As Maxey talked, I wondered how much of his speech was from his normal tour recital and how much was for our benefit. I had to give him credit. Despite his warning about putting us to sleep, he held everybody, including the kids, spellbound.
"The USCGC Spratling," he continued proudly, "is significant because she is one of the last of the fleet's high endurance cutters. With the exception of our polar ice breakers, these are-or were-the largest class of vessel in the coast guard's fleet. The Spratling is just under four hundred feet long, has a beam of forty-five feet, and weighs a little over three thousand, two hundred and fifty tons. She was a sister vessel to the USCGC Taney, the only ship that was left' floating during the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. As you might remember, the Taney was also docked at the Inner Harbor until a year ago, when she was sent to the shipyards in Norfolk for major refitting and preservation work. The Spmtling became the sole military vessel attraction after that. The Spratling was named for former Secretary of State William B. Spratling, who was a former college roommate of President Jeffrey Tyler. Please do not hold that against her."
The crowd laughed politely, and Joan applauded.
"She is one of the last three treasury-class coast guard cutters still left afloat. The Spratling and her various crews have served our country proudly for over sixty years. During that time, she's been through a lot. She saw combat in both World War Two and Vietnam, and was also called upon to assist civilians during Hurricane Agnes in the seventies and more recently, along the Gulf Coast after the devastation of Hurricane Katrina. During my, service aboard the Spratling, she was a vital asset in drug interdiction, search and rescue operations, border enforcement, and fisheries protection. While these may sound mundane to you, they are anything but. They can be-and were- very dangerous operations. She also participated in the search for John E Kennedy, Jr. after his plane crashed. She's seen a lot of history, and I'm proud to serve aboard her. I hope that you're all proud to be here, as well. Now, if you look forward, you'll notice that big dome on top of the pilot house. While we're doing that, everybody wave to Turn."
We did, and behind the pilot house window, Turn waved back. He looked embarrassed.
"That dome," Chief Maxey explained, "is a special storm-tracking antenna. In addition to its other duties, the Spratling also helped track storms for many years, until the use of more sophisticated storm-tracking satellites and radars became common. The antenna was reinstalled for posterity when she became a museum. Sadly, it is not active."
I stared at the dome. A seagull was perched on top of it, watching us with interest.
"Now," the chief continued, "for the nuts and bolts. We are powered by two diesel engines and two gas turbines with controllable-pitch screws. We have enough fuel onboard to last us about two weeks. Our top speed is just over twenty-one knots per hour. Not too shabby, folks. We also have two Boyle and Snyder boilers-a very dependable manufacturer. Luckily, the boilers are still operational and I know how to operate them, or else we'd still be sitting at the harbor. In truth, there's not much that I don't know how to do onboard this ship.
"As you can see, we are equipped with a helicopter flight deck. You're standing on it, in fact. We also have a retractable hangar, which is still operational even though we no longer have the facilities to support helicopter deployment. The weapons systems are still functional, too. After years of service and several tours of duty, the Spratling was totally refitted and relaunched in 1965. One of the showcase displays in the galley contains newspaper clippings of the event. She was modernized again through the fleet rehabilitation and modernization program in 1979. Actually, she was one of the first coast guard vessels to undergo that upgrade. During that time, the original caliber big guns were replaced with much more modern versions. They do a lot more damage."
Mitch and another man both whistled in appreciation.
"Finally," the chief said, "she's also equipped with both a seventy-six millimeter cannon and twenty millimeter Phalanx Close-in Weapons System, or CIWS, in military-speak. Sadly, though all of the weapons are still operational, we have no armament for them. After September Eleventh, the museum frowned upon keeping explosives onboard the ship, as I'm sure you can understand. I said before that the Spratling was a big ship."
Professor Williams exhaled a cloud of cherry-scented pipe smoke and interrupted him. "That's all very impressive, Chief. But what's the bad news?"
"I was getting to that. To be honest, there is all sorts of bad news. The Spratling hasn't actually been out to sea in years, and I'm afraid to push her. We're doing okay so far, but the truth is, we could break down at any time. If that happens-well, let's just say we'd have a difficult time getting replacement parts. But the engine and boilers are in good shape. As I said, we have two diesel engines and two gas turbines, and I estimate we have enough fuel for two weeks, if we conserve it. But if we run into trouble, we don't have the weaponry to fight a sea battle, and we'll have to run. The faster we go, the quicker we deplete our fuel supply."
"What kind of trouble could we run into?" Mitch asked. "It's not like the zombies can pilot a boat. They can't touch us out here." ' "No, they can't. But it's not just the dead that we have to worry about. With no law and no coastal patrols, I'm afraid the seas may be just as dangerous as the cities were. There are bad people who will take advantage of situations like this. They thrive on it. I'm sure all of you encountered them on land over the last few weeks. We could encounter them out here, as well. We might run across pirates or raiders at any time. And if that happens, we'll have to run. We have no heavy armaments. We don't have the means to defend ourselves, unless they board us and it comes down to small arms fire. I'll come back to that in a minute, but first we need to talk about supplies."
He turned to Hooper. "Cleveland, when we're finished here, I'd like you and Tran to inventory our food supply. Obviously, we didn't leave port with a full complement. This was a museum, not an active duty vessel. What little food we do have is stuff I managed to sneak onboard during the first few days of martial law."
"You stayed here during the collapse?" Murphy, the man who'd lent us toothpaste earlier, asked.
Chief Maxey nodded. "I had nowhere else to go. I'm not married. I have no children. I don't even have a pet. My apartment was just where I went to sleep. All of my free time was spent here onboard the Spratling. This was where I wanted to be. And by then, it wasn't like we were open for tours, anyway. Early on, I raided the Whole Foods store, the aquarium's cafeteria, and some of the restaurants at the Inner Harbor. But I was alone and couldn't carry much at once. And to be honest, I wasn't counting on feeding twenty people. Food and water will be our number one concern. The good news is we have fishing tackle onboard-I used to fish in the evenings after we closed to the public. And one of the displays has deep sea rods that previous sailors used. So we can supplement our rations with fish. We can catch and collect rainwater, as well. The ship has a small supply of fresh water. It was used for the water fountains and the head-that's a rest-room for you civilians who don't speak military. But the water tank isn't at full capacity. I've shut off the showers and sinks so that we can better conserve it. The toilets and urinals are shut down, too, but I kept the head in the engineering compartment operational. We'll show you how to get there later on. But that is the only functioning head and I ask that when you use it, you adhere to the following rule- if it's yellow, let it mellow. If it's brown, flush it down. That will help to save water."
We laughed at the joke, and then he continued.
"The showers in that head are also functional. Again, I ask that you adhere to a strict time limit. No longer than two minutes per person to shower. Once we fill our tanks, I'll lift that rule. My plan is to find a base or station where we can take on supplies. Maybe we'll try the naval base in Norfolk, or Hampton Roads or Portsmouth. There are a number of bases and commercial docks we could try. We could possibly even anchor off Ocean City or one of the other seaside resorts along the coast, and take a l
ifeboat in to shore."
"But the situation in those places will be just like it was in Baltimore," Mitch said. "Do we have enough people to fight our way into and out of a storage depot or fueling station if it's overrun with zombies?"
"I don't know," the chief admitted. "But I'm glad you brought that up, Mister…?"
"Sorry. My name's Mitch Bollinger."
"Well, Mr. Bollinger, you raise something else that we need to talk about. Officer Runkle and I were talking earlier this morning about law and order onboard ship. Like it or not, this is our home for the foreseeable future. Now, I'm sure that all of you are very nice people, but the fact of the matter is, I don't know for sure. Neither do you. With the exception of Mr. Bollinger and his three friends," he nodded toward me and the kids, "all of you boarded the ship on your own last night. None of you were traveling together. It was simple luck-and the fires of course-that brought you all to the harbor at the same time. So even though we might all seem nice, we really don't know each other. Many of you brought weapons onboard: rifles, pistols, knives-I think I even saw some grenades, though I can't remember who had them. Officer Runkle and I feel that our best course of action is to lock all of those items up in the ship's armory. It's for your safety as well as everyone else's onboard. We have children present, and it wouldn't do for one of those weapons to find its way into their hands."
"Hey," Malik said, "I know how to use a gun. Grenades, too. I blew up a whole bunch of zombies last night."
A few people in the crowd laughed, and that just made Malik angry. Glaring at them, he leaned against the rail and scowled.
"I'm sure you're very brave, son," Chief Maxey said. 'And if you used a grenade last night, then I think it's safe to assume it was your father or Mr. Bollinger who brought them onboard?"
I started to tell them that I wasn't his father, but before I could, Mitch spoke up.
"I did," Mitch said. "And I'm not too happy on the idea of giving them up, even temporarily. Like you said, we don't know each other that well. And what if we do get attacked by marauders? How would we defend ourselves if we got boarded?"
"If we were attacked," Runkle said, "we'd know in advance. The chief has a key to the armory. He could distribute the weapons."
Mitch didn't seem assured. "Is it the only key?"
"Yes." Chief Maxey nodded. "I have a complete set of keys for the ship. The duplicates are back at the Maritime Museum offices."
"So, no offense, Chief, but if something happened to you-if you fell overboard or lost the keys or something, and we were attacked, what would we do then? Cut through the armory door with a torch?"
"Well," the chief admitted, "that wouldn't be very feasible."
"No, it wouldn't," Mitch said. "And we don't have the means to copy your key. Look, I don't like the idea of all of us roaming around with guns either, but the simple fact is I'd feel more comfortable holding onto mine."
I noticed that Officer Runkle was eyeing Mitch's holster, as if he were contemplating making a grab for Mitch's pistol. I tried to stay inconspicuous, but slid between the two of them, just in case. Runkle glared at me, but stepped backward. I smiled. He didn't smile back. Must have been straight. Shame. He was a good-looking guy. I would have enjoyed getting to know him better, but the vibe he gave off was definitely a warning. Plus, I never dated cops. The world may have ended, but I still had my standards.
Runkle spoke up. "With all due respect to Mr. Bollinger, I don't think we can-"
"He's right," Chief Maxey interrupted."I hate to admit it, but he's absolutely correct. What if something does happen to me or to the key? You'd all be shit out of luck if we really were attacked. But it doesn't sit well letting everyone carry them around, either."
"If I could make a suggestion,"-the professor stepped forward-"why don't we agree to confine our personal weapons to our private quarters, and not carry them at any time while onboard ship, unless of course it's during a general quarters situation."
"What is general quarters?" the redheaded woman asked.
"An emergency," the chief explained. "If we were attacked, you would hear an alarm bell over the PA system. That's called general quarters."
"I like the professor's idea," Mitch said. "How about the rest of you?"
"Sounds fair to me," Murphy agreed. "I've only got a little twenty-two pistol, but I'd hate to give it up. It's kept me alive so far."
"Ditto," said Basil.
Officer Runkle looked unhappy with the decision, but all of the others agreed.
The chief finally nodded with obvious reluctance. "Okay," he said. "I guess that's fair. A ship isn't exactly a democracy, but then again, you folks really didn't have much of a choice but to come aboard. If you want to store them in your compartments, that's fine. However, I think we need to agree that there will be penalties for anyone who breaks that rule."
Mitch frowned. "Such as?"
"The Spratling is also equipped with a stockade. It's down on the lower level, right between the ship's laundry and the boiler room."
"And who's in charge of that?"
Smiling, Officer Runkle stepped forward. "I am. Unless anyone has a problem with that? It makes sense. I was a cop, after all."
He was going to be trouble-an inferiority complex with a badge, desperate for others to recognize his authority. I knew his type well. Had seen it before and hated motherfuckers like him. I'd been exposed to them all my life.
The conversation continued. We discussed the ship's routine and schedule, and Chief Maxey gave everyone some tips about how to cope with things like seasickness, the proper way to stow our belongings, surviving inclement weather, what to do if someone fell over the side or if we had to abandon ship, and other factors of life at sea. He said that he and Turn would look over the maps and charts and try to pick a port with a minimal surrounding population. That way, there was less chance of it being overrun with the dead when we conducted our supply raid.
After answering more questions, the chief wanted to know more about each of us and any specific skills or abilities we might be able to offer. We already knew that Runkle was a cop, and he didn't offer any other personal details. Basil Martin was a Web designer. He refused to tell us anything about his personal life, other than he'd been in the National Guard before going to college. Professor Williams told us that his fields of specialty were English literature and mythology. He was a widower- his wife had passed two years before, and his children were grown. His son lived in Thailand and his daughter in California. He hadn't heard from either since the nation's communication grid went down. Our new friend Joan Barnett went next. She was a dental hygienist. Turned out her spouse had passed away, too-dying from lung cancer in a room at Greater Baltimore Medical Center as the dead first began to stalk the streets. He'd died alone. She'd been unable to get to him because of martial law. The hospital had confirmed his passing. She never made arrangements because soon after, arrangements no longer mattered. Murphy's first name was Ollie. He was a boiler operator. Chief Maxey got excited by that news. He'd spent the last few weeks holed up in a bar on Pratt Street, which was no surprise, judging by the telltale alcoholic veins in his nose. Cleveland Hooper had been a cook at a diner. Twice divorced, he'd been hiding out from deputies looking to serve a warrant for non-payment of child support, and hadn't even been aware of the zombies at first. Hooper had also served a four-year stint in the navy. Nobody knew anything about Tran, and even if he hadn't been washing dishes, he wouldn't have been able to tell us about himself. Mitch told everyone he was a Bible salesman and firearms enthusiast. Then it was my turn. I introduced myself and then the kids.
After that, we met the other passengers. The redheaded woman was Carol Beck. She was a quality control manager at an injection molding plant and had been trying to flee the city. Stuck in a traffic jam on Interstate Eighty-three, she'd gotten out of her car to get a better cell phone signal. As she stood there, zombies had swarmed the on-ramp, forcing drivers to flee. She'd hid inside a factory. Next w
as Cliff Shatner, a young kid in his early twenties. He'd been a student at Towson University, majoring in journalism, and was partying in Fells Point when everything fell apart. He'd been trapped downtown, hiding inside the basement of the Soundgarden music shop. Stephanie Pollack didn't look so well when she introduced herself. Her skin was pale and dripping sweat. Her pupils were dilated. At first I thought it was the heat, but we soon learned that she was diabetic and had run out of insulin. The fires had forced her to flee quickly, and her supply of insulin had burned up with her apartment. We were concerned for her, but there wasn't much we could do. It was a hopeless, demoralizing feeling. It seemed so unfair-to survive the fires and the zombies, only to have your own body turn against you. And yet she was a trooper. She'd stood on the flight deck the whole time, baking in the heat, listening patiently as we talked and debated, and not once had she complained. Basil and Hooper, on the other hand, had done nothing but bitch since we'd got there. The chief told Stephanie to go lie down, promised he'd do anything he could to make her more comfortable, and had Joan escort her back to her compartment. He promised that if we could get to a port quickly, the first thing he'd look for was insulin. I thought the chances of that were pretty slim, but 1 kept that to myself.
We had two teenagers in the group: a boy and a girl. The boy's name was Nick Kontis. His father had owned a Greek restaurant just off President Street. He'd watched his entire family get slaughtered by those things. He'd survived by hiding inside the restaurant's walk-in freezer. The night of the fires, he'd crept out, looking for water. He'd stumbled, literally, over a zombie a few minutes later. Legless, it had been crawling around in the dining area, munching on rancid, spoiled meat. The girl was Alicia Crawford. She was shy and soft-spoken, and we didn't learn much about her other than her name. She stared at the deck the whole time and kept cleaning her eyeglasses on her shirt. The last two passengers were Chuck Mizello and Tony Giovanni. Chuck was a forklift operator with four years of army experience, including a tour in Iraq. He'd taken shelter in a warehouse and survived on the contents of the vending machines. Tony was a tow truck driver. He barricaded himself in a hotel room across from the Inner Harbor. Like Mitch, he was a firearms enthusiast. I noticed that he scored points with my friend when he complimented the pistol at Mitch's side.
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