03 Deluge of the Dead

Deluge of the Dead

Book Three of the Sovereign Spirit Saga

Copyright 2012

David P. Forsyth

All Rights Reserved

Note to Reader: Deluge of the Dead
is the 3
^rd
book in the Sovereign Spirit Saga which is intended to be read in order, starting with
Voyage of the Dead
at
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006Y3XF4A
and
Flotilla of the Dead
at
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007QOJJIC

This is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead (except for historical and public figures), is purely coincidental. Although many of the places and things depicted do exist, numerous liberties have been taken and intentional embellishments made.  This book does not purport to provide accurate descriptions of any actual locations, things, or entities.  To the best of the author’s knowledge there are no such things as zombies and no plans by anyone to create them.  This is an original work of fiction and all intellectual property rights are reserved by David P. Forsyth. 

Acknowledgements:

There are many people who have helped me to create the Sovereign Spirit Saga. Most notable among them is Pamela Rosenthal for her support, encouragement and often necessary criticism and suggestions, not to mention her struggle against my procrastination. Deluge of the Dead also includes contributions from readers who participated in the Role Playing Blog at
www.sovereignspirit.net
and/or a writing challenge in the Apocalypse Whenever group at
www.GoodReads.com
. I hope you enjoy their input as much as I did and wish to thank them all personally for granting permission to include their comments, which appear as emails and broadcasts received by the Sovereign Spirit. In no particular order, special thanks to Anthony Baker, Rejean Sours, Doyle Wren, Karen Benson, Mariusz Szymczak, Wanda P., Michael Flanagan, Ashleigh Wolfgang, Michael Lapointe, and Melanie Billings. I am also thankful for the advice and support provided by John S. Walsh since the inception of the Sovereign Spirit Saga.  

Deluge of the Dead

“This is Fox Rusher at the beleaguered GNN studios in Los Angeles where we continue to broadcast breaking news of the Zombie Apocalypse. It’s been two weeks since the Super Rabies virus swept the globe, bringing human civilization to its knees and decimating a large percentage of the world population. We continue to receive reports from scattered groups of survivors and isolated strongholds. It now seems clear that no major nation has gone unscathed by these apocalyptic events, but some places are faring better than others. Ships at sea and isolated islands appear to be some of the safest places to be. Other strongholds have been reported in mountainous regions and wilderness areas. However, no major cities of any size are free of infection and most populated areas appear to be overrun by undead cannibals. Experts blame modern air travel for the rapid and nearly universal spread of the disease.

Nevertheless, there may be some hopeful news on the local level here in Los Angeles. We have just received reports that a large group of the infected has been contained at the docks in San Pedro by elements of the newly formed Survival Flotilla. Our news helicopter is en route and we should be able to provide a live view of the scene shortly. We are also attempting to reach Commodore Allen for confirmation, but are told he is not currently available for comment. Let’s go live now to Chet Davis flying the GNN Eye in the Sky. Chet, are you there?”

“Yes, Fox, I’m flying over San Pedro now. The sun has already set and it’s a little difficult to see exactly what’s down there, but I’ll activate the helicopter’s flood light if necessary. First I want you to see this view of the growing Flotilla gathered at the Terminal Island Safe Haven. As I pan across the port you should be able to see the lights from thousands of boats and over a dozen larger ships. I also see many lights ashore, including some streetlights, indicating that they have at least part of the power plant here running again. And now, looking out to sea, there seems to be a convoy of more ships and boats approaching from Catalina Island. It looks like there are four, no five cruise ships and hundreds, perhaps over a thousand small craft approaching the harbor. This is a truly impressive and inspiring sight, Fox.”

“Indeed it is, Chet! The Commodore has obviously followed through on his plans to organize the Boat People off the coast of Southern California and form a safe haven for them on Terminal Island. But, Chet, can you see any sign of zombies being contained over in San Pedro?”

“Yes, Fox, I’ve spotted a lot of activity at the southwest tip of the docks. I’m zooming in now… Dear God! Can you see this, Fox?”

“Yes, Chet, what do you make of it? Please describe what you see for our listeners on satellite radio.”

“Of course… Well, to tell you the truth, I’m not quite sure what I’m seeing. There seems to be thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of zombies gathered together on a large finger of land jutting out into the bay. I can tell they are all zombies by the way they turn and reach towards the helicopter as I circle them, almost like a crowd doing the wave in a stadium. What I can’t quite understand is how they are being contained there. I don’t see any fences or walls holding them back, but there is some organized activity near the base of the little peninsula. I’m zooming in for a look… Now that’s strange. There seems to be a group of normal people down there setting up hoses and sprinklers that are spraying something towards the zombies. Are you seeing this, Fox? Whatever that liquid is, the zombies appear to be afraid of it…”

“Turn that shit off, and hold her still,” growled Scag as he loosened his belt. He didn’t want the distraction of news reports while he was raping the girl. She was a cute little thing, even after being raped and beaten by a few of Scag’s gang of Surf Nazis.  He wasn’t happy about that.  As gang leader he should have had first dibs on her, especially since she appeared to have been a virgin, but everyone was getting tense these days. It was getting harder and harder to control his skinhead followers. 

The girl, Scag thought her name was Nicky, was the daughter of a man who had brought his family to the Aquarium of the Pacific in Long Beach on the morning of Z-Day, probably before they realized that the end of the world was at hand.  They were among more than a hundred people who sought shelter in the big aquarium building that day.  The doors were strong enough to hold off a horde of zombies and the security guard had the presence of mind to let survivors in and lock up before the infected arrived. Those people had been safe in the Aquarium until Scag and his gang arrived on the third day. 

The Surf Nazis had spent the first two days of the Apocalypse looting and pillaging the suburbs of Long Beach on a drug fueled rampage.  It was pure luck that over a hundred skinheads and their bitches had come to Scag’s Paint and Auto Body shop for an all-nighter on Saturday.  They were all tweaking on crystal meth and working their way through the third keg of beer when the outrageous reports of zombies reached them. Nobody believed it, not until the first of the undead crashed their party about 3AM.  The next 48 hours were a blur in Scag’s memory, full of blood, violence, drugs, laughter and screams, always the screams.  Most of the terror and pain had been caused by the mindless zombies, but a good portion was also generated by his Surf Nazis after they realized that the cops were gone and with them all the rules of civilized behavior. 

Scag’s gang had saddled up at dawn on April 1
^st
.  More than half of them rode motorcycles.  The rest crammed into several vans and SUVs.  Scag drove the big tow-truck wrecker that he kept behind the auto-body shop.  Several of the gang had pistols with them.  Scag handed out two shotguns that he kept at the shop, keeping a 12 gauge pump for himself.  He did his best to arm the rest of the gang with improvised weapons, such as wrenches, tire irons, and anything that could be used to club or cut the zombies, but it was clear that their top priority should be getting more guns and ammo.

The first place they looted was Sam’s Gun Shop.  Unfortunately for Sam – at least Scag assumed it was Sam – a bunch of zombies had attacked the old man as he tried to unlock the door that first morning of the apocalypse. The Surf Nazis found his body surrounded by five corpses and it looked as if old Sam had used the last 44 magnum round in his revolver on the roof of his own mouth.  Three zombies were huddled over his body, eating his spilled brains, as the gang pulled up in front of the store.  The skinheads who already had guns made quick work of the zombies and stayed on the street as Scag led the rest of them into the gun shop, pausing to relieve Sam’s body of the keys.  After that they were the best armed group on the streets of Long Beach and the most dangerous.

Scag led his gang on a thrill ride that included looting liquor stores, supermarkets and several medical marijuana dispensaries around town.  He also took them to his secret meth lab where they picked up his stash of more than a kilo of crystal.  All of them were constantly shooting zombies and doing drugs.  They had many opportunities to save other people, but seldom got involved, unless there was something in it for them.  That something was usually female.  If they came across a woman or girl in distress, they would save her from the zombies and then take turns raping her.  Scag thought that was a fair trade-off for all concerned. 

Some of the women they encountered joined the gang out of desperation; others were left on side of the road to fend for themselves.  Most of those women probably didn’t survive for long – especially the ones who watched the Surf Nazis kill their husbands or boyfriends before being gang raped.  Yeah, the rules had changed and Scag was riding higher than at any other time in his life.

Of course he hadn’t always been known as Scag.  His real name was Luther James Bishop and he had once been a good boy – at least that is what his parents and teachers said.  It wasn’t until after his disfiguring accident that Luther became Scag. It was a freak surfing accident when he was seventeen. A younger kid caught a wave and ran over Luther with his surfboard.  The board’s fin, or scag as surfers call them, ripped Luther’s face open from ear to jaw and back up to the corner of his mouth.  The scar was shaped like the upside-down fin of a shark, or the scag of the surfboard that had done the damage. 

That was how he got his nickname, but it hadn’t stopped there.  Luther never forgave the younger boy for maiming him.  A year later he had spotted the same kid out surfing early in the morning, before the beach got crowded or lifeguards arrived.  Luther had paddled out to confront him and Scag returned to the beach alone. The other boy was reported to have drowned in the high surf.  From that day on Luther embraced the name Scag and turned away from the path his parents had hoped he would follow.  Within a few years he was covered in tattoos and moving up the ranks of the Surf Nazi hierarchy. He also grew into a strong and intimidating brute that loved to fight and enjoyed inflicting pain on weaker beings. By the time the zombies arrived Scag had already become a monster of a different kind.