by Vic Sandel
“Oh, I don't know. What would you say, Ron? I was busy keeping the plane in the air at the reduced speed.”
“I'm not sure either. We covered over twenty miles. Maybe five- or-six thousand or so.”
Everyone gasped! The Colonel was shocked. In his wildest dreams, he never expected that high a number.
“Mr. Porter, you never cease to amaze. First you locate these potentially lifesaving devices, among your other accomplishments, and then you deliver news that for perhaps the first time gives us real hope.”
Everybody clapped at this and praised Jessie, once more. Bob Eller just looked on happily, as a proud father should.
Chapter 41
The Summer Sun
Brian Sanders and Lou Harris, along with most of their crew, had been up almost all night. That would have been fine if they were vampires, but alas, they were merely human. However, Ron Macklin actually did sit in on the meeting, as he would be leading a few members of the CAG team that would be coming along to help secure any suitable vessel they should decide on.
The first problem was deciding on where to look. When the Coast Guard men had put their families on a yacht in Lake Erie, it had seemed like the proper thing to do. It was right in front of them, the boat was near and available, so it was quick and easy. After a night of study, however, they had learned it might not have been the best decision they could have made.
Realizing their families might be aboard for a long time, they now knew that better options were available.
First of all, they wanted to be anchored over deep water. Lake Erie's deepest drop was two-hundred-ten feet. It was not impossible for a zombie to climb the anchor line at that depth. Second, with the outside access and water coming through the canal, it was slightly brackish at times. Absolute fresh water would have been preferred. They never checked to see if the yacht had desalination equipment aboard. So far, all had gone well, but after the night's discoveries they would move the yacht.
As they were all trained members of the United States Coast Guard, stationed on the Great Lakes, they should have known this stuff. They were disappointed in themselves, as they realized that they had just taken the easy way out.
While checking out Lake Superior, they found it much deeper. At its deepest, it bottomed out at four-hundred-eighty-three feet. The problem was that it is very brackish which made the water harder to make potable, as well as lessening the available fishing.
They found the perfect solution in Lake Michigan, near Lake Huron, in an area called the Chippewa Basin. They both were fresh water lakes, although not without pollution from the surrounding cities. Best of all, Michigan bottomed out at nine-hundred-eighty-three feet. With the right vessel, purifying the water would pose no problem, and the fish were plentiful.
It had been decided. They would head for Lake Michigan in their search for the ideal vessel. If that failed, they could sail one from any of the other lakes. Brian also had decided to fly back to their base on Lake Erie to retrieve the pontoon sled that bolted on to the skids of the Dolphin, in case they needed to make a water landing. It would take them a bit out of the way, but it might just be well worth it. Besides, they could top off the tanks and extend the search time.
As they took off, Lou Harris and his crew headed directly to Michigan to begin the search. Once Brian was fitted out he would come in from the opposite shore as Lou was checking to avoid duplication of the effort.
When Brian touched down at their former base, it was not hard to see that there had been visitors. Not zombies, but of the human kind. Not surprisingly they had broken the locks and tossed the place to see what usable items they might find. In a way, Brian felt sorry for them as they had left nothing of any real value behind, until he checked the fuel pumps. The idea of topping off the chopper was quickly dismissed, but the pontoon sled was right where it should have been. Clearing the way, he set the helicopter atop the sled and it was quickly secured, adding little weight but giving them much more versatility. There was another USCG station about twenty miles up the coast they could check out for fuel.
Setting down at the next station seemed to be no better than the first stop. Evidently someone had tried to get fuel and found the pump not working due to the lack of electricity. They took their rage out on the helpless pump, beating it into the ground. Glen and the Chief hopped out and used the special key to unscrew the steel plate set into the concrete slab. Once open, they inserted a long rod to check the fuel level in the tank. It wasn't full, but certainly enough for their needs. They started the small, gas-driven pump they had brought for that purpose and began to pump fuel into the tanks.
As Lou and his crew plus several GAG-23 guests made their way along the western shore of Lake Michigan, they were struck by the utter devastation they saw below. Cities in ruin, schools, museums, parks, nothing had been spared. Irreplaceable pieces of valuable art and history that had been preserved for hundreds, if not thousands of years, gone in a matter of months.
There was an abundance of boats and ships of all sorts, most half sunken and many laying on their sides in the shadows. Near the urban areas was the worst as they had the heaviest concentrations of population. With all the vessels they spotted, it was surprising to see that not even one was under power and moving. Surely some must have escaped to the water and found shelter aboard one of the many craft.
Harris suddenly realized that by hugging the shore, within reach of land, this was all he would find. He decided to look a couple of miles out from the shoreline, where it would have been more difficult for the undead to reach.
About a half hour later he found it. The prettiest, little, cruise ship to ever sail the lakes. She was named “The Summer Sun”, and unlike the flat, one-deck boats that plied the lakes and rivers, this was a multi-decked beauty with all the trimmings. She was 257 feet long and 43 feet wide. Her sisty-nine cabins could accommodate 138 guests and she only had a draft of eight feet which would allow her access to most canals. Her dark blue and white trimmed hull was slightly rust-streaked from lack of maintenance, but far less than if she had been lying in salt water. She sat gently at anchor in the momentarily still water. It would have been the perfect picture, but for the two empty, small boats tied to her anchor chain.
Lou called in her coordinates to Brian, who advised he was only 10 minutes out and suggested Lou wait to approach until both of them were on site.
Minutes later, the Dolphin joined the larger Jayhawk on the scene. Brian decided to make a low pass over the ship, just to see what woke up. He didn't need to wait long. As they passed over the stern two men popped up and began shooting at the chopper with bolt action, hunting rifles.
They were bearded and unkempt. They wore dirty camouflage clothing and ripped hats with shredded brims. They looked like they had stepped off the set of an old television show, “Duck Dynasty”, albeit a dirtier version.
Glen slid open a side door a bit and at Brian's order let go a burst from the fifty caliber into the water behind the fan tail, being careful not to hit the ship.
The two men ran through a side door and into the ship.
Brian decided to try a gentler tactic and keyed the megaphone. “Attention, this is the United States Coast Guard. You are trespassing on a vessel under the protection of the government. You will vacate the premisses immediately or be forcibly evicted!”
A shout came from within the vessel. “The fuck we will! Finders keepers! You want us, just fly those choppers in here, and get us!”
A chorus of laughs followed that announcement.
“We have no wish to harm you. Leave now, before one of you is seriously hurt or even killed!”
“It aint us that'll get hurt!”
Both Lou and Brian realized that these men had obviously located the cocktail lounge and were plastered. A quick conference with Ronnie Macklin produced a workable plan.
Brian could set down on the pontoons but Lou couldn't hover forever. Fortunately it was just a few minutes before dark.
/> The sun was just setting as first Brian's chopper, than Lou's passed low over the bow of the ship. As each passed the three CAG members aboard jumped from a distance of about 15 feet, landing softly and soundlessly onto the deck.
Since the engines were not running, the ship would have been completely dark in a couple of minutes. That would not have been satisfactory, as the team wanted the squatters to have a clear view of the show to come.
Ron issued his instructions. “Remember, no one is to be hurt or bit. We are here to scare them, not kill anybody!”
His regulars already knew the drill, but he was concerned about a newly converted vampire, Daryl Westbury. Before the mission, they had debated whether or not he should be included as he was a loose cannon, and still way too impressed with his abilities.
Silently the team entered the ship. Even if it weren't for the sign with an arrow pointing the way to the Cocktail Lounge, it would have been easy to find their way. The drunken and unconcerned men, continued to laugh, shout, and toss empty bottles.
Silently, the team approached the double doors to the drunken scene.
They threw the doors wide open! “I thought we told you to leave!”
Seeing the apparently unarmed team facing them, one of the men grabbed his rifle. In less than a second, it had been ripped from his hands as the professional group of vampires began to do, what they do best.
At that moment, the CAG group changed. Their brows thickened, faces distorted and fangs came down, fully exposing how fearsome they could really be.
“What the fuck?” Cried one man as he ran out the door,through the corridor, and jumped off the fantail, swimming to his boat.
In the melee, the other one got to his rifle and was able to get off a shot that struck Daryl in the arm. The new vampire lost it completely. He grabbed the man, tossed the gun, and was about to bite down on his neck! Suddenly, he felt his own head and neck snapped back and held in a vice-like grip.
“Bite down, and the only one dead will be you.” It was Ronnie Macklin himself, who was known to be one of the oldest and most powerful vampires alive.
Daryl released his grip. Ronnie picked the man up and in one motion threw him out the door and into the lake.
One-by-one, the men jumped and swam for their boats.
Lou Harris needed to refuel and headed for home while Brian landed and tied off to the ship. After posting the guards he and several crew members joined the CAG group aboard the ship.
“Whew, it stinks in here.” was the first thing he had to say as he entered the lounge.
The room stunk of urine and even feces and unwashed men. Opening windows would not be enough. They needed to pull the carpet and get the air conditioning going. Brian dispatched the Chief and a couple of mechanically inclined team members to see what could be done.
Those left in the lounge grabbed each other in a team hug.
“Well she's ours! The children will be safe in the 'Summer Sun.'”
While everyone was happy, Ron Macklin became quiet. He would need to contact his superiors in their order. A decision needed to be reached in regard to Daryl Westbury!
Chapter 42
Playing for Keeps
Bob Eller was about as close to depression as he had ever been. He, Abbington and Pete Marcus had flown over large concentrations of the enemy and incinerated them in walls of flame six times. They had terminated tens of thousands, maybe even close to one million, and still they came. Even the charcoal broiled ones, who's brains were still intact, kept coming. It was exactly like that lady had told Brian Sanders. Dry sand on a beach, the more you shovel, the more falls back into the hole.
To make matters worse, there was the possibility of needing to terminate one of their own. He didn't know Daryl Westbury and he had not fathered him, but it was up to all vampires to enforce the unbreakable law. No humans would be bitten, except for a life or death situation and only then if permission had been granted. Of course voluntary conversion that had been approved by the counsel was another exception. The counsel would hear of this situation as soon as feasible and their decision would be carried out.
Everyone was busy. Robyn and her team were administering their newly enriched vaccine to all the new arrivals, before they left for the ship.
Jessie was helping Baldwin and Marco turn the sound cannons into the devastating microwave weapons they so badly needed. Periodically he would take up his aircraft with one of the doctors to test their modifications. They were doing well and hoping to get the results they needed with what they had. With the creatures ever advancing, they really didn't have the time to make the trip to the Air Force Lab in New Mexico.
The CAG team was establishing a clear zone. They were forming a mile wide circle, about twenty-five miles from the base. It was kind of a “moat” where they could isolate large groups in an all-out blitz, using mobile sound weapons, liquid nitrogen carrying fire engines and even the small tank they had discovered. At the thirty- five mile mark, they were using napalm and a couple of Hades bombs to create another firebreak where they would be free to use bombs and use the Gatlings. It was their sincere wish the zombies would never get this far.
The population of Wright Patterson kept swelling as humans, driven by the ever-moving horde of death continue breaking into the open and being picked up by the ever patrolling rescue helicopters.
Rodney Richards had become chief pilot of the third Jayhawk with Dick Grayson as his co-pilot. They melded to make a formidable team. They had become like the “dog catcher” of the base, always bringing in strays. Of course, most were human.
They had found that several of the cadre on the base had marine mechanic experience, and sent them out to the “Sun” to get everything in proper working order and get her to a fueling point on the lake before loading her passengers.
Colonel Dickerson had finally made contact with Daniel Swenson to inform him of the vaccine progress and the effective use of sound weapons. He would pass this on around the world. Unfortunately, he had no promising news to deliver in return.
Chapter 43
Soundcraft
Marco and Baldwin were as close to happy as they ever got. On a base the size of Wright Patterson the caches of available parts were staggering. One usually needed to search a bit, but with a little effort what was needed would inevitably be located.
The big sound arrays on the Skycraft had been beefed up to the point where they could shatter cinder blocks. Zombie heads from five-hundred feet were child's play!
Once they figured out how to modify the larger units, the two scientists set about working on the smaller, lighter units to see what could bee accomplished with the fifty or more brought in with the rest. Their goal was to get them to the ice shattering stage. They would then be mounted on the fire pumpers. That would make the former fire units totally self-contained “zombie destroyers” Shoot them with the freezing slush, and shatter them with the sonic gun, all in a couple of seconds. The idea was to fit out all twenty of the vehicles in this manner.
The fire trucks would be reloaded from the second air separating unit that would be located in an armored vehicle near the scene.
They were very close to having the sound units up to the needed level, and the fire trucks were modified weeks ago to deliver the liquid nitrogen.
The Chinook, in addition to the freezing apparatus already aboard and tested, would be fitted with one of the large sound emitters. That would allow it to also be self-contained and pilots could choose which way would work best, depending on the logistics of the area.
A team of mechanics and electricians was on sight to handle the installations.
The jets were too fast for the sound systems. Depending on the situation, they would continue to be deployed as a delaying tactic.
For mass termination, the plan was to mount four of the largest units on the C-113. They would be aimed in four directions and adjusted so that the patterns overlapped and tuned to match the frequencies set on the Skycraft. For
once, when they approach Major Marcus with the idea of giving up his F-14, there was no complaint.
The helicopters, including Eller's Trooper, would have machine gun and rocket pods removed, except for the Gatlings, and be fitted with large sonics, similarly tuned.
All of this was totally doable, the only limiting factor was time. They were all going around the clock. Since they already had established the criteria needed for the larger units, the installations were moving along rapidly and completion was expected in the next twenty four hours.
Jessie and his Air Monarch joined the three jets in flying repeated missions to delay the arrival of the main body of the creepers. As he passed over the groups, he found, they had fallen by the hundreds. Pete Marcus, Doug Abbington, and Bob Eller, despite his depression, continued to pound and incinerate every cluster they found.
Chapter 44
On the Lakes
All was going well on the “Summer Sun”. Her maintenance had been “spot on”, and it had taken very little to get her engines, generators, and systems working again. Even fuel had posed no problem, because whoever put her at anchor in the cove topped off her tanks before leaving the ship. It was obvious they had expected to return very soon.
Their intention was to find an abandoned dock to load the passengers that would be living aboard this little, floating palace. However, there were just too many roaming groups of zombies to do that comfortably. They were like ants. Even one ant finds something sweet and tasty, and within minutes, there were more. Somehow, on some level, these monsters were communicating. The thought of that had never been explored.
It was Brian Sanders, with the help of Lou Harris, who had been assigned the task of getting the children and other passengers aboard. They planned to land them on a barge offshore and tender them to the “Sun”. This way they would avoid having to take the chance of working from a pier.
