*****
The threat of confrontation with the rest of the boats seemingly resolved, George turned to deal with the five refugees who had jumped aboard when they left the dock. They looked like college kids on Spring Break. The two young men were clean cut and athletic looking. The three young ladies looked like cheerleaders, or swimsuit models. They were all wearing bathing suits and looked a bit spooked, but were otherwise healthy and obviously relieved to be aboard. George, still holding the pistol, nodded and said, “So, what’s your story?”
“I’m Craig Burns and this is Tom Hillsdale. The girls here are Mindy, Susan and Paula. We’re on vacation from UC Santa Barbara and everyone down here went crazy yesterday. Paula’s boyfriend, Jim, had rented a boat in the marina and she had a key to the gate. So we ran down there from a bar to get away from those zombies – they are zombies aren’t they? But Jim didn’t make it and we didn’t have a key to start the boat. So we’ve been hiding there since yesterday. Thanks for taking us with you!”
“Okay,” said George agreeably. He was getting good vibes from these kids. At least they weren’t pirates or crack heads. But he continued with a tone of authority. “You guys and girls are lucky. No doubt about it. But I need to be sure you are not infected. Did any of those zombies - yes we call them zombies too - did any of them get their hands or teeth on any of you?” They all shook their heads vigorously and wearing those swim suits the denial was convincing. George gave them a quick walk-around inspection and would have seen any scratches or bite marks. “Okay then, you can stay aboard. But you’ll earn your keep.” The boys nodded hesitantly and the girls looked slightly more apprehensive. George chuckled, “You’ll be helping me run this damned boat, if you want to make it home.”
“Yes sir!” “Thank you, sir!” was the chorus of grateful replies.
“Good. Now you can start by going down and checking out the rest of the boat with Hector. Stay off the bridge for now. I had to shoot a zombie in there. Don’t touch any of the blood. Just make sure there aren’t any more of those things hiding down below. I want to be sure it’s safe for my daughter and grandsons to go inside and get comfortable. Got it?”
“Yes sir!” and they turned to follow his instructions. George was starting to feel like a real skipper again. He went back to watching the other boats milling around outside the harbor. The large sailing yacht had begun to maneuver closer. It was not a threatening move. Their skipper probably just wanted to open communications. It came to a stop about a hundred yards away, and George noticed that it was flying a flag he recognized, but couldn’t quite identify, with stars and bars. Then a man stood up near the helm and waved before using a loud hailer.
“Ahoy and g’day, Expiscator! This is the Australian yacht Doyle’s Southern Comfort,” said an Aussie accented voice. “I’m Jimmy Doyle and we are interested in your proposal, but we need more information, mate. Do you know of a safe destination? Are you going to an uninfected port? Or somewhere safe to re-provision? We agree there’s likely to be more safety in numbers right about now. But if the USA is as bad as this, we might as well sail south for home, aye mate?”
George nodded his agreement and thought for a moment before replying.
“G’day to you too, Mr. Doyle and your Southern Comfort,” he said through the megaphone. “I understand your concerns. My name is George Hammer and I suggest you wait here for a few hours to make your decision. Our friends are coming in a much bigger ship that still has global communications capabilities. They are the ones who will be setting our course and they should have information that will help you decide what to do too. You are free to come or go as you please, but we are happy to help if we can.”
“Thank you, mate,” the Aussie replied. “Much obliged. We’ll continue to prepare for setting sail and consult you again before we set off. But even if we decide to follow you, we’ll be going under sail to conserve fuel, so we’ll be slower and would need to know where to meet you.”
“Understood. We’ll have more information for you before you leave,” George said. He turned back to the control console on the flying bridge and flipped on the radar. It showed the outline of the coast, the other boats around him, and another blip that was approaching from the southwest. It was still more than ten miles away, but it was closing fast. George found a pair of binoculars and tried to spot the speeding craft. After a minute, when it was more than a mile closer, he was able to see a streaking rooster tail of water and a low profile speedboat skipping from swell to swell at over 80 miles per hour. That must be the Cigarette racing boat from the Sovereign Spirit. The radar also showed a larger blip about thirty miles off the coast and moving closer at over 20 knots. George radioed the helicopter to tell them the speedboat would arrive in about five minutes and the ship was about an hour away. He also conveyed the questions from the Australian motorsailer to Scott.
*****
Scott called Mark and Clint back to the helicopter as soon as the Cigarette boat arrived off Land’s End. It could have landed on the harbor side of Lover’s Beach, but Scott waved it off. Over the radio he instructed the men in the boat to escort the Expiscator and make sure none of the other boats tried to interfere again. He could see that at least two of the three crewmen manning the Cigarette were armed with rifles or shotguns. Scott told them to leave the guns and whatever ammo they had with George when they returned to the ship.
With the situation seemingly in hand, Scott radioed Captain Fisher aboard the Sovereign Spirit and asked if he had any more information about conditions up north so he could pass it on to the Australians and anyone else trying to decide if it was a good idea to follow them up to California.
“Still lots of military radio traffic,” Captain Fisher replied, “but it’s mostly encrypted. Sounds like a lot of activity around San Diego though, so there is still some form of civilization there. We’re too far away to pick up any civilian news on radio or broadcast TV, if there still is any. GNN is still putting out their satellite feed from Los Angeles, but their local news is limited. All they can confirm is that West LA is overrun. And they have equally bad news from their satellite feeds across America and around the world. Your son and his friends are picking up more information on the internet and it sounds like a lot of people outside of major cities are holding their own, but the zombies seem to be showing up almost everywhere now. In fact, they just passed along a report that zombies have overrun Sydney, Perth and Canberra in Australia. Hobart and Darwin seem to be holding them off pretty well, at least for now.”
“Thanks, Captain, I’ll pass along the news. Then we’ll be flying back. We stopped the hydraulic leak, so everything should be fine. But thanks for sending the Cigarette boat. I told them to escort the Expiscator out to meet you and it looks like a lot of smaller yachts will be tagging along too. It’s becoming an impressive little flotilla. We might have to promote you to Commodore.”
“No, that’s your job title now, Scott,” replied Captain Fisher with only a touch of humor in his voice. “You’re the boss, remember?” Scott chuckled as he signed off. Commodore Scott Allen, huh? Not a bad title for a wealthy yachtsman. Scott changed frequencies to contact George, as well as the Australians aboard Doyle’s Southern Comfort, and the rest of the boats that had followed them out of the harbor.
“Attention all vessels interested in following us north. This is Commodore Scott Allen. I’ll be leading this voyage of survival and repatriation. My flag ship, the Sovereign Spirit, will be arriving soon. It’s a large passenger and vehicle transport that has been converted into an expedition vessel. It carries equipment such as the helicopter we arrived in and the speedboat that just got here. We have been at sea for more than three weeks and, so far, we are all free of infection. In order to keep it that way, I can’t let any of you come aboard until we are sure that you are all free of infection too. However, you are welcome to follow us up to San Diego, or beyond. We can spare enough fuel to make sure you can all make it at least as far as San Diego. We can also
offer some canned and dry food too, if you need it, as well as drinking water.”
Scott paused to collect his thoughts for a moment. Many of these people might not have had any news of the disaster that was enveloping the world. Some might think that it was an isolated event in Cabo. How should he break the news of the end of the world?
“For those of you who don’t know, the violent attacks that happened here, in Cabo, are happening all around the world too. If you have active satellite TV or internet access on your boats, you should be able to confirm this. If not, just trust me. This might not be the end of the world, but it is the end of the world as we knew it. Things have changed in a big way.” Scott paused again and thought about what he needed these people to understand.
“We know that the American military is still active in San Diego. We hope they are creating a safe zone there. We also know that other cities around the world have already been overrun. For example, and this will be sad news for some of you, I just learned that some Australian cities, in particular Sydney, Perth and Canberra, have been overrun. News from Europe is just as bad. As for the USA, all of the major cities seem to be overrun by zombies too. News from smaller cities and towns is hard to come by, but it seems clear that this catastrophe is global in nature.
“I can’t tell you what to do, but I will give you my word of honor that if you choose to follow us, I will do my best to help you find a safe haven. However, if you choose to join us, you will have to agree to follow my instructions, unless and until you choose to go your separate ways.” Scott deliberately avoided the term ‘orders’, even if he meant the same thing. “I can tell you now that we plan to go up to San Diego and then farther north because we are in contact with friends and family who are waiting for us to rescue them. After that I can’t promise anything. Nor can I promise food or fuel past San Diego. But I will do my best to get all of us at least that far. If you want to join us, and agree to my conditions, follow the Expiscator. That’s the big yacht that you followed out of the harbor.
“If you have any questions, pass them through the Expiscator’s skipper, George Hammer. Do not attempt to board either the Expiscator or the Sovereign Spirit. We are all well armed and determined to defend ourselves against infection. If you need fuel or provisions, let George know about it. We’ll work out a system for resupply that does not pose a threat of infection.
“If you decide to come with us, get ready now. We leave in less than an hour. We’ll be traveling at about 15 knots. If you can’t keep up, then at least you know where we’re headed. If you choose to come with us, we’ll try to help you survive. That is all I can promise.”
Mick, Mark and Clint were all nodding their heads by the time Scott finished his First Address to the Flotilla, as it would come to be known. Mick gave a thumbs up and Mark said, “Charlie Mike.” Then Mick fired up the engines and they took off from Lover’s Beach. The chopper circled around the boats near the harbor once before setting course for the Sovereign Spirit, out over the open ocean beyond Land’s End.
*****
George Hammer got his little flotilla organized and they started up the coast a few minutes later. Jimmy Doyle radioed to say he had decided to follow them north, since there was at least some sign of civilization and chance of resupply there. George set an initial speed of 7 knots, so that all the boats could keep up, at least until the Sovereign Spirit caught up to them. Then he would increase speed and match their course. Now he had a few moments to inspect the yacht and speak with his family and friends. George asked Hector to take the helm on the flying bridge and made his way below.
The Expiscator was a luxurious yacht with a large main salon and dining room stretching back from a gourmet kitchen on the main deck. There were a total of seven cabins below, including two with bunks for crew, four guest cabins, and a large master suite towards the stern. Up on deck near the bow was a built-in Jacuzzi tub, while the stern offered both a covered patio deck and an open fishing cockpit with fighting chairs. If they had to spend time in quarantine before being allowed back aboard the Sovereign Spirit, this would be a great place to do it. George found his daughter and grandsons sitting with Carla Mathews in the main salon.
“Well, we made it,” George said in the happiest tone he could muster. “We’ve got a long trip ahead of us, but Mr. Allen seems to know what he’s doing and we’re very lucky that he let us use this yacht for our escape.”
“Yes,” Carla agreed. “It’s wonderful. I’m glad I was able to hitch a ride with you guys. I thought I would die back there.”
“But everything is so crazy, Dad,” said George’s daughter Molly. “Those people turned into monsters. They turned Fred into one of them. What’s happening?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart, but it’s something very bad and it’s not just happening here. Life is going to be very different now. I need you to be strong and take care of the boys. We’re going to be okay, but things could get worse before they get better. Understand?”
“Yes, Daddy,” Molly answered with tears in her eyes.
“That’s my good girl,” George said softly. “Now I need to check on some things. Then we’ll get you all settled into a cabin.” George gave Molly a hug, rubbed his grandsons on their heads, and went back out onto the deck. They were rounding the tip of Land’s End and El Arco framed the view of the big cruise liner that remained still and silent in front of the beach resorts of Cabo San Lucas, where flesh eating zombies had replaced party going coeds.
George looked back and counted twenty-eight boats following the Expiscator out to sea. Eighteen of the power boats were 50 feet or longer, all but one of them dedicated fishing machines with open rear decks and cabins forward. The other one was a 70 foot luxury yacht with only a small fishing cockpit, similar to the Expiscator, but considerably smaller, if slightly more modern looking. More than a few smaller fishing boats and cabin cruisers in the 40 foot range were tagging along as well. George suspected they would need refueling at least once, possibly twice, en route to San Diego. The large Australian motorsailer and two smaller sailboats were bringing up the rear and would undoubtedly fall further and further behind, but George had promised to keep them advised of the flotilla’s position and situation in the days to come.
All in all, George was proud to be leading this ragtag bunch of survivors. He knew they had a long way to go, and an uncertain future when they got there, but it felt good to be getting away from the death and horror that had been Cabo San Lucas. He took one more look at Land’s End, which had always seemed beautiful and imposing. Now the latter impression was overlaid with images of horror and dread. Then he looked up along the cliffs to Pedregal where he could see Mr. Allen’s house sitting above the ocean, peacefully empty, except for the body of his son-in-law, waiting for someone who would probably never move in. George made his own peace with the world and vowed to protect the people who fate had placed in his care.
*****
Interlude in Hell
Chevron Oil Refinery, 2:14 PM, April 2
Carl had fired his new pistol into the heads of fifteen zombies when the slide locked back, indicating that the gun was finally empty. By then there were at least a hundred more pressing against the fence of the refinery. Carl paused to search the body of the zombie cop for more ammunition and found four more loaded magazines in pouches on his belt: sixty more rounds. Carl removed the gun belt and slung it over his shoulder with the backpack. He was loading a full magazine into the pistol when the sound of an engine startled him.
Carl turned and saw a large utility truck driving quickly up the service road inside the refinery’s perimeter fence. He lowered the gun and waved wildly at the driver. The truck slowed and Carl could see two men staring back at him from the cab. The driver rolled down his window and yelled, “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m trying to survive a zombie attack!” Carl yelled back, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The two men glanced at each other and then looked at the m
ass of zombies pressing against the other side of the fence. Carl followed their gaze and shuddered as he realized how many had arrived. But he was pleased to notice the press of bodies had knocked over the ladder. They wouldn’t be able to use it to scale the fence, unless they were a lot smarter than Carl suspected.
“Looks to me like you’re just attracting more of them to our fence, buddy,” said the truck driver. “Did any of them bite or scratch you?” He was clearly focused on the blood that dripped from the cut on Carl’s hand.
“No,” replied Carl firmly. “I cut my hand when I crashed a golf cart, but I haven’t been bitten.” The truck driver appeared skeptical and turned to say something to his companion, but then he turned back and waved Carl towards the truck.
“You better climb in the back of the truck,” the driver said. “And make sure those bastards over there can see you. Make some noise. Shoot a few more if you want to.”
“Okay,” Carl called back over the sound of the truck and the moans of the zombie horde, “but why?”
“We need to lead them away from here and spread them out some. If too many of those things press up against a single part of the fence, they might knock it down.”
Carl nodded at the wisdom of that observation. He bent down to retrieve his bloody axe and survival pack, then scrambled up onto the back of the truck. It began to roll forward, and he started yelling at the moaning, grasping crowd.
“Hey you dead fucks! Here I am! Come and get me!” He raised his gun and fired three shots towards the demented faces pressed up against the fence. At least two of the shots found their mark, but the bodies didn’t fall right away, as they were held in place by the press of undead flesh behind them. Nevertheless, as the truck moved slowly east, the herd shifted to follow it along the other side of the fence. Carl continued to yell and heckle them to draw their attention. “Come on you bastards! Follow the lunch wagon! Chase me, you shitheads!”
01 Voyage of the Dead Page 12
