01 Voyage of the Dead

by David P Forsyth

  “We need to clear a path near the gate to the dock,” said Scott. “Let’s sweep low and slow to draw as many as we can east, towards town. Then we can shoot a few in the head to keep most of them there and swing back to the harbor to give close air support when George and his people go for the gate.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Mick. He dropped the nose of the helicopter and swooped down towards the harbor. Seconds later they were hovering over a horde of gaping zombies. Mick worked the rudders and stick to side slip down the quays. Most of the zombies turned with them and followed en mass.

  “Good work, Mick,” said Scott. “Let’s just keep them moving this way. Down to the end of the harbor should do it. Then we can swing back to take care of any left by the gate when the RV gets there.”

  *****

  George felt the ripping tear of metal in his gut when he plowed past the overturned BMW on the road down from Pedregal. His RV would have needed a lot of body work, if he cared about it anymore. Now his only priority was making sure that it got him to the dock. He didn’t expect to ever see it again after that.

  “Thanks for taking me with you,” said the woman they had just rescued. “My name is Carla Mathews. Where are we going?”

  “I’m George Hammer and I wish I could say it’s nice to meet you too. We’re going to a boat in the harbor and then out to sea. It’s our only chance, Carla. The helicopter will give us as much cover as they can, but we may need to fight our way to the gate of the dock.”

  “Okay,” said the woman meekly. “Just tell me what to do.”

  “Follow the ninos when we get out, Senora,” said Hector. “Go with the women and children to the gate. Pablo and I will guard you while Mr. George gets the gate open.”

  “Good plan, Hector,” said George as he swung the RV around a corner in the road down the hill. “But I’m the one with a gun. Maybe you should open the gate for them. Here’s the key.” George leaned back to pass Hector the key just as a zombie jumped out of the bushes. The RV hit him head-on and George had to wrestle for control against instinct as they drifted toward the hundred foot drop-off on the right hand side of the road. The front tire dug into the dirt shoulder and the RV swayed over dangerously. George gunned the engine and felt the big vehicle fishtail towards the abyss. Then the tires grabbed traction and the RV snapped back onto the road.

  Close call, thought George. “Okay, okay, hang on. This is an E ticket ride kids.”

  The women and children had all let out at least small screams. It was only natural; just like George’s automatic jerk of the wheel when a “person” ran in front of the RV. But now George realized that the rules had changed. Those were Scott’s words earlier, but not until now did they ring true in George’s head. It didn’t matter that he had just run down someone. It didn’t matter that he had shot his son-in-law in the chest and forehead a few minutes ago. It didn’t matter because they were not people, not anymore. All that mattered was keeping his family and friends safe, plus rescuing a lady in distress. George made a conscious decision to turn into the next zombie that crossed his path.

  “Where are the keys, jeffe?” asked Hector.

  “Shit!” groaned George. “I must have dropped them when we hit that bastard. Look for them, quick. They have an orange float on the ring. We need them! All the keys we need are on there - the keys for the gate to the dock, the doors to the boat, and the boat’s ignition. They must be down on the floor.”

  Hector and Carla both began to search the floor of the RV. George continued to curse silently and stared at the road, assuring himself there was no way that the keys had been thrown out the slightly open window. No, they must be in the RV. But they were not in any obvious place, because Hector and Carla were still searching when George drove the motor home out through the gates of Pedregal and crossed the street into the parking lot of the harbor.

  *****

  Scott watched the RV make its precarious way down the hill and into the harbor parking lot. Most of the zombies had followed the helicopter away from that end of the harbor, but dozens more had arrived from the condos and hotels on the hills west of the harbor. Mark and Clint were both taking measured single shots at the heads of zombies who led the mob after the chopper, inviting more zombies to feast on the spilled brains.

  “The RV is at the harbor,” said Scott. “Let’s swing up the hill to draw these freaks inland for a few seconds and then back to the dock to cover their escape.”

  “Roger that,” said Mick as he banked the chopper up into a steep turn.

  “Movement!” called out Mark. “We have a military vehicle coming in from the direction of the airport!”

  Scott had been half expecting that. He turned and spotted what looked like a light armored personnel carrier plowing through the mob of zombies that they had left at the crossroads. It was a six wheeled APC that was probably amphibious and had some sort of automatic weapon turret. This could be trouble.

  “Stick to the plan,” said Scott.

  “Charlie Mike,” responded Mark. Clint was busy reloading his BAR. Mick was concentrating on flying. Scott had a few moments to spare for worry.

  *****

  George saw that most of the zombies had moved away from his end of the harbor. The helicopter must have drawn them off as planned. Then he noticed more of the bastards swarming into the parking lot from the west. Timing was critical. He needed a clear spot near the gate to get out of the RV and onto the dock. It didn’t look good. But there were ways to change it. George swerved right, towards the west end of the parking lot, and took deliberate aim at the closest bunch of zombies. They came at the RV with open arms and mouths. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! The RV plowed the zombies down with ease. George wasn’t sure how many heads were busted, but he would settle for broken legs and backs, as long as it kept them immobile for a few minutes. He navigated the RV through the scattered cars in the lot and aimed for more of the bastards. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! This was almost like an arcade game.

  He turned the RV around at the west end of the parking lot, and saw that he had succeeded in drawing all of the zombies away from the gate to the dock. The ones closest were now running away from the gate, towards the RV, and the new arrivals were veering his way too. Many of the zombies were clustered around a few of the ones he had run over, probably eating their brains. The rest, perhaps fifty of them, were focused on the RV and moving towards it with a purpose. George had never been great at math, but he had a mind for practical geometry and basic physics – helpful things in the construction industry. He saw that it would be wrong to drive straight back to the gate. The ones in between would simply turn and cut them off, if he didn’t run them all down. No, it was better to swing wide, drawing them all farther away, and then plow through them to the objective at high speed. So be it.

  *****

  “Looks like George is playing Pac Man with those zombies in the parking lot,” commented Mick as they flew back over the harbor.

  “Good analogy,” responded Scott. “He’s got them swarming away from the dock and it looks like he’s taken a bunch of them out of action too. I just hope he doesn’t waste any time. The rest of the mob is turning back behind us and we can’t risk herding them off again with that APC coming this way.”

  “There he goes!” exclaimed Clint. “He’s plowing through them towards the gate.”

  “About time,” chimed in Mark. “Get some!”

  *****

  George saw the right angle develop among the crowd of zombies and took the chance, swinging the RV back towards the gate and gunning it through a group of at least a dozen zombies.

  SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

  They smashed into and splattered away from the charging vehicle with resounding impacts. It felt as good as it was disgusting. And then the way was clear. No zombies between the RV and the gate.

  “Find those damned keys!” yelled George.

  “I see them under your seat! Behind your feet,” replied Carla breathlessly.
“I can’t reach them until you get out.”

  “Okay,” George said. “Your job is to grab them as soon as we stop. Keep your eyes on them. You have to get them to the gate. Got it?”

  “Yes,” she said with a little more confidence. “I can do that.”

  “Good. Get ready everyone! Here we are.” George slammed on the brakes and turned the wheel so the RV skidded around parallel to the gate. It would block the first of the zombies for a few seconds. “Let’s go!”

  The driver’s door faced the parking lot and George pulled his pistol as he opened that door and jumped out. The nearest zombie was fifty feet away and closing fast. George took careful aim and was about to fire when a rifle bullet from above and behind blew its head apart. Thank God for air cover. The next closest zombies were more than a hundred feet away and George saw his chance to move around the front of the RV towards the gate. He was careful not to touch any of the zombie blood that was still pouring off the front grill.

  “Over here, Senora Carla,” called Hector. “Bring me the keys!”

  “Coming!” yelled Carla as she stumbled out of the side door of the RV. She pulled her arm back and threw the keys towards the gate. It was a bad throw. Not her fault, really. The action was charged with fear and adrenalin, and was exacerbated by her near state of shock. The keys flew much farther and higher than intended, over the gate and down onto the dock, where they bounced off into the water. Just then the first zombie came around the rear end of the RV. They were all doomed! Everyone froze in the terror of disbelief for a second or two. Then a voice from a loudspeaker above them broke the spell.

  *****

  “Forget the gate! Jump into the water! Now!” yelled Scott over the helicopter’s PA speakers from a hundred yards away. “The zombies don’t swim. Jump in now!” He had watched George’s escape and everything else they had seen today unfold with a mind that was always looking for hidden meaning. When the keys with the bright orange float went into the water it had first brought despair, then a moment of brilliant insight.

  “Get into the water NOW!” yelled Scott again. “THEY’RE AFRAID OF WATER!” It was just an educated guess, but sounding confident was better than just watching everyone get eaten alive in front of that gate.

  “Cover them,” Scott added unnecessarily on the intercom.

  *****

  George took only a moment to process Scott’s instructions. Then he grabbed one of his twin grandsons, he wasn’t sure which one, and tossed him over the rail into the water below. That was all it took to get his daughter moving and the rest of them quickly joined her as she climbed over the railing next to the big fenced gate and leapt into the water ten feet below to save her son. Pablo grabbed George’s other grandson and jumped in with him. George himself turned to put a bullet into the head of the first zombie to reach them. As he took aim on the next one he was glad to see it get hit in the head with a high powered rifle bullet, as was the next zombie to appear. But more of them were now coming around the front of the RV. George took one more shot at them and then launched himself over the railing into the harbor.

  The water was not cold. Everyone in the group could swim, even the five year old twins, and they were all heading towards the first boat slip about 10 yards away from the sea wall. Hector had swum quickly to retrieve the keys that were held afloat by the orange bobber. He joined George and they turned back, treading water, to see what the zombies would do next.

  Sure enough, they were crowding along the railing and bashing against the gate, but none of them had followed into the water. One zombie was already tangled in the razor wire above the gate. They were all moaning, snarling and reaching towards their prey. One of them, who had previously been a probably attractive young woman, was leaning far out over the railing when it was pushed from behind and tumbled down into the water. It immediately started thrashing, but with no sign of coordinated swimming movements. George could see the whites of the thing’s eyes as the pupils rolled up into its skull and it went completely berserk. He and Hector instinctively swam away from the creature, wondering if the infection was spreading into the water, and watched as it went into rigid spasms like an epileptic seizure before slowly sliding below the surface of the water.

  That motivated them to swim hard for the dock where the other members of their party were already pulling themselves up out of the water. They had no idea if the zombie was moving towards them under water, but the fear that such a possibility instilled was more terrifying than if they had spotted a great white shark aiming right for them. In seconds they were hauling themselves up onto the dock. Hector held up the keys triumphantly and George gave a wave of thanks to the men in the helicopter. Then Pablo shouted and pointed at something moving from the main road into the harbor parking lot. It looked like a small tank or military armored car.

  “Let’s get to the boat, pronto!” yelled George. Looking back towards the gate he caught his breath at the sight of all the zombies climbing on top of each other, straining to get over the fence. With hundreds of bodies piling up against the gate it might not hold for long either. George didn’t have a lot of faith in Mexican construction.

  “We need to get out of here fast!”

  *****

  Scott let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, as soon as it was clear that zombies really couldn’t swim.

  “Good call,” said Mick. “How the hell did you figure that one out?”

  “Two big clues and some guess work,” replied Scott. “First, we saw lots of zombies on the beach but none of them went into the water. Second, the news said they were calling the infection ‘Super Rabies’. Another name for rabies is ‘hydrophobia’ and that means ‘fear of water’. I guessed that these things were probably afraid of water. At the very least we just learned that zombies don’t swim.”

  “Kick ass!” said Mick. “You were always the smart one, and lucky too. So what’s your plan to handle the Mexican Army?” He nodded towards the armored vehicle that was turning into the parking lot. It must have already bashed through the zombies between there and the airport, which would explain the wet red liquid coloring its front end. Now it was running over more of them without pause as it headed towards the RV parked by the gate.

  “Escape, evasion and distraction,” Mark suggested. “Not necessarily in that order.”

  “Yeah,” Scott said with a tight grin. “Let’s start with distraction. They came down here because of this helicopter. Maybe we can draw them away with it too. Fly back towards the inland end of the harbor, Mickey, and let’s see what they do.”

  “Okay, Scott,” said Mick. “But it looks like they’re homing in on the RV and the dock with your boat. Maybe we should make a low pass to get their attention.”

  “Do it,” Scott confirmed without a second thought. The helicopter swept down the side of the harbor at less than 100 feet altitude. It certainly did get the attention of the men in the armored vehicle, so much so that the gunner opened fire with the turret mounted machine gun.

  “Holy shit!” yelled Mick Williams as tracers stitched the air in front of the cockpit.

  “Break right!” shouted Scott. Mick obeyed his order, but they felt a few thuds in the rear of the fuselage as the helicopter turned and skimmed over the boats in the harbor. “We took some hits.”

  “Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea,” said Mick tensely.

  “Time for the escape and evasion part of the plan?” asked Mark casually.

  “Keep going over the harbor and inland, Mick. We still need to draw them away from the dock,” replied Scott. “And watch your instruments for any sign of damage.”

  Mick guided the chopper out of machine gun range. Scott looked back and saw that the armored personnel carrier had turned to follow their course as best it could on the ground. That should give George a chance to get the yacht out of the harbor.

  “Hydraulic pressure is fluctuating,” said Mick flatly. “Now it’s falling slightly. We may have a problem.” H
e was concentrating on the instruments now and climbing the helicopter slowly towards a thousand feet. That was fine with Scott, as it meant the men in the APC would be able to see and follow them further away from the harbor.

  “How bad is it?” asked Scott.

  “Not catastrophic,” replied Mick. “At least not yet, but I don’t think we should try to fly back over the ocean to the ship without checking it out.”

  “And that means landing,” noted Scott. “Damn it! This could get interesting.”

  *****

  Interlude in Hell

  El Segundo Water Tower: 8:33 AM, April 2

  Carl had repacked all of his survival gear and made one last surveillance circuit of the catwalk before starting his descent from the water tower. Now, as he reached the ground, he retrieved and carefully refolded the compact ladder taken from the ambulance. Then he moved quickly and quietly to open the gate of the enclosure. Stepping gingerly over the reeking bodies of the zombies he had terminated yesterday, Carl moved with what he hoped was a stealthy gait towards the golf cart that he had spotted from above.

  As expected, the keys were absent, but a quick press of the brake released it and he was able to turn the wheel left and right without hindrance of a steering lock. So far, so good. The next step in his plan was to simply push the cart out to the street where gravity would take him down the hill to his initial destination. He stepped out of the cart and pushed. It moved! But then it came up short with a slight rattle of chains. Damn. It was chained to a pole with a padlock. Carl realized this only made sense here, where any group of kids could have enacted the same plan as a prank.