by John Ringo
“Okay,” Shewolf said, banging on the hatch. “Zombies, zombies, zombies! Hello!”
“You sure about that?” Kuzma said, his eyes wide.
“Let them come to you,” the girl said. “Bring them into your zone of fire, don’t go into theirs.”
There was an odd thump from the door, then more.
“And we have a winner,” Shewolf said. “I need you to back up into that cross corridor. In fact, I need you to back way the fuck up.”
“Why?” the Petty Officer asked.
“Because if there’s a bunch, I’m going to have to back up,” the girl said. “And you’re not moving real quick. So back way the fuck up. And around the corner so you’re less likely to get hit by bouncers.”
Kuzma backed into the cross corridor, flashing a light around to make sure where weren’t zombies there. He had a pistol but he wasn’t sure that he could even raise it much less shoot straight. God he was tired.
Thinking about what the girl had said, he backed further into the corridor. The bouncers point was important.
“Olly-olly-oxenfree! Come to momma…!”
Kuzma heard the hatch undog, then slam back on its latches.
“Fudgesicle!” the girl shouted followed by a series of rapid fire shotgun blasts.
Shewolf backed into the cross-corridor, dropped her shotgun on its harness and drew her pistol with lightning speed.
“Say hallo to my leetle friend!” she shouted, double tapping. She pivoted into the corridor backing towards Kuzma, clearly covering him. “You want some?”
Infected came around the corner after her, lunging at her as she expertly double tapped. The worst thing, for Kuzma, was that he recognized most of them. Some of them were refugees the Campbell had been ordered to rescue in the early days of the plague. They were probably how the plague had gotten onboard. Others were fellow crew members, bearded, filthy, naked, covered in sores, feces, vomit and dried and fresh blood. Houston P. Barnes, who had just reported to the Campbell before the outbreak but who he’d known for years. He had bits of flesh in his unkempt beard and then his face buckled under when the second.45 round hit him. Tommy E Craddock Jr., “don’t forget the junior,” one of his closest messmates. He clutched at the round that hit him in the chest, howling the weird cry of a wounded zombie, half keen, half snarl, then it was stopped by another round to the forehead, which left a round, blue hole.
“You gonna back up or not?” Shewolf screamed. Her pistol locked back so she tossed it forward onto a dead body and ripped another from her chest holder. The plethora of weapons was starting to make sense.
Bobby couldn’t back up, couldn’t lift his own weapon, all he could do was stare mutely at the black tide pouring down the corridor.
And then it was done. A refugee was the last, dropping more or less right in front of him, so fixated on the light-covered girl she hadn’t even noticed the frozen petty officer.
“That was almost too exciting,” the girl said. She reloaded both her weapons, retrieved the dropped pistol, reloaded that then hefted her shotgun. “Real zombie apocalypse moment there. You done with your break?”
“I think I’m done,” Kuzma said. “I think I’m just…done.”
* * *
Bobby sat on the flying deck of the Toy watching the dinghy coming back from the Campbell. He’d been in similar dinghies hundreds of times doing inspections of boats just like this one. In fact, he was pretty sure they’d done a stop on this boat. But when they were done, they went back to the cutter. They always went back to the cutter.
This time he wasn’t going back. He was never going back. After the scene in the corridor, he was never, ever going back. Not love nor money nor orders could make him go back aboard the WMEC-909, United States Coast Guard Cutter Campbell, “Queen of the Seas.” He wished he had a Harpoon missile to sink her like her previous namesake.
“You going to be okay?” Captain Smith asked, sitting down next to him. “I hear you had a little ZA moment.”
“That’s your daughter?” Kuzma asked, tonelessly. Shewolf was riding back in the dinghy. Second on, last off. The helmsman must have said something funny because the thirteen-year-old was grinning with her fine, blond, blood-splattered hair blowing in the freshening wind.
“Yes.”
“Is she…okay?” Kuzma asked. “I mean…”
“Do you mean is she freaked out by what happened?” Smith asked. “She said it was almost worse than New York. But not quite. If you mean is she insane? She was a fairly normally adjusted girl before the plague. She never threatened to bomb her school or shoot it up. She played soccer and was starting to date. She chased boys, sometimes literally. But she’d always quip that the worst thing about a zombie apocalypse would be pretending you weren’t excited by the prospect. So…she was fairly well adjusted to the previous world. She is well adjusted to this one. So, yes, she is okay. She’s even sensitive, which is hard in this job. She hates to shoot the children and lets others do so when possible. I take it you’re not okay.”
“No,” Kuzma said. “Not okay. Glad to be out of there. Just…glad to be out.”
“I am sorry that you observed the termination of your shipmates,” Smith said. “That is a very close bond.”
“I had to shoot some myself, getting to the stores locker,” Bobby admitted. “But… That was bad.”
“A large group of apparently uninfected had locked down in another stores locker,” Smith said. “And then apparently taken insufficient precautions to prevent spread.”
“And then eaten each other?” Bobby asked.
“More or less,” Smith said. “Which was why there were so many survivors. Zombie survivors, that is. I take it you don’t want to participate in the salvage operation?”
“Salvage?” Kuzma said. “You can’t salvage a U.S. Coast Guard cutter!”
“And there were survivors onboard,” Smith said, nodding. “But salvage it we must. For the small arms locker if nothing else. Petty Officer, I left New York with seven thousand rounds of double ought buckshot and a thousand rounds of frangible. For what I had originally planned that would have been more than enough. For this? I’m down to four thousand rounds. I’m half way through my supply, more or less, and I have an ocean of ships and boats to clear. I can find diesel, food, water from recyclers, even parts. But munitions? Weapons? If not from your storage locker, then where?”
“That’s a tall order,” Kuzma said, breathing out hard. “I mean… Will we help? Yeah, of course. But turning over the contents of a 270 to civilians…? If there ever is a Coast Guard again, I can’t see them not hanging my ass for that.”
“Well, I already purloined one thing from your boat,” Steve said. “Step out on the foredeck with me Petty Officer.”
Steve and Kuzma walked up to the front of the boat and Steve pulled out a Coast Guard walkie-talkie.
“I presume this doesn’t use civilian frequencies?” Steve asked, holding it up.
“No, sir,” the PO said, his brow furrowing.
“U.S. Navy, this is Commodore Wolf on Coast Guard frequency. I know you’re not going to talk to me, but will you talk to a Coast Guard petty officer? Here’s PO One Kuzma, spelling, Kilo-Uniform-Zulu-Mike-Alpha. Turning over now.”
“It may take a bit,” Steve said. He handed Kuzma the radio and walked aft.
* * *
“What now?” Scholz asked.
“Get me the Hole,” Bradburn replied.
CHAPTER 23
“PO Kuzma, this is the U.S. Navy,” the radio squawked five minutes later.
Kuzma had started to wonder if it was all hoax and looked at the radio as if it was radioactive.
“Kuzma to calling station, who is this?”
“A submarine, obviously. Answer these questions without thinking. Mother’s maiden name?”
“Thomas,” Kuzma said.
“Birthplace.”
“Mine? Burlington, Kansas. Hers? Peoria.”
“First college attended.
”
“University of Kansas,” Kuzma said.
“Verified. Stand by…”
“Petty Officer, it’s good to hear that some of you survived,” a new voice said. “This circuit isn’t secure, so there are some things you’re not going to be told. To give you two other answers, so you know I’m looking at your service record, you enlisted on April twenty-second and you hold the USCG rescue medal with two stars. What I’m going to tell you is that this is the highest level commander you’re going to talk to for…well, until someone finds a higher level one.”
“Yes, sir,” Kuzma said. “So… It’s really all gone?”
“More or less,” the voice said. “But you, or rather, and I quote, Commodore Wolf, called us, not the other way around.”
“Yes, sir,” Kuzma said. “The…commodore, and he really doesn’t like to be called that, sir, he’s asking for materials from the Campbell for his…mission. Specifically, they’re low on shotgun rounds. And he’d like to off-load fuel and supplies and generally, well, strip her, sir. I’m not… I can’t authorize that. I can see his reasoning. We can’t man her as is. But…. I can’t go with that, sir. I’m not even sure I can go with a voice on a radio even if you are looking at my service report.”
“How about if I can tell an attack sub what to do?” the voice said. “Is that sufficient authority? I’d rather not surface the sub just to show off, but if I order it, it will.”
“So do I turn over the stuff?” Kuzma asked.
“What do you think of Commodore Wolf?” the voice asked. “Is that even his real name?”
“No, sir,” Kuzma asked. “It’s his handle. He’s a former Aussie para or so he says.”
“Who are Seawolf and Shewolf?” the voice asked.
“His daughters, sir,” Kuzma said. “And that’s part of the screwy part. Sir, none of these people really know what they’re doing. I mean, Seawolf is fifteen for God’s sake and she’s up for her own boat. Shewolf is one of the people who cleared the boat. She’s thirteen. I mean she’s big for her age and she knows how to handle guns but… Honestly, sir, I… I helped clear the boat with Shewolf and… She’s scary. But the boats? None of these people have so much as a captain’s license, sir. And…I can see what they’re doing. I think we should help. I’m not so sure about… I’m not sure about anything, sir. And, sir, I just got out from clearing the boat and it was… Christ, sir, it was really bad. It’s just…I don’t even know if I’m coherent, sir…”
“Petty Officer,” the voice said, sharply. “Calm down. You’re doing great. You’re a God damned credit to the Coast Guard that you can be this coherent after what you’ve been through. Okay? Calm down. You’re doing fine.”
“Yes, sir,” Kuzma said. “Sir… There really isn’t anything on land?”
“Family?” the voice asked, softly.
“Yes, sir,” Kuzma said. “My… I have kids, sir.”
“So do I,” the voice said. “They were in DC. I was…not. Petty Officer Kuzma, go get Wolf, then stand by. It appears I need to talk to the commodore.”
“Yes, sir,” Kuzma said. “He seems like a good guy, sir. But…I mean they really don’t know nothing about the sea. I’m surprised any of them have survived at all. These are the kind of people that we usually rescue. Not the other way around.”
“We are living in strange times, Petty Officer,” the voice said. “Get the commodore.”
* * *
“Wolf.”
“So you’re a commodore?”
“I’m in command of six small boats,” Steve said, calmly. “And a support vessel. In the World War Two British Navy I’d be a Reserve, Hostilities Only, Lieutenant Commander or so. I was given the moniker by my next senior captain and it was voted upon, against my wishes, by the captain’s board. Feel free to call me Mr. Wolf or Captain Wolf. May I have a name?”
“Mister… Blount? My mother’s name. It’s not a huge security issue. We are in contact with all the rest of the remaining headquarters, such as they are and they know who I am.”
“God,” Steve said, his eyes closing. “You’re the NCCC.”
“You’re well versed in security issues.”
“I was a history teacher,” Steve said. “Including twentieth century. My masters in history was on the defense of Malta during World War Two. I thought that was bad. If the NCCC is talking to me… That’s even worse than my worst nightmares. That means this little flotilla really is it, doesn’t it?”
“You’re…unfortunately perceptive. There are other forces, but…”
“The subs aren’t infected but they also don’t have vaccine,” Steve said. “I’ve had time to think about this, sir.”
“You’re Australian?”
“I’m a naturalized American citizen, sir,” Steve said. “But at this point, I think borders are a bit passe. Be that as it may, I’m an American. Passport and everything. Two children who are quite American.”
“From what I’ve heard, the best of America,” the NCCC said.
“Fought their way out of the last concert in New York,” Steve said. “A tale I’d be more than happy to tell as soon as we can get you out of whatever fortress you’re in.”
“Come again?”
“My plan had been to just survive,” Steve said. “Keep hiding. Find a place my family and I could survive. Let someone like, well, you, sir, handle this. But… You save one person and it gets addictive. And this situation…annoys me, sir. I…shortly after we took the Toy I told my wife we were not going to bow to the zombies, sir.
“So, yes, my goal, not plan, goal, is a zombie free world. I’ll start with the U.S. So that wasn’t a joke. Say the goal is to get to the point where a lightly armed convoy can pull up with busses and deliver vaccine to your people and then you can take over and I can go fishing. Don’t ask me what the plan is, though. I didn’t know I was going to find a coast guard cutter. I don’t know what disaster or success is going to occur next. All I can do is work the goal. Sir.”
“Ambitious. Do you think you can do it?”
“I’ve only got a few boats, sir,” Steve said. “But if I have the CG personnel behind me, officially, it will help. I’ve got one active duty special forces sergeant but I’m going to need more help from surviving military. The sub personnel, especially, as soon as we can produce vaccine. I’m going to need their technical expertise if this is going to work.”
“About that,” the NCCC said. “We picked up the snippet where some was mentioned. Might I inquire where you secured it?”
“I don’t know,” Steve said. “Can I get a written pardon?”
There was a long pause.
“Were you…active in producing it?”
“I was not someone who…acquired the materials,” Steve said, cautiously. “I knew someone who was. And I know someone who was involved in production of vaccine.”
“Attenuated virus vaccine? Successfully?”
Steve thought about that for a long time.
“Yes.”
“Know someone? As in they know how to produce it? Have done so? And are available?”
“Yes, although absent that pardon you’re going to have to break out thumbscrews to get me to say who. And thumbscrews won’t work.”
“Stand by.”
* * *
“That is better than we could have hoped for,” Dr. Dobson said. He had been brought in on the conversation early on.
“I still don’t think some drug dealer…” Commander Freeman started to say.
“Wolf, despite his grandiose name, does not sound like a drug dealer,” Galloway said, holding up a hand.
* * *
“Captain Wolf? Blount, over.”
“Wolf.”
“First of all, since I didn’t cover it. No, there will be no charges. Can I absolutely guarantee that someday in the fullness of stupidity, some group will not bring charges of crimes against humanity for production of attenuated vaccine from human spinal cords? No. We are human and such thi
ngs happen. What I can guarantee, and I’ll get someone to send you a facsimile of a document to the effect, is that to the extent I have the legal power to do so, I will retroactively permit the production as well as authorizing future production for the good of the United States and humanity. That way if there is ever an ICC again we can both hang. But right now, without vaccine we are truly stuck. I won’t ask you to reveal much about it but we need to get some issues straight. Doctor?”
“This is Dr. James Dobson. I’m the Acting Director of the CDC. Can you detail, at all, the nature of the person you have who is familiar with production of attenuated vaccine? What are his or her qualifications?”
“None, essentially,” Steve said, carefully. “They were recruited by a clandestine, but highly professional, lab to assist in the production. They were the primary laboratory technician for the production of the vaccine my family used and currently has. We only have a few remaining doses, which I’m using for clearance personnel since they are more likely to get blood contamination. It works. None of us have contracted the disease and my daughter, handle Shewolf, contracted the virus after only the primer but survived. It was touch and go but she made it.”
* * *
“Sounds like his wife was the lab-tech,” Brice said, grimacing. “That had to be cold.”
“Can you define ‘highly qualified’?” Dr. Dobson said. “In a way that…”
“Fully prepared lab including Scanning Electron Microscope and all that sort of stuff,” Wolf replied. “Run by a PhD in microbiology. I hope you won’t mind if I avoid the name. But he used to work for you, Doctor. He was a consultant for a…well heeled group.”
“Corporate lab,” Dobson said, grimacing. “The FBI was aware they were around. New York, L.A. and San Francisco were particularly rife with them. They produced the vaccine for senior corporate officers and support. But they were professionals. But a lab tech… That’s not the same as the doctor…”
* * *
“Could he or she do it again?”
