Scott was only a little surprised to see Billy and Michelle standing next to the stairs to the helicopter pad. Billy was dressed in his army surplus camouflage jacket that he used for air soft and paintball games. He also wore a pair of black leather pants that were part of a costume he used to wear to pirate festivals and renaissance fairs. Scott noted the clothes with approval, since they would be difficult for a zombie to bite through. Michelle’s eyes were red and she looked like she had been crying.
“What are you thinking, Scott?!” she burst out. “How could you tell him that you’d take him with you? He could get killed out there!”
“Now wait a second, honey,” Scott said soothingly. “I said I would only take him if you agreed to let him go with me.”
“Well, I don’t!” she yelled. “It’s too dangerous!”
“Okay, honey,” said Scott. “Calm down and let’s discuss it for just a second. You’re right, it is dangerous. But Billy brought up some good arguments for letting him come.”
“Yes, he told me too, but I don’t care! I won’t let him go off to fight zombies in Malibu.”
“I won’t let him fight any zombies, honey,” Scott argued softly. “That’s what the Marines are for. But we’re going to rescue his friends and he’s the only one who really knows which house they’re in. Hell, his friends might even shoot at me if they don’t recognize us. And Billy really wants to be there to save them. It’s important to him and he’s not a child anymore.”
“I don’t care about any of that!” Michelle insisted. “I don’t want him to go.”
Seeing the look of defiance on his son’s face, Scott tried one more time. “Look, honey, I’ll keep him in the helicopter with me and Mick. We’ll protect him. But you have to get used to the idea that things are different now. Billy needs to learn how to survive in this new world, and that means learning how to fight these monsters. We can’t keep him locked up on this ship forever. He’s a man now, older than a lot of these Marines. We need to let him make his own decisions.”
“Damn you, Scott Allen!” Michelle sobbed. “You better not let anything happen to my baby boy, or I swear I’ll kill you myself! If anything happens to him, you better not come back!” She turned to Billy and said, “You be careful, Billy. Don’t get out of the helicopter and don’t let any zombies get close to you. If I find out that you disobey your father, or try any stupid heroics, I’ll lock you in your room for a year! Is that clear?”
“Yes, Mama,” Billy said with a growing smile.
“And wipe that grin off your face, young man!” Michelle said sternly. “This is no game. One little mistake, one bite or scratch from a zombie, and you will die! Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mama,” Billy said seriously. “Thank you, Mama. I love you.” And they hugged each other tightly.
“Okay then, I love you too, so much,” Michelle said as new tears streaked her cheeks. “Off you go. Be a good boy and do as your father tells you.” She turned away swiftly and ran into the master suite with her face in her hands.
“Well,” Scott said. “That went better than I thought it would.” He slapped Billy on the back playfully and they climbed up the stairs to the helicopter pad. “Now, son, what kind of weapons do you want to carry?”
*****
The helicopters flew north along the coast at close to 150 miles per hour. Scott looked out the right side of the cockpit intently as they passed over mile after mile of zombie infested beaches. Just as he had seen in Cabo, the zombies seemed to swarm down onto the sand, but stayed well clear of the ocean itself. The streets within a few blocks of the beach were also crowded with wandering zombies. If he didn’t know better he might have mistaken it for a drunken street fair or Fourth of July celebrations. The undead horde seemed relatively aimless, but they all invariably turned and reached into the sky when the choppers flew by.
As they approached Long Beach the sky became choked with dark clouds of smoke. It looked like at least one oil refinery or storage tank farm had caught fire inland, obscuring much of Long Beach Harbor. Scott made a note to contact the Expiscator and warn them of the problem. It might be better to change their rendezvous spot, although an onshore wind would probably clear it away soon.
Continuing up the coast, Scott glanced back at Billy. He was glued to the window in the right side door, his expression unreadable. Scott took a moment to evaluate his son. Billy had always been a big kid. Now, as a young man, he was an imposing figure at six-foot-four inches and a tad over two hundred pounds. He wasn’t really out of shape, but he had always preferred video games and computers over sports and exercise. This new world of real zombies, as opposed to the ones in his video games, would require some adjustments to his lifestyle. Scott was glad that Billy was seeing the new reality for himself now, but equally glad that he was doing so from the safety of the helicopter. Nevertheless, he had made sure that Billy was prepared to defend himself if they ran into trouble. A nine millimeter Beretta pistol was in the shoulder holster that Mark had loaned him from his bag of tricks, and a 12 gauge Benelli Nova Pump shotgun was leaning against the seat next to him. Billy’s experience with paintball and air soft guns should be enough preparation for him to make short range head shots, if he had to.
Ignoring the normal regulations in the absence of any communications from air traffic controllers, the helicopter flew straight towards LAX. In doing so they also overflew the El Segundo power plant. It appeared dead and abandoned, but Scott was shocked to see a lone vehicle driving up the coastal road with hundreds, perhaps a thousand or more, zombies following it, and half a dozen more swarming over the hood and roof of the strangely configured vehicle.
“Look at that poor bastard,” Scott commented. Mick Williams whistled and shook his head. There was nothing they could do to help.
Mick turned inland slightly to overfly LAX. Hundreds of planes remained on the tarmac. Many of them were still connected to boarding gates, but they had the look of abandoned and lifeless things without purpose. Thousands of zombies swarmed aimlessly around the terminals and wandered across the runways, turning and reaching as the choppers flew by. With their curiosity sadly satisfied, the helicopters turned back out over the ocean and headed north.
They caught up to the Top Gun as it was passing Marina Del Ray, going over 70 miles per hour, leaping from swell to swell with the grace of an open ocean race boat. It shouldn’t take long for the boat to reach Malibu at that speed, maybe twenty minutes or less. Then Scott noticed a signal flare being fired from a boat in Marina Del Ray. They must have spotted the Coast Guard helicopter and were hoping for assistance. There were literally thousands of boats in that marina and many of them probably had survivors onboard. Scott was not looking forward to inviting all of them to join the flotilla. There were limits to how many people they could hope to help. At the moment he was glad that the current mission would take them further up the coast.
Just two minutes later they flew over the Santa Monica Pier. There were no zombies on it. The gates must have remained closed since the morning of the outbreak. The Ferris wheel and rollercoaster stood idle. However, some people must have found refuge there, because there were at least a dozen fishermen casting lines off the end of the pier. They jumped up to wave excitedly at the helicopters. These were simply more survivors that they had no time to save. Perhaps Scott would be able to help them later. At least they looked like the sort who could contribute to their own survival.
Scott became slightly tense as they flew up Pacific Coast Highway. This was the road he had driven every day to work before winning the lottery. He knew it like the back of his hand. All lanes of the road were jammed with abandoned vehicles; almost all of them headed north, or actually west along this stretch of the highway. The reason for the traffic jam became apparent when they overflew the intersection with Sunset Boulevard. A major pile up involving a bus and at least five other cars had blocked most of the road. Scott wondered if one or more of the passengers on that bus had turned during t
he final morning commute last week. What looked to be a later accident blocked the rest of the road half a block further on. A southbound truck had smashed into several cars headed north on the wrong side of the road, blocking all lanes.
Flying past the intersection of Topanga Canyon and PCH, Scott noticed another traffic jam of empty vehicles. Less than a mile up the road there were two big trucks and several sheriff cars blocking the road. Had it been an intentional road block? They flew by so fast that he couldn’t be sure, but there were clearly a lot of dead bodies lying in the highway there. Beyond that point the highway was relatively clear. A minute later Scott signaled Mick that he would take the stick. Scott pulled the helicopter up from its coast hugging height of 200 feet over the water and angled slightly inland towards the hills behind the beach. He climbed and slowed, with the Coast Guard Dolphin following his lead, as they soared over Carbon Beach. Climbing to an altitude of almost a thousand feet, Scott aimed the chopper to pass over Sweet Water Mesa. That was where Billy’s friends were supposed to be holding out.
“Billy,” Scott said over the intercom. “We’ll be flying over your friends in a few seconds. I want you to point out the house to me now, so I know where it is later. And we can slow down for a few seconds for you to talk to them over the public address speaker and tell them to prepare for extraction. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” said Billy in a voice that Scott almost didn’t recognize. It was harder than usual and carried a tone of determination that Scott had rarely heard from his son.
“Stay cool, son,” Scott said. “Just tell them to get ready and that we will be back as soon as possible to rescue them.”
“I got it,” Billy said in an even cooler tone.
“Okay,” said Scott as they crested the hill. “Which house is it?”
“It’s the new house at the end of the road, on the top of the hill, where we used to go to watch fireworks,” Billy explained. Scott frowned. That would have been easy enough to describe without Billy being here. But here they were. And there it was.
“Billy you’re plugged in now. Whatever you say will go out on the PA speaker.” Scott hoped that Billy would handle it well.
“Attention, Fucking A Team!” Billy’s voice boomed out. “Prepare for extraction! We are coming to get you. This is Billy Allen. Get ready to bug out of here. We’ll be back soon.”
Not bad, thought Scott. “Good job, son,” he said. “Now sit back and stay out of the way. We’ll be landing at the lab in less than a minute. Don’t get out of the chopper.”
“Okay, Dad.”
Scott took the helicopter over the hill and accelerated quickly down and across Serra Retreat to the other side of Malibu Canyon. The old Hughes Research Laboratory was perched above the campus of Pepperdine University, with a fantastic view of the ocean. This was the birthplace of the modern laser. Now it might hold the cure, or at least some answers, to the zombie apocalypse.
*****
The sun was setting behind the hill above HRL. Only a couple dozen cars were spread out across the tiered parking lots. The lab had gone into lockdown early on the morning of Z Day, April 1st. Any zombies that had been locked outside, as well as normal people, had long since left the scene in search of food, of whatever type. Any people inside the lab buildings, living or undead, were stuck there due to the security measures built into the facility, unless they broke out some windows.
The tranquility of the empty lab compound was shattered by the thumping rotors and whine of two helicopters darting across the canyon. They rose and slowed, flaring into a deafening hover over the parking lot, then settled slowly to land on the asphalt. Dust, leaves and even a few tumbleweeds billowed away from the rotor wash. Nobody came to welcome or attack them. A coyote ran away with its tail between its legs, seemingly surprised and annoyed that men had returned to rule this little piece of the world, if only for a short time.
The four Marines jumped out with weapons at the ready, two from each helicopter. They moved in practiced formation towards the main entrance. Mark jumped out too, with his M-203 at the ready, and scanned their surroundings. Scott looked back at Billy as he unbuckled his safety harness. Billy returned the look expectantly.
“Stay here Billy and protect Mick and the helicopter. We’ll need a secure path of retreat,” said Scott.
“You told Mom that you would stay with me.”
“And you promised her that you would do what I told you to do,” Scott replied. Then he turned to Mick and said, “I’ll kill you if you let anything happen to him. And don’t let him leave the chopper.”
“Sure thing, boss,” said Mick as he checked his .45 pistol and reached behind his seat for the case with his rifle. “Can I shoot him in the leg if he tries to get out?”
“Both of you behave yourselves!” Scott admonished. Then he hopped out and grabbed his own M-203, running to catch up with Mark and the Marines. He asked Mark to remain outside the door and cover the chopper, then joined O’Hara and the other three Marines at the entrance to the lab. It was locked, but the glass doors were not bulletproof. O’Hara used his CAR-15 to blast in the window with a short burst. The five of them rushed into the building with weapons at the ready. There was no sign of anyone, living or undead, in the lobby.
Scott unfolded a small floor plan that had been emailed by the CDC. It showed their destination to be on this floor at the west end of the building. Scott and the four Marines moved cautiously down the corridor. All of the doors appeared locked. They had key card electronic locks and all of them had blinking red lights. The lab was still in lockdown mode and the emergency power source was keeping it that way.
When they reached the corridor that should take them to their objective they found a locked double door blocking their way. O’Hara looked to Scott for guidance, perhaps focusing on the grenade launcher mounted under Scott’s assault rifle. That was quite a can opener. But Scott had another idea. He looked up at the fire sprinklers and smoke detectors in the corridor, as well as the exit sign above the locked door. “What do you think the lockdown program would do if the fire alarm went off?” asked Scott.
“I have no idea,” replied O’Hara. “Do you?”
“Yeah,” Scott answered. “By law, or the laws we had last week, it would have to release any electronic locks on any exit route, at least in the direction of egress.” Five years as a construction superintendent was paying off.
“So what, sir?” asked Corporal Morris.
“So,” answered Scott. “I quit smoking last year. Do any of you have a lighter?”
Private Snow pulled a lighter from his pocket and offered it to Scott, who took it and pulled a bench away from the wall of the corridor. He stood on it and lifted the lighter to the device on the ceiling in front of the elevator. That should be a heat detector. Then he flicked the lighter and held it up to the fixture. Ten seconds later the fire alarm went off. Almost hidden by the sound of the alarm came a distinctive click as the lock on the door in front of them disengaged.
“Good job!” yelled O’Hara, over the sound of the alarm. He pushed the door open and jumped back as three zombies erupted from the corridor beyond. Corporal Morris used his M-4 to take two of them out with precise head shots. O’Hara took care of the third with a point blank shot through the eye, pushing the body aside with the smoking muzzle of this carbine.
Scott joined them as they began to move down the hallway. Then they were distracted by a dinging sound behind them: the elevator enunciator. Turning back, Scott was only slightly surprised to see the elevator doors open and half a dozen bloody zombies pour out of it. The fire alarm would have recalled the elevator car to the ground floor. The zombies had probably been trapped in there since Z-Day, although Scott wondered if they all been zombies when they got trapped together. All it would have taken was one of them to be infected. Putting such thoughts aside, Scott aimed his M-203 and fired without hesitation. The 40mm shotgun round tore the ghouls to shreds. A couple of well-placed rounds from O’Hara f
inished off the two that were still moving.
Other doors were opening now that the fire alarm had deactivated the lockdown protocol. A total of four more zombies emerged into the hallway and the Marines dispatched them with bullets to the head, as soon as they were sure that they were zombies.
“Damn,” said Scott. “Maybe the fire alarm wasn’t such a good idea. Who knows how many of those things we just let out into the building! And we need to be sure that we don’t shoot the people we are here to rescue either.”
“The alarm will probably attract other zombies towards this building too,” O’Hara noted. “We need to move fast.”
The room they were looking for was at the end of the hall. It opened slightly as they approached and a head peeked out into the hall.
“Don’t shoot me!” called a terrified voice.
“Are you Willard Bernhard?” yelled Scott.
“Yes,” the man replied. “I’m Doctor Bernhard. Who are you?”
“I’m Scott Allen and these men are United States Marines. We’ve been sent by the CDC and Homeland Security to rescue you. We have helicopters waiting outside, but we need to hurry before more of the infected show up. Is anyone else with you?”
01 Voyage of the Dead Page 26
