. My letter to General Barstow will recommend that he place at least another platoon of Marines, possibly combat engineers, under your command to defend the Flotilla and safe havens you want to create. If all goes well, he should send them back up aboard the Cape Inscription.”
“We can drink to that when it happens,” said Scott. “Now, let’s start preparing our Catalina task force for departure tomorrow morning. There are a lot of people waiting for us out there and I don’t intend to let them down.”
*****
Interlude in Hell
Chevron Refinery, 1:00 PM, April 11, 2012
The mood in the refinery was tense. Many of the people agreed with Carl’s suggestion of moving to the safe haven established by the Survival Flotilla, but others were reluctant to leave the security of the refinery. Carl was reasonably confident that all of them would come around to his way of thinking eventually, especially if those who agreed with him proceeded with plans for the move. All of the RVs were now zombie-proof and Carl had directed modifications to additional pieces of heavy equipment. Several men were working on turning a large tow-truck into a zombie killing wrecker, while others were busy with alterations to a big water truck that had been used for dust control in the unpaved areas of the refinery.
Carl was almost certain that the convoy could make it to the new safe haven, but he wanted a little more insurance and assets to stack the deck in their favor. Towards those ends he had organized one more shopping trip into the zombie infested streets surrounding the refinery. Once again, Carl led the expedition in the customized Suburban, with the same heavy vehicles following. Gus was riding shotgun, and carrying one too, while Karen Blade had asked to ride along in the back seat. Carl was reluctant at first, but realized that she was more than able to take care of herself and had proven to be resourceful on their last shopping trip. He offered her his shotgun, but she declined and merely pointed to the Samurai sword strapped across her back. Carl smiled back, but made a mental note to keep her covered if they got into real trouble.
The sprinklers at the gate onto El Segundo Boulevard worked flawlessly to hold the zombie horde back as the gates opened. Carl gunned the big SUV through the mob, bashing and slashing his way into the middle of the street before turning east. The rest of the vehicles followed smoothly, with the giant Cat pausing to swerve back and forth, flattening dozens of zombies beneath its mammoth tires and earthmoving bucket scoop.
The little convoy retraced the path of their first expedition to Big 5, straight up El Segundo Boulevard and into the parking lot where they had slaughtered so many zombies just a few days earlier. The bodies remained where they had fallen, or been crush, on the first shopping trip. However, Carl avoided that part of the parking lot and the Big 5 retail store, heading around the building to the big warehouse that also bore the Big 5 logo. This was the regional distribution center for the Big 5 Corporation and it should be a true treasure trove of survival gear.
Aside from the bodies in front of the store, the parking lot was strangely deserted. There wasn’t a zombie in sight. Carl suspected that all of them had been drawn to the fence line of the refinery, just over a mile away, by the incessant moaning of the undead gathered just beyond reach of the sprinklers. Of course many of them were now running up El Segundo Boulevard in hot, or cold blooded, pursuit of the convoy. Carl figured they had about four or five minutes until the fastest of them arrived and was glad they had that much time to set up a perimeter defense.
Carl parked near the loading dock and directed the big rig to back up to loading dock while the big fire truck pulled up to the FDC connection for the building’s fire suppression system. The city water pressure had fallen close to zero in the last few days, but Carl had realized that the building fire sprinkler system would be isolated by a backflow preventer. That meant that all of the pipes inside of the building should still be full of water. It wouldn’t last long, but it added at least a thousand gallons supply for the water cannon.
Gus was already working on opening the loading dock door when Carl got there. After 30 seconds of using a crow bar they popped the door and entered the warehouse with a dozen more men at their heels. Carl was thankful for the big skylights in the roof that provided dim light in the cavernous space. He paused as his eyes adjusted to the gloom and used all of his senses to search for any movement. The warehouse appeared to be empty and Carl could now discern seemingly endless stacks of crates and pallets on countless rows of shelves that approached ceiling height. It was gold mine, if they could find what they were looking for in the limited time available.
“Okay,” said Carl loudly. “Stick to the
plan. Guns and ammo are the top priority. Camping gear, especially sleeping bags, tents, and fishing gear are second. Clothes and dehydrated food are third. Now spread out and look for the good stuff.
“Gus,” Carl continued. “See if you can get that forklift started.” Carl pointed to a machine parked next to the roll-up door. “Chuck, see about getting the roll-up open. I’ll see if I can find anything that lists where they keep stuff in here.” Carl went to desk near the entrance and looked for anything that would help them find their way around the warehouse. After a moment he spotted a floor-plan chart on the wall with a spiral notebook hanging from a string below it. He opened the notebook and found alphabetical listings of merchandise matched up with letters and numbers in a column labeled “row/shelf”. This was it.
Carl looked up “guns” but couldn’t find a listing. Then, mentally slapping himself, he looked up “Winchester” and found at least a dozen itemized entries. He was also pleased to note that they all seemed to be on the same row.
“Look for row J guys,” he yelled. “There should be guns there.”
“I found it,” a voice called back. “But it’s closed off with a locked fence.”
“Blast it open, if you have to!” Carl yelled as he ran in that direction. A shotgun blast punctuated his comment and a boot to the blasted gate opened it as he arrived. Carl pushed through and scanned the shelves. He saw cartons labeled Winchester and others that said Remington and Mossberg, among others. “Bring a push cart over here and start cleaning all of it out,” he instructed. “The cases on the lower shelves look like ammunition. Bring as much of that as possible too.” Then Carl turned and ran back to the entrance.
When he stepped out onto the loading dock Carl knew that time was of the essence now. A veritable flood of zombies was approaching rapidly up El Segundo Boulevard. The fire truck should hold them back for a while, but the supply of water was limited to no more than five minutes. Carl decided that he needed to do something to stretch that window. “Up for a joy ride?” he asked Karen Slade who was standing on the loading dock with a look of dread on her pretty face. She shivered and nodded as she followed Carl towards the Suburban.
The Suburban pulled up next to the big earthmover and Carl called up to the operator, “Let’s try to draw them off! Follow me.” The big man named Joey nodded and started his engine as Carl sped across the parking lot towards the undead horde. It would be close, but he hoped to cut in front of them at the intersection and lead them south on Aviation Boulevard.
The fastest moving undead were already crossing the intersection as Carl slammed into them and twisted the wheel to slash and bash them with the wicked steel blades welded onto the crash guard and bumpers of the big SUV. Karen Slade drew in her breath sharply as the sharpened side mirror guard slice off the head of what has once been a young man. His blood splashed the windows as Carl continued his turn into the next pack of undead, knocking some down to be crushed below the Suburban and sending the rest spinning away like bowling pins.
As Carl completed his next 180 degree turn in the intersection he was pleased to see the big Cat rumble up next to him and begin crushing even more zombies. Carl leaned on his car horn to get the attention of both Joey and the zombies massing around them. He waved at the heavy equipment operator, twirled a finger to indicate another circuit of the intersection and then pointed south down Aviation Boulevard. Joey nodded and drove forward into the pack with the bucket positioned to drive them to the pavement to be crushed by the giant earthmover. Carl followed in its wake, swerving to take down the zombies that got around the Cat.
“I need you be the bait, Karen,” said Carl as he pressed the button to open the sunroof.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Karen asked incredulously.
“Just wait until we get out of the intersection and clear of the mob, then stand up in the sunroof,” Carl explained with a grin. “Wave your arms and scream at them, anything to make them follow us instead of going towards the warehouse.”
“Okay,” she agreed as the plan became clear. “I can do that.”
“Good,” said Carl as he cut down more zombies. “Get ready.” Carl followed the Cat as it completed its circle of destruction in the intersection and turned south. As soon as they were clear of the horde Carl slowed the SUV and urged Karen to stand up. “Now!” he said.
Karen rose to stand on the center glove compartment to stretch through the sunroof. There was plenty of zombie blood on top of the SUV and she was careful not to touch it as she drew her sword, swung it in circles over head, and let out a blood curdling scream. It was so realistic, like a woman being killed, or raped, or eaten alive, that Carl taped the brakes and looked up to make sure she was okay. She just glanced down and said, “That sound attracts them. I saw and heard a lot of it from my apartment.”
“No shit,” muttered Carl as she let out another scream. Looking in his side mirrors, Carl saw that the screams did indeed have a drastic effect on the zombies. It was the sound of their prey in distress and it caused all of them to turn and run towards the Suburban with gaping mouths and outstretched arms. “Brilliant,” Carl said softly and sincerely. He had had been right to think that Karen would prove useful on this mission. “Keep screaming, Blade!” he unconsciously used his nickname for her. “We might be able to patent you as a zombie lure,” he called up to her.
“Fuck you, Stiller,” she hissed between screams, but went right back to belting out shrieks. The seemingly endless stream of zombies that had followed them from the refinery turned right at the intersection of El Segundo and Aviation, away from the sporting goods warehouse and the rest of the convoy. The plan was working. Carl slowed to less than 20 miles per hour and let the fast movers close in a little more, causing Karen’s screams to sound even more authentic as she stared into the faces of the undead at close range.
Carl sped up again at the last moment and pulled away, but the zombies kept running after them at a fast and steady pace. Were they moving slower than when they chased Carl along the beach days before? He wasn’t sure and this was probably a different group of zombies anyway, but Carl decided to clock their speed and remember it for future reference. Keeping a steady ten yard interval between the SUV and the fastest zombies he was doing about 15 miles per hour. Shit! That’s a four minute mile and after chasing them more than a mile from the refinery. Better than Olympic marathon pace. Good to know, but God help us. A normal, fit and healthy person could outrun them in short sprints, but after a few hundred yards? Forget it, at least with the fast ones.
Of course not all of them were that fast. As usual, the parade of zombies stretched far to rear, back towards the refinery. The old, the weak, the overweight and the lame were much slower than the leaders of the pack. Carl could only hope that the herd mentality they seemed to display would draw the slower ones around the corner to follow the rest.
Carl reached over and picked up his hand-held fire department radio that was tuned to the same frequency as the fire truck back at the warehouse. “I think they are all following us, Peter,” he radioed the driver of the big Panther fire engine. “Don’t attract their attention if you can avoid it, over?”
“Copy that, Carl,” replied Peter’s voice. “It looks like all of them are following you. We are sitting tight. Loading of the truck seems to be going well. But we heard a woman screaming. Is everything okay?”
“No problem,” Carl yelled over the sound of Karen’s screams. “That’s just our new zombie call. It seems to attract them like flies on shit.”
“Ten-four,” Peter replied. “I’ll let you know when we are ready to bug out. Will you be coming back this way?”
“Probably,” Carl decided. “The Cat can plow right through the herd and we might as well thin them out as much as possible, unless we can actually lead them all away from the refinery for good… I’ll let you know what we decide when we reach Rosecrans. Over.”
“Roger that and standing by,” Peter confirmed. Carl set the radio
down and contemplated if they could actually lead all the zombies away from the refinery and then ditch them somewhere. It might be possible, with more planning, but they had not explored any of the roads ahead. Carl knew that there would be major traffic jams. The Cat should be able to clear the roads, but could it do it before all the zombies caught up? And would the zombie-proof features of the Suburban stand up to a mass assault by the undead? Carl sort of doubted it. Their only real advantage was mobility.
Already the Cat was pausing to clear a multi-car wreck from the road. It only took a few moments, but there would be more and worse ahead. Carl sped up, passed the accident scene and pulled up next to the Cat. Slowing, he reached for the microphone on the dash mounted radio and switched on the PA, saying, “Joey! Let’s speed up a bit and lead them down to the intersection with Rosecrans to see what’s there. If it looks bad, we’ll turn around and flatten these bastards on our way back!”
Joey nodded and gave Carl the thumbs up sign before accelerating down the open straightaway. The SUV kept pace with him and Carl motioned Karen to stop screaming and get back inside. She was breathless as she dropped into her seat. “That sucked,” she croaked in a suddenly hoarse voice.
“No, that was some excellent acting,” Carl complemented her performance.
“Acting, Hell! I was scared out of my mind,” Karen said with a grin. “I’ve never seen so many of them before and you let them get way too close for comfort!”
“Just making sure the slower ones could hear you when they got to the intersection,” Carl explained without a hint of remorse. “Looks like it worked though. Next time you can probably just use the PA system, but I’m not sure if I could take all that screaming in here.”
Karen leaned over and punched him in the shoulder, none too lightly. “Screw you, Stiller,” she said, but there was still a hint of a grin on her face.
As they pulled up to the intersection of Rosecrans it was clear that the road was impassable. The entire intersection, much of it covered by railroad bridges, was clogged with crashed and abandoned vehicles. Looking both ways on Rosecrans, Carl couldn’t see any hope of getting through quickly, even with the Cat leading the way. It was a shame, really, because Carl knew from studying a map that there was a Trader Joe’s across the street and a Costco only a block or two away. He had put them on the list for future shopping trips, but that might be a moot point, if they were moving to the new safe haven.
02 Flotilla of the Dead Page 20
