Voyage of the Dead - Book One Sovereign Spirit Saga

by Forsyth, David

  “I just want what’s best for you,” George lied. “Well, what’s best for both of us, really, and the best thing for you is to go over to that big luxurious ship and find a man that can really make you happy. I’m not him.”

  Carla’s lips pursed into a thin line as her nostrils flared and her gaze darkened. “You’re damned right, you’re not,” she hissed. “You might have been the best thing I could find on this little boat, but you couldn’t hold a candle to my dead husband. He was rich and powerful. You’re just big and dumb. So I’ll be happy to move over to that big ship. I’m sure I’ll find a real man over there. But don’t think that I will ever forgive or forget you, George. Oh, I know you saved my life, but that was destiny. If you can’t see that, then you don’t deserve me, George. So go ahead and send me away, but don’t think that you’ve heard the last of me!” She punctuated her outburst by throwing her drink into George’s face.

  His hands balled into fists, but he relaxed them and wiped the vodka from his eyes, saying, “I only want what’s best for both of us.” She spit at him before turning to leave. George watched her swinging ass exit the door and mentally slapped himself for ever letting it get this far, but he felt a sense of relief knowing that she would soon be off the yacht and out of his life. Or so he thought at the time.

  Moving his mind back into survival mode, George returned to the bridge and looked at the boats emerging from the harbor. Scott had warned him that the flotilla was about to grow significantly, but George was still surprised at how many boats sailed out of Oceanside Harbor to join his own. There were at least a hundred of them. Over half were cabin cruisers of various sizes, but there were also a large number of sail boats and some smaller cuddy cabin and open deck power boats too. Many of them were not suited for a long voyage, but would suffice for a hundred mile cruise up the coast.

  George was very happy to see a Coast Guard cutter leading the boats out of the harbor. The Stratton’s Long Range Interceptor had been with his flotilla since the bigger ships left them behind before dawn, but it was really just a speed boat sized craft. Having a real cutter to escort the flotilla would add more than a little comfort to their situation. The USCGC Sea Otter was about the same size as the Expiscator, perhaps a little shorter, but it was clearly a patrol boat with machine guns mounted on either side near her bow. That would remove a lot of the responsibility from George for keeping order among members of refugee flotilla, not to mention protecting them from any outside threats.

  The Cigarette Top Gun speed boat sped away from the Sovereign Spirit and rapidly approached the Expiscator. George recognized his wife as the boat slowed next to the big yacht and he hurried down to the rear deck to help her aboard. It had been five days since he left her to save their daughter in Cabo and a lot had happened since then. He knew he couldn’t tell her everything that had happened, at least not yet, and he hesitated to show too much emotion in front of Carla, but he felt true joy as he helped her aboard and gave her a brief hug.

  “I’ll be going back with you,” said Carla to the driver of the speed boat as she pushed her way past George. “I need to be on a bigger boat. This one makes me sick.”

  George nodded to the driver of the Cigarette and motioned for him to assist Carla aboard the speed boat. He breathed a sigh of relief as she left the Expiscator without making an embarrassing scene in front of Mrs. Hammer. Another young man helped her transfer before climbing onto the yacht and nodding towards George. That would be the new skipper. George nodded back before turning to escort his wife into the yacht’s salon. Mrs. Hammer was overjoyed to be reunited with her family and favorably impressed when George showed her around the luxurious yacht. He left her in the master suite and returned topside to get to know the young officer that Scott had sent to be the new skipper of the Expiscator.

  Stan Dawson was in his late twenties. He had been a deck officer and small boat handler aboard the Sovereign Spirit and was excited to have been selected as skipper of the Expiscator. Scott and Captain Fisher had explained that George Hammer would retain his unofficial position as leader of the flotilla, but Stan would be in command of the yacht due to his experience as a sailor. He greeted Mr. Hammer with respectful friendliness, as he’d also heard that Hammer could be a hard-ass if you rubbed him the wrong way.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hammer. I’m Stan Dawson and I’m looking forward to helping you lead this flotilla to a safe anchorage.”

  “The pleasure is mine, son,” George replied. “I almost went crazy trying to figure out how to run this big boat. It’ll be a relief to have someone aboard who knows what they’re doing and what all those gizmos on the bridge are. So make yourself at home. I’ll get my stuff out of the captain’s cabin and move downstairs with my family. The boat is all yours now.”

  “Thank you, sir” replied Stan. “But my orders say that you are still the leader of all these boat people. So I’ll be following your instructions on most things.”

  “If you say so, son,” replied George with a smile. “For the moment, my instructions are for you to run the show for awhile. I need some rest and time to catch up with my wife.”

  “Yes, sir,” Stan smiled in return and climbed up the stairs to the bridge. He had a few minutes to familiarize himself with the navigation and communications systems, as well as the engine instruments. Then he noticed that the Coast Guard cutter had launched a rigid inflatable boat that was heading towards the yacht. So Stan returned to the rear fishing cockpit and waited to greet them.

  “Ahoy, Expiscator!” called a Coast Guard ensign in the RIB. “Permission to come aboard, sir?”

  “Permission granted!” Stan yelled back. “And welcome aboard. We can certainly use your company on this trip.”

  “Thank you, sir,” replied the ensign as he hopped onto the swim step and climbed over the aft transom. “This is a beautiful yacht. Are you her captain?”

  “I’m Stan Dawson, the new skipper. The last one got infected down in Cabo. Mr. Hammer and some of his friends and family got her out of the harbor down there and followed our ship north. The owner of this yacht is Commodore Allen, who also owns the big ship over there. He’s in overall command of the flotilla and he just assigned me to skipper the Expiscator, and help play shepherd for the refuges boats, at least until we locate a safe haven to anchor the flotilla. And you, sir?”

  “Ensign Norman Howard, and you can call me Norm,” replied the young man. “I’m Third Officer on the Coast Guard Cutter Sea Otter, at your service. We’ve been assigned to escort you north and provide any assistance necessary. Any problems we should know about?”

  “Aside from a world full of zombies?” Stan asked with a grin. “No, I’d say everything is just peachy.” They both laughed and shook hands.

  *****

  The helicopter rescue missions had produced mixed results. A total of six wives, one girlfriend, and nine children of the Marines had been saved, including Mrs. Morris who was in the Stratton’s sick bay suffering from diabetic shock after she ran out of refrigerated insulin during the zombie siege of her apartment. The helicopters had also brought back seven survivors from the roof of the casino that had no connection to the Marines. Their disposition was yet to be decided, but Scott was torn between offering them positions on his crew or putting them ashore at the first safe location they found. A final decision would require some interviews though, to see where and if they would fit in. The sad news, of course, was the loss of Mrs. Snow and their failure to find four of the other Marines’ wives and girlfriends. Several children were also missing, but the overall attitude of the Marines was jubilant.

  “I don’t know how to thank you, Commodore,” said Sergeant Major O’Hara as he introduced Scott to his wife and daughter.

  “You already have,” said Scott smoothly. “Now let’s see about getting everyone settled in. Your wife can share your stateroom, off course, and I’ll assign an inside cabin across the hall to your daughter, if that’s okay with you.”

  �
��Outstanding!” confirmed O’Hara with a big smile.

  “I’ll try to do the same for the other married Marines,” Scott continued. “But Private Wilson will have to ask Captain Fisher to marry him and his girlfriend if he wants the same consideration. I can’t be shuffling the cabin berthing around on the whims of puppy love.”

  O’Hara laughed out loud and nodded in approval. “It’s good to see that the end of the world hasn’t brought an end to common decency, sir.” he replied formally. Everyone laughed at that and Scott led the newcomers into the Grand Salon on the Main Deck. The new arrivals, including the Marines who hadn’t had time to explore the ship yet, were all suitably impressed with their surroundings.

  There was a dance floor and stage up front, the same one where Scott had announced the zombie apocalypse to the passengers and crew. The big projection screen was currently showing a live view of the bow and ocean ahead of the ship from a camera above the bridge. The seating around the Salon was composed of booths around the inner perimeter, with tables along the windows on the slightly raised walkways on each side, and groups of small tables in the center of the room with obviously comfortable chairs. Pendent lights were suspended from the ceiling and plush carpet covered the floor, except for the wooden stage and dance floor. A fully stocked cocktail bar lined one corner at the rear of the big room and a service counter with a sign that said “Sushi” flanked it on the other side. About a dozen of the ship’s passengers were spread out around the room, half of them engaged in a card game at one of the larger tables. If there was a picture next to the definition for normality the dictionary, this would be it. The atmosphere was the antithesis of an apocalypse.

  “Welcome home, Marines!” announced Scott in a loud voice. “This has been my home for more than a year and now it will be yours too. There will be plenty of work for all of us, and much of it will probably be dangerous, but I want you to know that you and your families will also have plenty of good times too. We show movies here every night and, yes, we take requests. We also have a band that plays regularly and some of us like to dance to their music. We used to have a bingo night. Maybe we will again, if I can figure out better prizes than money.” That got a few chuckles.

  “Farther astern on this deck you will find the main dining room where your meals will be served. Room service is now restricted to birthdays, anniversaries, and people on the sick list. Behind the dining room is a sports and disco lounge. You Marines will probably give it a whole new atmosphere. And behind that is the pool deck with a swimming pool, sundeck, and an outdoor bar.” Scott paused to let that all sink in, then continued, “As you might have noticed, there are a lot of cocktail bars aboard. And we do have alcohol to stock them, at least for now, but I am instituting a liquor ration. Each adult will get two drink vouchers per day, more on off-duty days or special occasions. You can use them every day, or save them up to go wild once in a while, or even give or trade them to others who want them more than you do. But I won’t have a ship full of lushes who want to drink themselves blind because the world is suddenly full of zombies. By the way, please don’t order a ‘zombie’ at any of the bars. We’ve decided to change the name of that drink to ‘Suicide Bomber’ aboard this ship.” That remark produced some genuine laughter among the Marines and their families.

  “Okay,” said Scott as he continued the orientation. “You’ll also find a library, an internet and espresso cafe, a game room, a cigar and billiard room, a piano bar, a card room, a spa and hair salon, and a full gym on the Upper Deck. Down below there’s a small casino, a video arcade, and a two lane bowling alley – but the bowling alley is being converted into a firing range for target practice. Eventually, you might also have access to jet skis, wind surfers, kayaks, sail boats, fishing boats, and scuba gear, among other aquatic recreation. But that will all have to wait until we find a safe haven for us and the flotilla that will be relying on us. For now, I just want you to know that although your lives will be much different than before the zombies arrived, you don’t have to be miserable or hopeless. As I have already explained to the other passengers and crew, we are all very lucky to be aboard the Sovereign Spirit right now.”

  “OUTSTANDING!” yelled Sergeant Major O’Hara, and his Marines all joined in with applause and cheers. Scott felt that this was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

  *****

  Interlude in Hell

  Chevron Refinery, El Segundo, CA – 2:15 PM, April 6, 2012

  The power plants along the beach seemed to be shut down. No smoke or steam rose from their smoke stacks. The modified Suburban was the only vehicle moving on the oceanfront street of Vista Del Mar, but there were plenty of zombies around. Some had been milling around on the beach, others walking down the road, but all of them turned and ran towards the Suburban as it exited the refinery. It would have been terrifying, if Carl hadn’t already proven the zombie-proof nature of the vehicle. As it was, he simply accelerated down the center of the road and cut down any of the infected that came into contact with the zombie cutting sharpened steel blades that he had installed.

  “Hey,” yelled Gus. “Look at that boat out there. Man, that sucker is really moving!” Carl glanced out to sea and saw a large speed boat, probably a Cigarette or Scarab, skipping across the swells at high speed. Well, at least someone else was still alive and moving with a purpose. Being in a boat was probably one of the safest places to be now. Carl realized that he was taking a chance coming out in a lone vehicle. It could be disastrous if he crashed or flipped the Suburban, which was a real possibility, considering how many bodies he was running over with it. He was curious about the RV park though, as well as conditions along the beach. Now that he saw how many zombies had found their way down to the coastline, he was also glad that he had stayed in the refinery for the past few days.

  Gus was whooping and seemed to be having a fine time as they sliced through zombies for the second time that day. Carl was not as enthused, but he wanted to go another half mile to look at the RV park and satisfy his curiosity. He noticed that the zombies got denser as they approached the campground. It wasn’t really much of a park. More like a parking lot with hook-ups for RVs next to the beach. Across the street was the Hyperion sewage treatment plant. Definitely not Carl’s idea of a romantic getaway, but there were several dozen RVs of various sizes parked there.

  Hundreds of zombies swarmed in clusters that focused on about ten of the motor homes. Carl had seen this sort of zombie behavior around the occupied apartments near the water tower. These zombies thought there were normal people inside of those RVs. Carl realized that there was a good possibility that that they were right. Even five days after being overrun by zombies, it was quite possible that uninfected people were still surviving inside those RVs. They had water, generators, provisions, and they were relatively secure from forced entry by zombies, since the infected didn’t use tools or weapons. Carl wanted to help those people, but how?

  As the Suburban approached the RV park the zombies surrounding the motor homes became aware of its presence. Almost all of them turned away from the RVs and began running towards the big SUV. Carl realized that he might be able to help those people in the motor homes after all. He turned to Gus and said, “How would you like to be a hero?”

  “Me?” asked Gus with trepidation. “Not if it means getting killed, or getting out of this zombie-proof vehicle.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Carl. “We should be safe enough, but I want to try and rescue the people trapped in those RVs.”

  “How do you plan on doing that?” Gus asked cautiously.

  “See how all the zombies are turning away from the RVs and coming towards us?” Carl pointed to the tide of infected flesh pouring across the parking lot.

  “Yeah, man, I can see that. Looks like it’s time to get out of here, huh?” Gus suggested hopefully.

  “Maybe,” Carl said. “Or maybe we can save the people trapped in those RVs by leading all of the zombies away from them.” He gave G
us a penetrating look that brooked no argument.

  “Yeah,” agreed Gus reluctantly. “I guess it’s worth a try.”

  Carl nodded and reached for the radio microphone on the dash, flipping the selector to the public address speakers. Then he turned towards the RVs and slowed the Suburban to a crawl before speaking into the microphone. “Attention survivors in the RV park! If you can hear me, get ready to evacuate the park. We will lure the zombies away from you. After the parking lot is clear we will come back and lead you to safety. If your vehicle is in running condition, be ready to start it and follow us. If you do not have a working vehicle, be prepared to seek a ride with someone else. If you do have to get out of your RV to hitch a ride, be sure to wave something to let other people know that you are not infected. Be ready to go in ten minutes.”

  By the time Carl finished his announcement the horde of zombies was closing in fast. The sound of the PA had been enough to draw every zombie within half a mile towards the Suburban as fast as they could run, stumble, or crawl. Carl waited until the first zombies to arrive were actually pounding against the chain-link protecting the windows before he hit the gas and smash through the crowd. At least half a dozen zombies clung onto the wire and climbed around on the exterior of the SUV, but they had no way to get inside the zombie-proof vehicle. Carl drove relatively slowly, but purposefully, as he drew the horde of zombies north along Vista Del Mar, swerving to smash as many zombies in his path as possible.