“That’s what I thought,” Scott said. He turned and fired a well aimed grenade at the house. It went through a window and a burst of smoke obscured the interior. “Tear gas,” he answered the unasked question in Billy’s eyes. “I’d do more, but you gave your word. At least that should keep them from shooting at us as we fly away.” Then Scott jumped into the copilot’s seat and Mick took off under full power.
The Dolphin and Super Huey swooped down the hillside and out over the ocean next to Malibu Pier. Mick circled once around the Cigarette Top Gun speed boat that had just arrived. As it turned out, the boat was not needed, but the gasoline it consumed was well worth the insurance it had provided in case one of the helicopters had run into trouble, or there were more people to rescue than could have fit into them. After signaling an all clear to the Top Gun, the helicopters turned back down the coast towards Santa Monica. Most of the beach houses that lined the beach were abandoned, but Scott spotted a few people waving from the balconies of several of the expensive homes, and there was occasional movement along PCH too. In one case Scott saw an SUV making its way north, with several zombies running after it. Farther down the road he spotted a group of motorcyclists. Some of them were riding double, with the passengers wielding pistols, shotguns and what looked like swords or machetes to deal with zombie attacks. Scott could see that motorcycles would be one of the only ways to get through the massive traffic jams, but he shivered to think what it would be like to face a group of fast moving zombies while doing so.
Since Malibu had been his home for more than a decade, Scott knew that he would be coming back again, if only to salvage some of his family’s belongings from their own beach side compound. Now that he saw that some residents and refugees were still alive here, and that the zombie infestation was not too thick, he decided to try to do more, if possible. In fact, Malibu might be one of the best places to establish a mainland safe haven in this region. It only had a population of 15,000 people before the outbreak and many of the beach houses were probably empty at the time, since a lot of them were second homes for celebrities who would not have been able to get here through the traffic jams. Furthermore, Malibu was separated from the rest of Los Angeles by the Santa Monica Mountains, which zombies were unlikely to climb over, with a couple of easily defended mountainous canyons, and only the narrow ribbon of PHC providing sea level access for zombies from up or down the coast. The road block set up near Topanga Canyon might even have prevented most zombies from getting into Malibu from Santa Monica or West LA, at least in the first stages of the outbreak.
‘Yes,’ Scott thought as they flew back towards the ship, ‘It might actually be possible to wipe out the zombies in a large part of Malibu and establish a safe haven several miles long using the mountains, canyons, and ocean as a natural defensive line, with only minimal fortifications at the choke points.’ It was an idea worth further consideration, but a problem to tackle another day. For now he simply wanted to get everyone back to the Sovereign Spirit safely for a good meal and some much needed rest.
*****
Interlude in Hell
Dockweiler State Beach, El Segundo, 3:05 PM, April 5, 2012
Carl had almost lost control of the Suburban when two helicopters swooped low overhead and banked inland towards LAX. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered as he concentrated on staying on the road and cutting down the zombies in front of him. A quick glance in the rearview mirror showed that all of the zombies from the RV park were still following him as fast as they could.
“Where the Hell did they come from?” asked Gus as he pointed at the helicopters, although he couldn’t have expected Carl to know the answer.
“Who knows?” Carl replied. “I’m glad to see that there are still other normal people out there, but those are some lucky bastards. It looked like they were in a hurry to get someplace too. Whatever they’re up to, I wish them luck if they can save any lives.”
“We’re the ones who need luck,” Gus said. “There’s an army of zombies following us.”
“Not for long,” Carl said with a smile. At the next beach access point he turned towards the ocean and took the Suburban off-road, through a narrow green belt, and onto the beach. He made sure that the transmission was set for 4 wheel drive and accelerated towards the surf. Gus let out a grunt, possibly of fear, and gave Carl a questioning look.
“We’ll head back on the sand along the surf line,” Carl explained. “If these things are really as afraid of water as they seemed to be at Big 5, they won’t bother us too much.” He turned back down the beach, and then swerved briefly into the shallow water, raising a giant spray that covered the SUV. As if to prove his hypothesis, the zombies that had been clinging to the Suburban let out moans as they released their grips and fell into the surf. In the mirror Carl saw them convulsing and crawling out of the water. He smiled and drove faster down the hard packed sand as Gus chuckled and pounded his fist on the dashboard in excited approval.
They had led the horde of zombies over a mile north of the RV park and it had taken close to six minutes to get them there. The fastest zombies had kept right on the heels of the Suburban during the chase, while the slower ones were strung out behind. Carl had noticed that zombies didn’t seem to tire. Whatever their top speed was, they maintained it, regardless of how far they ran. That meant it would take them all another six minutes to get back to the RVs, longer if they followed him down through the sand. Carl accelerated to over 60 miles an hour on the harder wet sand. He got back to Dockweiler RV Park in under a minute, drove up the beach and over the curb into the parking lot.
There wasn’t a zombie in sight. The plan seemed to have worked like a charm. Now all he needed to do was confirm that there were uninfected people here and try to get them back to the refinery before the zombies returned. Carl figured they had less than five minutes to clear out of the parking lot. He tapped the horn a few times to alert the people here of his return and pulled to a stop in the middle of the lot. The doors of several RVs opened at the same time and people leaned out warily.
Carl grabbed the PA microphone, turned the volume down a notch, and gave rapid instructions. “If you have an operating vehicle, start it now and follow us to safety. Don’t bother disconnecting your hook-ups. Just get your vehicle running. If your vehicle won’t start, come out now and we’ll find you a ride in one that does. Do not hesitate. This might be your only chance to survive.”
Eight motor homes started their engines and pulled out into the middle of the parking lot. At least a dozen other people emerged, some of them from camping trailers that were not hooked up to be towed, others from motor homes that might have dead batteries or other defects. They all ran out waving their arms and calling for rides. Carl was happy to see two of the larger RVs open their doors to their stranded neighbors. Meanwhile, however, a few stray zombies had made it back to the parking lot and were converging on the RVs. The bulk of the horde had also come back into view and was advancing quickly. Carl put the Suburban back into drive and bore down on the first of the zombies to arrive, slicing them down and turning to make certain of the kills. By then the RVs were rolling after him.
They had to go about a hundred yards north to exit the parking lot and Carl saw that it would be a close race to see if they all got out before the wedge of advancing zombies arrived. Carl used the PA again. “Follow as fast as you can. Don’t stop for anything. If they get in front of you, run them down. Safety is only a mile away. Follow me.” He sped up and hoped that the RVs could and would do the same. The last few RVs to exit the park entrance had to plow through zombies, but they made it. Carl was starting to feel good when he glanced back at the RV parking lot and saw something that made his blood run cold.
The door on one of the stationary RVs that had stayed behind, apparently vacant, now opened and a woman ran out holding a baby and dragging a little girl behind her. A man emerged a moment later holding the side of his head and yelling at them to come back. The RV was parked on the inland si
de of the lot and the woman turned towards the road at a run. There were zombies closing in as she reached the fence that separated the park from Vista Del Mar. She was trapped, but Carl was only a few feet away on the other side of the fence. He swerved the Suburban towards the fence, just past the woman, and used the steel blades on the crash guard to rip the fence off of its posts to drape over the hood. He slammed the brakes, stopping next to the woman and her children, and yelled at Gus, “Open the door and let them in the back seat.”
“Oh shit,” moaned Gus as he moved to comply with the command. “Get in lady,” he called as he opened the door for her. The woman with her baby and little girl scrambled to do so. The man who had chased them out of the RV had come to a stop and turned to run back to his motor home, but by now there were half a dozen zombies between him and it. He yelled and ran towards the Suburban, but he was too late. A zombie tackled him and he screamed as it sunk its teeth into his leg. Gus was closing the door as another zombie reached out and grabbed his arm. “Shit!” he yelled as he tore free and slammed the door.
Carl shifted into reverse and backed out, bringing twenty feet of fence with them. The woman in back sobbed as she watched the horde of zombies engulf the man in the parking lot and tear him to shreds. Gus was inspecting his hand for any sign of a wound from the zombie that grabbed him. The rest of the RVs had paused while Carl rescued the woman and her children and now they accelerated to follow the Suburban back towards the refinery.
“I told you that you’d be a hero, Gus,” said Carl absently.
“And I told you I didn’t want to be one,” replied Gus in a shaky voice.
“Welcome aboard, lady,” Carl said to the woman in the back seat. “What the Hell happened back there? Why did you wait so long to come out?”
“It was Harry, my husband,” she answered between sobs. “He was too scared. Said we would be safer staying where we were until the police or the army showed up. He wouldn’t let me take the kids. I had to hit him in the head with a frying pan to get out. And now he’s dead.” She broke down into continuous sobbing, but Carl had enough of an answer to explain what happened.
Two minutes later the Suburban pulled up to the automatic gate of the refinery and Carl activated the remote control that opened it. He pulled in and waved the RVs to pass him as he stepped out holding the shotgun to make sure no zombies got in while the gate was open. He had to shoot five of them before the gate was secure again. More were coming. He gave silent prayer that the fence and gate would hold off the approaching horde.
Carl led the RVs into the motor pool and was greeted as a hero when the occupants of the RVs poured out to thank him and the refinery workers realized what he had done. Carl made sure to let everyone know that Gus had been the real hero by getting out to help save the woman and her children, but nobody seemed to make much of that.
Everyone in the refinery spent the next hour getting to know the new arrivals and exchanging stories of their individual survival since Z-Day. The owners of the RVs broke out their BBQs and began to cook up a celebratory feast for everyone. It had all the makings of a good party, but Carl felt uncomfortable. Before the festivities progressed too far, Carl stood up and explained that they needed to set up guards on the west gate to keep an eye on all of the zombies that had followed them back from the beach and would be trying to find a way into the refinery. He was in the process of organizing a patrol to check the perimeter before sunset when he was interrupted by the sound of helicopters.
Carl jumped up on the hood of the Suburban and watched as the same two helicopters he had seen earlier flew back down the coast at high speed. One of them appeared to be a Coast Guard helicopter. “Lucky bastards,” Carl muttered again. He envied their ability to fly freely over the zombie infested world. The helicopters were obviously heading back from wherever they had gone and Carl hoped that they made it safely. It was good to know that there was at least someplace that still operated helicopters.
His thoughts turned again to the speed boat he had seen shortly before the helicopters flew by the first time. Yes, being at sea on a boat or a ship would be one of the few truly safe places now. Or maybe an island that was free of zombies. He briefly wished for a castle surrounded by a moat full of water. He was now certain that zombies didn’t swim.
Nevertheless, Carl realized that he and the people in the Chevron refinery were much better off than most other survivors. Looking around at the growing assortment of vehicles filling the motor pool he also realized that they had most of the ingredients necessary to create a truly zombie-proof convoy. He decided to spend the evening thinking about ways to use it.
Chapter 13: Revelations
Alas, poor country; Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot
Be called our mother, but our grave: where nothing,
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile;
Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rent the air,
Are made, not marked; where violent sorrow seems
A modern extasy: the dead man's knell
Is there scarce asked, for who; and good men's lives
Expire before the flowers in their caps,
Dying, or ere they sicken.
Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft. The Last Man (p. 225). Public Domain Books. Kindle Edition.
The rescue mission in Malibu had been a big success and the survivors were welcomed aboard the Sovereign Spirit in style. Scott had radioed ahead and arranged for a special dinner to be served in the private sky deck dining room for his family, members of the rescue party, and the new arrivals. Michelle, who was a gourmet cook, worked closely with Ship’s Chef Claude Martin to prepare a feast that would impress the new arrivals without getting too fancy – although Scott knew that a hamburger and fries would have been enough to satisfy Professor Bernhard and Miss Hanson after nearly starving for a week in their lab. Billy’s friends had been eating a little better at Brad’s house, until the home was invaded by outlaws the night before, but Scott was sure they would appreciate something special too. More than the food, it was the atmosphere of security and normalcy that Scott wanted to share with them. It must have been a trying experience for all of them to have been surrounded by zombies for the past week.
The new arrivals were certainly pleased and impressed with the welcome. Professor Bernhard and Miss Hansen were completely captivated by the cheese platter and glasses of champagne that were passed around by the servers when they arrived. Even after everyone was seated at the big table and the appetizers arrived, those two were so busy eating shrimp cocktails, pate’ and Carpaccio that it would have been impossible to engage them in conversation, although Scott was dying to hear what they were doing to the zombie in that lab. Instead, Scott filled in Captain Fisher and Captain McCloud on the day’s events.
Scott was careful to avoid any mention of Billy’s participation in the firefight at the lab, at least in front of Michelle, but heaped praise on him as an excellent and hard-assed hostage negotiator who succeeded in securing the release of his friends. Said friends were in vocal agreement, thanking Billy profusely for their liberation and the rescue he organized over Facebook. “If it hadn’t been for Billy’s messages, I don’t know if we could have pulled it together the way we did,” conceded Brad. “His promise of rescue was hard to believe, but it was the only hope we had. And damned if he didn’t do it! Let’s toast to Billy!” The motion was unanimous.
The main course was Lobster Puerto Nuevo with deep fried lobster tails, tortillas, guacamole, rice, beans, cheese and carne asada steak. It was a big hit with everyone, especially when Michelle explained that most of the main ingredients could be replenished locally, including the Pacific lobster tails and avocados, if they were able to set lobster traps in the ocean and forage ashore in local orchards. She confessed that, “The rice and beans might be a little harder to grow around here, but I’m sure there are bulk stockpiles of staples like that in stores and warehouses that could last for years. The beef is a different story. Do w
e know if the disease or the zombies will kill livestock?” asked Michelle.
“I don’t think livestock will be directly affected by the disease, or by the infected subjects,” replied Professor Bernhard. “The virus is very finely engineered to attack the human nervous system. These infected subjects, zombies as you call them, do not have the same cravings for regular nourishment that normal people do. They completely ignore vegetables, as well as all forms of fish and animal flesh, whether cooked or raw. As far as we can tell, they are only attracted to human flesh, preferably living humans.” The conversation threatened to put a damper on their appetites, but Scott was intrigued and wanted to know more.
“Is that something you learned from studying them in your lab, professor?” he asked.
“Partly, young man,” replied Bernhard. “Among other things.”
“Such as?” Scott persisted.
“My own work has more to do with the effect of the virus on their brain function and motor skills than their appetites,” Bernhard replied. “But their behavior does seem to be closely linked to their desire for human flesh. We have some theories on that, but nothing worthy of discussing over dinner.”
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