02 Flotilla of the Dead (24 page)

As they followed the S shaped u-turn to drive slowly up the Mole towards the barricade, Scott picked up the microphone used by tour guides and began his running commentary.  “If you look to the right you’ll see that we are driving past the end of four sets of railroad tracks that stretch for over a mile along the Mole.  You’ll even see a train loaded with hundreds of intermodal containers.  These tracks were used to store rail cars and marshal loaded trains waiting for other containers to be loaded or unloaded throughout the port.  We’ll use them to bring valuable, non-perishable cargos to stockpile here in the Mole Stronghold for future distribution.

“Coming up next is the Mole’s fuel farm and fueling dock with the
Stratton
tied up alongside,” Scott continued, then turned and pointed out to sea beyond the Mole saying, “Out in the entrance to the port there are half a dozen refueling barges and three refueling ships, two of which still have crews aboard.  There are additional tank farms scattered across the port, so we’ll be able to provide fuel to the Flotilla for quite some time.  In the long run, there are even larger stockpiles of crude oil and several refineries within a few miles that are connected by pipelines to this port.  When the stockpiles start falling, there is still a lot of oil that can be produced from the wells along the coast of Long Beach, including the four oil islands, and even more from rigs in the Santa Barbara Channel.  What I’m saying is, if we can create safe havens and save large numbers of people, we have all of the resources we need to restore most of the civilization that we lost last week.”  His guests struggled to come to grips with the scope of Scott’s long term plans.  They were still fully focused on simply surviving day to day.

Scott pointed beyond the fuel barges to the next giant pier complex.  “Over there is Pier 400.   It’s the largest container complex in the world, with over four hundred acres and a dozen rail lines serving miles of docks with massive cranes.  That’s where we found hundreds of refrigerated containers full of food that would have spoiled by now if we hadn’t come to refuel the emergency generators.  Now we intend to share the food we salvaged with as many survivors as possible.”  Scott was pleased to see universal signs of appreciation.  “Food isn’t the only thing in those containers,” Scott continued.  “There are thousands of them stacked up over there.  We have only identified a small fraction of them.  What we know so far is that we are sitting on tens of thousands of computers, tablets, cell phones, TVs, microwaves, and countless other treasures.  Yes, treasures.  Things that can’t be replaced without the type of global economy that fell apart last week.  So, for now, we will guard and protect all of those things for future use by those who survive this so called apocalypse.” Scott almost smiled when he said that, but Michelle kicked him in the shin.

“Now we’re coming up to the Mole Barrier that we constructed over the past two days,” Scott continued in a slightly more subdued tone.  “It’s composed of double stacked empty cargo containers with modified big rig trucks acting as moving gates across this road and the two train tracks we will use for access here.  The double stacked containers make an excellent zombie-proof wall.  And we’re cutting doors on this side and firing slits on the outside in some of them to serve as defensive pillboxes.”  As they moved slowly towards the barricade all of the visitors were startled by a string of rapid gun shots, but they came from riflemen on top of the barricade that were firing in the other direction.  Scott saw the SWAT team tense and lift their own rifles, so he was quick to explain, “Relax folks.  That’s just the gate guards taking out stray zombies close to the other side of the barrier.  We wait to shoot them until we need to open one of the gates.  Otherwise the shooting will attract more and more of them.  This way we only attract attention when necessary.” 

            Moments later one of the guards atop the barrier gave a signal and a truck blocking the road pulled forward to reveal a twenty foot wide gap between the stacked containers.  The truck had been modified with sheets of metal hanging down along its sides to prevent zombies from crawling under it.  The LAV drove through the “gate” first with its turret swinging back and forth in search of targets, but the gate guards seemed to have made head shots on any nearby zombies.  The Hydra Terra followed the LAV out of the Mole Stronghold and Scott watched as a team of three men with a Bobcat tractor followed to collect the bodies of zombies and dump them in a trailer next to the road.  Scott decided he should comment on that too.  “Behind us you might notice the sanitation crew collecting the bodies of the zombies that were just terminated.  Once that trailer is full, they’ll haul it down to an empty lot where they have set up a simple incinerator.  We think it’s important not to leave them to rot in the open anywhere near inhabited areas.”  His guests appeared to agree with that policy too, even if they weren’t too enthusiastic about it.  Dealing with the bodies might be something they hadn’t given much thought to yet.

            “We are now passing through an unsecure area.  Although we have sealed off all the bridges onto Terminal Island and wiped out a majority of the zombies that were already here, we haven’t had time to completely secure or sanitize the whole island.  We can expect to encounter small groups of zombies as we continue to explore and consolidate control here.   In case we run into any zombies today, please keep your hands and heads inside the vehicle at all times.  And please don’t panic if we do get attacked; they can’t jump high enough to reach us.”

            “You say that with a lot of confidence,” called out Commander Austin.  “Have you tested it?”

            “Frankly, no,” replied Scott with a grin.  “I usually just shoot them in the head before they get too close.  But I’ve seen how high they can jump.  So, unless a former member of the Lakers or Clippers is stalking us, I’m confident enough.”  Everyone but Commander Austin smiled or chuckled at that.  Scott knew that he needed to win Austin over eventually, but not until he had earned his respect first. 

            “Getting back to the tour,” Scott continued.  “We’re now passing the former Navy and Marine Reserve Center.  This is a potential refugee camp, if we bring more survivors onto the island.  The fence is secure, there’s plenty of room to park trailers or RVs.  If we can’t get enough RVs, I was also thinking of adding empty containers inside the perimeter fence and cutting doors and windows in them to create shelters up to 53 feet long.  The reason this abandoned military facility would be a good choice is that the buildings have kitchens, mess halls, and large communal bathrooms.” Scott let the idea hang there and continued the tour.

            “Now we’re turning onto the Terminal Island Expressway, which is a continuation of the 710 freeway.  To the left you’ll see the Henry Ford Bridge.  The vehicle bridge next to it is a traditional drawbridge, which you can see has been raised.  The Henry Ford Bridge itself carries two sets of train tracks and, as you can see, the entire center span can be lifted more than a hundred feet up by the towers on each end, allowing ships to pass beneath it.  These bridges are zombie and invasion proof as long as they remain in the raised positions.  The Henry Ford Bridge is what we will use to get train loads of supplies over to the Alameda Corridor and up to Los Angeles.  However, when we start doing that it’s going to attract a lot of zombies to the other side of the bridge.  So we’re working on some ideas to keep them contained when we lower it.”

           “How did you raise the bridges without power?” asked Special Agent Corrigan.

            “Good question,” replied Scott with a smile.  “The answer is we didn’t.  They were already up.  I guess someone in the control room was watching the news on Z-Day and decided to raise them, either to keep zombies off the island, or to allow ships to escape out to sea.  It blocked rail traffic, but cars would have been able to turn and use the fixed bridges.  Fortunately the roads on this side are mostly clear, but it looks like total gridlock and carnage in Wilmington on the other side.”  Scott pointed across the channel to roads filed with abandoned cars and what might have been bodies, though it was hard to tell from most of a mile away.  What was clear was that Wilmington was a ghost town and many of the ghosts were walking around. 

Scott’s narration was interrupted as his mobile phone rang and he took a moment to receive what appeared to be an important text message.  His phone, and those of the crew of the
Sovereign Spirit
still worked because the ship had its own local cell service, tied into the satellite phone system aboard for long distance calls and internet.  So Scott’s android still worked anywhere within about five miles of the ship.  Scott smiled as he typed a short reply and then looked back to his visitors.  They were eying his phone with envy.

            “Coming up on your left is the old Terminal Island Power Plant,” Scott was enjoying the role of tour guide and trying to sound like one, if only to annoy Michelle who was seated in the front row and kept giving him dirty looks whenever she thought he was being cocky or argumentative.  Scott continued, oblivious of her scowl, “This power plant was opened over one hundred years ago, in 1910 to be exact.  Of course it went through many transformations since then, up until 2005 when it was officially retired.  At that time it had seven combustion turbine generators and two steam turbine generators producing over 550 Megawatts of electricity.”  Everyone, including the mayor and even Commander Austin, looked impressed, not only by the capacity of the power plant but Scott’s command of its history.  Of course he had only researched the plant on the internet the night before, but he sounded like he was intimately familiar with it.

“It was closed down mainly because it didn’t meet modern air quality standards,” Scott explained.  “But California started experiencing energy shortages and rolling blackouts.  So the Terminal Island Plant was revived as an emergency backup during periods of peak demand.  Four of the seven combustion generators were refurbished and placed on 30 minute standby to be activated whenever the demand for power in Southern California reached critical levels.”  Scott smiled as the implications dawned on his audience.

            “That’ right,” Scott paused for effect.  “It was just sitting here ready to go on Z-Day and is waiting for us to turn it on right now.  For the past few hours we’ve had a team of technicians and an electrical engineer inspecting the plant, and I’m happy to say they’ve just informed me that they’re ready to flip the switch and start one of the generators.  That generator alone should give us about 65 megawatts of power, which is more than enough to provide shore power to all the ships and boats of the Flotilla that dock here.”

            “You mean you’re about to turn the power back on right now?” asked the mayor in disbelief.  His people had been telling him that there would be no more electricity except emergency generators for the foreseeable future.  But this upstart commodore had not only secured the food supplies that his same
people
had told him were already spoiled or unrecoverable, now he was going to restore electricity on a large scale?   It was preposterous! 

“Not exactly,” replied Scott.   “This will just be a static test today.  The technicians need time to reroute the switch gear to keep the power from leaking out into the rest of the grid.  However, we should have power restored to all of Terminal Island and secure areas in the Port of Long Beach within a few days.”  That was still a shocking accomplishment, if they could pull it off, but Scott had an even bigger bomb shell to drop on his guests from Los Angeles.

“In the long run,” Scott continued.  “The other three active generators could provide another 200 megawatts, much of which could be used elsewhere.   That would provide normal power usage for over 50,000 households, in pre-apocalypse terms.   In the current environment, I’d say it’s enough to power safe zones for up to a million people, if they conserve and share the energy effectively.  But I caution you that it would be a hell of a lot of work to run power lines to your people.  We can’t just pump it into the existing grid.  It would bleed off or short out.  However, if we find or salvage enough miles of power lines, we might be able to roll them out alongside of the railroad tracks and take power up to downtown LA and the Cal State safe zone we were discussing.  I’d be willing to commit up to 100 megawatts for your use, if all four of the generators prove operational.  And there’s also the possibility of getting the Redondo Beach and El Segundo power plants going again someday.  Those facilities could produce a lot more power than this old plant and almost all of it would be available for your safe zones. I’ll discuss the idea to our electrical experts when they get back from the plant.”

“This is unbelievable!” exclaimed Mayor Del Fuego.  The rest of his delegation nodded agreement.  “Are you actually offering to provide us with this electricity for free?”

“Not for free, your Honor,” Scott used his honorific title for the first time.  “It will have to be paid for in the blood and sweat of your people and mine.  This will not be a simple feat.  It will take weeks, perhaps months, to get electricity to your safe zones.  And part of your end of the bargain will be setting up the safe zones to begin with, because it’s impossible to get power to the people where they are hiding out now.  But the true deal will be sealed when you are willing to sign a treaty, or a pact, or compact, or whatever you want to call it, that will define the territory and mutual responsibilities of our respective groups.  I believe that, in the long run, our peoples will be mutually dependent on each other, if we have any hope of restoring a semblance of true civilization in this region.” 

“Your plans are impressive and your arguments are persuasive. You’ve convinced me that your motives are honorable too, Commodore Allen,” replied the mayor in what was probably his most formal tone of voice.  “I’m sure we can work something out.”

            The tour continued past the power plant and across the Gerald Desmond Bridge, where Clint had been bitten.  There were no longer any zombies on the bridge, but the barriers remained in place to keep strays from crossing the bridge in either direction.  While Marines from the escorting LAV dismounted and opened the gate, Scott decided to tell his visitors the story of what happened to Clint during their first expedition onto Terminal Island.  Mark and Jake sat quietly as Scott described their encounter with the mob of zombies and the fierce firefight that ensued.  When he came to the part where Clint was bitten his guests automatically assumed that the next thing he would describe would be how Clint died, or became a zombie.  They displayed looks of shock and disbelief when Scott began to describe the field amputation he had performed on the bridge.