“S.O.S.,” Carver said. “Three dots, three dashes, and three dots. I’ll bet someone has a mirror and is trying to get our attention.”
“Why not blast the horn?” one of the other men asked.
“Either their batteries are dead, or they don’t want to alert anyone—or anything—that they’re out there.” Carver lifted his binoculars. “Signal them back with our headlights.”
The sailor jumped into the front truck and flashed its lights. Three short bursts, three long flashes, and three more short.
Carver and Shader glassed the source of the flashes and focused in on a yacht, where several people jumped up and down, waving colored shirts over their heads.
Carver smiled. “More survivors. Now, how do we get to them?”
“I think they’ve got that covered,” Shader replied, pointing to a skiff that had pulled away from the large craft and was moving toward land.
The boat was motoring toward a pier south of their position, not far from the hardware store they’d raided.
“Come on. Let’s go meet our neighbors,” Carver said.
The ride to the pier was quick; both trucks and the boat arrived at the same time.
A voice shot out from the pier. “Holy crap. The military!”
The man was bronzed by the sun, his long, white hair swirling in the ocean breeze. As he approached, Carver noticed the man’s tattered t-shirt—which had probably once been blue but was now nearly faded white—and torn shorts that appeared to have been mended with fishing twine. His angular face and taut limbs lacked any fat. Carver worried the man might be malnourished, but he walked with a spring in his step and his handshake was firm, which allayed Carver’s concerns.
“Name’s Bob Ladley,” the survivor said as he greeted each person in Carver’s group. “This is my son, Reese.”
The other man with him was cut from the same cloth. He was a younger version of his father with the same sharp features and tall, lean body.
“John Carver, and this is Chief Shader.”
“Damn glad to meet you.” Ladley looked at the men then saw the pickup they were driving. “Are you really from the government?”
Carver delivered the news. “I’m afraid there isn’t a government anymore. We’re what’s left of the Navy.”
Ladley stared at the thirteen men, his jaw going slack as he realized there would be no more help coming.
“It’s that bad?” Reese Ladley asked. His voice trembled, anticipating the answer he didn’t want to hear.
“There are more of us. The combat ship, Freedom, is docked up at Two Harbors with less than half their complement remaining. We haven’t run across any other military units since the virus took out the Pacific Fleet, and that was last summer.”
Carver spent the next few minutes giving the two men a synopsis of the widespread effects of the virus and what had transpired on both Catalina and San Clemente islands.
“That explains my granddaughter,” the older man said. “She was convinced she had seen giant birds flying around the Casino a week or two ago.” Bob Ladley chuckled bitterly. “I’ll tell her mother she wasn’t making it up.”
“Your granddaughter? How many of you are there?” Shader asked.
“Six of us. Me and my wife along with Reese and his family.”
Ladley checked his watch then muttered something under his breath.
“What is it?” Carver asked.
“We’ve got plenty of time before they come out.”
“What do you mean? Who is ‘they’?”
“The infected ones,” Ladley said. “They don’t seem to like the light, so they start prowling around about sundown. We usually try to get back to the boat an hour before that, just in case we have a problem.”
“You’re welcome to come back with us to the ranch,” Shader said.
“We can’t. Not just yet. We still have colleagues in there,” Bob replied, pointing to the large, deco building on the other side of the harbor.
“I assume you’re talking about the Casino,” Carver said.
Both Ladleys nodded.
“Don’t you think your friends have been infected by now?”
“It’s possible,” Bob said, “but see the windows on the top floor? That’s where they’ve taken shelter.”
“How do you know they’re alive?”
“We signal each other, although we haven’t communicated in over a week. My friends are running out of time. They don’t have much water left. It’s the one thing we didn’t have enough of.”
“We?”
“Yeah. I was in there, too. I’m a doctor. We moved the hospital here when the magnitude of the infection became evident. We got caught inside when the patients started to turn and tore through our police department.” He shook his head in sorrow. “They never had a chance.”
Ladley took a moment to collect himself then continued. “We had plenty of supplies. We hauled all the water we could carry up to a storage area on the fifth floor and locked ourselves inside. Between that and the surplus supplies we found in the walls, we were sitting pretty.”
“In the walls? Explain.”
“The Casino was used as a military facility during World War II. After the war, all the surplus supplies and equipment they left were stored in 55-gallon drums and sealed in the walls of the Casino, just in case of an emergency.”
“Huh. They were preppers,” Carver said.
“Sure. With the Soviet Union threatening to nuke the country back then, why not keep some free government supplies stored in case of an emergency? Catalina might be the only place that would have survived a nuclear war. We’re upwind from the mainland, so fallout wouldn’t have been a problem. With no military installations on the island, we were unlikely to be a direct target. It was an ideal place to be if the bombs started to drop.”
“But your food was still good? You’re talking about MREs that are over sixty years old,” Shader said. “How’s that possible?”
“I don’t know, but a lot of the items in the wax-covered packages were still sealed and edible. We threw away anything that was open or swollen. There were also cots and medical supplies, along with just about anything you could need to ride out the apocalypse. The only thing lacking was water.”
“When did you escape?”
“A little less than a month ago. I was the only one to get away. When the infection first hit, I sent my wife and Reese’s family out to my boat while I stayed in the Casino to help out. For almost six months, I could see them from the window.”
“But we didn’t know he was alive,” Reese added.
“The infected have a rhythm. During mid-day, they usually sleep or are in hibernation. All of us survivors decided to try and escape while they slept. Once we made it outside, we were going to grab a second boat and sail to the mainland. We only made it to the fourth floor before we were discovered. I got away, and they had to go back to the supply room.”
“See that large downspout? I saw my dad climb down it. That’s how he got out,” Reese said with pride.
“I was lucky. I crawled out a window and shimmied down before they found out I had gotten away. I barely made it to the ocean. They’re damned fast.”
“That’s when we knew Dad was alive. We heard the infected howl, and when I looked over, the outside of the building was covered with them. They move up and down the wall almost as fast as they run on land. Did you know they can climb walls? Craziest thing I’ve ever seen,” Reese said.
“Yeah. We’ve run across a few of them,” Shader said darkly.
The older man took up the story where his son had left off. “Anyway, there are eight more of us in there, including my nurse. I can’t just leave them behind.”
“How many infected do you think are in there?” Shader asked.
“Chief Nelson…” He paused. “Our police chief kept count up until the infection overran us. We had most of the island in there. I’d estimate that half turned, and the other half were killed and eaten by their neighbors.”
Carver’s jaw dropped. “There are twenty-five hundred of those things in there?”
“That’s a good guess. But there doesn’t seem to be as many as there used to be, and they’re certainly not as active. They’ve slowed down and there are fewer leaving the building at night.”
“We’ve seen them cannibalize the weaker ones. Maybe that’s thinned them out some more,” Shader said.
“Maybe. But that’s still way more than we can handle,” Carver countered.
Shader glanced at the Casino. “There has to be some way to kill them. Otherwise, the island’s a loss.”
“What about San Clemente Island?” Gavin asked. “We’ve cleared that already.”
“There’s no well on the island, so there’s no water. Besides, I don’t like the thought of living so close to a nuclear meltdown.”
“I don’t imagine that you would,” Bob said. “But what are we going to do about all those infected in our Casino?”
“Those survivors inside really muddy up the waters,” Carver said. “My first thought was to have Freedom shell the building.”
“You can’t do that with my friends still in there,” Bob pled.
“I know. I know. But it would have been a heck of a lot easier than what we have to do.”
Shader got a sour look on his face and turned to Carver. “We’re going in, aren’t we?”
“One way, or another, we’re going to have to breach that building. It’s the only way to save those people.”
— 31 —
Avalon
Over the Pacific Ocean
Osprey One
Three days later
Of all men’s miseries the bitterest is this: to know so much
and to have control over nothing.
— Herodotus
Carver was having second thoughts. Actually, he’d had doubts about the plan from the very beginning.
The main problem was getting into the Casino without drawing attention. From the description of the layout of the building, there was no way to go in through the front door.
That left the roof. It was certainly large enough to drop down onto. It was gently sloping, circular, and tiled covered. When Carver first saw the building, it resembled an art deco alien flying saucer that had landed on a Romanesque building. A helicopter insertion would rattle the whole structure, sending the Variants scurrying out onto the roof, so that was out.
What they needed to do was get on top as quietly as possible. They could breach the building from above, close to where the survivors were located and sneak them out.
That is how they ended up flying in the Osprey with parachutes strapped to their backs and a pneumatic line throwing gun in a ruck at Shader’s feet. The sea rescue device was recovered from the harbor’s Coast Guard rescue boat. It was going to be their way out of the building. All of this was predicated on getting in and out of the Casino without being detected.
“Hey, you big Polack!” Shader yelled over the drone of the engines.
Potoski looked up from his jump seat just as Shader tossed an oversized chocolate bar at him. The big Marine caught the unexpected treat and held it gently in both of his beefy hands. A newborn wouldn’t have gotten more tender treatment.
“I think he’s going to cry,” Shader said as he nudged Carver in the arm.
Carver looked up at the Osprey’s crew chief and grinned. “He’s tearing up.”
“You all right?” Shader yelled.
“Porky, you’ve no idea how good I am now,” he replied with a big smile.
Shader didn’t use the craft’s internal radio. He didn’t want Donaldson to know he’d found a stash of candy on their last foray into Avalon. She’d have demanded a piece of that treasure. Instead, he planned on saving it for Maxwell, who had a secret sweet tooth of her own.
But for this Marine, he’d make an exception. Potoski had been with them since before the Battle of the Forum and had saved their bacon more than once. He found out enough about the big Pole over the half year to know he was a chocaholic and hadn’t had a taste in over three months.
Potoski wiped his eyes and nodded to the two SEALs. It took the edge off both men’s minds to see the man’s reaction.
“Five minutes to target,” Donaldson said over the internal radio.
Both men grinned when they saw Potoski panic and shove the giant bar into his own ruck. He knew about his pilot’s sweet addiction and acted like a kid who had been caught raiding the cookie jar.
Carver and Shader stood and went to the back of the craft. Potoski followed them and lowered the rear ramp. The morning sun had finally returned after several rain-filled days enabling them to make the rescue attempt.
Carver picked up Shrek and clipped the dog to his ballistic chest rig. The two of them would have the toughest drop, with an extra-heavy ruck dangling at their feet and Carver cradling the giant Mal. Both men had their rucks strung from their gear, with Carver carrying some of Shader’s spare ammunition because of the room taken up by the line thrower and the two hundred fifty feet of galvanized steel cable they’d be using to get out of the Casino.
The plan was simple enough. They’d land on the roof and shoot a line out to a waiting boat that Ladley would bring in close to shore. The pneumatic line launcher had a range of over a hundred meters, which should be plenty of distance to reach the ocean from the rooftop. They’d attach the steel cable to the end of their throw rope, and have it drawn out to the watercraft. After securing the steel cable to the steeple or some other sturdy point, they’d use ten crudely made safety harnesses, also packed in Shader’s ruck, to zip-line off the building.
The plan solidified when they’d found the pneumatic line gun. The swishing sound made by the throw was far quieter than the Navy’s shotgun launcher. Several practice shots confirmed there would be minimal noise.
Carver positioned himself near the edge of the drop ramp. Shader stood closely behind him. At almost ten thousand feet above the island, the Osprey’s engine noise would be unnoticeable by anything on the ground.
“We’ve got confirmation that the boat is in position,” Donaldson said over the internal radio. “Rescue One reports moderate winds with gust up to ten knots.”
A couple sailors from the Freedom had driven the ship’s inflatable to the harbor to act as the recovery vehicle. They were designated Rescue One. They had positioned themselves just offshore and were feeding weather information to the Osprey.
“Ten seconds,” Potoski said.
Carver shuffled to the edge of the ramp and turned, facing back into the Osprey’s cargo area. He cradled the dog with his ruck attached to the front of his rig, dangling just below Shrek. It was going to be an incredibly touchy jump. With no static line to automatically pull his parachute cord, he’d have to rip it manually. Shrek, who weighed over ninety pounds, was lying against the chute’s handle. The ruck that would be dangling at his feet was almost a hundred pounds as well.
Between the canine, his load out, and supplies, he was carrying close to three hundred pounds. That was a lot to control. Hitting the LZ with that much weight dangling from his chest and hanging under his body was going to be a challenge. Fortunately, the top of the building was over twenty thousand square feet, although he had to land near the middle of the circular roof if he didn’t want to go over the edge.
Carver watched Potoski count down the last five seconds with his left hand’s fingers. At zero, the Osprey’s crew chief clenched his hand into a fist and Carver stepped back, falling back off the ramp.
The weight dropped to nothing as they fell toward the earth. Carver rolled to his stomach and felt Shrek’s body press into his chest. He wormed his hand under the dog, making sure he’d be able to reach the deployment handle. He checked his altimeter, which was a giant, watch-like device on his left arm. Satisfied with the reading, he spread his arms to maneuver toward the Casino’s roof.
About ten seconds after he left the aircraft, he hit terminal velocity. The hundred
-and-twenty-mile-per-hour winds forced the dog into his chest even more. He confirmed that he could still reach the handle and adjusted his aim once again. He had to open his parachute a little lower than normal to minimize the surface wind’s push and minimize the chance that any eyes on the ground could see them coming. He calculated how much time remained before he’d release the chute and immediately thought of his back. He suppressed that thought, realizing there was nothing he could do about it now.
He had about a minute, from the time he’d left the Osprey, until he’d be touching down on the tile roof. He spent those precious seconds directing his body toward the target while noticing the cresting of the waves, which gave him some idea of the surface winds.
At about two thousand feet, he pulled the cord. The jolt to his back and shoulders was as severe as he could ever remember when over five hundred pounds of supplies, man, and dog were ripped back toward the heavens. A jolt of electricity shot through both legs as the heavy ruck lurched down, pulling his spine with it. He ignored the pain and began to maneuver himself toward the building. From above, he couldn’t help but notice that it looked like a big, orange target while its darker, brown cupola provided the visual image of a bullseye.
He glanced at his canine companion. Shrek, with his eye goggles and sand-colored vest, looked anything but comfortable. Occasionally, the dog would look up and Carver always got a chuckle watching the Mal’s lips flapping in the wind, exposing his gritted teeth. Shrek had been trained to avoid excessive movements that could influence the parachute’s direction, and a quick glance up at his master didn’t affect their trajectory much and always gave Carver a smile.
Carver searched the sky for his companion. Shader was drifting above him but a bit too far upwind. He didn’t have time to worry about his friend’s direction. Shader had more drops than he did and would figure it out.
The barrel-tiled roof was looming large, and he tugged on his chute’s steering line. He angled upwind and braced himself as the orange roof rushed up to meet him. A few seconds before he was to land, he released his ruck. It dropped down below his feet and dangled from its nylon attachment cord.
Extinction Survival Series (Book 3): Cost of Survival Page 30
