Scott leaned forward in shock, knocking over his coffee mug. He was no big fan of this president or his policies, but it was hard to think of any worse time for the nation to lose its leader. Fox Rusher continued to describe the tragic event.
“Reports indicate that Air Force One, the familiar 747 used by the President, had been in the air for more than 72 hours and never landed after bringing the President back from Africa on April 1st. It had used mid-air refueling from military tanker planes to keep the President airborne and circling over the Mid-West where he was protected from any dangers on the ground.
“It is not clear exactly what caused the plane to crash, but aviation experts have several theories. Pilot fatigue is an obvious possibility on that long of a flight; even though we know that Air Force One carries a back-up crew. Mechanical failure is also possible when a plane operates that long continuously. We know that although Air Force One could receive in-flight refueling, it was not possible to add engine oil without landing.
“In any event, we have been told that the President had decided to land in Colorado Springs and set up a temporary Western White House at the NORAD facility buried under Cheyenne Mountain. Air Force One crashed into another mountain about ten miles from NORAD. We will bring you further details as they become available. For now, recapping this tragic news, GNN has confirmed that Air Force One crashed into a mountain late last night. The President is missing and presumed dead. We have been told to expect a broadcast from the Vice President - now President - who is directing homeland security operations from an undisclosed location.”
The picture on the big plasma screen changed from showing the Presidential Seal to more breaking news on the Zombie Apocalypse. A mob of zombies were shown chasing a woman along a beach. Fox Rusher explained that this was a live web cam view of South Beach in Miami. The woman almost made it to the ocean before the first pursuer caught her. Viewers caught a glimpse of the woman’s terrified face before GNN switched to another web cam showing an endless traffic jam on a nameless freeway. Scott had seen enough for a while. He rose from his chair, wiped at the coffee stain on his shirt, and headed back to his suite to catch a few hours of much needed sleep. He would be watching the news as much as possible for the next few days as the Sovereign Spirit cruised up the coast of Baja towards whatever was left of the United States of America.
*****
Interlude in Hell
Chevron Refinery, El Segundo, CA: 10:30 AM, April 4
Carl winced slightly at a fleck of molten metal that singed the hair on his chest, but he didn’t stop welding the improvised crash guard onto the bumper mounts of the 4x4 Chevy Suburban that he was modifying for operations on the zombie infested streets of LA. This was the sixth vehicle that he had worked on in the two days that he had spent inside the refinery and he had selected this one for his own use. It was a heavy duty utility version with lots of bells and whistles that had been used by the Plant Superintendent. But now it looked like something out of a Mad Max movie. Chain link fencing was wrapped and welded over the exterior, especially the windows, and Carl was busy welding additional accessories designed to make the vehicle zombie-proof.
As soon as he had arrived in the refinery’s motor pool, after Gus and Chuck rescued him, Carl had envisioned a plan. The refinery seemed to be secure from incursions, at least for the moment, due to the tall fences that had been built to keep intruders and terrorists off the grounds. It also had electric generators and obviously enough fuel to keep them running for a hundred lifetimes; but food, weapons, and living quarters were in short supply. The refinery was not exactly designed as a survival retreat, but it did have a secure perimeter and a lot of heavy duty vehicles. The sight of those vehicles inspired Carl’s plan.
There were thirty-seven workers still inside of the refinery when Carl arrived. The rest had either left to find their families or never showed up for work on April 1st. The few workers who remained had shut down the refinery operations safely and closed the gates. Carl was the only person to have made it over the fence since then, but the workers all had horror stories of those who tried and failed. And they had watched the city fall apart around them. Carl had a better view of those events from the top of the water tower, including the carnage on the freeway and at LAX. Hel had also listened to the chaos on the fire department radio and knew that the horror was widespread. The workers in the refinery had less understanding of what was happening beyond the fence, but they had listened to AM radio news. They had clearly grasped the enormity of the disaster. Their haunted eyes and hollow voices reflected the doom that all of them felt. That mood was not improved by their limited and dwindling supply of candy bars and snack packs from the vending machines.
Carl was a new face and source of hope at the refinery. As such, he got to know most of the workers quickly and saw both potential and despair in their countenance. As soon as he gathered his thoughts, Carl injected his own ideas. He told them they needed to think about going out to get supplies, look for weapons, and possibly rescue other survivors. Carl also explained that the police and firemen had been recalled to their stations and that everyone still alive in the city was basically on their own, at least for now. Then he pointed out that the refinery was full of heavy equipment and service vehicles that could be modified, made zombie-proof, and force their way through the traffic jams blocking the roads to reach much needed sources of food and supplies. Most of the refinery workers agreed with his plan.
Carl had started with a giant four wheeled Caterpillar front end loader – some people would call it a bulldozer. It was an earth moving machine with eight foot tall tires and a large scoop in front that could lift more than 50,000 pounds. Carl had simply removed the access ladders, enclosed the operator’s compartment in chain link fencing, and declared it zombie-proof – as long as it had a support crew in another vehicle that could clear it of zombies before the operator tried to exit the vehicle. The machine was more than powerful enough to clear crashed or abandoned vehicles off the roads. It could literally scoop cars and trucks up and dump them out of the way. It would also be able to tear through and crush entire packs of zombies in its path.
Soon all of the refinery workers pitched in to help zombie-proof more vehicles. The next one in line was an eighteen wheel big rig with an empty cargo container on its trailer. More chain link on the tractor cab and a plate of steel welded to the front end turned it into a zombie lawn mower. Cutting firing slits into the sides and rear doors of the cargo container made it a mobile pill box that could also be filled with salvage and supplies. Next up was a shuttle bus that had been used to move work crews around the refinery. It also received a jacket of chain link covering all of the windows and welded crash bars on both ends of the vehicle. This would be the recovery vehicle for any survivors they were able to rescue. Carl recommended adding an additional cage around the driver’s seat, in case any of the passengers turned into zombies while aboard. The workers were skeptical of that until Carl recounted his experience in the taxi cab. Then they scrambled to make the suggested modifications.
The next vehicle selected was a special fire engine from the refinery’s private fire station. It was a squat and compact model outfitted with a high powered water cannon and foam dispenser. Few modifications were needed for protection from zombies, since it was designed to drive into an inferno of burning fuel and wreckage to combat the source of an oil refinery fire. In fact, it was basically an armored personnel carrier, designed to carry up to six crewmen through a firestorm in insulated safety. Carl was tempted to ride in that vehicle himself, but he really wanted something that he could drive alone, especially if he decided to leave.
The Suburban had stood out because it was one of the beefed up 4x4 utility versions with large tires and a six inch lift kit, as well as a powerful winch on the front brush-guard and an aftermarket off-road light package and cargo rack on the roof. It was an old 2002 model, but that meant it was made of more metal and less plastic than the newer SUVs, and it
only had 40,000 miles on the odometer because it was primarily used inside of the refinery by the plant superintendent.
It was white and carried the Chevron emblem on its sides and hood, but those were barely visible after Carl installed chain link fence, crash guards on both ends, and some other nasty additions that would have gotten him arrested last week if he were pulled over while driving it down the street. For example, having seen how zombies would swarm a moving vehicle, Carl had added 1/8” thick steel L metal guards in front of the side mirrors that extended almost a foot from the sides of the SUV. Similar pieces of steel now extended out from each side the front and rear bumpers. The steel angles he was welding onto the brush-guard would form a wedge in front of the vehicle. When he was happy with the welds, Carl reached for a grinder and started to sharpen the leading edges of the angles, turning them into cutting blades.
Since the body of the Suburban was lifted, he hoped that the heavy metal extensions in front of the hood and protecting the side mirrors would decapitate zombies pressing in as he plowed through them. At least they should protect the mirrors and front end from zombie strikes. The blades extending from the bumpers should slice zombies at waist height. If all went as planned, he would put it to the test tomorrow when they took their first shopping trip into Zombieland.
Chapter 8: Safe Passage
“Survival is the key word to remember – not victory, not conquest, just survival.”
Zombie Survival Guide, 2003.
When the Sovereign Spirit was about 100 miles south of San Diego, thirty miles off the coast of northern Baja, Captain Fisher and Scott agreed that they should begin trying to contact the Coast Guard and Navy based in San Diego. It was the evening of April 5th now, five days after the first outbreak of zombie attacks, and Scott hoped that the military in San Diego had been able to secure at least part of the city as a safe zone. Hopefully they would have gotten organized enough to start monitoring the marine band radios and be in a position to advise, or even assist, the Sovereign Spirit and the fleet of refugees from Cabo.
There had been a lot of confused radio calls in the first days of the crisis, but that had died off to almost nothing in the last two days. There was still a lot of traffic on the military frequencies, but most of it was encrypted. However, there had been several radio exchanges since yesterday that were worrisome. They had listened as two different ships had been turned away from approaching the U.S. by the Coast Guard. It had sounded like they were both foreign merchant ships and Scott was hoping that American vessels would receive a warmer welcome. Captain Fisher transmitted standard hails on the regular and emergency frequencies for at least ten minutes before getting a reply. Then a clear voice responded with a somewhat disturbing message.
“Sovereign Spirit, this is the U.S. Coast Guard national security cutter Stratton. Be advised that U.S. territorial waters are closed to all vessels approaching from outside of the United States. You are currently entering the 100 mile quarantine and exclusion zone. Alter course and maintain your distance from U.S. territory.”
“Oh crap,” said Scott in alarm. “They have to let us come home, don’t they?”
“Don’t bet on it,” replied the captain in a worried voice. “But we can try to convince them.” He picked up the radio microphone and tried just that. “Coast Guard cutter Stratton, this is the Sovereign Spirit. We copy your message, but we insist on our right to return to American waters. This is a U.S. ship with American citizens aboard. We all have passports and we are all free of infection. Over.”
“Sovereign Spirit, this is the Stratton. I’m sorry, but we have orders to turn back all ships approaching U.S. territory. Our radar also shows that you have at least a dozen smaller vessels following you. Therefore, we have identified you as a possibly hostile force. Please comply with our instructions and alter course immediately.”
“Damn it,” said Scott. “Let me give it a try,” he said as he reached for the microphone. “Stratton, my name is Scott Allen and I’m the owner of the Sovereign Spirit, as well as one of the smaller yachts following us. Please let us explain our situation.”
“Mr. Allen, you can talk as much as you like, but we do not have the authority to let you pass.”
“Understood,” Scott said. “Please record or relay this transmission and pass it along to your commanders for their consideration. As mentioned, the Sovereign Spirit is a U.S. ship with over a hundred American citizens on board. None of us are infected and our last port of call was Honolulu, Hawaii, 28 days ago. Nobody on this ship has had contact with anyone ashore since long before March 15th. We have been in contact with the CDC in Atlanta and they know we are friendly and uninfected. We passed along important information from our recon flight over Cabo San Lucas, without coming into direct contact with anyone infected there. And we have been given a mission by the CDC to rescue an important scientist near Los Angeles. You must let us pass.
“As for the smaller vessels following us,” Scott stated, “they are full of American citizens who were caught in Cabo San Lucas harbor when the outbreak took place. As far as we know, none of them are infected either, but we have not let any of them come aboard this ship, just in case. We’ve been escorting them to San Diego for repatriation. This is a mission of mercy and we request your assistance.” Scott paused to think, but kept the transmit button depressed while he gathered his thoughts.
“Furthermore,” Scott went on, “The Sovereign Spirit intends to continue our search and rescue operations in California. We are still in contact with friends and family, located along the coast from San Diego to Santa Barbara. They are waiting for us to extract them from dangerous situations. We have the capability to save many more lives too.” Scott paused again to think about how much more he should say and decided that he needed to lay it all on the line.
“Be advised,” Scott warned, “that this ship is fully equipped for amphibious rescue and relocation operations. The Sovereign Spirit carries a helicopter, an amphibious airplane, a vehicle landing craft, a forty passenger amphibious tour vehicle, two high speed express cruisers, and a roll-on-roll-off vehicle deck that is currently carrying over 40 vehicles. We also have the capacity to carry ten times more passengers and vehicles than are currently aboard. In other words, we can become a valuable search and rescue asset.
“I know that the military has its hands full right now, but there must be millions of people in need of help along the California coast. I’d like to volunteer my ship to perform some of the emergency assistance that is needed in Southern California. All we are asking is that you let us pass unmolested, so we can help save more American lives. We will hold position while we await your reply. Did you copy that, Stratton?”
“Yes, Mr. Allen,” said a different voice on the radio. “This is Captain McCloud, in command of the Stratton. I heard and recorded your message. We are forwarding it to Pacific Command in San Diego. Please hold your position until we receive a reply. And good luck to you, sir. It does sound like your vessel could be useful, so I will be sending along my own favorable recommendation to grant your request.”
“Thank you, Captain McCloud. We will wait for your favorable reply.”
“Thank you, Mr. Allen. Please hold your position and stand by.”
“That sounds promising,” Scott said to Captain Fisher. “Let’s follow their instructions.”
“Aye aye,” Captain Fisher responded. “Dead stop,” he relayed to the helmsman on duty. “Activate stabilizers and transfer all electrical power to the generators. Use the bow thruster to keep station and pointing into the swells.”
“This is a critical juncture,” said Scott gravely. “We must get past the Coast Guard. Not to mention the Navy. And I may have just made that more difficult.”
“What do you mean?” asked the captain.
“Let’s discuss it in your ready room,” said Scott. The captain nodded and they turned to walk aft towards the captain’s suite behind the bridge. Captain Fisher’s ready room was comfortable and
spacious, with bookshelves lining two walls, a sitting area with a couch, coffee table and two easy chairs facing an entertainment console, and a large desk on the other side of the room with a communications console on the wall behind it. A door in the aft wall connected the ready room to the captain’s private cabin and head. Scott and Captain Fisher each sat down in an easy chair and Scott started to explain his concerns.
“The problem I see is that this ship is almost too well equipped and I just had to describe most of its capabilities in order to convince them that we are worth having around. So my worry is that they will be tempted to confiscate the ship and use it themselves. They might let us stay aboard, or they might toss us off on the beach. And there’s not a lot we could do to stop them. Not if they send out the Marines or Navy SEALS.”
“I see your point,” said the captain. “You think they would do something like that?”
“You tell me, Jordie. You were a naval officer. In fact, aren’t you still in the reserves?”
“Inactive reserves. Retired rank of Commander.”
“So they could even recall you to active duty and keep you on in command of the Sovereign Spirit after they steal it from me,” Scott said with a worried grin.
“That’s not funny, Scott, but you’re right. They could do exactly that – all in the name of national security of course. So what can we do to prevent it?”
“First of all, let’s not give them any ideas. For example, don’t mention that you’re a reserve officer. Remember the President’s speech? You’re probably already technically called back to active duty.”
01 Voyage of the Dead Page 15
