The two hugged one another, and Elliot whispered in her ear that he would never leave her side again.
“Tovarish,” a crewman tapped Elliot on the shoulder, “time for you to wash up.”
* * *
The Sandspit rescue team moved on toward the tiny harbor. The medics out front pushed the gurney in an even manner. Jerry kept his head down, Chuck, Chess and the three Spetsnaz soldiers kept an eye on the foamers that hadn’t made any dent in the gap between the two parties. If anything they’d fallen further behind.
“I still don’t like it,” Chuck said aloud.
“You don’t have to Chuck, you can see the sub from here. Unless the foamers crawl out of the ground in front of us, I’d say we’re home, sweet home.”
“But here comes the test. While we load Jerry into the watercraft, they’ll make ground. We need to be careful when we do it and it’ll take at least three of us to do.”
“I still think we have time, Chuck.”
Once they arrived where the inflatable boat was tied, the two medics jumped in, then spoke in their own language to the other soldiers.
“They request we lift the stretcher to them.” The taller of the Spetsnaz men said.
“All right let’s do it!” Chuck looked back to where the foamers were.
The undead had picked up their stride and advanced on the harbor.
“Oh, shit! Here they come!” Chess called.
Foamers were over the final rise and would be on the harbor boardwalk in minutes.
“We cover you tovarish, you get friend on boat!” Alexei—the tall, stocky Russian—said, then waved a hand for the other two Spetsnaz soldiers to fan out.
They didn’t bother take cover—the foamers weren’t armed—but they did drop to one knee and supported their forearm on the other to steady their aim.
“Wait until they reach preferred range.” Alexei held up a hand.
The Russians’ could handle the situation, of that, Chuck was sure. The foamers would be forced to bunch-up to onto the boardwalk and though it would mean allowing the undead heathens’ to get within two hundred yards, it made for a perfect kill zone.
“Okay, help me with the gurney!” Chuck called.
Chess took the other side and together they eased Jerry from the walkway to the medics inside the watercraft.
The medics dropped the wheels and lowered the gurney to the bottom of the boat.
Before anyone could turn around heavy caliber rifle shots rang out. It came from the direction of the Dimitry Donskoy.
“Shit! What the hell?” Chess ducked to the bottom of the small boat, alongside Jerry.
A cheer went up from the Spetsnaz soldiers—who hadn’t fired a round yet.
“Snipers’ on the deck of the sub,” Chuck pointed, “they’re taking out the foamers.”
Chuck could see six men with rifles on the fore deck. With the report and distance he assumed they were sniper rifles. In the end it mattered little, the concentrated fire from the sub gave the rescue team the cover they needed. The three Spetsnaz men, joined Chuck, Chess, Jerry and the two medics in the boat. The outboard kicked into life and they were on their way back to the Dimitry Donskoy.
Mission successful.
The firing from the sub, stopped the moment they left the harbor.
It took less than ten minutes to reach the sub but considerably longer to get Jerry below deck. Placed into sick bay Jerry would now receive treatment by a fully qualified Russian doctor.
With the successful rescue of all personnel from the island, the Dimitry Donskoy set sail once more for the South Pacific and Australia. Rumor had it the country had avoided the foamer disease.
There was only one way to find out.
Chapter Forty-Four
Foty-Four
Two weeks later—or perhaps three—no would knew, nor cared. Time was no longer of any importance.
The Dimitry Donskoy rose to the surface when two hundred miles from Australia’s East coast, and sent unencrypted signals which explained their situation—as concise as it was—and they sought sanctuary and were prepared to hand over the submarines armament for decommissioning.
The Australian Navy soon contacted the Donskoy, extended a welcome to Australian waters and gave the crew a heading to follow. The naval base at Potts Point, near Sydney, their new destination. The Aussie navy informed the crew to expect aircraft from the RAAF to pass over over and if any emergency equipment or supplies needed they could be dropped into the ocean if needed. They could also expect patrol boats of the RAN to accompany them into dock when about twenty miles from shore. Tug boats would take over for the last mile of the docking procedure.
A large group gathered around the communications room. Gretchko and his main officers and what was considered the leadership group of the survivors.
“Damn, did you hear that?” Elliot was first to comment.
“Yeah, intelligent living, breathing humans—albeit with a strange accent.” Riley too, had a look of awe upon his face.
“But tovarish,” Boris interjected, “they probably think your accent to be strange—I know we do.” Boris smiled and winked.
Contact with a government department had to mean there was no foamer plague or disease.
It had to, it just had to! Elliot felt his pulse quicken.
“This is it Chuck,” Elliot turned and put up a hand to high five the man he considered his mentor throughout the ordeal.
“Come on Chuck, surely you don’t need to be cautious now?”
“I-I,” Chuck stuttered, “I guess not.”
Though he didn’t sound too confidant Elliot accepted his high five and then passed it around to the others'.
Chuck’s been on guard so long he doesn’t know how not to be. Elliot believed that to be the best explanation.
“We break out the caviar in celebration, dah?” Boris said to the crew.
“And the vodka?” Asked Chess.
“We are Russians are we not?”
“Err, yeah you are,”
“Then of course we have vodka. But maybe just tea for you, young lady.” Boris gestured with a smile to Cindy.
“It’s all good. I prefer tea anyway but when the baby is born…”
“Da! Then we all celebrate with big drink, no?”
Elliot backed away from the group, taking Cindy by the hand. “We made it, baby, we made it.”
“Yes, we did and no small thanks you.”
Elliot smiled and realized this was his first fear-free smile since the beginning of mankind’s self-inflicted apocalyptic meltdown.
It wasn’t just Cindy’s words, or the fact they’d communicated living, unaffected people, no, the sound of the relieved voices, the cheers and the genuine smiles, warmed his heart like no sun ever could.
It was finally over.
* * *
The Dimitry Donskoy crawled across the surface like a giant prehistoric monster toward the naval dock at Potts Point. To one side, the American submarine—the USS Louisiana—was moored and waiting for them on the dock itself, were the US sailors, and all the survivors from Twin Falls, Prince George and Washington DC. Australian police and a platoon of naval guards were on hand, their presence for security and not judiciary.
Further elated cheers occurred the moment the survivors of the foamer plague, stepped from submarine and onto the gangway. The Russians were greeted by Australian navy and customs personnel, not to take names or check luggage—contraband was an issue in this case—it was to inform there would be standard medical checks and a quarantine period.
Chuck’s melancholy disappeared the moment he laid eyes on Kath. It had been too long, far too long. He ran, no sprinted to her, picked her up in the air in his muscular arms and swung her around. Like the returning soldiers from WWII. They held each other, kissed and held some more before Kath spoke first.
“I-I didn’t think that—”
“Shh, shh,” Chuck brought a finger to her lips.
“Let’s n
ot think of it, I’m here, you’re here and we’re together—that’s all that matters.”
Laughter and tears broke out all across the dock. Everyone had smiles almost as big as the Dimitry Donskoy.
Chuck couldn’t recall seeing everyone so happy.
Chess, Tristan, Bob, Tom, Riley and especially Elliot and Cindy whom he had a special place in his heart for, where together again.
“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised you of all people survived this catastrophe but I’m surprised to see you here, Chuck.”
The words came from behind the Tall Man, he knew the voice but just couldn’t—
“Darrell? Why you old—”
“Careful now, you’re speaking to the Prime Minister of Australia.” Darrell Lee informed Chuck of his current position.
“You’re shitting me right?”
“I shit you not, my friend. Anyway its good to see you again.” The prime minister said. “And please let me welcome you to Australia and let me assure you we’ll do all we can to ensure you and you friends settle in comfortably. You’re safe here.”
“Thank you, Darrell, I mean Mr.Prime—”
“Oh, you can dispense with the mister bullshit, how about a cold beer or six?”
“Now you’re talking!”
“Kath has had the luxury of arriving well before you. She’s acclimatized well, and enjoyed our hospitality so I know she’ll join us for a drink.” The prime minister looked around at the new guests, when Elliot appeared to take his attention. “That young man, did he always have the patch or—”
“Wounds of war, sir.”
“Well, looks to me like we better hurry with the cold ones if we want to cure you of this mister and sir bullshit.” Darrell shook his head then turned to the crowd. “Who else would like to join us for a cold beer?” He raised his voice to be heard.
The spontaneous roar of approval lifted Chuck’s spirit further.
It really was over.
Epilogue
Months later—as the survivors of the foamer plague continued with their recuperation—there was a great deal of internal searching to do. While on the run for their lives, no time could be afforded to thoughts of friends, family and loved ones. Now, in the comfort of suburban Sydney, the reality of those horrors accompanied them everywhere. A monkey on their back the size of an eight hundred pound gorilla.
The American survivors were all housed in a two bedroom apartment block. The Russians and other nationalities were given separate apartments. Round the clock security and several drivers were provided.
As welcoming as the Australian government had been it would have been naive to think the foamer disease ended with the escape of the surviving groups.
While not exactly a quarantine it was as close to one as you were likely to get.
The Russian submariners & Spetsnaz force faired best. They hadn’t dealt with foamers in a direct manner and the ice-cold Aussie beer and hot meat pies were to their liking. Other submarines had found their way to Australia by now and some to New Zealand, where Prime Minister Darrell Lee had explained, the same “foamers free zone” existed.
Darrel Lee made psychologists available to the survivors and the weekly sessions helped but it would be a long process.
The one event that elevated the sprits of the refugees from the foamer upheaval of the US was the imminent birth of Elliot and Cindy’s child.
Elliot of course was a bundle of nerves, which even the Aussie beer couldn’t help.
St. Vincent’s Hospital, one of the oldest and most trusted in Australia, was a beehive of activity on the day of the expected birth. Cindy went into labor some hours ago and was taken to hospital by one of government assigned ambulance on standby at the apartments.
The delivery, though painful, went well. Elliot and Cindy were now the proud parents of a nine-pound baby boy.
“What do you think Chuck?” Elliot proudly said showing off the baby.
Chuck and Kath were the last group to come in to see the newborn after Cindy had recuperated and the baby had completed all necessary medical checks.
“Oh, he’s beautiful Elliot. He even has your eyes—oh, sorry eye.” Kath burst with a out with a laugh. The Aussie doctors had confirmed the loss of sight in Elliot’s left eye was permanent and the endless Escape from New York and pirate jokes ensued.
“He’s a damn big one, Elliot.” Chuck added.
At that moment, the baby began to cry.
“Oh, he wants his momma!” Kath said.
“Okay, okay,” Elliot cradled the young-still unnamed baby boy—to his shoulder and turned around to an exhausted Cindy.
They were in a private room that had a large mirror on the far wall, on the other side of Cindy. As Elliot moved toward the mother of his child, the baby coughed, spluttered, as newborns do. A wet, sickly cough. Elliot felt the spittle land on the back of his shoulder.
“Oh, my God!” Kath shrieked. “It’s foam, green foam!
Elliot looked into the mirror, to the shocked reflections of Chuck and Kath, the look of horror on their faces said it all.
It wasn’t over.
The End
Craig A McDonough
Also by Craig A. McDonough
The Brink Series
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Toward the Brink 2
Toward the Brink 3
Toward the Brink 4
The Forgotten Battles (Toward the Brink novella)
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Pestilence Books 1 & 2 (Boxed)
A Horror at Pine Ridge
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