LAST STAND ON ZOMBIE ISLAND
CHRISTOPHER L. EGER
DIGITAL EDITION
NECRO PUBLICATIONS
2012
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LAST STAND ON ZOMBIE ISLAND
© 2012 by Christopher L. Eger
Cover art © 2012 by Travis Anthony Soumis
This digital edition © 2012 Necro Publications
Assistant Editors:
Amanda Baird
C. Dennis Moore
Cover, Book Design & Typesetting:
David G. Barnett
Fat Cat Graphic Design
http://www.fatcatgraphicdesign.com
a Necro Publication
5139 Maxon Terrace • Sanford, FL 32771
http://www.necropublications.com
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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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To G…for starting it all.
Many thanks to my editor Dave Barnett, who gave a goofy guy and his book about the undead among the sand dunes a chance.
Special thanks to all of my pre-readers including Gina, Warren, Mike, and Aaron, who helped me along the way and kept me on track.
Thank you to my grandfather, my own personal MSGT Reid who taught me how to shoot, walk, and talk, not necessarily in that order.
And of course to Garrett and Alex.
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PART I:
Endure
“Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It’s the transition that’s troublesome.” —Isaac Asimov
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CHAPTER 1
Los Angeles, October 7th
Patient Zero in the United States was a passenger on board an international flight into Los Angeles International.
CNN reported, “The United States Army’s CBRNE Consequence Management Response Force is taking part in a Quarantine exercise at Los Angeles International Airport.
“Two days ago, a West Pacific Airline flight from Australia in which a passenger went berserk over the Pacific Ocean and bit, spat upon, or scratched more than twenty passengers and then died shortly after landing is the root of the problem. A number of these passengers became sick within hours of landing have been located and brought to various hospitals in the L.A. metropolitan area. Other passengers of that flight went on to make connections and have been traced to outbreaks of a strange new virus in Atlanta, Dallas, Detroit, Chicago, New York, Memphis, Philadelphia, Las Vegas, Houston, and Denver.
“Currently more than 100 people in the greater Los Angeles area are under quarantine. An unnamed hospital source that spoke off the record has advised that as many as a dozen of the victims are in medical intensive care in serious condition.”
««—»»
By the morning of October 8, the reports ran, “Police have been called to the scene and have been overrun. It is unknown if these are gang members, or possibly escaped mental patients. The hospital is not known to have a psychiatric wing. What is known is that more than 50 of the victims who were infected with what is being called the West Pacific Flu were being held in quarantine here…”
Later that afternoon, “CNN has this footage of a riot in downtown Los Angeles at the Great Western Medical Center. Dozens of bodies. Maniac rioters everywhere. Similar outbreaks reported in Houston at a medical center. The mayor of Los Angeles is asking for calm and appealing to residents to remain in their homes. A local State Of Emergency has been declared and a California disaster declaration from the President has been requested that would allow federal troops and resources to be called in.
“An LAPD police sergeant, who asked not to be identified, said that the police department was activating a tactical recall, which would cancel days off for all police officers and cause them to immediately report for work. Officers have been seen at several locations wearing the standard riot gear that is used during periods of unrest and to protect officers against assaults.
“‘It’s an epidemic across all aspects of life,’ said a spokesman from the Centers for Disease Control. ‘It’s not an epidemic of one group. It is not just adults, or kids, or black, or white…everyone seems to be at risk. Many people are likely infected without knowing it.
“There’s not a lack of qualified service providers or interesting or good programs in the city. Nevertheless, clearly it was not all coming together to satisfy the scale and the complexity of our needs here.
“At the end of the day, there is the need for individual responsibility. It doesn’t matter who you are, where you live, where you come from, you need to do the safest thing possible and limit your exposure.”
««—»»
Heard over BBC shortwave was, “Squadrons of tanks and other armored vehicles have fanned out across this city of 15 million people, guarding key government buildings and major intersections. However, gangs of infected victims are largely ignoring the 24-hour mandatory curfew. They are joined by looters running rampant and by protesters, chanting anti-government slogans directed at the regime seemingly unable to mitigate the crisis here. Apparently, the only people adhering to the curfew are the confused soldiers under orders to enforce it. European and American nationals are assembling at the airport just outside of the capitol in hopes of rescue flights. The death toll since the outbreak, which began Tuesday, rose to 450, according to medical and security officials. Some 2,000 injuries have been reported…”
As you scrolled over the headlines each seemed worse.
Possible Outbreak at NYC Prep School…
Most Fatal Victims Aged Between 25-45…
Disease-K Named After High Enzyme Kyrptopyrrole Levels…
Could Affect Trade and Travel…
Red Cross Has ‘Rigorous’ Plan…
WHO Ready With Antivirals…
The Mysterious Illness…
CDC Says Too Late to Contain…
600 DEAD: London Launches Huge Vaccination Campaign…
CLOSE TO 1,000 SUSPECTED CASES…
Heighten Risk of Pandemic…
Concerns in California, Texas…
Mutated from Animals, Transmitted to Humans…
Mexico Has Not Suffered Serious Epidemic Before…
Third World Anxious…
Extreme Violence in the Streets…
Vaccine Ineffective!
««—»»
By nightfall, the Los Angeles Fire Department was receiving calls for an average of three new fires every minute.
The local TV news affiliated reported, “As some 4,000 regular US Army troops of the 3rd Infantry Division, known as the Rock of the Marne, and 1,000 federal law enforcement officers from all over the country moved into Los Angeles, people have begun to assess the severity of this latest day of pandemic. There are at least 1,250 known people dead, all city ambulances and police stations are overwhelmed, structural fires have been reported across most of the county, hundreds of businesses looted and closed. Highways and interstates are closed and blocked by CHP and activated California National Guard under orders from the Governor to maintain quarantine. Every channel with a news program is reporting outbreaks everywhere. In all major west coast cities, there is flu and hysteria, rioting and mayhem. We are getting sketchy reports but we are being told that the virus has been fully contained. Chuck…Chuck…let me break you right there…I am being told by my produc
er that the Station is about to be preempted by a message from the Emergency Alert System.”
The screen went blank as the Emergency Alert System signal, an audio-only platform that pre-empts all programming in a designated area, kicked into effect in California. The blank screen was followed by a voice-over loop stating that the virus has been fully contained and to stay in your homes.
A report that was lost in the chaos of the day from The U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention said Los Angeles had one of the most severe epidemics in the nation and efforts at containment had failed.
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CHAPTER 2
Gulf Shores Alabama- October 9
Z+1
Walking down the thick wooden pier to the boat in the pre-dawn darkness, Billy could feel the fall coming. Even with the slap of the water on the pier supports and the whine of the seagulls, he could feel the coolness creeping into the salt air. A great blue heron, larger than any turkey, stood as mute sentinel over the calm morning. The giant bird had been at the dock longer than anyone could remember. In the distance, Billy saw a cigarette glow bright in the darkness ahead of him.
“How many we got today, Cap’n?” said the menthol cigarette’s bright cherry bobbing in the dim morning twilight. Lance, the lanky first mate and operator of the menthol asked from his perch on the cooler in front of the boat. He was early for a change.
Billy smiled, “Five clowns from Birmingham. Called last week and said they wanted to get a run out to catch some Ling,” referring to the treasured Cobia sports fish by the local moniker.
“They drive all the way down here to catch fish that are hiding this time of year?”
“Hell if I know. They prepaid for half the trip with a credit card and said they are bringing the other half with them, so we can go fishing for croaker all I care,” Billy said.
“See that shit in Los Angeles on the news, Cap’n?”
“Yeah, pretty crazy. But then again you know how the West Coast is.”
Billy stepped aboard the boat. Just before he did, he noticed the faint blue letters of her old name, Captain Tony, bleeding through the fresh white paint that Lance had slapped on her stern a couple days earlier. “Looks like we need more paint, kid.”
“Why don’t you go get one of those fancy wooden name boards done over at Ollie’s and cover that thing up?”
“Paint is cheaper and Ollie is a con artist. Besides,” Billy looked sideways before he disappeared in the wheelhouse, “you hardly earn your keep as it is,” and laughed.
Lance threw him a bird along with a sideways face and pulled another drag on his menthol. “I’m feeling overworked and under-drunk.”
Formerly the Captain Tony from Biloxi in a previous life, Bill’s boat was now the Fooly Involved from Gulf Shores, Alabama. An almost 25-year old, 36-foot long Hatteras Sport Fisherman, she had seen better days but she was reliable. With nearly two hundred charter boats in the greater Gulf Shores area as competition, the Fooly Involved placed herself squarely in the day trip category.
Billy and Lance kept her out as much as possible from April through September for $500-$1500 per day. During the summer, they would run down cobia, yellow-fin tuna, amberjack, mackerel, dolphin, and tarpon, as they would seasonally migrate through the waters of the Gulf of Mexico offshore of the Alabama coastline. Nevertheless, it was October now, and other than the redfish and drum, it was slim fishing until spring without settling for small trout or going into deeper waters and bottom fishing for grouper.
The cost of doing business was steep. Once you subtracted the 300 gallons of fuel in her tanks to feed the pair of rebuilt Caterpillar diesel engines, tackle, poles, permits, dock fees, bait, Lance’s pay (always in cash), cold drinks, and ice, Billy sweated every mortgage note and light bill. That was what kept him taking charters through the fall, when many of the other charter boats called it quits for the winter at the end of September.
“Hey, Cap’n, looks like we got our cobia wranglers,” Lance intoned as he motioned with his chin.
Billy looked back over his shoulder through the cabin’s window just in time to see five middle class average white guys in their twenties walk up to the stern of the boat. An almost identical uniform of cargo shorts, cleverly printed t-shirts and flip-flops outfitted the group.
“Morning, guys, who is Ted?” Billy called out at the group as they started coming aboard.
The leader of the average white guys spoke, a pair of coasta del mars stuck in his bird’s nest, “That would be me,” he grinned, “And you are Captain Billy?”
Billy laughed, “Just Billy is fine, Billy Harris.”
Average white guy number two, someone who appeared quite proud of his full beard, perked up, “Like the hockey player?”
Billy shook his head no and advised, “No, sorry, like the musician,” to the accustomed look of non-recognition.
Ted and his gang forced a smile, “On to the cobia!”
“Sure thing.”
««—»»
As they rounded the breakwater and headed out into the rising morning dawn, the sea appeared smooth and calm. Might not be a bad day. They had a few miles to go before they got to the big oilrig structures where the cobia — if they were in fact still around — would be hiding. He had Lance rig up some trolling lures to give the AWG’s some rod time until they got there.
Lance had started circulating the clipboard for everyone to fill out for their state salt water fishing licenses as soon as he saw the big white Coast Guard cutter appear low on the horizon.
“We got Cap’n Crunch on us, boss,” Lance said as he poked his head in the cabin.
“Maybe they will let us go. I’m sure he can see that we’ve got lines in the wat-”
Before he could even finish, the VHF radio cut him off. “Attention recreational vessel to my port side, this is the Coast Guard Cutter Fish Hawk, heave to, and prepare to be boarded,” a firm metallic voice boomed out over Channel 16.
Billy shook his head as the mate laughed. Lance lit up a menthol and disappeared back out on deck. Billy grabbed the radio mic to plead his case, “I copy, Fish Hawk. This is the charter craft Fooly Involved out of Gulf Shores. We are just doing some trolling today on our way out to the rigs with a charter…”
“Copy, Fooly Involved, heave to and prepare to be boarded,” came the stern reply.
It was worth a try. Billy shrugged and yelled down to the deck that he was killing the engines and that the coasties were coming.
The cutter grew closer to within a football field and stopped. Within seconds of coming to a drift, out of the cutter’s stern popped a small rubber boat full of blue uniformed coasties with orange crash helmets and black tactical vests. Billy looked at the gleaming white cutter; she was more than twice as long as his own boat and he could make out a pair of machine guns covered with bright blue canvas on deck. Inside the wheelhouse of the cutter, he could see a few more coasties looking back out at him with binoculars.
The small rubber Zodiac boat launched from the stern of the cutter came loudly alongside Billy’s craft within seconds. He recognized the senior-most man in the boat from a prior boarding. The mustached and tattooed Coastie smiled a yellowed grin at Billy as he gave him a hand onto the deck from the rubber boat onto his.
“Fishing any good today, Cap’n?” the Coastie with the thick mustache asked.
“Wouldn’t know, just cast off an hour ago.”
“Hey don’t blame me, the new boss is a real law-dog,” said the mustache as he arranged his clipboard. “I’ve done more 4100’s in the past six weeks than in the past six years.”
It had always been a matter of common and professional courtesy that the local charter boats were given a wide berth by Fish and Wildlife and the Coast Guard. The Charter Boat Association came down hard on people that ran unsafe boats much less on people that wanted to bend the rules on fish limits. Gulf Shores had a population of just over 5,000 and sported a fleet of nearly 200 charter boats. The charter captai
ns themselves all carried Coast Guard OPUV 6 pack master’s papers they had spent a lot of time and money to get—and they wanted to keep them. The captains also passed on good intelligence to the coasties on suspicious activities, loose or missing buoys, and often helped with search and rescue cases. None of this was taken into consideration by the new skipper of the Cutter Fish Hawk, and the boarding rates for the last part of the summer were the number one complaint around the docks.
The Coasties ran everyone’s IDs, checked the empty live wells for undersize fish, and asked the customary questions about drugs, alcohol, and weapons on board. Other than Billy’s old snub-nosed .38 special that he kept in the wheelhouse for rowdy sharks on the line, all the answers were no.
“Fish Hawk to small boat,” the small radio barked in the mustache’s vest.
Mustache muttered into his radio, “This is small boat, we’re looking pretty good no citations here.”
The radio answered back, “Copy, return to boat. Fish Hawk out.”
The mustache and his crew waved goodbye as they climbed back into the rubber boat and shoved off back to the Cutter.
“Well, Ted, let’s get back to the Cobia,” Billy said as they stood watching the small boat roar back to the nearby cutter.
Billy had gotten into being a charter boat captain after a series of three disasters. The first had been Hurricane Katrina, the second had been his marriage, and the third had been the Deep-water Horizon oil spill cleanup.
An older boat, she had been made the last year Hatteras produced the venerable 36-foot series of ‘yachts for the everyman’ as a quarter million dollar craft. After going through at least three owners, the Captain Tony was tossed neatly from the water onto Biloxi Beach during Hurricane Katrina. Picked up, taken to a marine salvage yard, and put on blocks, she sat for five years with a $40,000 sticker on her. Billy drove past her day after day and thought that somehow, someday he would get her.
Last Stand on Zombie Island Page 1
