by Jay Brenham
Gloria didn’t even slow down. She started to take a left onto Shore Drive, but straightened the wheel when she saw a couple dozen infected on the left. Sam silently agreed.
“Let’s see if we can make it to the base marina,” she yelled.
It was 9 a.m.
Normally, the gates to Little Creek Amphibious Base would be packed with a line of cars around the corner. Today the gate was open and Gloria drove straight through. The infected behind them had inched closer, taking advantage of their suddenly reduced speed.
Sam glanced down a road that branched off to his right. A mob of camouflage-clad infected—so many that they filled the roadway—charged at them. These must have been the sailors who didn’t make it onto a ship in time. Perhaps they were infected while they sat in their barracks or maybe they’d been on their way to work in the morning.
“Infected on the right!” Sam yelled.
“I see.” Gloria’s voice was strained.
On the road in front of them a second group of infected sailors turned in their direction. A large amphibious ship sat just behind them.
Sam remembered leaving that parking lot just the other day and walking off the base. At the time he thought it would be the last time he set foot on a military base. As they got closer Sam noticed the ship sitting dockside was his former command.
Unable to turn right or continue straight, Gloria made a left amid a shower of sparks. Without the traction of the missing tire, the tail end of the truck skidded. Sam clung to the wall of the bed.
Gloria accelerated toward the open water in front of them. They passed a sign that read “Assault Craft Unit Two.” ACU-2, that’s what the sailors stationed there call it, Sam thought fleetingly, a half-remembered fragment from his time in the Navy. A concrete wall on the right bore a picture of a turtle carrying a tank.
The left side of the truck shuddered and what was left of the battered wheel rim bent as they struck a large pot hole. The rear axle collided with the edge of the pot hole, sending up an explosion of sparks as the truck was forced to a sudden halt.
Sam jumped from the bed of the truck, grabbing the day pack and the shotgun as he went. “It’s not gonna get loose, Gloria. Let’s go!”
He glanced at the water over his shoulder. A small inlet separated the cement docks of ACU-2 from the marina across the water.
“We’re going to have to swim across,” he said as Gloria slammed the door and started to run. “Hopefully we can grab one of those boats on the other side.” He hated the idea of leaving the handgun in the truck but what else could they do. They were cornered. This was what it had come down to, despite all their preparations: a foot race and a swim.
A large air horn sounded on their right and Sam saw a Navy landing craft moving slowly through the water about 100 yards from where they were. Its deck was empty of vehicles. One man was steering from the top deck of the craft. Another was waving and yelling at them.
Sam and Gloria dashed toward the craft. The infected were gaining on them. The leaders, who were only a dozen yards away, would catch them before they made it to the safety of the craft.
“Keep going,” Sam shouted to Gloria.
He turned, aimed the shotgun as best he could, and pulled the trigger. The buckshot tore a hole in the midsection of the closest infected, dropping it to the pavement. Sam ran another 15 yards, re-racked and sent another round of buckshot downrange that missed its target before turning to run.
He’d taken down the closest pursuer but the other infected had gained ground while he was shooting. He turned onto the pier; Gloria was already there, a few yards ahead of him. The landing craft had neared the pier and a brown-haired man jumped from the deck onto shore. He wore woodland camouflage and was carrying what looked like an M16 rifle. He motioned for them to keep running but even if he’d pointed his gun at them, Sam wouldn’t have stopped. Better to be taken down by friendly fire than torn apart limb by limb.
The brown-haired man raised his M16 and began barking off rounds at the infected behind them. Gloria and Sam launched themselves from the pier to the deck of the craft. There were four 50 caliber machine guns onboard: two at the front, one at the back and one on the upper level deck behind the driver. All but the gun behind the driver were manned.
Even after Sam and Gloria made it onto the craft the man with the M16 kept firing, emptying what was left in his magazine. When it was gone he turned around and jumped onto the craft.
As soon as he was onboard, the men manning the fore and aft guns opened fire, tearing into the mass of infected. The 50 caliber bullets struck the infected in an explosion of flesh. Bullets punched through the soft skin of the infected like a hot knife through butter, detaching arms and legs from bodies. However fierce, the infected were no match for a wall of lead.
The craft’s big diesel motors roared as the craft master pulled back on the throttle and shifted into reverse. As the boat pulled away from the edge of the pier the gunners ceased fire.
No longer hindered by the gunfire, the wall of infected ran down the end of the pier. They were packed so tightly that some of them were pushed from the pier and fell, thrashing, into the water.
Others tried to jump from the pier to the craft. Most of them fell short, but one made an enormous leap, smashing his teeth on the steel ledge of the craft before crashing into the water.
Sam and Gloria moved to the center of the craft as it backed away from land. The deck was long and flat, a darker gray than the haze gray paint that covered the vertical parts of the craft. On the front was a large bow ramp for the loading and unloading of vehicles. Tall wing walls stretched above the bow ramp and on one of them, a Cadillac symbol had been carefully painted.
Sam turned to look up at the driver. The number 1644 was painted in white on the front of the conning tower.
The Craft Master gazed down at them, his dark face gleaming with sweat. “Welcome aboard!” he shouted.
CHAPTER FIVE
Sam glanced around, not quite believing their good fortune. Gloria looked equally bewildered.
The craft motored down the center of the inlet towards the bay, leaving roughly 75 yards of water on either side. The men who’d been manning the guns walked to where Sam and Gloria stood at the center of the deck. They all wore woodland digital camouflage, not the blue camouflage that had become standard issue in the Navy. Still, Sam knew from his own experience in the Navy that these men were not combat-hardened fighters. They weren’t Navy SEALs; they weren’t Special Forces super soldiers. These were normal enlisted men of the United States Navy; they wore the woodland camouflage because they were in an expeditionary unit.
The brown-haired man who’d jumped onto the pier and shot at the infected walked toward them, his M16 slung over his shoulder. His hair was slightly receding and he stood about average height with a medium build.
“John Robinson. How y’all doing?” Robinson’s southern accent was so thick that it took Sam a minute to understand the question. While he waited for a response, Robinson pulled a can of Copenhagen from his pocket and offered it to Sam and Gloria.
“Sam Conner.” Sam shook his head in response to the offered tobacco but stuck out his hand and shook Robinson’s.
“Gloria Card,” said Gloria, extending her hand.
“Good to meet ya’ll. I’m glad you made it onboard. Thought you were really screwed there for a second but we managed to keep those shits off you just in time.” He glanced at the shotgun in Sam’s hand. “Quality shotgun you got there. You a cop?”
“Nope, just found it in a cop car right before we ran into you. It’s already saved our life twice.” Sam left out the fact that he’d killed an infected cop to get the shotgun. Despite the fact that he’d just watched these guys send hundreds of rounds into infected sailors, somehow killing someone in uniform felt taboo.
“Nice.” Robinson nodded once, as if that was all the explanation he required. “I’m not sure what the boss had in mind when he said to pick you up. Some of the
bigger ships made it out okay and have some space; maybe we can get you on one of those. Are you bitten or scratched?”
Sam and Gloria both shook their heads. Sam didn’t like the sound of being a refugee on a big Navy ship, though he had to admit the sound of a hot meal was appealing. Still, safe though a ship might be he wouldn’t be able to find his family. And if anyone found out that he’d been in the Navy only a few days ago, he’d probably be conscripted. Technically, he could still be called up at any time if the military needed him and, given the number of infected sailors he’d just seen running around, the Navy was probably critically undermanned. No, best to keep that piece of information to himself.
“We’ll still need to check you over, just to be safe,” Robinson said. “Normally we don’t have a corpsman—that’s a medic—with us, but,” he nodded toward an approaching man, “we helped him out just like we did you.”
The man stepped forward. “Mike Hilton.” He shook Sam’s hand as he introduced himself. “I’m going to have to do a full body check on both of you.” He glanced apologetically at Gloria. “You can have Sam in the room while I do it if you want. Or we can just keep you two quarantined in the boatswain’s hole for the next few hours.” He gestured at a watertight hatch that sat in front of the conning tower.
Sam and Gloria peered inside. It looked like it was used for deck department supplies. There were chains and tools of various sizes and metal gripes used to secure the chains that held vehicles to the deck of the craft.
“Chain of command says the infection is spread through bodily fluids and symptoms show up anywhere from 20 minutes to two hours later, depending on the level of exposure,” Hilton explained. “What do you guys want to do?”
“I’d rather do the body check and get it over with.” Sam glanced at Gloria.
She shrugged. “As long as there’s another person in the room…”
Hilton led them to the rear of the craft and through a hatch. Ladder wells led to large engine rooms. Another watertight hatch was open, displaying more tools and supplies. Hilton motioned them toward the craft’s small bathroom, which was attached to the galley. He shut the door behind him, then motioned for Gloria to close the second door.
Hilton turned toward them. “The best way to do this is for the person being examined to step into the shower and strip and then step out onto this towel. I’ll examine the front of you, head to toe, have you turn and I’ll check your back. Got it?”
Sam and Gloria nodded.
He waved a hand at the shower. “Gentlemen first.” Sam’s forearms were streaked with dried blood but there were no bite marks or scratches. He stood still while Hilton looked him over. It wasn’t Sam’s favorite thing in the world but it was no different from the Military Entrance Processing Station check he’d undergone when he enlisted in the Navy.
After a moment, Hilton stepped back. “You’re good but you need to get that blood washed off. Step back inside.”
Sam pulled his clothes back on and Gloria took his place in the shower. After a minute she stepped out onto the towel.
Sam automatically averted his eyes.
“Having a third person doesn’t do any good if you’re not watching,” Hilton said mildly. Sam glanced back, watching as Hilton looked for signs of infection on Gloria’s back, butt and legs. Her butt was small and round and her legs unblemished except for a few bruises. She was attractive. The thought felt like a betrayal when he was trying so hard to get to his wife, but it was undeniable. The day had been rough for both of them but somehow Gloria still looked good.
Hilton motioned for Gloria to turn around and Sam glanced down and then up again, locking eyes with Gloria. He could feel the blood flow to his cheeks. Gloria smirked. Sam felt like a dog: here he was, stuck in what might actually be the end of the world, and he was busy ogling a woman.
“You’re both clear of any obvious infection. But we want you two to stay out on deck for a couple of hours, just to be safe. I have some sanitation wipes for your arm,” Hilton said, motioning towards Sam’s bloody forearm.
Sam looked at the floor as Gloria stepped past, not wanting to look at her again until she was fully clothed.
“Can you tell us anything about what’s going on right now?” Gloria asked from behind the shower curtain.
“Any news about other cities?” Sam added.
“I know Chief wants to talk to you guys once we’re past the jetties and sitting in some deep water. He’ll decide what to fill you in on, but I can tell you things aren’t good. The majority of the city is either infected, dead, or stuck where they are, and we aren’t the only city that’s having this problem. Every major European and North American city is affected.” He shook his head. “We don’t know how it started.”
“Before the power went out the news said all Navy personnel were being recalled to their ships,” Gloria said, stepping out from behind the curtain. She was fully clothed. Thankfully, Sam thought. “Did they make it out?”
“Some ships did, some didn’t.” Hilton sounded pained. “I don’t know why. A couple of ships that pulled up the gangway of the ship stayed tied up at the pier. I guess they didn’t have enough people on board to get underway. There were some other ships that were very lightly manned and made it out. The ships that got out are anchored in the ocean, conserving fuel. Initially there was an LSD anchored on the other side of the bridge, but too many refugees went there—it wasn’t set up for that—so it pulled anchor and headed out to sea.”
“When you say LSD, I’m assuming you’re not referring to the drug…” Gloria said.
“Oh, sorry. LSD is a dock landing ship. It’s nearly 700 hundred feet long and the stern sinks down into the water so that crafts like this one can drive in the back. It’s kind of like the mother ship in a science fiction movie. One of the big advantages it has is a flight deck for helos and an open well deck for refugees. In comparison this craft is only 135 feet.”
Sam was familiar with an LSD—he’d been stationed on one in the Navy—but he made sure to keep his expression pleasantly interested.
They stepped out of the bathroom and walked back up onto the deck of the craft. The steel deck radiated heat as it warmed in the late morning sun. Sam looked up to where the craft master stood, guiding the flat-bottomed boat from his perch atop the conning tower. A man in coveralls took the helm and the craft master came down the ladder.
He was in his late twenties to early thirties, with a frame somewhere between medium and large. He smiled broadly, his teeth white against his black skin. “The crew calls me Chief but you can call me Ryan or Norris.” He waved a hand. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”
Sam and Gloria introduced themselves.
“Thank you for picking us up,” Gloria said.
“We would have been fucked if it wasn’t for you and your crew,” Sam added.
Chief Norris grinned. “Well, that’s putting it bluntly. We’d just scouted out the waterside fuel depot and were headed back to check on the ACU-2 headquarters when we saw your car get stuck. I started blowing my horn, hoping you’d turn and see us.” Chief Norris had a disarming manner of speaking, a warmth that made him instantly approachable. It was different from the way many higher-ranking sailors spoke.
“How did you and your entire crew manage to get out of the city?” Sam asked.
“When the infection started we had just left on deployment with the ship we were attached to. We were headed to North Carolina to pick up the Marines. From there we were supposed to go to the Mediterranean, then to the Suez Canal, and that would spit us out into the Persian Gulf. We were just lucky to have been out of the city.”
“I’m glad you guys made it,” Gloria said. She was looking at all of the guns mounted around the deck. “You sure have plenty of firepower on here.”
Sam was glad she’d said that instead of him. From a woman it seemed like an innocuous comment. If he had said the same thing it might come across as if he was casing the place.
“Than
ks. The guns are another thing we lucked out with. We picked up the weapons load out before we left on deployment. Normally we don’t keep the weapons onboard unless we’re deploying. But we get all of our ammo from the ship.”
“So what are you guys doing out here? Looking for stragglers like us?” Sam asked.
“Yes and no. We were put out here to assist any military units in the area. We are also supposed to monitor how civilians are handling the outbreak. And we are tasked with giving assistance to civilians when it is feasible.”
“Thank God for that last part,” Sam said.
“I don’t care if that wasn’t part of our current mission. I would have tried to save you and anybody else for that matter.”
“Have you rescued anyone else?”
“Early on we rescued a few people. But you’re the first we’ve seen in days.” Chief Norris said.
“Hilton told us a little about what was going on but he said you would fill us in,” Sam said.
Norris sighed. “Here’s the deal. A few ships are sitting in port unable to move because they don’t have a big enough crew. A few of the other ships……well, when this thing first started we thought it was a riot. A civil problem, not a biological one. Some of the other ships had infected crew members. They’re lost now.” He shook his head like he was trying to clear his mind.
“There aren’t any survivors on those ships?” Sam asked.
“We think there are some survivors holed up. The bridges on most of the ships are still secure. But we’re not launching any rescue missions. Don’t get me wrong, if we could spare the manpower it would be different. But there are thousands of infected on those ships and it would be impossible with the manpower we have right now. We don’t even have enough pilots to fly the helicopters. The ships don’t have the engineers they need to run their engines. People are working around the clock just to keep systems running.”
Sam raised his eyebrows. How many people didn’t make it? How many of the men and women he’d worked with had died?
