“Yeah,” agreed Mick. “But how do we do that here?”
“It looks like the line was just nicked a bit, not cut wide open. It’s only a few drops now with the engine turned off, but I bet it sprayed like a bitch under pressure. See all of that fluid down there?”
“Yeah,” Mick repeated. “So what do we use to fix it?”
“Tape,” replied Scott.
“Tape? That won’t work for long,” said Mick skeptically.
“Doesn’t have to work for too long,” replied Scott. “Just long enough for us to get back aboard the Sovereign Spirit, and she’s getting closer every minute. There’s some Gorilla tape in a tool bag under the front seats. Wipe down the hose while I get the tape. And start chewing some of that bubble gum you always carry around.”
“Bubble gum?” asked Mick. “Why?”
“When you get the hose dry, wad the gum around the leak to stop the flow. Hold it there to keep the hose dry while we wrap it in the tape. That’ll make a better seal. The gum will also stand up to the fluid better than the tape will and it’ll keep the sticky part of the tape dry.”
“You’re a genius, bro,” said Mick. “That just might work. Let’s do it.”
*****
The Expiscator was just pulling away from the dock when George saw two men and three young women running down the dock towards them. They were yelling and waving their arms to attract his attention. If he simply moved the throttle forward an inch they wouldn’t have a chance of making it aboard. But that would be tantamount to murder, wouldn’t it? On the other hand, if they were infected, they could bring the disease aboard. Not an easy choice for George, but despite all his harsh talk, he was still a softy at heart. He eased back on the throttles and turned to tell Hector to help the refugees get aboard.
Suddenly a figure erupted from the captain’s head behind the bridge. George knew immediately that it was a zombie. He even recognized the face of the Expiscator’s former skipper who had taken George out fishing on this yacht in a different world. But George had no more time for thought as the apparition advanced with alarming speed and violent intent. George grabbed the pistol off of the control panel and jumped back towards the navigation station, lifting the pistol and firing in one smooth motion that would have done James Bond proud. The first bullet was another chest shot that merely slowed the zombie’s advance. Damn, this is going to take some getting used to! His next aimed shot hit dead center in the forehead from four feet away and the semi-jacketed hollow point magnum round blew its brains across the aft bulkhead of the bridge. That’s haz-mat, thought George. We’ll need to use rubber gloves and be real careful when we clean that crap up.
When George looked back outside he saw the new arrivals clustered on the swim step with Hector keeping them there, using the threat of his raised machete. Good man. Then his attention was focused on steering the boat out of the harbor. It wasn’t too difficult. Due to its size, the big yacht had been berthed on the end of a dock where most of the other boats were in the 50 to 60 foot range. The 118 foot Expiscator had taken twice as much room, so it had filled the entire length of the outside berth. It had also been pointed towards the mouth of the harbor, so that any rouge wave coming in would have hit her close to head-on. Now it was just a matter of turning slightly left to clear the breakwater and enter the mouth of the Sea of Cortez. George did push the throttles forward an inch or two now and the big yacht surged out of the harbor. They were going to make it!
As the Expiscator was leaving the harbor, George looked back and saw dozens of other boats following them. So be it. They must have all seen the Mexican army attack the helicopter and watched George’s group escape. George couldn’t blame them if they wanted to leave this place too. What had once been a vacation paradise had rapidly become a living, or undead, hell. However, George noted that some of the boats were not built for long distance cruising. A couple of them were simply open deck center console day fishers, not at all suited to the long voyage north. A few others looked like they wouldn’t be able to keep up on a long voyage either. One of them, however, was a two-masted motorsailer that looked like it was ready for a transoceanic passage. At least a dozen others were yachts of respectable size that probably had the range and speed for the run to San Diego. George decided that he would need to stop outside the harbor to organize this impromptu fleet and give them all a pep talk for what lay ahead.
*****
Mark Argus was taking a leisurely stroll along Lover’s Beach. He knew the dangers they were facing and he was willing to meet them. The weight of the fully loaded Mini-14 in his hands and the wide open, empty beach gave him all the confidence he needed. The big cruise ship remained anchored in front of the town. There still wasn’t any sign of life aboard her, but her presence gave the view a feeling of normalcy that had been lacking when they were flying over hordes of zombies. If he tried to fool himself he could easily pretend that this was only another day in paradise and he was just lucky to have this picturesque beach to himself.
He was still admiring the view of the Cabo San Lucas beachfront, thankful that distance made the zombies swarming it look like Spring Break coeds – which many of them may have been yesterday – when he saw the Expiscator emerge from the harbor. It was an impressive sight that raised his spirits even further. They had made it, at least this far. Then he saw another boat following the big yacht, and another, and another. His curiosity and sense of danger mingled. What was going on now?
“Ship ahoy!” Mark yelled over his shoulder towards the helicopter. “Lots of them!”
Scott stood up from behind the helicopter, said something to Mick, and trotted down the sand to join Mark near the shore. “What’s up?”
“Your yacht has picked up a following,” Mark replied. “Looks like a lot folks decided to follow our lead.”
“Can you blame them?” asked Scott. “If they’re healthy, they might be good assets for our own survival too. It might be too early to make predictions, but I’m almost willing to bet that we have the makings of a small fleet, or flotilla out there. When the Sovereign Spirit gets here most of those boats will probably want to follow us north. I just hope they won’t expect us to provide everything they need to survive.”
“Do we really want all of them following us?” asked Mark. “How does that help our chances of survival?”
“Well,” responded Scott slowly, “it all depends on where we’re going and what we plan to do when we get there. Until we decide that, I think that helping to save as many people as possible, especially ones with their own boats and resources to contribute to our long term survival, is about the best thing we can do. I mean I’d love to try and save some of those people stuck in hotel rooms along the beach over there too. But that would mean we’d have to risk losing our own people and risk bringing infected people on the ship with us. I’m not willing to take those kinds of risks. But letting the people on those boats tag along is the least we can do and it poses the least risk to our friends and families on the Sovereign Spirit.”
“Okay, I can see that. So what about the cruise ship out there?” Mark asked, pointing towards the big ship that remained at anchor off the beach of Cabo San Lucas. “That looks like a good potential addition to the fleet, doesn’t it?”
“It looks like a damned ghost ship and a hell of a lot more trouble to manage and support than it would probably be worth to take with us,” answered Scott with a grimace. “I don’t see any zombies swarming it, but I don’t see any signs of organized life aboard it either. If they weigh anchor and follow us when we leave, I won’t chase them off. But I’m not sending you or anyone else over there to convince them to join us, or try to take over that ship. Besides, even if it’s free of infection and full of passengers, it would only contribute a bunch of tourists with suitcases full of leisure and bathing suits, not survivalists with guns, ammo and rations. I’m afraid they would be much more of a burden than help to us.”
“Good points,” admitted Mark. “But it is
a pretty ship and it could be packed with babes.”
Scott laughed and slapped him on the back. “Hold those happy thoughts, buddy. Let’s focus on getting ourselves out of here first. Okay?”
“Charlie Mike,” said Mark with a hint of melancholy. Mark had a teenage son aboard the Sovereign Spirit, but he had been a confirmed and active bachelor since his divorce. He was always looking for new conquests.
“I’ll see if I can get through to Hammer on the radio,” said Scott. “I’ll ask him to stop close by and organize his little flotilla while we get the chopper ready to fly again and wait for the Sovereign Spirit to get here. Just keep an eye on those other boats and be ready to give George some cover fire if any of them prove to be hostile.”
“You got it, bro,” said Mark and turned his attention back to the boats emerging from the harbor. There were quite a few of them now.
*****
George was already reducing power again when he spotted Scott and Mark standing on Lovers’ Beach. If he questioned their identity for a few seconds, his recognition was confirmed as soon as the view around the rocks opened up enough for him to see the helicopter sitting on the sand between the cliffs. The gunfire must have done some damage, or they never would have landed. George hoped it wasn’t serious. There was no question of leaving them behind. He shifted the engines of the yacht into neutral and rushed back to get his people organized, grabbing a powered megaphone off a rack next to the door as he passed by.
“Hector!” he yelled in his own powerful voice as he came out on deck. “Is everyone safe?”
“Si, jeffe!” Hector called back. “But we have five new passengers. They seem healthy, but I don’t know if they should be trusted. They say they were hiding on a friend’s boat, but didn’t have the keys to the engine. What should I do with them?”
“Bring them up to the flying bridge on top of the boat,” answered George. “I’ll talk to them when I have time. We need to get all of these other boats organized. And the helicopter has landed on Lovers’ Beach. I have to see if they need help too.” George was already moving up the stairs to the flying bridge and sun deck. From there he had a 360 degree view and would be better able to get a grasp of the situation. He decided to begin with a quick check on Scott and the others on the beach.
“Hello on the beach!” George called out using the megaphone. “Do you need assistance?” He could see Mark wave back, but he looked as casual as always. No sign of immediate distress there. Then he heard Scott’s voice on the helicopter’s PA speaker, which happened to be pointed towards the yacht.
“Turn on the radio, George!” he heard Scott say. “You know the frequency to use.”
Shit, thought George. He’d forgotten all about Scott’s instructions to use the yacht’s radio. Not surprising considering the pressure of recent events. Luckily there was a radio installed in the helm console of the flying bridge. He turned it on and changed the channel to the one Scott had told him to use. “Scott?” George said into the microphone. “Are you there?”
“This is Eagle,” replied Scott’s voice, clear as day. “We read you, Expiscator. Our condition is currently secure, but we are waiting for the Spirit to get closer before taking off again, due to some minor damage from trigger happy locals. Suggest you remain here too and try to organize the other boats that are following you. Use that megaphone to let them know some of our plan. At least tell them we’re going north. If they can’t keep up, they’re welcome to follow us. Don’t promise anything else yet. Do you copy?”
“Yes, Scott… I mean Eagle. I copy. We have a few extra passengers already and I’m afraid the skipper of your yacht had turned into a, ah, a zombie before we got here. He’s been taken care of now. But I guess I’ll have to drive this boat. Over.”
“You can do it, George,” said Scott. “Don’t mess with anything you don’t understand. Almost everything is automatic anyway. Stick to the throttles, helm, GPS, and radio, especially the radio. We can talk you through most other things and help you navigate using our radar. But, for right now, just focus on getting the rest of those boats behind you organized. And be sure to keep clear of the rocks and the other boats. Repel boarders if you have to. Got it?”
“Got it,” George acknowledged. “And thank you again. My daughter and grandsons would have died back there, if you hadn’t arranged this rescue. I owe you big time.”
“Just keep them alive and bring my yacht along with the rest of us and we can call it even. Eagle out, for now.”
“Expiscator is standing by in case you need assistance,” replied George before returning the microphone to its cradle on the console. Then he motioned Hector over and explained what he had in mind. “I’m going to make a little announcement on this megaphone to the people on all the boats following us. Then I want you to repeat it in Spanish. Okay?”
Hector nodded and George lifted the megaphone to his mouth. “Ahoy out there. This is George Hammer aboard the Expiscator. If you folks want to come with us, you should know that we are heading north. Our next stop will probably be San Diego. If your boat can make it that far, you are welcome to follow us, but we can’t promise to give you fuel or food. I suggest that you all try to organize yourselves and share the larger boats with longer range. The smaller boats won’t make the trip. They will need to be abandoned or towed. If you can’t or don’t want to come with us, or follow us if you are slower, then I can only suggest that you try to find a small town along the coast that has not been overrun by these monsters, or sail over into the Sea of Cortez where there are small villages and deserted islands that might be safe. Do not attempt to come aboard this yacht. I have orders to repel boarders and we are armed.” George lowered the megaphone and handed it to Hector. “Repeat as much of that as you can remember in Spanish.”
Hector took the megaphone and did just that.
The reaction from people on the other boats was mixed, and it was clear that some of them had not been able to hear or understand the whole message. Among those who did, ones on the larger boats – mostly sport fishing cruisers and small pleasure yachts, as well as the big sailboat – looked to be agreeable. But the people on smaller boats that had no chance of making it a thousand miles to San Diego were visibly upset. One little speedboat with five men who looked like locals aboard it turned towards the Expiscator and accelerated fast. George knew he would have to set an example. He could not let those men come aboard and risk them taking control of the yacht.
George pulled his pistol and inserted a fresh clip. When the boat was about 100 feet away he fired four rapid shots into it. One bullet hit a man in the arm, but the boat kept coming. George was getting nervous until he saw the boat’s driver fly back from a large caliber bullet wound to his chest. The sound of the shot came a moment later. Glancing left he saw Mark kneeling in a shooter’s stance on the beach and sighting in for another shot with the hunting rifle. It wouldn’t be necessary. One of the other men wisely grabbed the steering wheel and the boat veered off towards the southeast, apparently deciding they would rather take their chances in the Sea of Cortez. Two of the other small open deck fishing boats, also manned by locals, decided to follow them. They probably would have had trouble convincing one of the gringo yachtsmen to take them along anyway. But all of the larger boats and a few smaller cabin cruisers flying American flags stayed and maintained a respectful distance from the Expiscator.
*****
Scott stared at the patch covering the damaged hydraulic line as Mick started the twin CT-7 turbine engines which produced a combined 3,250 horsepower. The hydraulic pumps kicked in and Scott could see the patched line flex under pressure. No obvious leak. Good. He waved at Mick to shut the engines back down and replaced the access panel, securing it with his multi-tool. They could probably take off now and make it back to the Sovereign Spirit without incident, but Scott felt secure on Lovers’ Beach and preferred to stay and keep an eye on George and his impromptu fleet until the mother ship arrived.
“Okay, Mic
key,” called Scott. “I think that did it. No more leaks. Shut her down and stay here with Clint. I’ll go back down the beach to Mark. I’m taking the handheld radio to help Gorge organize his ducklings.”
“Go for it,” replied Mick Williams. “I’ll keep the bird ready for immediate dust off.”
“You have the lingo down pat, except that ‘dust-off’ is normally used to describe a medical evacuation,” said Scott. “I’m hoping we don’t have to do any of that. Just keep your eyes open and your pistol locked and loaded.”
He smiled as he walked down to the beach, taking a moment to reflect on the transformation that was occurring among his friends. They were all slipping smoothly into military jargon, even Mick, who had only served briefly in the Navy. It was probably a good thing, considering the new type of world they were facing. Zombies were the enemy now, but even desperate survivors would have to be considered as hostile, unless proven otherwise. Even the Mexican Army had opened fire without warning. A military approach to the situation was certainly justified. Scott could only hope that all of his friends and crew were stable enough to understand that some of the people they ran into were not zombies, or desperados, and have enough good sense to hold their fire in those situations. With all the boats following the Expiscator out of the harbor, this was rapidly becoming one of those situations.
There were now over a dozen boats and yachts gathering between the harbor and the seemingly deserted cruise ship off the beach resorts of Cabo. Scott could hear George’s amplified voice speaking to them, but couldn’t make out the words because he was facing the other direction. A moment later Scott caught his breath when he heard several rapid gunshots coming from the Expiscator and then saw Mark kneel and fire his rifle. Scott realized that this time he was probably not shooting at a zombie. His target must be someone on one of those boats. Damn it. For the umpteenth time that day Scott reflected on how the rules of the world had changed.
01 Voyage of the Dead Page 11
