Extinction Survival Series (Book 3): Cost of Survival
Page 16
“Okay,” Carver said. “Inform the camp that we need volunteers to help retake the island and let the Scouts know they’ll be part of the mix.”
“Remember, the parents need to give permission,” Hope said. “Make sure you speak with them before talking to the Scouts.”
“Good idea,” Gonzalez said. “Consider it done.”
“We can also ask Captain Theriot to throw a few more bodies our way. It’s going to be their island, after all,” Shader said.
“We could also use some armor,” Gonzalez added.
“How do you propose we get an MRAP or tank out to the island?” Carver snorted.
“We don’t have to get anything out there. We can convert something that’s already there. Just like the Scouts did with your pickup truck.”
In the first days of the infection, the Boy Scouts and Kinney had put a metal cage around Carver’s F-150’s bed and reinforced the front grill. It was what they used to storm the Temecula Hospital and had protected the Scouts in the back of the truck from Variant attack.
“And you said Gonzalez was just a dumb jock,” Shader said with a smile.
“I never said that,” Carver shot back, taking the bait.
“No, Carver. I heard you. I just didn’t say anything, since you’re a SEAL and all,” Gonzalez said, his face deadpan.
All of the men sat silently as the Marine’s joke slowly sank in.
“Well played, Corporal. Maybe you’re starting to grow some brains,” Shader said, giving the Marine an appreciative fist bump.
“Both of you can bite me,” Carver said. He smiled and thought, It feels good for things to get back to normal.
“I’ll contact Theriot and request some help. I’m sure they’ll send a few sailors our way,” Shader said.
“We could also use some M4s,” Gonzalez added. “We have plenty of shotguns, but we’ll need something that can reach out and touch them at a distance.”
“I’ll check with the captain when I request help,” Shader said. “If they don’t have much to lend us, I know where we can get some here on the mainland.”
“All right. Sounds like a plan,” Carver said. “Now, changing speed a bit, I’d like to know our current situation. Number one, how are the fuel shuttles going?”
“Great. Donaldson’s making several runs a day. We’ve gotten over six thousand gallons of diesel out to the ship,” Shader said.
“Erin’s not too happy about the flight hours she’s logging,” Potoski added. “We’ve got two of the Freedom’s aircraft maintenance people here, but we just don’t have the parts to keep her Osprey in top condition. One day, she’s going to have a critical failure, and we’ll lose her and whoever she’s carrying.”
“Solutions?” Carver asked.
“Three choices,” Shader began. “The first one is to stop sending fuel out to the Freedom and only use the Osprey for critical flights.”
“That’s not a viable option,” Carver interrupted.
“True, but it is an option. Second, we start harvesting parts from NAS North Point. There are several Ospreys sitting on the tarmac. We could send a maintenance crew there and strip them of anything they needed.”
“That’s a lot of time on the ground,” Carver said. “We’d have to really plan that one out.”
“That leaves the last option. We fly her in, and she flies a new bird out. Just like Everly did with his SuperCobra. We’ll have two Ospreys here at camp. Then we can decide to cannibalize the new one or trash the old one.”
“I like that,” Carver replied. “Simple and effective.”
“We just have to convince Donaldson to give up her bird if the new one is superior. She’s rather attached to it.”
“Let’s just take care of one problem at a time. The first order of business is to retrieve an Osprey, then we can deal with which one she flies.”
“The Seahawk pilot wants to get a new helicopter,” Shader added. “We can use the same method to get us a replacement.”
“How long before he’s healed?”
“At least another month. He broke his wrist and won’t be able to play with a joystick for a while,” Shader answered.
“Then let’s table that thought. We’ll go for the Osprey and then sanitize Catalina Island.”
“One more thing,” Gonzalez said quietly. “I’d like to have a service for Keele.”
“Yeah. That sounds like a good idea,” Shader replied.
“I’ll arrange it,” Hope said. “We’ll do it right.”
“I know he’d appreciate that,” Gonzalez said. “He was a good man.”
— 19 —
Lost Valley
The hammer of the gods
We’ll drive our ships to new lands
To fight the horde, and sing and cry
Valhalla, I am coming!
“The Immigrant Song”
— Robert Plant
“That was an amazing ceremony,” Theriot commented. “Your man would have appreciated it.”
“Hope did a great job, didn’t she?” Carver replied.
“With everything,” Kinney said as he pushed another large piece of steak into his mouth.
“Fresh meat. I’m speechless,” Theriot added.
“You can thank the Scouts,” Carver said, pointing to a few young men at a nearby table. “They’ve developed quite the knack for animal husbandry. We moved some cattle, goats, and chicken here from several nearby farms. We’re planning on sending some your way, if we can figure out how to get them from here to the island.”
Theriot just nodded and smiled. His mouth was full of medium-rare tenderloin.
“Anyone for more meat?” Gonzalez yelled from the outdoor grill.
They had cut a metal fifty-five-gallon drum in half and soldered the pieces side-by-side. After attaching steel legs, they’d fabricated a grill top from some metal grating.
“G-man, if you were any prettier, I’d marry you!” Shader yelled from the table.
Gonzalez’s smile grew even broader. He walked toward Carver with a platter of cut steak, topping off any plates along the way. He ended up at the head table, where an empty seat sat along with a full, untouched meal. It had been set for Keele and was a reminder that he was still there with them in spirit.
“I like this,” Gonzalez said, looking around at all the happy people. “Keele would be pleased.”
“I’d like to think that he is,” Carver said. “I can feel him.”
Carver put his hand over his heart and Gonzalez did the same.
“Aquí!” Gonzalez replied softly. “He’s here, too.”
“Hey, G-Man!” Lazzaro yelled from a nearby table. “How about some service?”
Lazzaro sat next to a girl who giggled at his antics. The injured Marine had finally recovered enough from his leg wound to begin training again. His first week back had been rough. He winded easily, and his scar still hurt. But he’d rapidly improved, and it didn’t stop him from carousing with the few single women in the camp. He was presently working on one of them at the moment, trying to employ his Italian charm.
“Seriously? He’s being a jerk at Keele’s funeral?” Gonzalez grumbled.
“You think Keele would mind his antics?” Carver grinned.
“If he was here, I think he’d be doing everything he could to make Lazzaro look like a fool.” Gonzalez grinned.
“Someone’s got to pick up the ball,” Carver said.
“I’m on it,” Gonzalez replied, with a sinister grin.
“This ought to be fun,” Carver murmured.
The head table continued their conversation, discussing their plans once the island was made safe.
“Seriously, you all should consider moving out to the island,” Theriot said. “It will be a much better location than the mainland. Seventy miles of ocean can give us a nice buffer from the Variants.”
The captain had been trying to sell the camp residents on the benefits of Catalina, but only a few had considered the offer to move s
ince Lost Valley had become such a safe haven. There had been no Variant sightings since the incident at Satan’s Gate over half a year ago, and there was plenty of food and water, along with a strong sense of purpose and community.
They’d set up a small neighborhood near the camp’s lake. Small metal structures had been erected on a pre-planned grid. Families finally had a place to call home. Their solar farm had expanded, and a rudimentary plumbing and sewage system had been installed. Gardens had been put in the ground, with sunflowers and herbs softening the landscape around the steel structures. All the plants that were grown had a purpose. They would either be edible or used as medicine.
The camp’s main farm was growing all they would need to sustain themselves. They’d managed to cultivate rice, along with several varieties of beans, providing them with every vital vitamin and mineral. Citrus trees and vegetable gardens rounded out their harvest. As far as food and drink were concerned, they wanted for nothing.
Every Saturday night, a movie would be shown at Beckham. A projector connected to an iPad provided the entertainment. Between the many families and their electronic gadgets, they had hundreds of titles to watch.
During the showing, they served homemade potato chips and bug juice to the kids, along with newly fermented mead to the adults. Vodka wasn’t far behind, as the potato crops were exceeding their nutritional needs.
“Never waste your gifts,” Randy had advised them, in his zeal to start a still.
They were a community. Everyone was looking out for their neighbor. In many respects, it was as good as it had ever been.
The head table had settled into a nice rhythm with conversations shifting from person to person and group to group.
“Ah! Son of a Bitch!” Lazzaro yelled.
He jumped up from his seat, doing a stomping dance in the nearby grass. The rest of his table was laughing at his antics. Gonzalez was stooped over, moving quickly away from the scene.
“What the hell?” Carver asked, a knowing smile on his face.
“Where is he?” Lazzaro cried. “Where’s that stinking Puerto Rican?”
Gonzalez appeared at the head table and sat down in Keele’s spot.
“You gave him a hot foot, didn’t you?” Carver asked.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Gonzalez replied stoically.
Lazzaro continued to stomp his foot while the rest of the camp slowly realized what had happened. A collective chuckle rumbled from the group.
“Gonzalez!” Lazzaro cried.
The little Marine, wrapped in a giant, white kitchen apron, stood up and waved.
“Over here!” he called out.
The crowd began to laugh as Gonzalez waved to his friend.
“I’m going to kill you!” Lazzaro yelled.
“Hey! That was from Keele,” Gonzalez replied, pointing to the empty seat.
Lazzaro stood angrily while Gonzalez smiled and shrugged. He flipped the little Marine the bird and sat back down. Gonzalez walked over to his fuming friend and deposited the best cut of meat he had onto Lazzaro’s empty plate.
Lazzaro looked up and then punched Gonzalez in the arm. Gonzalez smiled and put his hand on Lazzaro’s shoulder. They nodded at each other before G-man returned to his place at the grill, leaving Lazzaro to attack the juicy Porterhouse.
Keele would have been proud.
Three Weeks Later
USS Freedom
The seas had finally calmed down. A storm front had hit hard, dumping heavy rains in thick sheets for nearly two consecutive days.
The scouts and the sailors from the Freedom grumbled as they trained through the miserable conditions. But Carver and the other operators reminded them that the weather was the weather, and the enemy would be dealing with the same conditions.
“Besides,” Carver finally said, “if it ain’t raining…”
“It ain’t training,” Shader finished. “If you think you’re suffering now, just keep talking. We don’t want to hear any more bitching, or we’ll really make your lives miserable.”
That ended the complaints.
The plan was for Carver, Shader, Gonzalez, and Lazzaro to each lead a team of four other volunteers. The Scouts and sailors they’d recruited had been trained to a basic, tactical proficiency, at least to a point that Carver felt they had a good chance to survive.
Now three weeks later found them on the Freedom. Sixteen adequately trained young warriors and four hardened operators were prepared to clear an island that was a quarter of the size of San Diego. It seemed like an impossible task. The only good news was the island normally had a population of fewer than five thousand, and many of those had likely become Variant meals. But as Carver looked out over Twin Harbors, he cringed. The water was thick with civilian boats. The island had likely been the destination for all those watercraft owners in the early days of the infection. There was no way to know how many people had actually ended up on Catalina.
It was bitter cold standing out on the aft flight deck. The temperature had dropped dramatically after the front passed through, and Carver was wrapped in light winter gear for the first time in almost a year.
“This sucks, big time,” Gonzalez said. White steamy breath blew out from between his clenched teeth.
“It shouldn’t last too long,” Carver reassured the Marine.
“Can we put this off for a few days?” Gonzalez asked. “I’d rather die warm than freezing my nuts off.”
Carver grinned at the gallows humor. It reflected a proper attitude the night before an assault.
“We can deal with it,” Carver replied. “Besides, our FLIR will work better in the cold. With the temperature this low, anything alive will stick out like a beacon through the infrared screen.”
“Yeah. There’s that. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Carver turned his head and looked down at Gonzalez. The diminutive man was bouncing up and down on his toes. He had at least three layers of clothing on, but was still complaining about the temperature.
“When was the last time the Marines had you do anything you liked?”
Gonzalez smirked and remained silent.
“Thought so,” Carver added.
Over their prior three weeks, a total of twenty thousand gallons of diesel had been delivered to Freedom, giving the ship a bit of a fuel cushion. They were going to tap into that reserve for the next part of their mission.
The ship’s horn blared, announcing that they were preparing for departure. The deck shuddered slightly as the Freedom’s Colt-Pielstick diesel engines engaged.
They were moving just a couple miles north of their position, where the RIB inflatable craft would go ashore at a campground called Howland’s Landing.
They picked this spot for several reasons. The first thing on the checklist was that it was tied to the island’s road system. Also, their drone had spotted several large vehicles at the campground’s parking lot that were suitable for their needs.
Another advantage was the ocean’s depth charts showed the ship could easily get within a quarter of a mile of the harbor. Welding equipment and steel piping was heavy. Multiple trips would be needed to shuttle all these supplies so they could reinforce the onshore vehicles.
The littoral craft began to move, sweeping the cold, ocean air across the deck.
“Fuck this,” Gonzalez said as the increased wind speed dropped the chill factor several more degrees. He turned and went back inside.
Carver stayed on the craft’s deck, watching Twin Harbor recede on the horizon.
His mind wandered. The last few weeks had been difficult, both physically and emotionally. Keele’s death was affecting him far more than he would have imagined. Quiet times like this brought dark feelings to the surface, consuming his mental energy.
“Chief,” he heard.
Carver was startled by the sound of his name. He turned and saw one of the ship’s sailors standing next to him.
“Seaman Dixon. How are you doing?”
“Could be better. All things being equal, I’d rather be off the coast of Maui,” she replied.
“Yeah, it’s pretty cold.”
Carver stared out at the roiling sea. The grey and dark-blue tones of the Pacific reminded him of its ancient powers. There was a majesty about the body of water that demanded respect.
“You wouldn’t have any lotion, would you?”
The young woman stared off at the island. Her ebony skin was dusted with a chalky film as the dry, cold air played havoc on her complexion.
“You should talk to Donaldson,” Carver said, smiling. “She may have some.”
“Nah. Just breaking the ice,” she replied sarcastically.
Carver could feel her anxiety. He couldn’t blame her. She’d been volunteered by the captain to join the landing party. She didn’t have any particular skills that would make her stick out as a natural choice. In fact, she had a few strikes against her.
She was small and when her battle rifle hung around her neck, it almost looked comical. She’d never had anything more than rudimentary firearms instruction until her recent training. To her credit, she’d quickly developed into one of their best shooters.
In her favor was her speed. She was so quick, she would outpace anyone else during their CQB drills. That could have been a fatal mistake for all concerned. Carver decided to make her part of his team. She was paired with Gavin Gringleman. They’d be moving onto the island as a pair. Since that change, she’d performed admirably.
In the long run, the reason Captain Theriot had encouraged her to join was that her ship assignments could be redistributed to the remaining crew if something happened to her. She would be fighting the Variants because she was expendable. Both knew that had been a major factor in the captain’s decision.
She tried to hide her fear, but he could see it in the constant motion of her hands and tapping of her toes.
Carver looked back out to the land mass. The setting sun was hidden behind thick, dreary clouds. It gave the normally dusty brown island a muted, inky blackness.