by John Ringo
“If there were any survivors, that would not be very reassuring,” Steve pointed out.
“No, just zombies,” Fontana said, looking in. “Dead zombies.”
“Sure they were zombies?” Faith asked.
“They’re naked and some of them are chewed,” Fontana said, closing and marking the hatch. “I hope like hell they were.”
* * *
“Da, I’m starting to think that zombies aren’t the worst things in the world . . .”
The cabin on the top deck was nearly the size of the main saloon, with a panoramic view of the surrounding ocean, a massive in-deck hottub, a wet bar big enough for a public bar and a bed that could hold forty. At a guess, there had once been a good bit of gilding, from the looks of where stuff had been ripped out. There was also a huge stack of Mountain House boxes and five-gallon containers of water.
The solid steel door had been cut through by a welding torch. On the bed were ten women, naked, their hands bound behind their backs and shot in the head. At the head of the bed was a male corpse, unbound, also naked, with the top of his head blown off. All of the bodies had been gnawed by ferals, but they hadn’t died from the zombies.
“Major Socorro,” Fontana said, smiling thinly. “We meet again.”
“How do you know it’s him?” Faith asked. The body’s face had been chewed off.
“Right height, right build and I know how he was about women,” Fontana said. “There’s rough and then there’s batshit.”
“Holed up to wait for the zombies to take over,” Steve said. “Probably with the pick of the prettier women. Then when the mutineers burned through the door he shot them and himself?”
“Looks that way,” Fontana said, wandering around the suite. “What’s missing are the weapons and ammo.”
“And the gilt,” Steve said, pointing to where something had been prised from the walls. “You know, modern sportfishers don’t sink very readily. They’ve got buoyant foam inserted everywhere . . .”
“Zombies are taking over, the mercs load up the one away-boat with all the gold and all the guns?” Fontana said. “Overload the boat?”
“Which explains why it went down like a stone,” Steve said, shaking his head.
“You know,” Fontana mused, “billionaire like this probably had real gold. I mean, bars, coin . . .”
“Jewelry,” Steve said. “And not costume.”
“Did we just drop a treasure ship in five thousand feet of water?” Faith said. “Please tell me we didn’t drop a treasure ship in five thousand feet of water . . .”
* * *
“Yeah, you did.”
James Michael “call me Mike” Dugan, assistant engineer, had been found hiding in one of the yacht’s cavernous storage lockers along with a female Indonesian cook named Eka Sari. They’d been brought up on deck and were sipping soup in a relatively undamaged portion of the promenade.
“We could hear them talking about it,” Sari said softly. “When they were speaking English.”
“It wasn’t real clear that Socorro had taken over at first,” Dugan said. “Mick was always sort of standoffish with the crew. But then Socorro took over his cabin and the . . . Africans started going nuts. Mick had brought a bunch of his friends and execs along.”
“And women?” Steve asked.
“Yeah,” Dugan said. “Lots of girls. Mick hadn’t been seen for a week. I mean, I didn’t interact with guests but—”
“I did,” Sari said. “And there were questions. All of Mr. Mickerberg’s food was being taken to him by security, ‘for his safety.’”
“Then . . . Socorro had all the guests brought up on deck and the Africans separated out the men and women, and the women who were . . . older,” Dugan said. “And the Africans shot ’em. Right in front of God and everybody. Told us if we didn’t follow his orders, we’d get the same. Then the party started . . .” he said, glancing quickly at Sari and then away.
“Rape,” Sari said, looking at the deck. “Much rape.”
“Told you Socorro was batshit,” Fontana said, shrugging. “I think he hired the Africans ’cause they were the only guys he could find as fucked up as he was.”
“Then people started going zombie,” Dugan said. “And it really hit the fan. There was some sort of a split in the gang. We heard Socorro was killed, the leader of that faction, guy named Meloy, went zombie and the Africans, those that hadn’t turned, started loading the away boat. With, like, every bit of treasure they could get their hands on. And there was a lot. It was about that time that I . . . went into the compartment and sealed the door. Turned out Sari was already there . . .”
“I had hidden when the fighting broke out,” Sari said.
“There was a pause there,” Steve said.
“What pause?” Dugan asked.
“Before you hid in the compartment,” Steve said. “You skipped a step.”
“I sort of locked the engines down and turned off the lights,” Dugan said, grinning thinly. “And locked down the engine room doors. I was the last surviving engineering officer. That’s what got them to leave the ship; no lights, no power, drifting. I figured, turn everything off, lock it out, hide in the compartment, wait for them to leave and then come out.”
“Good plan,” Fontana said drily. “Except for the zombies.”
“Yeah, them,” Dugan said, shrugging. “Thanks for clearing them off.”
“Mr. Dugan, you know the laws of salvage,” Steve said. “Any live survivors means it’s not salvage. Our . . . approach is slightly different. We allow survivors equal shares on all portable wealth of the boat. The boat is property of the flotilla as well as half of the materials. We give . . . When there is a survivor or survivors who can run the vessel, we generally allow them to keep it if they want to join the flotilla. Or if we don’t need it. In the case of this, let’s say we’ll be extremely lenient in that regard. But if, as you’ve indicated, it’s still probably functional and has some fuel . . . I think this, we may need.”
“So . . . That sort of makes you pirates,” Dugan said.
“Needs must is the best I can say,” Steve said. “Okay, flip it around. You take the boat. It’s not salvage. It’s not entirely clear, by the way. Are you going to finish clearing it?”
“Uh . . .” Dugan said. “Can I get some help?”
“No,” Fontana said. “I mean, face it, you already did.”
“So even passing that,” Steve said. “Your stores will eventually run out. Where are you going to get more? Where are you going to get fuel?”
“You can’t run this without support,” Fontana said.
“On the other hand,” Steve said, “we can’t run it at all. You and a Coast Guard petty officer are the first qualified engineers we’ve rescued. I doubt that however many manuals she reads, my wife can even start the engines on this thing.”
“Not the way I buggered the computer controls she can’t,” Dugan said.
“So, obviously, we need your cooperation and I hope support,” Steve said. “This is well set-up to be a floating command and support ship. We need somewhere to put the refugees, give them a few days rest before we give them the choice of helping or being put into Coventry.”
“You can get to Coventry?” Dugan said.
“There are two sailboats we floated in Bermuda harbor,” Fontana said. “Which is filled with sharks that have gotten used to snacking on uncoordinated zombies. Anybody who doesn’t want to help out we drop on those. They’re hellholes, really, but there’s nothing else to do with them.”
“Most of them are less sick, lame and lazy than tired and afraid of the sea,” Steve said, shrugging. “And there’s no great benefit, to their eyes, to bouncing around in tiny boats in a big sea. I think that some of them would probably go for being on this one. Even if it’s not in the big room.”
“Cleaning this up . . .” Dugan said, shaking his head. “When I went to ground it had gotten bad, but not this bad.”
“That’s the
price of getting out of Coventry,” Steve said, grinning mirthlessly. “And the price of remaining out is continuing to provide support to a reasonable standard.”
“I can run the engines,” Dugan said. “For as long as they hold out. And they’re good, don’t get me wrong. And new. But I can’t con this thing. Where you gonna get a captain?”
* * *
“What do you think?”
Despite her surname, Geraldine Miguel could have been from Missouri. She had that Midwestern look. Blond hair, blue eyes, Scandinavian facial structure. She was actually from Texas, a ninth-generation family that went back to the pre-Republic days. Most of the line, however, was Germanic rather than Hispanic, which explained the looks.
“I think it’s going to take a hell of a lot of crew,” Geraldine said, looking around the still-dark helm. “And one hell of a lot of cleanup.”
“I have a cunning plan for that,” Steve said as the lights came on and the panels started to light.
“Which involves?” Geraldine asked.
“Using an enemy.”
CHAPTER 26
“Sea Hooky, Tina’s Toy, over,” Steve said. “Sea Hooky, Tina’s Toy, over.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea, Steve?” Stacey asked.
“No?” Steve said. “But it’s the best idea I can come up with.”
“What do you want, Smith?” the voice growled over the radio.
“I want to meet you out here,” Steve said.
“Fuck you, bite me and go away.”
“You’re about out of fuel or already out of fuel,” Steve said. “You’re fishing for your dinner and not catching a lot of fish. I’ll trade you a half a tank of gas to come out to this location. When you get here, I’ll throw in a load of supplies. The gas is just to be able to get out here. Or you can keep fishing for yellowtail.”
“Yellowtail isn’t bad eating.”
“When you’re catching any,” Steve said. “It gets tiresome as sushi. I want to make you an offer I don’t think you’ll refuse.”
“What offer?” Isham asked suspiciously. “And why are you so nice all of a sudden?”
“Because before you were a pain and a problem I did not need,” Steve said. “Now you are a potential asset. I’ll even lend you a respirator.”
“Toy, Cooper. Are you serious?”
“You want these headaches?” Steve asked. “You’re the second choice for this.”
“No way,” Chris responded.
“So there’s a hook,” Isham said.
“Actually, I can see you seeing it as a positive,” Steve said. “You’re also going stir-crazy with nothing to do. I want to offer you an opportunity.”
“This is going to be a doozy, ain’t it?”
* * *
“You son of a bitch,” was the first thing Isham said as he stepped onto the flush deck.
“I feel the same way,” Steve said, holding out a respirator. “Take a walk with me.”
“I know you don’t want me to captain this thing,” Isham said, putting the respirator on. “How the hell do you use this thing?”
Steve showed him how to fit it.
“You could barely figure out how to steer it,” Steve said, walking up the back deck. “However, part of the opportunity is being able to sleep on it in a very comfortable cabin.”
“One that stinks,” Isham said, looking at the saloon. “Jesus, this is a wreck.”
“And someone needs to clean it up,” Steve said. “Some ones. It will take a lot of people to clean it. And to run it.”
“So you can have the big yacht?” Isham growled.
“So that we can use it as an at-sea support base,” Steve said. “Somewhere for the refugees and the crews to fall back on for rest and refit. I don’t know if you’d realized it, but there are storms that are about to start sweeping down on this area. We’re going to have to leave soon. Our crews aren’t good enough, our boats aren’t good enough, to survive the North Atlantic in winter. Or a bad tropical. We need a base. The Large isn’t big enough.”
“How are you . . . ?” Isham said, shaking his head.
“I’ll provide plenty of answers,” Steve said. “But I want you to follow me and see something first.”
* * *
“Dead bodies,” Isham said. He’d seen quite a few on the way down. Since he hadn’t been working with the flotilla he’d had to stop and try not to puke at the first few.
“Both in body armor,” Steve said. “Because there was a mutiny by the, well, mercenaries the owner hired. He wasn’t killed. They deliberately infected him with the zombie virus.”
“Jesus,” Isham said. “Sick. What’s your point?”
“This is why I threw you out,” Steve said, pointing. “And why I’ve thrown others out. What they wanted was the power and control. It’s what you want. But they couldn’t say ‘I’ve been given x amount of power and control and I’m fine with that.’ They wanted all the pussy and all the booze and all the gold. And they each wanted all of it.”
“I wasn’t going to rape your daughters, Smith,” Isham said.
“But you would have had others following you that would,” Steve said. “Or would try. Everyone talks about Faith but I would not suggest it with either one. This is the darkness that every one of us has in us, Jack. And this is what happens when we let that darkness loose. Fontana has it. I have it. And you have it but you use other means. What I understand, what Fontana understands, is that when you let it loose this is the result. No man can trust another. You desire power, control, prestige. I’m willing to give you those. But. The moment that I suspect that you are going in this direction . . . Then I will kill you, Jack. Without hesitation and without warning. This will not happen on my watch.”
“You still haven’t said exactly what you want,” Isham said.
“I want you to be the XO of the flotilla and of this boat,” Steve said. “The operations officer, if you prefer. I want you to, first, get this place cleaned up. We’ll recruit the people in Coventry for it. Which is part of the challenge because they’re not exactly self-starters.”
“God, no,” Isham said, grimacing.
“They’re who we have,” Steve said, shrugging. “You’re a micromanager. This will give vent to that. Then find the ones that can do jobs, actually do them, and set them to it on this boat. Others will be sent onboard that are actually skilled. I want this to be turned into a support boat, not a floating palace. And we need to get the resupply system under control, repairs to the boats, division of materials, organize salvage teams . . . That will all be on your shoulders. Something for you to do, Jack. Prestige, power, control.”
“And the second I let it go to my head I get a bullet in the back of the head?” Isham said with a dry laugh.
“I won’t say that we’re not playing fast and loose with the law of the sea,” Steve said. “But the law has always held that sedition, mutiny if you would, is grounds for the death sentence. Try to use the authority I’m giving you to take over and, yes, I will put a bullet in your head. Not because I want the power and authority and control. Because I know it will lead to this,” he said, pointing at his feet. “I don’t know if you understand that. If you ever can.”
“I can’t exactly mutiny if you’ve got all the guns,” Isham said.
“There will be guns,” Steve said. “I’m about done waiting for whoever that is on the phone to make up his mind. If I don’t get a call, soon, I’m going to strip that damned cutter without permission and damn to them. And one point to this is a place to put materials.”
“You really have been talking to Washington?” Isham asked.
“Washington is gone,” Steve said. “You know that. I heard about your trip to the coast. I don’t know who they are. Just that the subs, or some subs, follow their orders. Jack, I need someone to ramrod this, to get it done. You’re a get-it-done person. Can I trust you not to knife me in the back?”
“You’re so trusting,” Isham said.
&nbs
p; “It is a well-known fact that Australia is a nation populated entirely by criminals,” Steve intoned. “And criminals trust no one.”
“Funny,” Isham said.
“So you want the job?” Steve asked.
“I dunno,” Isham said, rubbing his head. “Lemme see the cabin.”
* * *
“It got trashed out by the mutineers but not the zombies,” Steve said.
The starboard side cabin was the size of a small home with a magnificent sweep of windows, and a bathroom that was worthy of any palatial home. On the other hand, some of the fixtures had been ripped out.
“Gold?” Isham said, fingering a hole in the alabaster counter top where a faucet had been pulled out.
“Probably,” Steve said.
“I don’t suppose it’s still onboard?”
“Funny story that . . .”
* * *
Steve turned the Toy away as the Alpha dropped anchor in Jew Bay and headed for the Livin’ Large.
“Livin’ Large, Toy, over,” Steve called.
“Toy, Livin’ Large. Just had to one-up us, over?”
“Something like that,” Steve replied. “Coming alongside for a chat.”
* * *
“Hey, Steve,” Kuzma said, shaking his hand.
The petty officer looked much better than the last time Steve had seen him. And he had to admit that the Coasties had been a real help. Most of the refugees were being slowly moved back to Bermuda harbor. After a few days’ rest out of the waves they were given the choice of joining the flotilla or going to Coventry. Those who volunteered for the flotilla had stayed onboard the Large. The Coasties had been managing that process, taking some of the burden off of Steve.
“How’s the personnel situation?” Steve asked.
“Nominal,” Kuzma said. “Until we get more boats, we’ve got more volunteers than we’ve got slots.”
“Good,” Steve said, hooking a finger. “That’s going to take some work. Any of them skilled?”
“Two sailors,” Bobby said, shrugging. “Deckhands, not captains, but they know deck work and some mechanics. But I’ve got one kid you need to meet. I mean, you stopped by, want to cover that?”
