World of Corpses (Book 1): World of Corpses

by Cook, Scott W.

He finally wedged himself in and I pushed my way up beside Andrea, “Hey baby, come here often?”

  Andrea giggled nervously and Carl only looked at me with an ashen and sweaty face that seemed unfocused.

  “Here we go,” I said, locking my legs into the ladder’s rungs and among theirs as well. I grasped the handle with both hands, “On the count of three, Carl, you shove with all you’re worth. Use both hands.”

  “I need one to hold on with!” Carl puffed. He was still breathing heavily and was hyperventilating for sure.

  “You’re wedged in tight,” I said, “We’ve got to get this fucking handle to move. On three… one…”

  The moans of the dead below were incredibly loud, made more so by our confined space. They had a mournful quality, and yet seemed almost angry as well. Frustrated. They looked up at us impotently, seeing their food right out of reach and not having the tools to do anything about it.

  “Two… three!”

  Andrea and I heaved and I pushed with my feet and hauled with my hands. The angle was awkward. With the handle above our heads, there was little horizontal leverage for our arms. But by pushing with my feet and Carl’s pushing, the handle began to swing with a shriek of metal and a sprinkling of rust.

  “She moves!” I shouted in triumph.

  The handle, once freed from its evident years of corrosion, swung quickly through ninety degrees. I nearly fell backward, stopped only by the wall behind me. Once released, the roof hatch actually popped upward a little. It must’ve been spring loaded.

  “Push!” I called.

  Andrea and I shoved and the hatch flew upward and back, exposing brilliant blue sky and fresh air.

  “Hoo-rah!” Andrea shouted.

  “Up!” I said, putting a hand under her perfect ass – yeah, even at that point I still could appreciate it – and shoved. Andrea went up and out in a second.

  “Okay, Carl,” I said with a grin, “Your turn. Get up this ladder and take five. You’ve earned it.”

  I moved sideways so that Carl could swing around and go up the ladder. He did so and nearly fell as his sweaty hands slipped on the rung above us. I put an arm under his left armpit and held him, “You’re good, take it slow.”

  Carl was up and then I went up after him. I stepped onto the gravel of the roof and slammed the hatch closed. Not so much to stop the zombies… I’m pretty sure they couldn’t climb… I hoped not, anyway… but to cut off their horrible moaning and growling.

  “Holy fuck, Sharky!” Andrea said, throwing herself into my arms.

  I squeezed her and put an arm out and gripped Carl’s shoulder, “You guys okay? That was exciting, huh?”

  Carl only shook his head and breathed in and out in slow methodical intervals. He was starting to look better.

  “I’d rather be having a beer on the boat,” Andrea said.

  “Yeah, no shit,” I replied.

  “Now what?” She asked.

  “We take five,” I replied, “Have some water, crack into a delicious MRE and then plan our next move.”

  “And what’s that?” Carl asked, walking over and sitting on an air conditioning unit. He unslung his pack and began to dig through it.

  “Why, getting off this roof of course,” I said with a cheery smile, “Fucking duh.”

  Andrea guffawed and even Carl chuckled. That was a good sign.

  “And then getting the rest of our supplies,” I finished.

  “You’re shitting me,” Carl said.

  “Nope,” I replied, perching on an adjacent unit. I dug a bottle of water and an MRE from my pack, “We’re here for a reason. We’ll do a quick recon on the edge of the building, see how many G’s there are and where they are. There’s got to be a drain pipe or something we can shimmy down. I don’t suppose you guys know where to find food and medical stuff?”

  “Actually,” Andrea said, ripping into one of her own rations, “We did find some info on that. Medical stores and other non-combat supplies. Just a couple of blocks from here.”

  “Great,” I said, opening what the package claimed was beef stroganoff. It kind of was, I guess. I pulled out the peanut butter crackers, raisins, candy and fig bar. I put the meal pouch into the heating sleeve, poured in the salt water and let the flameless heating process begin, “Because I don’t want this trip to be for nothing.”

  We rested and ate in silence for a few minutes. When I was done eating my “meal,” I quickly and quietly walked the perimeter of the building.

  “Anything?” Andrea asked.

  “They’re all inside,” I reported, “Except for a handful in the back. There are drain pipes at several spots, probably the best of which is one of the two front corners. We can slide down and be in the truck in seconds.”

  “Slide down three stories on an aluminum drain pipe?” Carl asked incredulously.

  “I think they’re probably a bit sturdier than that,” I replied, “Unless you’d rather hang out up here.”

  Carl sighed, “Fuckin-A… Okay, let’s do this. The sooner we get the hell away from this building and this base, the better.”

  “I’ll second that,” Andrea quipped.

  “Okay, then, let’s get to it.”

  It was actually pretty easy to slide down the steel drain pipe. I went first, then Andrea and then Carl. He wasn’t quite so graceful and ended up with a minor abrasion on his palms, but we were on the ground and not being chewed on by ghouls.

  So everybody was happy for once.

  We got in the truck, started it and hauled ass away from the building. On Andrea’s suggestion, we went in the exact opposite direction we needed to.

  “If they follow us,” she said, “they’ll go in the direction they last saw us. First those fucks behind the admin building and then any that come out will follow them.”

  “Hopefully,” Carl interjected.

  “Yeah,” She said, “So make your next right after this one, Sam. You go down about two blocks and then turn right again. I figure open this baby up to about sixty and then put it in neutral.”

  I grinned, “The old Pied Piper routine, eh?”

  “Right,” She said with a grin of her own, “We’ll coast the last quarter of a mile or so to the supply dump. Fifteen or twenty minutes there and we can high tail it out of here.”

  I followed her instructions and within minutes, we coasted up to what looked like a fortified warehouse. Once again, the base was as silent as the grave and had that feeling of expectation.

  “Jesus,” Carl said softly once we’d stopped and the quiet pressed in on us again, “It still feels…”

  “Evil,” Andrea finished for him, “It’s evil here. And that small horde back at admin wasn’t the only reason we were feeling creeped out.”

  The warehouse was a treasure trove. Thousands of cases of MRE’s, canned food, snacks, bottled water, filters, filtration pumps, purification tabs and even cigarettes. There were tons of medical supplies and a lot of other things as well.

  We loaded the two and a half ton truck with as much stuff as would fit inside.

  “I don’t know where the hell we’re going to put it all,” I commented as we piled in, “But better too much than too little.”

  “What I love about you, babe,” Andrea said with a wink.

  The crackle of the VHF interrupted anything Carl might have said, “Eagle this is Houston, come in Eagle.”

  “That’s Andy,” Andrea said.

  “Glad I’m not the only captain obvious,” Carl muttered with a smirk.

  “This is Eagle, we copy, Houston,” I replied.

  “Red… we’ve got a situation out here,” Andy said, “Mark came after us in a couple of center consoles. We persuaded them to leave and sunk one, but blue’s been hit.”

  “Oh Jesus…” Andrea breathed, putting a hand to her mouth, “Are they—“

  “Is he okay?” I asked, “How about the rest of you?”

  “Hit in the upper chest,” Andy replied tersely, “I’ve got him patched up for n
ow… but our troubles aren’t over. After Mark had bugged out, we kept going for the Skyway. We’re about three-quarters of a mile away and more of his gang is up on the bridge with weapons.”

  “Fuck me!” I snarled and struck the steering wheel with my fist, “What the fuck is with this guy?”

  “Can they just run through?” Carl asked.

  “Negative,” Andy said. I’d had the talk button pressed, “We’re hemmed in. They can cover the whole bay. As of now, there’s no way to get out of Tampa Bay without coming under fire.”

  I asked and received a more in depth report, “Okay, LT, hang in there. Just drift where you are for now. We’ve found a whole shitload of stuff. We’ll find a way to help you even the odds.”

  “Aye, aye,” Andy replied, “Just don’t take too long. I have a feeling this Mexican standoff isn’t going to last.”

  Chapter 22

  From the diary of Tara Shafer

  Dated 12/4/2019 continued

  Dear Diary,

  Yeah, I’m writing some more. It seems like this shit never ends, and in fact just keeps piling up. We’ve got a couple of free minutes now, though, so I thought I’d jot some stuff down.

  After spotting the men up on the Skyway, both boats furled their jibs and cut their motors. We basically sat idling a mile or so from the bridge.

  “Now what?” I asked Andy.

  “I’m going to try and contact our team,” Andy said, “and then… I don’t know. We’re sort of stuck. We can’t go forward without coming under fire. We can’t use the intracoastal because it goes under 275 and they’ll just beat us to the punch. Probably can’t go anywhere in Saint Pete on the bay because they can easily track us and might come out with more boats.”

  “So basically, you’re saying we’re fucked,” I said glumly.

  Andy smiled thinly and shook his head, “Not necessarily. There’s always a way out.”

  He got on the radio and I heard him talking to Sam. That was a comfort. We hadn’t heard from them in a couple of hours it seemed. Andy finished up and called over to the cutter. Tony was sitting behind the wheel with Brenda near him.

  “I got ahold of Sam,” Andy explained.

  “I heard,” Tony said, “I hope they come up with something.”

  “Any ideas?” Andy asked him.

  Tony didn’t look that good. Although Andy had patched him up, Tony had lost a good amount of blood and probably needed to sleep for a while. Even from twenty-five feet away, he looked drawn.

  Tony shook his head, “Not really. They’ve got us covered. We could try and run through, but they’d just open up on us. We’re in fiberglass boats here and can’t take much of a beating. I’m already worried about the damage you’ve got on the starboard side of the hull as is. The last thing I want is to invite more bullets our way.”

  Andy nodded, “We could try it after dark.”

  Tony frowned and then shook his head, “All it takes is one of those fuckers with NVG’s or even a couple of spotlights. Never mind just seeing us clear even in the dark. Two big white targets on the night blackened waters.”

  Andy cursed under his breath.

  The radio crackled again, “Hey… Andy, Tony, Sam, Andrea… Tara, Brenda or Carl… you fuckers out there?”

  It was Mark, of course. God I hate that fucker.

  Andy came over to pick up the VHF microphone but Tony beat him to it.

  “What the fuck do you want, asshole?” Tony barked over the channel.

  “I got somebody here wants to talk,” Mark said in a voice that sounded full of itself even over the radio.

  “Not interested,” Tony replied.

  There was a pause and then another voice came over the speaker. Andy grimaced when he heard it. I guess he recognized it.

  “Commander,” A deep and slightly gravelly voice said, “I think it’s time we came to an agreement. We tried last night and you guys decided it’d be better to fight us and try and wreck one of our vehicles.”

  Andy grinned, “I guess the forklift did some damage.”

  “I hope nothing invaluable was lost,” Tony snapped, “And I don’t negotiate with thugs. You people came in shooting and threatened us. Just the fact that you’re teamed up with that fucking punk Mark says loads about your lack of character.”

  Another pause, “Commander… this is a harsh world and we all have to fight to survive. We’ve banded together to do just that and have claimed Saint Pete as our territory.”

  “You’re shitting me, right?” Tony replied, “This is the United States of America, fuck face. You don’t claim anything that isn’t lawfully yours.”

  “There is no fucking America left!” The man said, his voice no longer quite as calm and patient as it had been.

  “As far as I’m concerned there is,” Tony continued, “I swore an oath to protect it and uphold its laws. Maybe that means nothing to a lowlife biker bitch like you, but it means a hell of a lot to us.”

  “Why is he arguing with this guy?” I asked Andy.

  “Stalling, I think,” Andy said, “The longer we waste time, the more time Sam and mom have to come up with a plan to back stop us.”

  I nodded, “yeah, but still… they can’t get us now, so what difference does it make?”

  Andy shrugged, “I’m not sure, but my guess would be that they want what we have. They’d rather us give up than simply try to kill us. It’s a waste of manpower, bullets and fuel.”

  “Didn’t stop them a couple of hours ago,” I commented.

  “Some folks are slow to learn,” Andy said with a grin, “Mark probably talked us down and made us seem like an easy target. This leader guy now knows better, I think.”

  The two men had been arguing on the radio the entire time and we listened in.

  “…the fact is that I’m in charge of this town now,” Biker man said, “and everything in it is mine. That includes you people and your boats.”

  “Now we come to it,” Tony said nastily, “What do you want? A surrender? You should know by now that we’re not such an easy target.”

  A long pause, “True. We underestimated you. But you’re trapped, Commander.”

  “Exactly who am I speaking to?” Tony asked. It was sort of out of the blue.

  “Name’s Drake,” The biker leader said. He said it like it meant something, “Governor of West Tampa Bay. And I’m ordering you to head back to the Harborage and surrender your boats, supplies and people to my protection.”

  “You gotta be shitting me,” Andy said with a frown.

  It was funny to hear Tony say exactly the same thing over the radio and then, “Drake, you’re not the governor of shit. I don’t know where you get off or think you get your authority. However, let me lay it on the line for you. We’re highly trained military personnel. We’re well armed and supplied. Any attempt, and I do mean any attempt to capture or injure us will be met with an immediate and merciless response, as you’ve already seen. So I suggest you let us go on our way. Because if we do come ashore, it’s to hunt you down and destroy you. Am I making myself clear?”

  It sounded pretty scary to me. These were SEAL’s and a marine these dumb shits were threatening. I’d be worried.

  The biker leader, or Drake, I guess, didn’t seem to be. He only laughed, “I command over a hundred men, Commander. You’re outmanned and outgunned.”

  “Then open fire now,” Tony sneered.

  Another pause without a response.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Tony said. I could hear the contempt in his voice.

  “Then proceed under the skyway,” Drake sneered back, “Or take the intracoastal under the Meissner Bridge if you’re so sure of yourself. Or come ashore. You see, we’re at an impasse here, and only a reasonable compromise will solve this dilemma.”

  There was a long pause where Tony didn’t answer. After about two minutes, Drake came over the radio again, “Well?”

  Another slight pause, “Go fuck yourself, Drake.”

  A
series of shots crackled from up on the bridge. I jumped a little but Andy put his hand on mine, “Take it easy. From this distance there’s no way they can hit us. Even with a high powered rifle like one of our .308’s, their bullets can come a mile but it’d take a true sharp shooter to hit us.”

  He was right, because other than the few dozen rounds that were fired, the bikers didn’t fire anymore. It was all for show. A poor attempt at intimidation.

  “Can you hit them?” I asked.

  Andy frowned, “I’m an okay shot… but I don’t know. Tony probably could, but not with that bullet wound.”

  “Why not try?” I asked, “What could it hurt?”

  “Well… for a really good shooter, the max range on the .308 is about a thousand yards,” Andy said, “The problem is that the bullet, while big and powerful, loses velocity over time and after about three thousand feet, starts to drop fast. You could probably hit something at close to a mile, but it’d be tricky and frankly beyond my skills.”

  I frowned, “Good point. On the other hand, what’s it cost to try? Just aim really high.”

  Andy shrugged, “Yeah, I guess. I’ll need you to act as spotter, though.”

  I grabbed the binoculars, “I’m good with that.”

  “Tony,” Andy called over to the other boat without using the radio, “I’m going to try and hit them with my Winchester.”

  “At three quarters of a mile?” Tony shouted back.

  Andy threw out his hands, “Worth a shot… so to speak.”

  Tony nodded, “Can’t hurt. Just remember you’re going half again the max range of that rifle. The bullet will drop pretty fast. You’ll need to aim high, like way over their heads. Honestly, I doubt that even if you hit them, it’ll do much damage.”

  “Yeah,” Andy said, “But maybe it’ll make them think a bit. We could always get closer, too.”

  “Try a few shots,” Tony said, “Use Tara as a spotter.”

  I held up the field glasses and Tony grinned.

  Andy and I went forward to the foredeck. Both boats were facing east southeast, sort of side on to the bridge and with the waves on the port stern. Andy said that would help him aim better as well.