01 Voyage of the Dead

by David P Forsyth

  Carl wasn’t sure if the insults had any effect on the zombies, but it made him feel a lot better to vent his rage and disgust at the undead mob. And, for whatever reasons, they were obviously following him and the truck.

  The driver accelerated and most of the trailing zombies began to fall behind. The mob was spreading out too. Those who had been elderly, infirm, or obese in life were much slower, as were those badly mangled by their transformation into zombies, or injuries incurred thereafter. Those were all falling back, while the younger and stronger ones were running after the truck at close to a sprint. After traveling three blocks, past five large oil storage tanks, the truck had reached 30 miles per hour and had left the entire pack in its dust. But Carl noticed that the fastest zombies were still running with no sign of fatigue.

  The driver yelled for Carl to shut up. Moments later he slowed and made a right turn around the last oil tank, blocking the zombies’ view of the truck, and drove deeper into the refinery. Carl hung on as the ten-ton utility truck accelerated down the hard packed dirt road, throwing a giant dust cloud behind it. The diver slowed down as they passed behind another big fuel tank and pulled to a stop. Carl coughed in the dust that caught up with them, then hopped down and walked up to the driver’s door.

  “Thank you for picking me up,” said Carl after the driver rolled his window down. “I wasn’t sure if I would get out of there on my own. And I haven’t spoken with another normal person since I escaped from LAX at midnight on the first. Do you guys have any idea what’s happening?”

  “Game over,” said the big man behind the wheel, who looked to be in his fifties, with thinning red hair. “Dawn of the dead, or something like it. We’ve been safe here behind the fence, but you just drew a lot of attention to it.” His tone was not unkind, but he was obviously disturbed by the incident. “So, who are you? A fireman?”

  “No,” replied Carl. “I took this jacket and gear from an abandoned ambulance, right after my wife turned into one of those monsters.” Carl paused to fully accept the meaning of his words. “I was a mechanical engineer. But now it looks likes I’m just a survivor, at least for now. My name’s Carl.”

  “Wish I could say it was nice to meet you, Carl,” replied the truck driver. “My name is Chuck Collins. Welcome to the refinery. I’m sure we can use an engineer. None of ours came to work yesterday. Climb in.” Chuck grinned and waved Carl around the truck to enter the passenger door.

  “I’m Gus,” said the man who opened the passenger side door and slid over for Carl to climb in beside him. “That was one hell of a ride you made down that hill. I saw it all and grabbed Chuck to come get you. That took some balls. Those cannibals out there were all over you, man. Are you sure they didn’t bite you?” The last question carried some deep reservations and came as Carl was sliding in beside him.

  “I’m almost a hundred percent sure that I got this cut when the cart crashed,” replied Carl defensively. “But, if I’m wrong, I’ll try to let you know before I turn into a zombie. My wife told me that it felt like something was crawling around inside her head right before she changed. I don’t feel anything like that. My hand just hurts.”

  “Okay, man,” said Gus nervously. “If you say so, that’s good enough for me. Those zombies don’t say shit. So as long as you’re talking, I guess you can sit here.” He smiled and stuck out his hand for Carl to shake.

  “Thanks,” Carl replied as he closed the door and leaned back in the seat. “So what should I talk about?”

  “Anything,” Chuck answered. “But you might want to start with how you got here.”

  Carl turned to stare at the two men with a haunted look. “We were supposed to be on a cruise ship in the Caribbean by now…”

  He was still recounting the tale of his survival since escaping from the outbreak at LAX when Chuck drove the truck into a large warehouse-like structure full of other trucks and heavy machinery ranging from forklifts and skip loaders to bulldozers and earthmovers.

  “That’s quite a story,” Chuck said as he parked the truck. “You’ve really been killing these bastards with an axe? So where did you get the gun?”

  “From an undead cop who followed me over your fence, right before you found me. I killed him with an axe too.”

  “That’s wild,” said Gus. “We’ve been hiding out behind that fence, watching those things rip people apart, but you’ve been out there chopping them up. Yeah, I think we can use a man like you.”

  Carl wasn’t sure if he wanted to be used by these oil company workers, but he was glad to have any normal people to talk to. An industrial refinery was not his idea of a sanctuary, but at least it seemed to be free of zombies and the smell of oil was better than that of rotting bodies. Looking around at the machine shop and mechanic’s stations in the big garage full of trucks and heavy equipment, Carl came to another realization and actually smiled.

  “Yes,” he said slowly. “I think I can be quite useful here.”

  Chapter 7: Special Reports

  “If zombies did start roaming the streets, CDC would conduct an investigation much like any other disease outbreak. CDC would provide technical assistance to cities, states, or international partners dealing with a zombie infestation. This assistance might include consultation, lab testing and analysis, patient management and care, tracking of contacts, and infection control (including isolation and quarantine). It’s likely that an investigation of this scenario would seek to accomplish several goals: determine the cause of the illness, the source of the infection/virus/toxin, learn how it is transmitted and how readily it is spread, how to break the cycle of transmission and thus prevent further cases, and how patients can best be treated.”

  Centers for Disease Control official website, “Preparedness 101: Zombie Apocalypse” May 16, 2011.

  With everyone back aboard the Sovereign Spirit, except George Hammer and his refugee flotilla, Scott told Captain Fisher to set course for San Diego at best long range cruise speed, which was fifteen knots. They could easily push the ship to over 20 knots, but that would consume many more gallons of precious diesel fuel per mile and leave many of the smaller boats behind. With no sure source of refueling, it was wise to travel at the most economical speed. The voyage to San Diego would take almost three days at this speed. That gave them all more time to do vital research into what kind of nightmare they had awakened to. Scott spent the rest of the day and most of the night with Captain Fisher and the communications techs on the bridge.

  “What’s the news?” Scott asked, entering the high tech bridge. “Do we know any more about what’s happening yet?”

  “Your message that zombies like to walk downhill, don’t swim and are afraid of water got a lot of attention and some interesting information in return,” responded Captain Fisher. “We sent it out on radio, email, twitter, and made as many SAT-phone calls as we could. A lot of the so-called experts that we could reach seemed interested. Some of them even asked for you to call them when you got back.”

  “Well, I’m back,” said Scott. “Who should I call? Or can you fill me in on some of that interesting information first?”

  “The most interesting stuff is coming from the CDC,” replied Fisher. “It looks like they have added us to their email list of people to keep informed through their updates, just like they’re doing for hospitals, city governments and other officials. Right after we gave them your message that the zombies don’t swim and are afraid of water, they wrote back saying ‘thank you’ and they attached all of their current bulletins. I think they want to spread the information as much as possible now in case they lose communications later. I downloaded all of it onto our server, but I can give you a quick rundown. There’s some scary stuff.”

  “Like what?” asked Scott.

  “Like how the infection spread so fast and appeared everywhere at once,” answered the captain. “They say most of the places hardest hit are major transportation hubs, especially cities with big airports all over the world. And they say th
at a large percentage of the victims that have been identified so far had been traveling by air on or about March 15th. Many other victims had direct contact with those travelers during the two weeks since then.”

  “You mean simultaneous infection in numerous airports? That sounds like bio-terrorism to me,” Scott speculated.

  “That’s what the CDC is implying too,” agreed Fisher. “They haven’t come out and said it in so many words, but the words they do use make it sound highly suspicious.”

  “How so?” asked Scott.

  “Well, part of it is the incubation period,” the captain explained. “Lots of people seem to have been infected on March 15th. So it would seem to have a two week incubation period, but a lot of the people who seem to have caught it from those travelers could not have been infected until days, or even a week or more later, when the infected people came home. Nevertheless, all of them…turned at about the same time on April 1st.”

  “How is that possible?” inquired Scott. “Shouldn’t it take each person two weeks after being infected to turn into a zombie?”

  “Yeah,” agreed the captain. “But the CDC says that this virus is different. It mutates as it incubates, or sometimes they use the term ‘gestates’. It’s confusing. The transformation happens when the mutation is complete, but anyone who caught the virus during the mutation period got the strain at its current stage of mutation. So it acted on them faster and everyone reached the terminal stage at close to the same time.”

  “That’s crazy!” exclaimed Scott. “No disease has ever acted like that before, has it? This has to be genetically engineered.”

  “That’s what it looks like, but there does seem to be one bit of good news.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well,” Fisher explained, “the CDC thinks the initial virus was an airborne contagion that spread easily between people in close proximity, but the process of mutation turned it into something else. Now it is only being spread by direct contact with infected blood or saliva, just like rabies, or like those classic zombies in the movies.”

  “If that’s true, it really is good news for us, and especially for George Hammer and the rest of the people on those boats following him,” Scott remarked. “They won’t need a very long quarantine. If they didn’t change on April 1st and haven’t been in direct physical contact with a zombie since then, they should be free of infection. Right?”

  “Yes, that’s what the reports seem to indicate,” the captain agreed. “And it means that we can go ashore when we need to and only have to worry about direct physical contact with the infected – if the CDC’s findings are correct.”

  “That’s the rub,” said Scott. “I think we need to keep up the quarantine as long as we can, just to be sure. But tell me, Jordie, how did the CDC figure all this out so fast?”

  “That’s another weird thing. You remember the news a couple weeks ago about the increase in fatal seizures?” asked the captain and Scott nodded. “It turns out that a very small fraction of those infected by the virus had an immediate and fatal allergic reaction. It hadn’t mutated yet, so they didn’t turn, but the spike in fatal seizures on March 15th – lots of them in airports and on airplanes if you recall – got the attention of the CDC. They started doing autopsies and getting tissue samples immediately. Eventually they isolated an unknown virus. The fatal seizures continued over the next two weeks, but at a lesser rate, as more people were infected by the carriers. Samples from the later victims showed mutation in the virus, but they had no idea what the end result would be. They even got blood and tissue samples from relatives of the seizure victims, many of whom had been traveling on March 15th, showing that they were carriers of the virus and their test results all showed the same rate of mutation. So the CDC already had a lot of pieces to the puzzle. They just didn’t have any idea what the final form of the mutated virus would do to people and they didn’t have time to test it in their labs. Since those who didn’t have fatal seizures seemed normal, the CDC didn’t even raise a full scale pandemic alarm either.”

  “Damn it,” said Scott. “This is a bio-terror attack! The disease was designed to spread fast, appearing at first to be benign, and then turn deadly in a new form that would transform the infected people into zombies. It’s the diabolical work of an evil genius.”

  “That sounds about right,” agreed Captain Fisher. “But how does that effect our own decisions now, or our long-term chances for survival?”

  “Well, as you said, it might help us decide to take some more chances. More shore excursions, if we can be sure the infection isn’t floating around in the air. That will make it easier for us to get provisions and even rescue survivors. We do have a lot of empty berths on this ship. We can fill some of the staterooms and empty crew quarters with survivors, if we can be sure that they won’t bring the disease aboard with them.”

  “Sure, Scott,” said the captain with a bit of hesitation. “We could fit at least a thousand more people aboard this ship. But we couldn’t take care of them for long. We might not even be able to keep control of them, or control of the ship for that matter.”

  “Sad, but true,” Scott agreed. “Still, if we found a safe haven somewhere, we might be able to take survivors there. I’d just like for us to make a difference and fight back. Knowing this is all caused by an act of terrorism or biological warfare makes me want to not only survive, but beat it and find whoever is responsible for doing this to the world. I mean it’s one thing if this were an act of God. That kind of apocalypse I might be able to accept, but not this!”

  “Then you might be interested in this personal email message from the CDC,” said Captain Fisher, reaching for a print out of an email on the chart table. “It’s from the Deputy Director for Control of Infectious Diseases at the Center for Disease Control, addressed to you, in response to the message I sent. The guy must have looked up sovereignspirit.net and seen that you have a ship and a home in Malibu. He’s asking if you can help rescue a scientist and his research samples from a secure lab in Malibu.”

  “Really?” asked Scott. “Who are we supposed to rescue?”

  “A scientist named Willard Bernhard. He’s at the old Hughes Research Lab in Malibu Canyon. Looks like it’s just a mile or two from your house. Anyway, the message says he might have vital research data on the virus, but they are having trouble finding anyone to extract him. This Dr. Frost from the CDC asks if we can rescue him and let him use our marine biology lab and communications gear to get his findings to the CDC. How’s that for helping to beat this thing?”

  “It’s a good start. Let’s do it,” Scott decided. “And see if you can get this Dr. Frost on the SAT-phone. I want to know as much as possible about this.”

  *****

  Billy Allen and his friends aboard the Sovereign Spirit had been busy with their assigned task to monitor the internet and store as much information on the outbreak as possible. Most of the major TV news networks were off the air, except for Fox Rusher on GNN, but the internet was still full of activity. Billy’s friends had confirmed via Facebook and Gmail chat that they had established a secure compound in the hills of Malibu with over a dozen young people. Billy continued his efforts to contact more of his Facebook “friends” and encourage them to get together and hold out until the Sovereign Spirit reached them. But Billy hadn’t yet found the opportunity or courage to confirm his promises with his father.

  Mitch spent most of his time searching internet websites for news. His efforts resulted in a mishmash of confusing results. Google searches using the “news” function were full of reports of outbreaks around the world on April 1st. These postings decreased in number, but increased in horror over the next day. Most of the online reports simply confirmed or expanded upon the news they were still getting from TV. However, many of them were coming from places that had not been covered by the remaining TV networks.

  Internet news posts from China and Southeast Asia (at least the ones written in English) were full of zomb
ie attacks and mass mayhem. Europe seemed to be disintegrating into a death zone. Russian and East European blog posts described a blood bath worse than anything from the Nazi invasion. Postings from Africa and South America were dwindling, except for Argentina where a religious crusade appeared to have been launched against all zombies and foreigners. South Africa was also online, with postings about race riots and power to the people, dead or alive. Mid-Eastern news was mixed. Mass riots and bloodshed were reported in almost every Arab country. Egypt was perhaps the worst, with tens of thousands reported killed in Cairo without stopping the spread of violence, but they didn’t use the term zombies. There were also reports of a war between Israel and almost everyone else in the region. Pundits feared a nuclear exchange there and between India and Pakistan. There was no news out of Iran or North Korea at all, and that raised even more concerns.

  Some of the most interesting things Justin found were on websites dedicated to fighting zombies that had been written long before the outbreak. Some of them advertised products you could buy to fight zombies, although most of the items for sale seemed comical when contrasted with the true level of the threat that had actually engulfed the world. Others were by groups of people dedicated to defending against the coming threat of zombies. One old post that stood out came from the CDC that tried to educate people on how to survive a “zombie apocalypse.” Had they known this was coming? Or was it really a tongue-in-cheek satire for disaster preparedness? At this point, Justin wasn’t sure.