02 Flotilla of the Dead (39 page)

              “Does that mean we will be guarded and confined there?” Carl asked politely.

            “No more so than all of us are guarded and confined inside these barricades,” George replied with a grin.  “The Reserve Center is empty right now, but it has power and a secure fence to keep stray zombies away.  You’ll need to set up your own guards, if you want them.  You can leave the compound too, if you like, but I’d ask that you wait for Commodore Allen to arrive first.  He’s anxious to meet all of you.”

            “Sounds good,” Carl agreed with a smile.  “Is there a water supply there?  Or access to the ocean?  If there’s any chance of zombie attacks, we’ll want to refill our supply of water for the fire trucks.”

            “Yes, we can arrange for that,” George agreed.  “And I’m sure that’s something that the Commodore will want to discuss with you too.  Am I correct in assuming that you’ve been using the zombies’ fear of water as a defense?”

            “Yes, sir,” confirmed Carl.  “It works like a charm.”

            “That’s fantastic,” George exclaimed.  “I can’t believe nobody else figured that out yet.  Well, no need to explain it twice and the Commodore will want to hear all about it, so let’s get you people settled in and you can relax for a few minutes until his plane arrives.”

            Carl nodded agreeably and issued instructions for everyone in the convoy to mount up and follow him to their new compound.  George offered to ride with Carl and show him the way.  Seeing Karen in the passenger seat, he went to get into the back seat.  Just then, however, the Marines arrived in a LAV-25, with the bigger Amtrac right behind it.  They were loaded for bear and kept their weapons trained on the convoy as George went to speak with the Marines for a moment.  After a few moments the LAV-25 turned around to lead the convoy to the Reserve Center and the bigger Amtrac pulled over to let the convoy pass.  It would continue to the barricade which was holding back a horde of zombies.

When George returned to the SUV Carl noticed that the Marine escort, who had arrived ready for a fight, looked much more relaxed and no longer pointed their weapons at the convoy.  That, he decided, was a very good sign.  They followed the Marines’ armored vehicle down the open highway, looking with interest and slight apprehension at the large industrial island that would, if all went well, become their new home. 

Chapter 9:  Operation Pied Piper

“The prophetic type will steadfastly refuse to see the world as a museum; it will insist that here is a stage set for a drama that perpetually begins.”  H. G. Wells,
What is Coming?

*****

            Scott was surprised and excited by news of the convoy’s arrival.  He had been flying the Seawind down the coast of Malibu, about to turn out over the ocean towards Catalina when word arrived over the satellite phone.  He immediately switched course for Terminal Island instead.  It was less than a ten minute flight at 200 mph.  Scott shared the news with Michelle as he cut across the Santa Monica Bay towards LAX at low altitude, then climbed to soar over the Palos Verde Peninsula. 

            “Where do you think they came from?” asked Michelle after thinking for a few minutes about Captain Fisher’s report.  “I thought you said nobody would be able to get to the port by land?”

            “I’m just as surprised as you are, honey,” Scott replied.  “But Jordy mentioned something about them using water from fire trucks as a defense against zombies.  Whoever came up with that is brilliant.  It’s so damned simple.  I should have thought of it as soon as I realized the zombies have hydrophobia.”

            “Well, you can’t think of everything, Scott,” said Michelle.  “In fact, you’ve been getting a little too arrogant for comfort lately, and I don’t just mean since the zombies showed up.  Ever since you won that damned lottery you have been acting like God’s gift to the world, instead of the other way around.”

            “What are you talking about, honey?” asked Scott indignantly.

            “You know what I mean, damn it!” said Michelle.  “I love you, honey, but you have to admit that you’ve let this whole commodore and flotilla thing go to your head.  You’re a good man, Scott.  You always were.  But then you won all that money, bought all this stuff, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, the world went poof and you found yourself in charge of the leftovers. Well, get over it.  Your name is Scott, not Jesus.”

            Scott gave her an embarrassed grin and tried to take her advice to heart as the ports of Los Angeles and Long Beach came into view.  He swooped down, still at full speed, and flew above the Vincent Thomas Bridge.  He was shocked to see a virtual sea of zombies covering every inch of every lane of the bridge and realized that all of them must have chased the convoy here.

            “Oh my God!” exclaimed Michelle as she saw them too. “Where did they all come from?” 

            “From everyplace that convoy drove past, I suppose,” replied Scott with a hint of concern.  “There must be more than ten thousand of them on the bridge, all pressed up against our barricades.  The guards are probably shitting themselves.”  The Seawind zoomed over the bridge and flew past the Reserve Center where Scott and Michelle had a bird’s eye view of the convoy as the vehicles were still moving into a semi-circle formation in front of the main building.  Scott approved of their planning, since they had no way to be sure if they were safe from either zombies or the Flotilla yet.  Nevertheless, he was more than a little worried about the number of zombies that they had brought to the gate of the new safe haven.  He banked sharply back to cross the bridge again and confirmed the almost unbelievable number of undead filling it.  He even noticed one of the zombies get knocked over the side of the bridge by the press of the mob, but felt no pity as it pinwheeled down to the deep channel below.

            “I need to get down there,” said Scott as he slowed the aircraft and prepared for landing.  He had planned to land next to the Sea Launch Commander, but then he noticed that his fishing yacht was tied up to the pier below the bridge.  “I’m going to drop you off on the
Expiscator
while I see to the defenses and meet the newcomers.”  Michelle just nodded and continued to gape at all of the zombies on the bridge. 

            Scott flew a mile east of the bridge and circled back to set down in the Turning Basin.  He leveled off at ten feet above the water doing 80 mph and pulled the throttle back until the hull of the Seawind kissed the water and slowed rapidly as it settled down.  Scott immediately increased power to keep the hull planing at 40 mph as he steered it under the bridge to where the
Expiscator
was docked.  He had a moment of concern as another zombie fell, or was pushed, or even jumped, from the bridge and hit the water less than fifty feet from the passing seaplane.  Then he was under the bridge and slowing quickly to pull the Seawind up to the stern of his yacht.  Stan Dawson was waiting to receive him on the swim step. 

            “Welcome back, Mr. Allen, I mean Commodore,” Stan called out as Scott opened the cockpit canopy and tossed him a nylon mooring line.  “I’m glad you got here so soon, sir.  Mr. Hammer has taken the newcomers over to the Reserve Center. The gates on barricade are secure, but I guess you saw how many goddamned zombies followed those people onto the bridge!”

            “Yes, Stan,” agreed Scott as he climbed onto the yacht’s swim step and turned to help Michelle exit the cockpit.  “I want to get up there.  Mrs. Allen will remain here with you.  Be ready to cast off and head for mid-channel if those zombies get past the barricade.”

            “Yes, sir,” replied the young skipper.  “I’ll call up to the bridge guards for them to lower the basket for you.  That’s how Mr. Hammer got up there.”

            Scott had his doubts about the winch contraption that George had rigged as a homemade elevator.  Even though it never bothered him in an aircraft, Scott had a mild fear of heights.  Nevertheless, he set his apprehension aside and nodded affirmation when Stan looked at him expectantly.  Kissing Michelle briefly as she squeezed his hand, Scott turned to look up at the bridge.  As his ears cleared from the buzz of the aircraft’s engine he could hear the inhuman moans and wails coming from the horde of zombies above him.  It was the last place he wanted to go, but he needed to see this for himself.  He climbed off the boat, onto the dock, and walked swiftly towards the spot where the basket would descend to pick him up. 

            Scott pulled out his cell phone as the basket was being lowered.  The
Sovereign Spirit
was much too far away to provide actual cell service, but the ‘push to talk’ feature on the phones used by the crew and select passengers had a walkie-talkie capability of up to five miles.  Scott keyed in George’s name and pushed to talk.

            “George? This is Scott.  I’m under the bridge and about to ride your bucket up.  Where are you?” He released the button and waited a few seconds for a response.

            “Scott?  Uhmm, Commodore?” George Hammer’s voice sounded stressed.  “I’m at the Reserve Center with the people from the convoy.  I was about to come back to the bridge with the Marines.  Is everything okay?”

            “Is everything okay?!” Scott tried to keep his voice calm.  “You tell me, George.  I’m standing under a bridge that’s so jammed full of zombies that they’re pushing each other off into the damned channel.  Get back here with those Marines and anything else we might need to defend the barricade.  Do you copy?” 

            “Yes, sir,” replied George.  “I’m bringing the leader of this convoy with me too.  He has some interesting ways of dealing with zombies.” 

            “I heard about his fire truck and water cannon,” Scott responded quickly.  “Can he bring it back here too?  We might need it.”  There was a brief pause while Scott assumed George was conversing with the newcomers.

            “Yes, Commodore,” George answered.  “We’ll bring the fire truck, but it’s out of water.”

            “Just bring it,” Scott said as the bucket reached the ground and he stepped into the man-cage with mild trepidation.  “There’s a whole ocean of water over here.”  The winch was already winding him up towards the bridge.  Scott looked up at the bridge.  It was better on his nerves than looking down, even though he could see hundreds of zombies lining the rail along the length of the span beyond the barricade. 

As the makeshift elevator arrived at bridge level, Scott was greeted by Tom Hillsdale and Craig Burns, whom he remembered as the UCSB students George had rescued in Cabo. “What’s the situation here?” Scott asked as they held the cage steady for him to step out onto the bridge. 

“The barricade is holding steady, but it’s getting a bit scary, sir,” replied Craig.  Tom nodded in emphatic agreement.  “There’s just so damned many of them!”

Scott scowled and walked towards the barricade.  He was happy to see over a dozen armed men standing on top of the containers, including at least four Marines.  The big Amtrac was also parked behind the gate with a gunner standing up in the gun turret.  It wasn’t a lot of firepower, compared to the level of the threat, but their presence was comforting.  Scott knew that their only real defense was the strength of the barricade itself. 

Scott climbed twenty feet up a ladder to the top of the stacked containers.  He wasn’t looking forward to what awaited him, but felt the need to face it.  The sound of zombies pounding on the outside of the barrier, combined with their massed moans, was almost deafening.  The smell of so many undead bodies assaulted his nose and turned his stomach.  And sight of the horde, once he stood atop the barricade, was more than breathtaking.  It was a solid mass of bodies, shoulder to shoulder, ass to crotch, spanning the entire length and width of the bridge, with more arriving and bunching up on the opposite shoreline.  “Dear mother of God,” Scott whispered.

*****

Carl wasn’t surprised that zombies had followed the convoy to the bridge, but he really hadn’t expected there to be quite so many of them.  It had actually stunned him when he realized the extent of the parade of horror that he led to the gate of the safe haven.  Talk about the pied piper!  At least the barricade seemed to be strong enough to hold them off, but he was a little apprehensive about the welcome he and the others in the convoy from the refinery would receive from the Commodore when he saw how many zombies they had brought to his doorstep. 

He was about to find out.  Carl had seen and heard the sleek little amphibious plane when it zoomed over the bridge and Reserve Center as he was organizing the convoy into a defensive perimeter.  He had also been with Mr. Hammer when Scott called from below the bridge. Now George Hammer sat next to him in the Suburban with Karen in the back seat as they followed the LAV-25 back to the bridge.  The Panther trailed behind them while the other fire truck remained with the rest of the convoy at the Reserve Center.  Carl’s apprehension peaked as they pulled up to the barricade and he spotted a man who must be the Commodore standing on top of the containers, staring at the zombies beyond.  The man turned and gave a stiff nod as George and Carl got out of the SUV, then waved them up the ladder to join him.

 When they reach the top of the barricade the man said, “Hi George, who’s our new friend here?”  His voice was pleasant enough, but there was steel in his eyes. 

“I’m Carl Stiller, sir,” replied Carl before George could speak.  “I brought the convoy from El Segundo and it looks like I brought all of these zombies here too.  However, I can assure you that was not part of the plan.  I had no idea that so many of them would follow us here.”  Carl had to raise his voice slightly to be heard over the moans of the zombies and his words trailed off as he gazed out over at least ten thousand zombies that filled the bridge he has so recently crossed.  “Holy crap…” he finished lamely.

“Yes indeed,” Scott said and even forced a smile.  “Well, I didn’t really think you intended to bring them all with you.  We’ll need to find a way to get rid of them, but I guess the important thing is that you made it here safely and the barricade seems to be working as intended.  I’m more interested in where you came from and how you were able to get here.  You say you started in El Segundo?”