A Place Called Hope (Z-Day Book 2)

by Daniel Humphreys

  “Security alert team! Move aside!”

  Charlie backed away from the hatch and pressed against the side of the corridor. Layers of camouflage body armor covered the trio bustling in his direction. Joints and other weak points looked as though they’d beefed up with duct tape of all things, and they wore hockey-style helmets with clear face masks. If there was any exposed flesh, he couldn’t see it. Rather than guns, all three carried fire axes, which made more sense, he supposed. The lead man got the hatch and spun the hand wheel to unlock it.

  “Need a hand?” Charlie offered.

  The protective gear muffled the reply, but it was loud enough. “Nah, we got this.”

  He smirked and waved a hand toward the hatch. “Suit yourself.”

  The last man in line shouted over his shoulder as he went through. “Dog the hatch and don’t come out until we give the all clear.”

  Charlie nodded his understanding and followed instructions. With the hatch sealed, at least he had an excuse to stick around and watch the show.

  The Navy personnel spread out into a triangle formation, with the center man a bit ahead of the other two. The two behind the lead checked the sides as they moved forward, and he nodded in approval. Good way to keep from getting flanked.

  He’d only seen two make the jump, but that didn’t mean those were the only ones. Life after Z-Day didn’t give you many chances for screw-ups, and it looked like these guys had learned those lessons well.

  The pair of walking zulus didn’t charge in immediately, which reconfirmed his suspicion regarding their state. The security team didn’t hesitate—they charged forward and engaged. Once the human survivors were in grappling range, the zulus went on the offensive. The lead man went on his back with an attacker on top. His armor stood up to the biting and scratching, and with a quick, surgical swing, one of the other security personnel caved in half of its head with his ax.

  Outnumbered three-to-one, the last infected turned cagey, but the team didn’t let up. They rushed forward. In a coordinated move, the flankers hooked their axes behind its legs and toppled it backward. Now it was the lead man’s turn, and blade met skull, cleaving it nearly in two.

  Quick, surgical, and effective. Charlie gave a tight nod of approval. He’d have trusted any of these guys to have his back on a salvage run, and he didn’t take that sentiment often or lightly. As the security team began collecting the bodies to heave them off the ship, he decided that the show was over and it was time to head back to the bunk room.

  Getting his game face on could wait a bit. For now, he thought he might just take advantage of his sense of security and enjoy a nap.

  Chapter 16

  March 14, 2026

  USS Detroit—Near Portsmouth, New Hampshire

  Z-Day + 3,069

  The rusting, skeletal hulks of cargo cranes slumped over a weed-choked landscape littered with bones and other debris. Pete found himself scrutinizing every shadow and twisted shape through the bridge windows as they eased into port.

  At his side, Captain Paul Piatt noted his concern with a chuckle. “Want to glass it before we tie up?”

  Pete forced himself to relax. “Sorry,” he said. “Lack of walls make me nervous.”

  “Understood.” The captain nodded toward the aging facility. “We blew the Walker Street bridges a while back and took our time clearing the island. There wasn’t much worth salvaging, but it’s worth it to have some semblance of a port. I sure wouldn’t want to transfer you and your men at sea. My people are good, but shit still happens.”

  Pete snorted a laugh. He hadn’t spent much time with the man during the short sail, but he liked him nonetheless. “All the same, I’d like to have a few of my men out as security. With your permission, Captain?”

  “I won’t take it the wrong way. Damn infected have a tendency to pop up where you least expect them, Major.”

  Pete glanced over his shoulder. “Lieutenant Ross?”

  The SEAL nodded. “On it, Major.” He turned to leave the bridge. By the time crew out on deck had the ship secured to the pier, Ross and a team of geared-up Marines trotted down the length of the ship from the gangway at the rear of the ship. They set up defensive positions oriented toward the interior of the shipyard.

  He’d never paid much attention to the logistics of shipbuilding, even in his active duty days. So, it came as a surprise when Captain Piatt explained that they were sailing upriver to make their rendezvous for the next leg of their journey. “Before the outbreak, Portsmouth Naval Shipyard was a real piece of American history—active since 1800. One bridge on, one bridge off.” A wave of regret crossed Piatt’s features at that point. “It’s just a graveyard now, but at least we can make some use of it.”

  One of the seamen called out from a bridge station. “Broadcast from the Georgia, Captain. Status request.”

  “Signal all-clear, ready to begin transfer operations.”

  “Aye, sir, signal all-clear.”

  For a few minutes, nothing happened. Then Pete detected a thin line in the water off to the port side of the ship. A mast broke the surface, followed by the wing-shaped sail, and then, the massive, flattened oval of the submarine’s hull. Detroit rocked in Georgia’s wake as the ship surfaced and continued on to a further berth.

  Pete gave a low whistle and muttered under his breath, “Big sucker.” Too loud—Piatt was close enough to hear.

  “Half again as long as we are with almost twice the crew. You’d never get me in one of the things. I like the sunshine too much.”

  Pete gave him a look, and the other man winked.

  “It’s perfectly safe, Major. Hell, the subs are in better shape than the surface fleet, you ask me.”

  He grunted and turned back to the long, black behemoth as it slowed and cut over to a position in front of the Detroit at the pier. “Sure, I mean, eight years without repair and refit, what could go wrong?”

  “Honestly, the subs are the best boats for the job. Being self-sufficient and to be underwater for months at a time without logistics support is in their job description. Not going to lie, I imagine there’s some judicious application of duct tape and bailing wire over there. But the polar route is quicker and a lot less risky than going around Cape Horn twice.”

  “Well, it’s something to tell the grandkids, if nothing else.”

  “There is that,” Piatt agreed.

  Sailors appeared on top of the Georgia and began their own line-handling operation. Piatt observed the evolution for a moment, then turned to one of the junior officers. “Billy, round up a work party and let’s start off-loading cargo. I’m sure the good Major will appreciate getting his mission back in gear.”

  “Aye, sir, rounding up a work party.” The lieutenant JG saluted and trotted out of the bridge. Piatt watched him go and turned to Pete when he was out of earshot.

  “Good kid. Mustang. He was fresh out of basic when the outbreak hit. He’ll have my job one of these days.”

  “It’s good to know the future’s in capable hands. That’s more of a luxury than not, these days.” Pete thought back to the crew of teenagers he’d been mentoring back home and wondered if they’d found something else, or stuck with sentry duty. There were more choices, more opportunities, now that their world had grown. Before, it had been guard the wall or farm. No small wonder that many of their population had exhibited little or no ambition to do much of anything from day to day. He shook off the daydream. “Captain, I’m going to round my people up and see if we can’t lend a hand with the cargo. I appreciate the smooth ride.”

  “Good luck, and Godspeed to you, Major. I hope the rest of your trip is a success.” He stuck out a hand, and Pete gladly shook it.

  After only a day, the layout of the ship was still a bit unfamiliar to Pete, and he had to get directions from a few of the crew. After some time, he made it back to the section where his people had bunked and rounded up the few that hadn’t gotten involved in security operations—pilots and other support crew, for
the most part. Pete was surprised to see that Charlie and his belongings were already gone. He must have tagged along with the Marines.

  Pete’s only real problem came from Dr. Eberman. The man was snoring loudly on his cot with a pillow tucked up over his eyes. His sleep was deep enough that Pete’s vocal entreaties didn’t stir him, so he settled for kicking the side of the cut. Eberman sat up with a gasp. He was asleep enough that it took him a moment to focus on Pete, who favored him with a broad grin.

  “Rise and shine, Doc, we’re switching ships.”

  Eberman, thankfully, didn’t have much. Once Pete was confident that the man was awake enough to leave alone, he gathered his own equipment and made his way out onto the rear deck and down the gangway to the pier below. A pile of cargo grew steadily on the dock near the submarine as the Marines not out on security and the Navy work crew hauled it down by hand. He took a moment to assess the situation and decided that things were going smoothly enough that they didn’t require his input.

  Life is so much easier with competent subordinates. Speaking of…

  Ross fell in next to Pete as he headed toward the Georgia. “Fair warning, Major. We’ve tried to rotate all the crews around so guys aren’t stuck in the same billet for years at a time. That’s not always possible with the sub dudes, so prepare yourself. They’re a little odd.”

  Pete grunted in amusement. “Hell, aren’t we all, anymore?”

  April 6, 2018

  Just outside of Louisiana, Missouri

  Z-Day + 170

  They were a little more than half a mile from the pawn shop, but if Sandy cocked his head in the right direction, he could still make out the sound of the Beastie Boys’ album Ill Communication. I hope the infected like it.

  He’d brought along a charged car battery and a DC to AC inverter equipped with jumper cables in his bag of goodies. They’d taken the battery out of Richard’s late-model sedan, its gas tank long-empty. The inverter came courtesy of one of the abandoned cars in the marina parking lot. His assessment of the gear he’d dumped out of the suitcase had been wrong—the inverter he’d found was, if anything, critical.

  A stereo from the pawn shop and the biggest speakers they could manhandle onto the roof completed the setup. In a matter of a few minutes, Sandy had a functioning sound system. They’d planned to use a CD all along, but before he started it up he couldn’t resist the urge to scan the FM and AM frequencies. They were depressingly void of all but silence, and the magnitude of how alone they were had come crashing down on what had been an otherwise good moment.

  He hadn’t had much time to dwell on the sensation. Richard had dug through the shop’s collection of music and made his selection. Sandy loaded it, hit play, then selected the repeat button. Until the battery died, the CD would keep on spinning. On the way down, he’d cranked the volume up as far as it would go. After that, the quartet piled into the Humvee and headed for the hills.

  It wasn’t quite a literal statement, but the rolling terrain of the fenced-in pasture Richard had spotted was enough to shield them from direct view of the road. Beyond that, the fence line was overgrown with foliage and trees.

  The fence was an intact square, a sanctuary island, albeit a temporary one. The barriers would stand up to a casual assault, but enough infected would bring them down with ease.

  If there’d been livestock in here, they’d been elsewhere on the day of the outbreak, and the hay had reached impressive heights in the meantime. After they stomped a bit in the area immediately around the Humvee, it tamped down and made for a surprisingly comfortable ‘floor’.

  If he’d snagged a palatable MRE, it would have been a perfect night. He’d never been a big fan of tuna, but at this point, food was food. That had been a mistake because it was downright revolting. The side dishes were decent, if random. He was still trying to figure out why they’d included tortillas with tuna fish.

  He leaned back against the front passenger side tire and sighed as his back popped. Sandy hadn’t been this tired since he’d first struck out and had to walk his way into shape while learning how to survive. Richard had made the executive decision to camp here overnight, and make the move on the pharmacy in the morning. All in all, Sandy felt a great sense of relief at the decision. The other man had been so gung-ho that he’d started to fear that he might get them all into a no-win situation. Pat hadn’t been happy with the news, but he hadn’t made a big deal of it.

  He tucked his chin into his chest and luxuriated in the comfort of the ground. The light whisk of footsteps across the grass broke him out of his semi-trance. He looked up as Kendra settled down at a friendly distance next to him. She must have finished her own meal because she was empty-handed save for a bottle of water swirling with color. He raised an eyebrow.

  “Drink mix. Sometimes you get lucky.”

  He nudged the bag of his MRE trash and said, “And sometimes you get tuna.”

  She grinned and offered him the water bottle. He accepted and took a careful sip. If anything, it was too sweet, but he reckoned that was more due to the simplification of his diet and palate over the past few months. “Not too shabby. Not the best nightcap I’ve ever had, but not the worst, either.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” She toasted him with the water bottle and took a drink.

  He didn’t know what to say, so he settled for, “Good day.”

  “Can’t complain. Gonna be making a few trips back and forth to get all this stuff across.”

  “It’ll be worth it.” Sandy stretched his back again and groaned at the snap-crackle-pop. “Need to start thinking about seeds, now. Organic, if possible.”

  “Anything you don’t know, Doc? Where’d you learn all this stuff?”

  Sandy shifted, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was heading. “Never watched a lot of television. Saw a few movies here and there, but when I wasn’t working, I liked to read. Non-fiction, for the most part.”

  Kendra offered him another drink, but he declined. She raised an eyebrow. “What, no girlfriend?”

  The mental image of Melanie’s smirk as she left him to his fate still hurt after all these months, but it was the dull ache of regret rather than the sharp agony of betrayal. “For a while, yeah. Actually moved out from the West Coast to be with her. We met in college, stayed in touch after graduation. One thing led to another, and we ended up working together, living together.” Sleeping together, his brain supplied, but he didn’t finish the statement. “Maybe we saw too much of each other. It didn’t work out. She, uh, had me pegged into a particular role, and when I couldn’t fill that role anymore, it was time for her to move on.”

  “She seems a bit intense, shall we say?”

  He smiled and plucked at the ground. He began twisting a couple strands of grass together to give his hands something to do. “Melanie was very passionate about a lot of things. I found out too late that our relationship wasn’t one of them. How about you? Pat said you went to college around here?”

  “I’ve been out for a couple of years. Stuck around to keep an eye on Jason while he finished, and because I liked the work, being honest. I majored in advertising, so I got to do a bit of that with Pat’s place, and I’ve always loved the water.”

  “Good place for it, I guess.” He strained to listen. It sounded like the music was fading out. All things considered, a few hours of battery life wasn’t bad.

  Grass crunched to the side as Richard hopped out of the Humvee and moved past them in a crouch. “I’m going to get up in one of those trees and see if I can get a vantage on the shop. I hope our music fans don’t take off.”

  Sandy shook his head and smirked at the man’s back as he moved away.

  “A couple of days ago, he was a completely different person,” Kendra observed. “I think we’d all given up. Well, not the kids, but they knew things were getting dicey. Kids aren’t stupid.”

  He didn’t bother to ask what had changed—he hadn’t been around people for months, but he’d alway
s been good at picking up on context. “Don’t lay that on me. You guys, all of you, you did more than I did.” He rubbed at a sore spot on his shoulder.

  “I’m not saying that. It’s just—we didn’t have any hope. For some reason, when you showed up, you gave it back to us.”

  He didn’t know how to react to that, so he settled for, “Thanks.”

  “I have to ask you, though. No bullshit. Do you mean what you say when you start talking about seeds? Or are you shining me on? Are you with us, or are you heading off on your own again?”

  Surprised, he met her fierce glare and sat silent for an awkward span. There was steel under that beautiful exterior, though to be honest he should have seen it before. She’d never budged from her place on the road, after all. Maybe Sandy had stood in place as well, but most of that had been because he’d been too frozen in fear to turn and run. He was honest enough that he could admit the difference, as well as his own shortcoming. “I’m being straight with you,” he said finally. “I’m not some super-camper, living along off the land and thriving without civilization behind me.” He shook his head and gave a mocking laugh at the thought. “Hell, it took me almost three months to work up the courage to go outside of my office after the outbreak. I’ve spent most of the last few months running and hiding. The only times I’ve fought are when I was too tired to run or had nowhere to run. I can’t hit the broad side of a barn with this pistol. So, yes. I’m staying. If you folks will have me. I’ll do whatever I can for the good of the group—but I’m no hero.”