Captain McCloud took a moment to assess the situation. He was here with an armed squad of Coast Guardsmen, but he was clearly outgunned and his hosts did not seem in the least intimidated by his presence, or that of his men. They were offering hospitality and he was the one who had tried to assert authority. They were clearly not about to accept it without question. So he gave a curt nod and motioned his men to follow his lead. “Show us the way, Scott. I’m very interested in seeing more of this, uh.., I mean, your ship.”
“Great,” Scott said with a genuine smile. “I spent many millions of dollars to make it what it is today. It’s not a cruise ship, nor a merchantman, and it’s come a long way from its original purpose as a car ferry in the North Sea. The Sovereign Spirit has become one of the world’s largest expedition mega yachts. So I’ll be proud to give you the grand tour. And then I need to show you my official authorization to continue my mission unmolested. It’s not something I could broadcast over the radio.”
Captain McCloud gave Scott a curious look, but fought back the temptation to press the issue and motioned his men to follow his lead again. They followed their host towards the elevator as Scott described some of the “toys” in the cavernous vehicle deck.
“You can see the water craft and dive shop near the ramp. Over there is my two passenger Deep Flight mini-submarine. The cars and SUVs are obvious, as well as the Zodiacs and the sail boat, which is a lot of fun. I sailed it around the Galapagos a few weeks ago. Nothing like wind power to bring you in touch with nature. And back there we have a million dollar Hydra Terra RV that is actually an amphibious motor home. It’s something else! But it has to be launched from a boat ramp and only in calm waters like lakes or bays. We also have a fifth wheel toy hauler hooked up to a dually truck, two fuel trucks that we can use to refuel the ship if we need to do so onshore, and even an old Brinks armored car transport. I’d like to see a zombie get into that! But here’s something you might really like to see,” said Scott, pointing to a unique sports car. “That’s a Hydra Spyder. It’s an amphibious sports car. It does over 120 miles per hour on land and over 50 miles per hour in calm water. Behind that is an H2OEX Extreme SUV. It’s amphibious too. And of course I already mentioned the Hydra Terra amphibious tour vehicle we carry on the boat deck davits. So you can see that we are very well equipped to conduct amphibious rescue and recovery missions ashore,” Scott concluded as the elevator doors opened and he motioned his guests into it.
Captain McCloud considered the situation carefully and instructed four of his men to remain on the vehicle deck. He motioned the other two to follow him into the elevator. Scott gave a friendly smile and said, “We’ll be on the bridge if they need to find you.” He, Captain Fisher and the two men armed with M-203s joined Captain McCloud and his two Guardsmen in the elevator and pushed the button for the top floor. “We’ll by-pass the public areas for now, if you don’t mind, Captain McCloud. I think we should get right down to business first.”
As they entered the bridge Captain McCloud was impressed once again. It was nowhere near as modern as the bridge of the USCGC Stratton, but it had many of the modern bells and whistles combined with traditional accents of wood and brass. It was higher off the water than the bridge of his own ship and he had a great view of the Stratton lying off the port quarter. There were three crewmen on duty and they all seemed alert and attentive to their tasks, even though the ship was at rest. “This is quite an impressive ship and crew, Mr. Allen.”
“Thank you, captain,” Scott replied. “We left San Diego close to a year ago and this was the last leg of our first voyage around the world. It was really going great until the world ended last week. Now perhaps just the three of us could retire to the Captain Fisher’s ready room for a little pow-wow?”
“By all means, Mr. Allen, Captain Fisher, lead the way.” McCloud followed them into an adjoining room that looked like the main salon on a normal yacht, or an executive office ashore. He welcomed the invitation to sit on the couch and watched curiously as Scott sat in one of the recliners across the coffee table and Fisher moved towards the bar.
“Okay, Captain McCloud,” Scott began. “It’s obvious that you and your commanders might be interested in taking over my ship. And I don’t blame you for it. The Sovereign Spirit would be quite a prize. But it’s not for sale and, as I mentioned, I’m willing to destroy it before I let anyone take her away from me.”
“Now hold on there,” McCloud began, but Scott forestalled his objection.
“No, you wait, sir. I don’t want to damage or destroy this ship any more than you do. And I don’t think that it will be necessary for either of us to do that either. I just want you to understand my conviction on that issue. In fact, I’m prepared to show you the demolition charges on the engines and even a few of the scuttling charges that I have planted to sink her if necessary. But what I really invited you here to show you is our Letter of Safe Passage, or letter of marquee if you prefer, and mandate from the CDC, FEMA and DHS as authorized by the Office of the President of the United States. Captain Fisher? Can you show this gentleman our letter of safe passage?”
What the Hell? Captain McCloud had been ready for a lot of things, but this was not one of them. He took the folder from Captain Fisher and opened it. He was sure that his eyes got quite wide as he read the document. Was this real? A letter of safe passage and directive to render assistance from his real command authorities? How could this be?
“As you can see, Captain McCloud,” explained Captain Fisher. “This letter is quite explicit and I believe that the last signature there is from someone in your direct chain of command, is it not? I mean the Coast Guard is part of the Department of Homeland Security, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir, it is,” replied Captain McCloud. “But how do I know that this document is genuine?”
“That’s easy, captain,” replied Scott. “You can send your own email to the CDC, or DHS, to confirm it. The cover email is in that folder, with cc addresses of all the signatories to the letter. You can use our email server, if yours is down, but please don’t delay us any longer than necessary. We really do have a vital mission to perform here.”
“So it would appear,” agreed Captain McCloud slowly. “You do realize that this places me in a very difficult position. I have been taking direction from the Navy’s Pacific Command in San Diego. Now you give me a directive signed by an Assistant Secretary of Homeland Security, which is indeed the command authority for the Coast Guard. So, can you tell me where you are going and why the people who signed this letter are so interested in getting you there?”
“No,” replied Scott. “Not specifically, except that we are supposed to rescue someone important to them from a coastal town in California.”
“Well then,” pondered McCloud. “Can you tell me why the Assistant Secretary for Counterterrorism would be involved?”
“Only in general,” Scott answered honestly. “Our information from the CDC indicates that these zombies are the product of a bio-terror attack that began on March 15th at numerous airports around the world. The nature of the disease, especially the way it mutated and spread within a precise timeframe, suggests that it was genetically engineered as a bio-terror weapon. The person they want us to rescue may have some clues as to either the origin or the cure to this infection. I honestly don’t know much more than that.”
“Fair enough, commodore,” responded McCloud without the note of sarcasm he had applied to the term earlier. “I will have to check this out, but if it’s for real, I think it will be my duty to assist you in any way possible. Can you at least tell me your immediate intentions, if I honor this letter of safe passage?” He could see Scott pause to consider his response.
“Okay, Captain McCloud,” Scott said. “You said that you could be my best friend, or worst enemy, and I’m willing to bet that we will be friends after you confirm the authenticity of this letter. So, yes, I’ll tell you what we want to do next. I will order this ship to make best speed north. Th
at will be about 22 knots. But I will also launch a helicopter to downtown San Diego on a personal mission to save a friend and his family who are trapped in a high rise penthouse. I’ll catch up to the ship before it gets to Oceanside. That’s my plan anyway. And if I don’t make it back, Captain Fisher here will continue the official mission we have up the coast. Good enough?”
“Sounds risky, commodore,” said McCloud with a slight frown. “What makes you think that you will get past the Navy and Marines surrounding San Diego Bay? They haven’t read your letter and I’m not sure they would honor it either.”
“No?” asked Scott with a little surprise. “Is it that bad already?”
“Let’s just say that the Admiral in charge there sees this as the end of the world, in a biblical way, which just might include the end of civilian commanders in his point of view. He is taking the concept of martial law very seriously. I know that he has already arrested the mayor of San Diego for failing to follow his orders. And I can’t say that I really blame him, Scott. The military is in a shooting war on their home turf and their targets were fellow Americans last week. I think that the distinction between us and them is getting a bit muddled.” McCloud could see that Scott found his observation upsetting.
“So you think they would fire on my helicopter?” asked Scott. “The Mexican army already did that, but I had hoped that our guys would be a little more restrained.”
“I just don’t know,” McCloud confessed. “They know that zombies don’t fly helicopters, but those men have been shooting at almost anything that moves for days – including little kids who want to eat them. The rules of engagement are sort of confused right now. Your unmarked helicopter might make it through unmolested. But it might not. What they would probably do is send armed helicopters to force you to land in Coronado and take your helicopter away from you.”
“I see,” Scott responded slowly. “Then what do you suggest?”
“Honestly, I can’t say right now,” replied Captain McCloud. “But I might be able to help. I’m going back to my ship to confirm this message. If it checks out, I might have an alternative that will help you rescue your friends with less risk of interference and more support, if you request it. That, after all, is the essence of the directive in that letter. So, if it’s real, you can request my assistance and I will provide it, within reason of course.”
“That sounds more than fair, captain,” said Scott with renewed energy. “Can I offer you and your men anything before you go? Some food, a drink perhaps?”
“No thank you, sir,” McCloud replied. “As good as a Scotch on the rocks sounds right now, I am obviously still on duty and I’ll need a clear head to figure out this new mess you’ve thrown into my lap. But I think I’ll take a rain check, if the offer is still good tomorrow.”
“Absolutely,” Scott confirmed. “In that case, let’s get you back to your ship so you can confirm the letter of safe passage and I can formally request your assistance.” They rose and walked back towards the bridge where McCloud’s escort was waiting patiently.
“You know, Scott,” McCloud commented. “I really hope this letter is genuine. It will be a relief to have orders to help people again. Our current mission that the Navy pressed upon us has been quite disagreeable. I understand the concept of quarantine and containment, but who are we trying to protect? Those orders came through three days ago, but the infection had already spread across the whole country by then. I’ve had to turn away more than a dozen ships, most of whom had no sign of infection aboard, including a cruise ship full of innocent civilians. God’s knows where they will go: probably down to Mexico, where you tell me things are just as bad, or worse, than up here. And you were right. I do have orders to commandeer ships with valuable cargos or capabilities. We have already seized a cargo ship full of bananas from El Salvador, an oil tanker from Mexico, and a Ro-Ro bulk carrier full of cars and SUVs from Japan. We escorted them to the entrance of San Diego Bay and the Navy took over from there. That’s what they have planned for your ship too.”
“I figured as much,” said Scott. “And thanks for telling me the truth. But let me ask one more question. If you did turn us over to the Navy, what would happen to everyone aboard this ship and all the boats following us?”
“I’m really not sure. They might let the smaller boats drop anchor in the bay and leave them alone, maybe even let them sail away, or they might want to commandeer some of them too. But they would draft, or impress, some the officers and crew of this ship to help them run her. You and the rest of your passenger would probably be moved to a refugee camp on Coronado, if the smaller boats couldn’t take you all aboard. I doubt they would line you all up and shoot you, but I have my doubts about the long term safety of the refugees on Coronado too. I don’t see how the military will keep them all supplied with food and water for long. But I guess they’ll be eating a lot of Salvadoran bananas for a while.” They both tried and failed to smile at that. McCloud concluded by saying, “Of course, pending confirmation of this letter, you shouldn’t have to worry about that now.”
The boarding party returned to the vehicle deck and filed past the “honor guard” that remained at a semblance of attention next to the ramp. Scott and Captain Fisher shook hands with Captain McCloud and expressed their hope to see him again later in the morning.
Captain McCloud’s thoughts were both heavy and hopeful as he re-boarded the Prosecutor and reversed course to the Stratton. They cruised up the other side of the Sovereign Spirit this time and McCloud noted without surprise that there was indeed an amphibious tour vehicle hanging from the starboard davits. ‘This ship really is something else. They can do a lot of good for a lot of people, if they really do intend to conduct rescue operations,’ he thought.
*****
Interlude in Hell
Chevron Refinery, El Segundo, CA, 7:12 AM, April 6, 2012
Carl pressed the remote control on the sun visor of the suburban and watched the main gate of the refinery roll open. There were no zombies in sight yet, but he knew that they were coming. Zombies seemed to be attracted to the sound of engines and machinery. Carl was leading a small convoy of heavy vehicles that shook the earth and the sound of their engines reverberated through the air. The Chevron workers were going shopping.
Carl and the one remaining security guard at the refinery were the only ones with guns. And they were short on ammunition. So Carl had suggested that their first priority should be finding a store that stocked guns and ammunition. The oil workers were more familiar with the area than Carl was, so they mapped out the course for this first expedition. The first stop would be a Big 5 sporting goods store that was only a few blocks east on El Segundo Boulevard. It was next door to the Big 5 corporate headquarters and the local Big 5 warehouse. It was also across the street from the Los Angeles Air Force Base. So they might even find other survivors in secure locations.
Gus was riding “shotgun” in the Suburban, although his only weapons were an axe and a crow bar. Carl wore the pistol he had appropriated from the zombie cop and his trusty fireman’s pick-axe. They drove slowly up El Segundo Boulevard and the rest of the zombie-proof convoy followed. Next in line behind the Suburban was the big front end loader that would be used as a wrecker to clear traffic jams from their path. Behind that was the armored fire engine. Following it was the modified eighteen wheeler, with the shuttle bus bringing up the rear. It wouldn’t take long for them to attract attention.
The road looked clear of zombies and vehicles in both directions, but Carl knew from what he had witnessed atop the water tower that this open stretch was the result of massive traffic jams from crashes sites in every direction. They arrived at a massive accident scene at the intersection with Aviation Boulevard. It was ugly. A bus had crashed into a truck and the combined tangle of metal blocked the entire intersection. It was hard to see beyond the accident scene, but Carl was positive that he saw movement and it wasn’t reassuring. Carl hesitated to clear the wrecks, because it would o
pen the highway for zombies to stream towards the refinery, but he had been told that the Big 5 complex on the other side of the intersection was a goldmine of survival gear.
There was no time for Carl to express his reservations as the earthmover passed the Suburban and muscled through the wreckage. The bus and truck were pushed out of the way as if they were merely children’s toys and the big Caterpillar pressed forward into the intersection. As Carl had feared, it was teaming with zombies. They swarmed towards the opening where the bus had been. The operator of the Cat didn’t pause as he lowered the big scoop to waist height and plowed into the crowd of zombies. He swerved back and forth, knocking zombies to the ground and crushing them with the giant wheels of the earthmover. None of the zombies had any chance to climb onto the vehicle, especially since Carl had used a torch to cut off the access ladders below the operator’s cab. After crossing the intersection the Cat made a U-turn and drove back over the remaining zombies. This time the skillful operator raised and lowered the front end scoop bucket, smashing it down with thousands of pounds of pressure on top of the mangled zombies that were squirming around on the ground. Skulls burst like overripe fruit and bones snapped like match sticks.
Voyage of the Dead - Book One Sovereign Spirit Saga Page 19
