by John Ringo
Steve stepped out onto the back deck as Sophia backed up towards the liferaft.
“Throw your line to the man on the deck,” Sophia said over the loud-hailer. “Exit junior person first, senior last. Last person out, pull the wire on the EPIRB before boarding. After boarding you’ll have to wash down on the back deck to decontaminate. After that we’ll get you some food. By the way, welcome to Wolf’s Floating Circus and Rescue Flotilla. You’re welcome.”
The man threw the line, then pulled the wire from the EPIRB. Steve pulled the raft alongside and helped the woman onto the deck, then the man.
“Thank you,” the guy said. He wasn’t exactly ugly looked at in the right light. But he wasn’t a beauty, neither. Big as hell, his skin was flat black as an ace of spades. “Who’s Wolf?”
“My actual nickname in the paras was Wolfsbane,” Steve said. “Got around due to one of my daughters and got changed to Wolf or Papa Wolf. Steve Smith, captain of the Tina’s Toy and, somewhat against my will, and I quote ‘commodore’ of this lashup. And the name wasn’t my idea.”
“I really don’t care if you’re called the Devil’s Own,” the woman said, grinning. “I’m just so glad to be off that boat! I’m Sadie Curry, Captain Smith.”
“ Thomas Fontana,” the man said. “Paras… Not Brit or Irish. Aussie with lots of time in the states. Southern states. Paras or SAS?”
“Paras,” Steve said, surprised. “Brother was a goldie.”
“Sorry,” Thomas said, shrugging. “Any idea on him?”
“Last I heard he was on a flight to a secure point,” Steve said. “Long story. Let’s get you washed down and some food in you…”
* * *
“There is probably something worse than being stuck on a cruise ship, unarmed, in a zombie uprising,” Fontana said, popping two sushi rolls in at a time. “Food…” he muttered past the mouthful.
“ Thomas was special forces?” Sadie said. “I think I got that right. I didn’t know anything about the Army until we ended up on the…raft.” She grimaced and shrugged. “That was right, Thomas? Green berets?”
Fontana nodded, trying to clear his mouth of rice and tuna. He took a sip of tea and just sighed through his nose.
“God this is good,” he muttered.
“Most of the boats from the cruise ships are, well, boats,” Stacey said.
“I couldn’t make it to one,” Fontana said. “There was an open door and I went out. Outside. There were rafts in the water…”
“I was running from a zombie and he saved me,” Sadie said, grabbing his arm. “My hero.”
“I threw him over the side,” Fontana said, shrugging. “Then I had to deal with him when we went over. But we got into a raft. There was another guy, Terry…”
“Can we skip that?” Sadie asked, looking pleafully at Steve. “He had to do what… He had to do it. He…turned.”
“Strangulation?” Steve asked, taking a sip of tea.
“Yeah,” Fontana said, looking at him oddly.
“The only people who have survived in the lifeboats are people who have killed zombies,” Stacey said, shrugging. “And generally the only way to do that is strangulation. On a liferaft you can’t even avoid it.”
“It was horrible,” Sadie said, tearing up.
“Most of this world is,” Steve said. “But it has some compensations.”
“What?” Fontana asked.
“We’re doing good work?” Steve said. “The sea is beautiful when it’s not trying to kill us.”
“Need help?” Fontana asked. “I sort of need to get some food in me, but if I can help I’d like to.”
“We always need help,” Steve said. “What did you do in the… Rangers was it?”
“Bite your tongue,” Fontana said. “Fifth special forces group. I was an eighteen bravo. Cross train in Eighteen Echo and Delta. Six times in the Stans, some training time in Africa. You?”
“Rifles sergeant,” Steve said. “Also in the Stans. Then later a history teacher. Question, did you happen to know someone named ‘Donnie’ who was a special forces officer?”
“Know him, no,” Fontana said. “He was out before I joined. But I’ve heard of him. Missing both legs?”
“He was, unfortunately, a casualty,” Steve said, nodding. “Okay, I’d say you’re in.”
“No, I’m not a poser,” Fontana said, grinning. “And I notice your wife’s wearing a pistol and you’re wearing a pistol and taser. Still. Problems?”
“Some,” Steve said. “But we deal with them as they come along. How do you feel about clearance?”
“With a crowbar?” Fontana asked. “Not so happy. With a firearm? Please!”
“Are you sure, honey?” Sadie asked, unhappily.
“We’re not going to send him in unprepared,” Steve said. “Among other things, we still have some vaccine. That goes first to clearance personnel. And we’re careful to avoid bites and blood spray. But we do need more people willing to do active clearance. We have two vessels waiting for clearance teams. We were on our way to one of them. And right now it’s only myself and my daughter doing it.”
“You’re afraid if you give me a gun I’ll try to take over,” Fontana said, nodding. “Makes sense. All I can say is that until something better comes along, I’m your man. I’d like to get a piece back from these zombies. And I’m seriously missing my gun collection. The one thing I’d like to know, though, is there anything in it? I mean, I’ll help out but what is it, share and share alike?”
“More or less,” Steve said. “Clearance teams get a spif on every boat they clear. Besides first choice of loot, which is pretty obvious. The real question is, how open-minded are you about your partner…?”
* * *
“So, how do you usually handle this?” Fontana said, trying not to be amused by the thirteen-year-old girl in full assault rig.
“Usually like this,” Faith said, drawing her H &K. She measured the catenary carefully and shot the zombie clawing at them from the back deck of a 60' fishing boat.
The round hit the zombie high on the right chest. It clawed at the wound for a moment, then slipped on its own blood and fell over the side.
“Then the sharks take care of it for us,” she said.
“Works for me,” Fontana said. “You got a handle.”
“Shewolf,” Faith said, reloading the expended round in her magazine, then seating it again. “Got a problem with that?”
“No, ma’am,” Fontana said.
* * *
“Seriously?” Fontana said, as he levered open the stuck hatch. “I’d heard of Voltaire but I never really got into that kind of tunes.”
“Seriously, it was a hoot,” Faith said as a zombie arm clawed out of the compartment. “Hang on a sec.” She lifted her Saiga and put it to the doorway. “Ware bouncers.”
“Roger,” Fontana said, holding the hatch gapped.
“You want some?” Faith said, firing the Saiga. The arm started spasming. “Who else? Huh?”
“Watched a lot of Aliens, have we?” Fontana said.
“Love that movie. You? You want some…?”
* * *
“Wait,” Faith said, holding out her hand as Fontana started to step over the coaming.
“Looks clear,” Fontana said, flashing his tactical light around the compartment.
“Zombies do not like impolite people,” Faith said. “Always announce your presence. ZOMBIES, ZOMBIES, ZOMBIES! OLLY OLLY OXENFREE!”
“That is so…wrong,” Fontana said.
“You’re used to trying to sneak up on people,” Faith said as there was a scuffling sound. “There…” The zombie was emaciated and clearly on its last legs. She put a round through the infected’s chest as it stumbled towards the lights.
“Where the hell did it come from?” Fontana said, waving the light around again.
“Da thinks they spend a lot of time sleeping really deep to conserve energy.”
“So…make enough noise to wake the dead?
” Fontana said, chuckling.
“Something like that. ZOMBIES, ZOMBIES, ZOMBIES… COME TO SUPPER!”
* * *
“I wonder what most of this stuff does?” Fontana said, looking around the engineering compartment. “I mean, obviously, there’s the engines…”
“Yeah,” Faith said. “Never futz with the engineering compartment. If there’s a zombie in it, let it out and take it out in the corridor. You get one bad round in engineering and you don’t know what’s going to go wrong.”
“I think we need a manual,” Fontana said.
“I think we need to find a SEAL or something who knows how to do this…”
* * *
“Pistol,” Faith said, shaking her head as the zombie came up the companionway.
“Ooo-kay,” Fontana said, changing weapons. He put a round into the zombie’s chest, then went for a double-tap and missed the headshot.
“Damnit,” Faith said, ducking back as the round caromed off the deck and, fortunately, into the darkness below. “That’s why I said pistol. One round. Targeted! One zombie, one round, no bouncers!”
“Roger,” Fontana said. “Sorry.”
“I shouldn’t have snapped,” Faith said. “I sunk a boat that way, though…”
“How many times have you done this?” Fontana asked.
“I dunno,” Faith said, drawing her H &K and tagging the next zombie coming up the companionway. “I’d have to check a log. Boats this size only…three. Small yachts? Twenty or so?”
“Jesus. And there I was floating around in a raft.”
* * *
“So, now, we use Da’s superty-duperty new gimmick,” Faith said, looking at the beetles askance. They were clambering around the interior of the bag that made her more ill than bloated zombie bodies.
“Think it will work?” Fontana said, dubiously.
“He said give it a few days and leave the interior hatches open,” Faith said, dropping the beetles into the interior and shutting the exterior hatch. “We’ll see…”
* * *
“Holy cow,” Steve said as they approached the target boat.
“Oooo,” Sophia said. “Can I have that one?”
It wasn’t so much that the boat was large; the Victoria was larger. It was that it was just enormous and beautiful. Sleak as hell. It looked fast and it was darn big.
“It’s probably trashed,” Steve said. “And it’d be a bitch to maintain.”
“I’ll do it,” Sophia said.
“You sound like you’re asking for a puppy,” Steve said. “Besides, I want it. The problem will be finding anybody who knows who to run the engine room. And it will be up to the captain’s board. Assuming it’s not trashed.”
“No zombies on deck,” Sophia said, circling the drifting yacht. “Did they even board?”
“His Sea Fit,” Steve said. Captain George Sherill, sole survivor on the 35' Bertram, was less than enthusiastic about ever seeing another zombie in his life. Possibly because the entire “charter” he’d had had zombied on him. “I’ll go get rigged up.”
“I’m going to turn over to Paula,” Sophia said, picking up the intercom mike. “You’re going to need somebody who knows how to run the dinghy.”
* * *
“Dinghies and lifeboats are all gone,” Steve said, boarding the yacht on its flush transom deck. It was just about the easiest boarding he’d done in some time.
“Did they abandon ship?” Sophia asked.
“You tell me,” Steve said.
“Want me to back you up?” Sophia asked.
“Up to you,” Steve said. “You’re not in armor and if there are bouncers that’s an issue.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Sophia said, tossing him the mooring line. “This I want to see.”
* * *
“Oh, Da, I want,” Sophia said, sighing at the helm.
The 92' Hatteras Elite dubbed Livin’ Large was only about thirty feet longer than the Toy but that made a huge difference. And the interior was that much nicer. Not to mention being in much better shape. In fact, except for signs of rapid exit from the boat, there appeared to be no damage at all.
“Log,” Sophia said, pulling out a standard logbook and flipping to the last page with writing, then flipping back. “Chief engineer and a mate went zombie. According to the log they’re locked in the crew compartment. Ran out of fuel. No power. The rest of the people abandoned ship off an island in the Bahamas and went ashore.” She flipped through a couple more pages, then shrugged. “I think this is valid salvage. And really nice salvage. I can’t believe they abandoned ship.”
“Which island?” Steve asked.
“Great Sale Cay?” Sophia said.
“Occupied,” Steve said. “Well, if we ever run into them, and if they survived, I’ll have to thank them. Now to check for zombies…”
* * *
“I don’t hear anything,” Steve said, banging on the hatch again. Chairs had been barricaded against it but they had been easy to clear. The rest of the ship, absent the crew compartment, was clear. And again except for the debris of rapid exit, remarkably clean.
“You’re the expert, Da,” Sophia said nervously. She had a head-lamp and a flashlight but she was still keeping an eye behind them. “You and Faith enjoy this?”
“Faith does,” Steve said. “Enjoy would be too much of a stretch for me.” He levered the hatch open and flashed a light inside.
“Anybody home?” Sophia asked.
“Not alive,” Steve said, stepping into the compartment. One of the bodies had been partially eaten. The other was cut and bloated but didn’t appear to have died from violence.
“Probably the one killed the other, then died of dehydration,” Steve said checking the toilet. It was empty of water. “Which makes this perfectly legal salvage. Not to mention easy to clean.”
“That’s going to be nasty,” Sophia said, looking in the room. “Oh, gross!”
“Yeah, that’s not the worst I’ve seen by a stretch,” Steve said, taking out a baggy. “We’ll just seal the room up fairly tight. Vent it to the rear. And let these do their work.” He dribbled the beetles on the corpses. “Say hello to my leetle friends…”
* * *
“Steve, these are way beyond me,” Stacey said, looking at the engines.
“We’ve got fuel in the tanks,” Steve said. “Some. And a jumper battery. Can you get them running?”
“I don’t know?” Stacey said. “I mean, that’s the point. These are huge professional engines! I’m not sure where to start!”
“I think that’s the start button,” Sophia said, pointing.
“I can see that, Sophia,” her mother said, tartly. “Just let me look over the manuals…”
* * *
Steve looked up at a rumble from below. A moment later the lights in the saloon came on.
“I knew I married that girl for a reason…”
* * *
“Think you can get that alongside without wrecking it?” Mike called over the radio.
“Trying,” Steve said to himself. He wasn’t going to pick up the radio when he was trying to con the Large up to the Victoria. The Large really was. And it had a lot more sail area than the Toy. He picked up the radio. “Just have the bloody balloons down.”
“There is no such thing as too slow…” he muttered.
* * *
“That wasn’t the worst coming-alongside I’ve ever seen,” Mike said, looking around the interior. “Say, you know how you told me I could have a boat…?”
“We’ll have to call a captain’s conference,” Steve said. “This is, among other things, going to take some serious crew…”
CHAPTER 21
“I think the Large needs to be a harbor queen for now,” Steve said over the radio. “It drinks fuel, we don’t have that many people that we need a boat this size and it’s a bitch to actually use. If we did use it I’d see it as an at-sea base. If we can find enough fuel for it.”
�
��Cooper here,” Chris said over the radio. “I can see that but what about theft?”
“Just about out of fuel,” Mike said. “We’ll drain it down and it’s not going anywhere. Leave it alongside the Victoria. We might have a use for it later. It runs, anyway.”
“This is Endeavor. We’re getting beat up in this minnow. Could use a bigger boat.”
Stephen Blair, the sole survivor of the 35' Viking Worthy Endeavor, had had issues from the beginning. But he’d also cleared more than forty rafts and lifeboats since taking over the battered ship.
“Endeavor, Seawolf,” Sophia said. “You do not want to con this thing alongside a raft. Concur, Da, this is a support ship. Better in harbor for now.”
“Endeavor,” he thought for a second about the growing fleet. “Sea Fit. You are both next up for a bigger vessel. Will determine that when available. But this is a monster. Any likely candidates?”
“Endeavor. We just relayed another. About sixty five. Wouldn’t mind if it’s useable.”
“Do we have a location on that?” Steve asked.
“Yeah,” Mike said. “Back at the Vicky.”
“I’ve got it on the Toy,” Sophia said.
“My recommendation,” Steve said. “Use this for harbor base. Staff with reliable personnel. Bring in new personnel for rest and recovery prior to assignment. Comments and response for vote? Sea Fit.”
“I’m fine on my boat for now,” Captain Sherill replied. “And, yeah, that sounds like a plan.”
“Endeavor?”
“We need a bigger boat,” Blair replied. “But agree.”
“Knot?”
“I’d go for a bigger boat,” Gary Loper of the Knot So Little replied. “I guess I’m next after Blair?”
“Other discussion,” Steve said. “Not saying no, just later discussion. Agree leave Large harbor for rest and refit?”
“Yeah, I can go with that. But about a larger boat?”
The truth was that Steve didn’t think that Loper and his crew deserved a larger boat. They just seemed to be cruising around and coming in from time to time to draw on supplies.
“Captain’s vote for next upgrade,” Steve said. “Cannot nominate self.” He thought about it for a second and tried not to grimace. He knew he was playing politics. By the real rules, Blair should be the first to nominate. But if he nominated Loper, which was the only real choice, others might follow. But Sherill not only liked his boat, small as it was, but liked Blair.
