“Survivors of the old world,” he addressed them, “I am Admiral Selim of the Egyptian Armed Forces. None of us would be here now if we weren’t fighters. This illness has taken your friends…your families. It has forced us to flee our homes, testing our abilities. Many have scattered like cockroaches, picking through what remains of the world selfishly, and looking out only for themselves. We, my friends…we stand together. Together we will push back this virus that has plagued man. We will unite those who are lost in the ruins of the old world and vanquish those who try to deter us from our goals. Sacrifices will have to be made. But those sacrifices will not be in vain. We will endure! And we will prevail!” he shouted.
The crowd stood silently. Selim knew that some of them wouldn’t understand him because of language barriers, and that others simply wouldn’t listen. They would need to be destroyed.
“There are no more possessions. Everything here will be consolidated and added to—” Moretti interrupted Selim’s next statement.
“You son of a bitch!” Moretti shouted, as he charged at Selim.
A shot rang out as one of the armed men fired into the back of Moretti’s head. The crowd immediately erupted into screams and shouts. Many of them ran for their boats.
“Shoot anyone who tries to get away,” Selim said, as he turned to join his men atop the submarine.
The eight armed men ran down the plank and past Moretti’s body, while a dozen or so more men poured out of the hatch of the submarine. The men, armed with AK47s, walked from ship to ship, shooting only those who tried to flee or fight. Amun and Selim observed the violence unflinchingly. Amun regretted wasting the manpower that was available here, but Selim saw it as a necessary evil. If he was going to assemble followers, they’d have to want to follow him from the beginning.
Suddenly, a series of shots were fired. Their men must have run into some resistance, but neither man was worried; Moretti had explicitly said that no one was armed. One of the Egyptians stumbled back to them; he’d been shot. Selim looked at Amun in surprise. Both men watched as the man clutched his gut. He tried to speak, but only stammered before falling off the plank and into the water. “What the…?” Amun said to himself.
Selim stared in disbelief at the man’s body, and the blood staining the surrounding water. They looked around, trying to find the shooter. More of their men were taking cover; as yet more gunfire pierced the air. They couldn’t see anyone, yet another of their men dropped to the deck following one more volley of shots. Some of the civilian vessels were escaping. Someone was causing them to lose important assets. Amun watched as a man scurried to the bodies of his men and looted their corpses. He couldn’t believe his eyes when the man looked up at him.
“It couldn’t be…” he thought.
22.
Escaping Heaven
As the crowd gathered to see the newcomers, Cale hung toward the back of the group. He quickly identified Amun as he exited the sub. He recognized some of the armed guards, but didn’t know them personally. Amun shouted something in Arabic, and then another man walked out and joined them. Cale had never seen him, but he speculated that this was Admiral Selim. This was the man responsible not only for saving him, but for holding him captive as well. Once Selim pushed Moretti to the side, Cale knew it was about to get ugly, and moved to the side. It could be his opportunity to slip away; he didn’t want to be snatched into servitude again.
Cale managed to sneak back to the motorboat that was supposed to take him ashore, but as he’d feared, the boat’s owner was listening to the Egyptian’s speech. Cale put his backpack on. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get out of this mess, but he wanted his gear with him when he attempted it. As he thought about it, he realized that it was the perfect time to commandeer Moretti’s yacht. Even though it was at the heart of the flotilla, its size could easily be used to push the other boats out of the way. For a moment, he wondered if he might accidently sink someone’s vessel, and thought that it might be alright, as long as no one was on board. Cale forced the idea from his mind. His main priority was to get home, even if someone else had to find another means of escape. He didn’t want to be cold and selfish about it, but he had to worry about the safety of his own family, and he would do anything to get back to them.
Cale had reached the Heaven when the first shot was fired, and knew that what he’d feared had come to pass. Screams filled the air as armed men roamed through the community. He pulled out the revolver he had tucked into the back of his pants as he sprinted for the drive cabin. Once at the helm, he searched the panels for the ignition. Various dials that measure fuel, oil, and engine temp were all displayed. At the very bottom of the panel was the ignition cylinder. There was no key.
“Shit. Moretti must keep it with him,” Cale speculated.
Another round of shots rang out, closer this time. Cale could hear people running from deck to deck, their footfalls thumping loudly as they fled from their captors. Shouting followed; orders were being issued to the armed men. Cale ducked down and crept back to the cabin door. Slowly, he pushed it open. A man in dark green fatigues stood with his back to Cale, shouting at someone down the hall. The man froze for a moment, and then turned to run away. The Egyptian raised his AK47 and shot him in the back.
“Fuck…fuck,” Cale thought.
His heart was thumping, and his hands shook. When he’d killed Pashet it was in a scuffle; when he’d shot Zach it was an act of mercy. Cale knew that if this man turned around, he would shoot him on sight, but he wasn’t sure if he could shoot him in the back. Cale stood up and pushed the door open. He pulled back the hammer on the revolver.
“P-p-put your weapon down,” he ordered nervously.
Cale didn’t want to shoot, but decided he was prepared to if necessary. The man hesitated for a moment and then slowly turned to face the American. Cale immediately recognized him. He was the man who’d stood outside of the brig the first time Cale was brought aboard the submarine. He’d seen him around the ship but had never talked to him. He looked scared.
“P-put your gun down.”
He knew he didn’t sound authoritative, but hoped the man would listen, but the fear on his face disappeared, and anger took its place. He raised his rifle, but the American was too quick. Cale fired two shots. One struck the man in the chest, and the other in the throat. The Egyptian fell back, blood drenching his clothing as his wounds gushed. He coughed and wheezed as he gasped for breath. Cale hadn’t realized it, but he’d been holding his breath as well. He slowly let it out in a long sigh. The man was going to die slowly, and he felt guilty about it. Cale quickly went to work, looting the man’s body, taking both his rifle and all the ammunition he’d crammed into his pockets. Cale noticed the curvature of the weapon’s magazines. They were also a lot heavier than an M16s.
The Egyptian grasped weakly at Cale, fumbling to seize his arms, but with no success.
Cale left the man in the hall, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. He had three shots left in the revolver, and he had to make them count. Cale moved outside, being sure to stay low. He watched as more armed men a few yards away fired on people trying to escape to their boats. The group fell to the deck, and it occurred to Cale that this was what they would have done if he had tried to leave. The men were blocking his path to the speedboat.
Cale was startled when a man walked around the corner, but as he was crouched low, he went unnoticed. It was another Egyptian, shouting orders to the two who had just killed the civilians. When he turned around, he immediately spotted Cale. Again the American was too fast, and the Egyptian was dead before he could raise his weapon. Cale’s round had struck the man dead center in the face.
The other two men took cover behind a crate, and Cale heard a round from somewhere hiss through the air, striking the wall next to his head. He squeezed off his last two rounds without aiming, but only one round hit home, penetrating an attacker’s belly. The injured man was able to move away and onto another boat for cover, but Cale
was confident that he was down. The revolver now empty, Cale dropped it on the deck of the Heaven.
The two men hiding behind the crate fired at him, and Cale took cover behind a support beam. Wood splinters flew through the air. He wasn’t familiar with an AK47; he knew only the caliber of ammunition it used, and that it was a reliable weapon. He placed the shoulder stock in the pocket of his shoulder and fumbled to figure out the weapon’s safety and fire functions. This would normally be a little easier, but the two men were still shooting at him.
Once he’d figured the rifle out, he returned fire wildly. He wasn’t really aiming, just trying to make them take cover so he could move up. The rifle recoiled much more than he’d anticipated, and he tightened his grip to compensate. He paused for a moment, and then began shooting again. The weapon stopped firing, the magazine empty.
“Shit,” Cale whispered.
His ears were ringing, making it difficult to tell if the men were shouting for reinforcements. Cale struggled a moment, figuring out how to drop the magazine and load another. The weapon was heavier than the M4 he’d had through most of his deployment but was close to the same length. Once the magazine was seated correctly, he charged the weapon and continued firing. His nerves calmed, and his adrenaline surged. After discharging a burst of six rounds, he moved up to another boat. Utilizing what he remembered from basic training, he bounded toward the men and the speedboat.
When Cale was learning this bounding technique, he’d repeat the phrase, “I’m up. He sees me. I’m down.” It would take him approximately three to five seconds to say it, and in the same window of time, he’d have to make a movement. The difference was that then he’d done it in a jocular way. Now, there was no jocularity about it. His rushes were each less than a few seconds now, and with their heads down, both men quickly lost track of the American. They didn’t know where he was taking cover, or even which boat he was aboard. They fired erratically, hoping to draw him out, or score a lucky hit. Foolishly, they fired at the same time, and then needed to reload at the same time. Cale seized the moment. His next volley struck his attackers, killing them both.
Cale immediately went to work looting them for ammo; he was going to need it once he was on shore. There was no telling how many infected there would be. The American stuffed his cargo pockets with the remainder of the magazines and then looked up and toward the submarine, where Amun and Selim both stood. Cale’s eyes locked with Amun’s, who was obviously in a state of shock.
“Shoot that man!” Admiral Selim roared to several men exiting the submarine hatch.
Cale fired before any of them could prepare. The majority of the group took cover, but Selim dropped to his knees, holding his chest. Amun quickly helped him into the sub. Cale used the time to get to the speedboat, where on the deck of the vessel, its owner’s body lay sprawled. He’d tried to escape, only to be killed before he could make it, which was lucky for Cale. He removed the keys from the dead man’s hand, and looked back at the sub. There were still bodies on its deck, as it began its descent into the water.
“This doesn’t look good,” Cale said aloud.
The boat’s motor roared to life, and Cale opened the throttle, almost falling backwards as the vessel lurched into action. He weaved back and forth around the other boats as he made his escape. For a second he thought he’d passed Naeem and his boat, and another vessel looked like the Bella Donna. He hoped both groups made it. Suddenly, an explosion rocked what was left of the Heaven. The sub was torpedoing the survivors. Cale checked the boat’s electronic compass, aligned himself to travel northwest, and pushed the throttle all the way open. Air blasted him as the boat hopped across the waves, and despite the ringing in his ears from the firefight, he could still hear explosions behind him. He didn’t dare look back, just kept moving forward.
Eventually, the sounds faded and the rhythmic whine of the motor propelling him forward was all he could hear. After what seemed like an hour of traveling northwest, he saw something on the horizon. For a moment he feared that it was the submarine, but then was relieved to see that it stretched to the left and right for a considerable distance.
Land.
23.
Bienvenue
Cale patrolled the coastline, carefully watching the fuel gage. He’d been nearly out for a few minutes now and the engine sputtered sporadically. A quick scan of the coast revealed numerous beaches, but very few ports. Avoiding a city was impossible at this point; Cale had to dock. Dock was using the term loosely however. He’d have to run the boat ashore and beach it. Cale could always swim in, but he remembered what the waters of Tel-Aviv had contained. He’d have to jump out closer to shore.
“Sorry about this,” he said to the cadaver on the bottom of the boat.
He pointed the bow toward shore, and sped up. The boat bounced across the waves, and as he drew closer, he aimed for a sandy beach. Beyond the beach, a concrete barrier separated it from a parking lot and a residential neighborhood. The entire area looked abandoned. There would have to be a supermarket of some kind nearby, which was good, as Cale had only enough provisions for a couple of days, and he needed to find more before heading out.
The vessel crashed through the waves as it approached the beach. Cale dropped both the rifle and his bag on the bottom of the boat, not wanting to lose them in the water. Cautiously, he gauged the distance until land. If he jumped too soon, he’d have a long way to swim. Too late, and he might be hurt.
The vessel struck a sandbar, slammed into the beach, and then began to roll, throwing his rifle, bag, and the body of the boat’s former owner out onto shore.
Cale hit the water hard, knocking the wind out of him. His first instinct was to take a deep breath, and he ended up inhaling the salty water instead. Immediately after breaking the surface, he began to vomit and cough. The waves cascaded over him, pushing him under once more. Beneath the surface he saw what appeared to be human shapes. In a panic, he kicked for the surface, only to be pummeled by another wave.
He imagined himself sinking closer to the undead that waited at the bottom, and again he kicked ferociously, this time breaking the surface just after a wave. He took harsh breaths and attempted to ride the next wave closer to the beach, but was again pushed down, closer yet to the monsters at the bottom. He crashed into one, immediately fighting it off. His blows, even though slowed by the friction of the water, seemed to pass through his attacker. He struggled with the cluster of seaweed for a moment, before moving on, and realized that panic was getting the best of him.
Once he’d calmed himself and regained his wits, he timed the waves, using them to carry him ashore. He was relieved when he could finally touch bottom, and he stumbled toward the beach. Exhausted, he collapsed onto the sand. His eyes stung from the salt water, blurring his vision, and looked at the clear blue sky as he caught his breath, waiting for his vision to clear. He could barely hear the waves crashing onto the beach over the sound of his own heart beating in his ears.
Once he’d rested a bit, he rolled onto his stomach and looked at the boat. It had rolled and torn in half on impact. Cale could see movement on one side of the vessel. The crash must have been loud enough to draw the attention of the creature that now searched the wreckage. Cale stood on unsteady legs and readied his knife, but when he looked up, the figure was gone. Timidly, he circled the boat but found no one. There was only the body of the boat’s former owner.
“Is anyone there?” he asked.
No answer came. He walked around the wreck once more, to ensure he was alone. Then it sunk in that he really was all alone once more. No one would be there to watch his back, and he’d need to be more vigilant. He’d become complacent on the submarine, but didn’t have that luxury anymore.
He looked toward the concrete barrier. The crash, along with his shouting, had gained the attention of two infected, who were stuck behind the short wall.
“Ah shit,” he sighed.
He recovered his pack and the rifle from the beach. He di
dn’t dare shoot them; it would just draw more attention. He walked over to them calmly, clutching Zach’s knife, and they both snarled and growled as he approached. There was one man and one woman. The woman had long since decayed, with bits of her skull clearly visible. Her teal coat was caked with dried blood, and had a few holes in it where she’d been shot. The man looked fresh. His skin hadn’t yet taken on the same ashen color as the woman. He looked pale, and wasn’t dressed as warmly. He’d obviously been a survivor for quite some time before succumbing to and joining the ranks of the undead. Was this Cale’s future as well? Was this everyone’s future? A whole planet filled with only the undead?
Their glossy eyes followed him as he moved along the wall toward them. Cale pulled the man over the wall first, slamming him to the sand. He followed up by inserting the blade at the base of his skull, and his body became motionless. His cohort shrieked. She wasn’t coordinated enough to simply climb over the wall for her meal. It was her turn however, and Cale grabbed her outstretched arm and attempted to yank her over the barrier. Her teal jacket ripped at the shoulder, and Cale was surprised to find that all he held was her arm, still inside her coat sleeve. Awkwardly, she lunged at him, losing her footing and falling over the wall into the sand. Clutching her arm in one hand, and Zach’s knife in the other, Cale attempted to stomp her head, but only succeeded in burying her face in the sand. He stomped until her neck broke, thus ending her time as a reanimated corpse.
He wiped the knife off with the sleeve he held, and discarded the appendage. Cale returned the knife to its sheath, and hopped over the wall. He was in enemy territory now and would have to be quiet and cautious. He moved across a lane marked for bicycles and into an empty parking lot. He looked back over the sea. The sky was blue, and it wasn’t even really that cold, though he was still soaked from his little swim. It was a perfect day for the beach, if it weren’t for the zombies roaming about. A street ran just beyond the parking lot, and Cale immediately searched for a sign, for anything to get his bearings. A familiar restaurant logo was the only one he could see, its golden arches over a red background. What he wouldn’t do for a cheeseburger and some fries. Houses lined the road; some just burnt out husks, charred reminders of a previous life. Many of the fences that had defended the houses were partially destroyed, and bodies in all stages of decomposition littered the streets.
Z Plan (Book 2): Red Tides Page 14
