“Radio Road Hog, tell them to bring the convoy up, we’ve got some mess to sort out! And tell them we may need some medical attention,” said Bruce.
He jumped off the back of the truck and ran over to the crashed RV. Bruce could already hear the groans of agony from inside, at least that meant they were alive. These vehicles were built to be completely sealed from zombies, and therefore were not at all easy to get into. He got up alongside the roof, the hatch on top being the easiest thing for him to reach.
“Christian, Christian! Open the roof hatch!” screamed Bruce.
There was no reply, all Bruce could hear was the sound of Jake talking to the convoy on his radio. Finally Bruce could hear the sound of someone stumbling around inside the RV.
“Christian, open the hatch!” shouted Bruce.
The bolt slid across and the roof hatch swung open. Christian had blood dripping down his face and was cradling his left arm, he was battered and bloody.
“How is everyone else?” asked Bruce.
“Jackson is unconscious up front, Carly and Jack are down on the floor, I think Carly’s leg is broken, Jack is just bashed about,” said Christian.
“What a fucking idiot!” shouted Bruce.
The first vehicles of the convoy pulled up alongside them on the road by Jake’s truck. Five people ran to the aid of the stricken vehicle, those with first aid or medical experience.
“Jake, you and Dylan organise security, I don’t want any more surprises!” said Bruce.
“No problem!” shouted Jake.
Jake looked at the people who had gathered before him, doing their jobs correctly and in good order. He was pleased that after such a display of stupidity and poor discipline the majority were carrying on as they should in these circumstances.
“Right, you’re going to have to get inside and take care of them there, I’ll start arranging recovery of the vehicle,” said Bruce.
The five helpers nodded in response and began climbing in through the roof hatch. Bruce made his way back up to the road to where Jake stood.
“Sentries are out, we’re all sorted,” said Jake.
“Good job. Now, let’s talk about getting this vehicle back on its feet,” said Bruce.
“You want to recover it?” asked Jake.
“Yeah, it’s a good vehicle and it’s had quite a bit of time put into setting it up right. I don’t see any reason why we can’t get it back on the road in no time. Will the trucks be able to pull it over or will you need something heavier?” said Bruce.
“I guess if we get three of the trucks up here we’ll manage it,” said Jake.
“Alright, get on it,” said Bruce.
He looked back at the vehicle resting on its side, people clambering through the roof hatch.
“What a complete fuck up,” said Bruce.
He stumbled back towards his vehicle, now parked fifty feet from the crash site. Bruce stepped up into the vehicle and opened the onboard fridge. A beer was what he needed right now, the heat and stress of the crappy morning being too much. Any sensible leader would have kept strict rules on alcohol in the Zombie Apocalypse, but not Bruce. He climbed up the ladder to the roof where Dylan was sitting.
“How’s it going, mate?” asked Dylan.
Bruce sat down near Dylan, his feet hanging over the edge of the vehicle.
“Not too great,” said Bruce.
“What’s up?” asked Dylan.
“Look at this mess. We were lucky this time that such stupidity happened in a safe area. Next time it could be the end of all of us,” said Bruce.
“But this was an accident, right?” asked Dylan.
“Not really, we treat life like a party, it’s hardly surprising that we should then suffer the same crap that party nuts always do,” said Bruce.
Bruce knocked back his cool beer, fully aware of the contradictory nature of his words and actions. He thought about the dangerous line they walked and the risks they took. Apart from the careful and well planned image that they generally presented, the group was gun hoe and took too many risks. Despite this, he wondered if there was any other way. Humanity had never managed to rid itself of vices such as alcohol, tobacco and gambling when it was at its peak, how then could they be expected to be any better?
The more Bruce thought about it, the more his head hurt. Perhaps he didn’t do things the best way possible, but they were at least still alive, and perhaps actually getting some enjoyment out of life was more important than doing everything perfectly and safely.
Twenty minutes later the three trucks were hitched up to the crashed vehicle. They had decided to leave the survivors and first aiders inside, have them hold on rather than escape through the roof hatch, which was not easily accessible the way vehicle lay on its side.
“Ready?” shouted Jake.
“Yeah, put some power down, but take it easy!” shouted Bruce.
The dirty and battered trucks slowly edged forward, taking up the slack on the ropes until they finally pulled taut. Eventually the stricken vehicle was lifted off the ground, being pulled back upright. Finally the balance of weight on the wheels was enough that the last two wheels smashed to the ground, uprighting it. Bruce rushed to the main door, knocking on it.
“Is everyone ok? Open up!” shouted Bruce.
The door swung open, and he went aboard. Aside from the minor injuries and one broken leg, they’d had a lucky escape. He went to the front of the vehicle where Jackson was beginning to wake up, still sitting in the driver’s seat with his seat belt buckled. Bruce released the buckle of his belt and grabbed hold of his ear, forcing him to follow. He led the man out of the vehicle, revealing him to the two dozen people stood in front of them.
“This fuck muppet had the good sense to buckle his belt to save his own skin, and had no concern whatsoever for the rest of his crew, or any of us!” shouted Bruce.
He slammed the man against the side of the recently recovered vehicle, and punched him in the face, causing him to reel in pain, blood spurting from his nose.
“Ordinarily I would suggest some severe punishment for such blatant disregard for the group’s safety. Sadly, we cannot spare one life, and that is the lesson that this idiot must learn. We may not all share the same interests, or be compatible people. Some of you may loathe others, but we are the lucky few, we can’t be picky about who we call our friends anymore. Therefore, we’re going to have to hope Jackson has learnt the errors of his ways, because nothing we can say will change him,” said Bruce.
The group looked at each other, some mumbling, others agreeing. Many of the survivors had hoped to see some punishment dealt out to the man who had put them in such danger, they were in part disappointed, but also relieved that it was over.
“Jackson, wisen the fuck up, and don’t you dare touch any alcohol for the rest of the week,” said Bruce.
The bloodied and dazed man nodded, knowing he had no other choice. Bruce walked around to the side of the crashed vehicle to survey the damage, it was largely cosmetic. However, the mesh screens covering the windows were damaged and partly hanging off.
“Jake, organise some guys to get this fixed. Connor, we have wounded to attend to and vehicles to repair and check for damage, we hold here for the day, rest up and continue tomorrow!” shouted Bruce.
CHAPTER THREE
NORTHERN PACIFIC OCEAN
The Landing Craft Air Cushion (LCAC) bounced gently as it clipped the low waves of the ocean. The vehicle was an oddity, a shallow hulled but very wide landing craft that operated as a hovercraft. She travelled at forty knots and carried Captain Black’s reconnaissance unit. Though the craft could carry half a dozen vehicles or even a couple of hundred soldiers there were far fewer onboard for this operation. Captain Black brought with him a well-equipped Marine platoon, as well as several specialists from the US and France that they had stuck with since their experiences in Afghanistan in the months before. There was also a number of civilian technical crew led by Dr Garcia.
&
nbsp; Dr Garcia cradled her rugged laptop as she watched the screen for useful information. The computer had a live feed to the UAV that buzzed overhead and provided the unit with up-to-date information on the ship and the immediate area around them. The display showed several access points near the bow that were used for loading materials directly into the hull. She turned to the Marines that were readying equipment and spotted the Captain. She waved to him, drawing his attention to the computer. He said a few more words and then wandered over, shouting over the sound of the loud fans.
“What?” he asked.
“Look!” shouted Dr Garcia as she showed him the access hatches.
Captain Black nodded in agreement and gave her a thumbs up gesture. He tapped his ear and then spoke into his throat mic, giving directions to the crew of the craft. They were now only half a mile from the bow of the massive ocean liner.
Overhead a helicopter buzzed past, it was the research vessel’s own craft and carried an additional four Marines. Moving swiftly past the hovercraft it approached the liner and hovered over the bow of the vessel. Ropes appeared and in less than a minute the Marines had rappelled down to the deck and started fixing ropes to throw down to the hovercraft below. With the Marines safely disgorged it turned and flew back to the ship.
Sergeant Fernanda organised the small group as they hurled the ropes over the port side of the vessel. She was a tough Marine and had been part of Captain Black’s unit back in Afghanistan when they first encountered both the Taliban and the undead.
“Captain, ropes are in. We’re securing the position, give us thirty seconds, out,” she spoke on her hands free radio equipment.
With just a single hand signal the Marines spread out, examining the large front section of the super liner. The bow section was shaped like a large letter ‘v’ and was completely flat, save for the containers heaped onto the deck. The Sergeant moved to the port side of the vessel so she could see down the side of the ship. It all looked clear from her position.
“Port side is clear,” she reported on her radio, ‘waiting for the status of the starboard side.”
From opposite she spotted Brent, one of the newest members of the unit, signalling the other side of the ship was clear.
“All clear, I repeat you are clear to board,” she said firmly.
“Affirmative,” came the response.
Sergeant Fernanda smiled to herself, recognising the coolness she always associated with Captain Black. He certainly didn’t like to waste words. Overhead the UAV buzzed past, its small engine grumbling as it moved off towards the aft of the ship. Fernanda pulled out her military issue PDA and accessed the live feed the aircraft was transmitting. They had started using these smaller, unit operated UAVs in the urban combat whilst she was in Iraq and they provided a critical view when a unit’s line of sight was blocked. As the craft continued she noted the missing life craft and boats, as well as what looked like red or black marks on the floor.
Brent arrived back whilst the other two helped the first of the Marines from the hovercraft up onto the deck.
“Brent, look at this,” she said as she handed the device over to him.
“Hmm, it could be a spill of some kind, looks like dried blood though,” he answered as he passed the device back.
“Yeah, knowing our luck it will definitely be blood,” said Fernanda sarcastically.
More of the Marines pulled themselves up over the side of the ship and onto the forecastle. As each hit the deck they readied their weapons and spread out to provide cover if needed. Captain Black pulled himself over, assisted by another of the Marines and dropped onto the deck. He spotted the Sergeant and moved directly to her. As he approached she stood to attention and saluted him.
“Report, Sergeant,” he ordered.
Sergeant Fernanda turned her PDA towards the Captain and showed him the latest data.
“So far the upper decks look clear though we have spotted signs of a struggle, especially in this area,” she said as she hit the review button.
The display went backwards in time until it reached the point where the UAV had passed what looked like blood. Captain Black examined the feed in detail before making a call on his radio.
“Bring up the doctor,” he turned to Sergeant Fernanda. “Good work, set up a temporary command post in the bridge, he pointed upwards to the large structure covered in thick glass windows.
“Leave the ropes in position in case we need to leave in a hurry. I want a three man detail guarding the forecastle. The rest will split into two teams and work their way up to the bridge. I’ll take the port side, you take the starboard and we’ll meet in the middle.
“Just like old times, Sir,” replied Sergeant Fernanda with a smile.
She moved off to organise the rest of the Marines whilst Captain Black went back to his radio.
“Black here. We’ve secured the forecastle and are moving onto the bridge. Any updates on signs of survivors?” he asked.
There was a short pause before one of the crew from the Moreau called back.
“Captain Black, we have a very weak signal coming from the Grand Lobby.”
“What kind of signal?” he asked as he checked his printed diagram of the ship.
The massive vessel contained over seventeen passenger decks and the Grand Lobby was just over a third the way along the ship and low down in the hull. It would take some time to work their way from the forecastle to reach it. The radio crackled.
“We are receiving a series of low frequency sounds. They are unlikely to be equipment as they’re not in a continuous rhythm. There’s a chance it’s survivors.”
“Yeah, also a chance of a hundred zombies in there trying to claw their way out,” he muttered off the radio.
“Understood. Will reappraise the situation, once we control the bridge section of the ship.”
“Good luck,” came the reply.
Captain Black turned to the troops on the deck. They were already divided up into three groups, the smaller one stayed near the ropes on the port side. The other two groups consisted of a dozen Marines, each of them equipped with worn but functional digital camouflage and a selection of body armour and weapons. Unlike combat units of just a year ago there were some noticeable changes to their clothing since the outbreak. The first was that they all wore sturdy gloves with reinforced protection on the wrists. On the rest of their arms were what looked like lacrosse armour that ran from the forearm to the shoulder. The extra armoured sections were made of toughened cloth and plastic and were designed to protect against bites from the undead. On their legs they wore similar armour that ran from the shins to just above the knee. The final piece of unusual equipment was neck armour that looked like a padded ring around the throat, a piece of equipment often used in hockey to protect the windpipe. Though they were of no use against combat units these modifications had saved the Marines in scores of battles.
Each Marine carried a mixture of M16 rifles, M4 carbines, Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine guns and pistols. With supplies running low each Marine stuck with the weapon they had easy access to. This meant a few of them carried non-issue shotguns and weapons taken from the battlefield. Though this led to some irregularity with the firearms, it was hardly surprising in the circumstances.
“Listen up, we have information on possible survivors in the Grand Lobby section. We’ll secure the bridge and attempt to activate the video feeds before moving deeper into the ship. Assume every section is contaminated and exercise extreme caution. I want a zero casualty rate on this one. Secure the stairs, doorways and access points; once the bridge is secure, nothing gets in. Understood?”
He was greeted by a chorus of “Ooh-rah”.
“Let’s go then!” he shouted.
Captain Black led the first dozen along the port side of the ship, each Marine staying close to the edge of the vessel and away from the superstructure. On the opposite side of the ship Sergeant Fernanda led her unit towards the access hatch that led inside the lower sect
ions below the bridge. Upon her signal Corporal Kowalski moved to the hatch and attempted to open it. He was no weakling but the hatch refused to budge.
“Fuck! It’s locked down Sarge, probably from the inside,” he called.
“Blow it!” said Fernanda.
Corporal Armstrong moved up to the door and placed a small number of charges in place. It took just seconds to fit them to the key points on the hatch. With a hand signal he ordered the unit to pull back from the blast zone and when far enough away hit the button. With a dull crump the hatch blasted inside and exposed a space of approximately one metre wide, perfectly big enough for a Marine to enter. Kowalski went in first, quickly followed by Fernanda and the rest of the unit.
On the port side of the vessel Captain Black found the doorway to the secondary stairwell was unlocked and still open. He signalled to Gunnery Sergeant Freeman, a tough, well built Marine, to clear the entry point before they moved inside. The Marine moved to the entrance and pushed an electronic device inside the doorway. The device was a remote camera system and provided detailed thermal and visible light imaging of the area. He turned back to the Captain.
“It looks clear to me, no sign of life or movement anywhere in there,” he said.
Black gave the signal and the rest of the group moved into the stairwell, each of the Marines scanned around to make sure no surprises would impede their progress. The Marines were all equipped with lanterns either fixed to their shoulders or to their weapons. The beams provided a dull yellow glow to the dark and dusty interior.
With the deck level secured the Marines moved up the staircase and continued on their mission to the bridge. Some of the emergency lights provided a small amount of red lighting, but most of the route was dark and unlit.
On the starboard side of the vessel Fernanda and her unit were already up two floors when they came across the first bodies. On the floor were several corpses, as well as three twisted and contorted bodies that were obviously zombies. The main difference was that the clothing of the zombies was torn and damaged as well as their skin and flesh. The zombie bodies were also damaged, with at least one missing a limb. The other bodies were unharmed, apart from a small number of bite wounds and injuries. The Marines had experienced these kinds of bodies before and were all too familiar with the dangers.
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