SURVIVORS OF THE DEAD: FROM THE ASHES (17 page)

“Hey! What the hell’s going on?” Derrick yelled in annoyance.

Frank could not hear Derrick’s protest nor would he have bothered responding since he was intently watching the cab monitor view from the rear-mounted camera. He saw the truck collide with a mass of ten or twelve infected with jarring results. He braked once he had backed up just past Webster, moved the gear shift selector to drive, then turned right and raced down the street.

“Damn it,
Rookie! If you can’t drive this fuckin' thing, pull over and let someone who can!” Derrick bellowed after being thrown into Harry for the second time.

Harry leaned back, pushing Derrick off and said, “You know he can’t hear you, right?”

“Yeah, I know. Makes me feel better to vent though,” Derrick replied while bringing his rifle up and sighting in on another small group of infected converging on the truck from behind. “I hate rollercoasters and this is what it feels like!” With that he fired, bringing down six of his targets with as many shots.

Harry and Derrick continued to fire their weapons until the Bearcat was about three blocks from making the left turn onto Marina Boulevard which would take them to their destination – the marina entrance. Harry began to notice that the infected had thinned considerably. Stepping down and off the platform, Harry tapped Derrick on the leg, waving him in. Derrick nodded his reply and also stepped down, then pushed the switch next to the hatch to close it.

Harry made his way back to the passenger seat while looking intently through the windshield. Frank asked, “Left on Marina Boulevard?”

“Yeah, then drive over to the Green so we can get a closer look at the docks,” Harry replied. The Marina Green was a strip of grassy land used for flying kites, jogging, football, picnics and other general public use.

Frank followed Harry’s instructions, making the turn and bringing the truck up to a good clip down Marina Boulevard. They covered the short distance to the eastern edge of the Marina Green very quickly. As he rounded the slight curve of the street, however, he stomped on the brakes before he reached the beginning of the Green proper, throwing Derrick into the center console.

Derrick had to pull himself off the center console and prepared to remind Frank that he still had a long way to go before receiving his NASCAR license. As he looked up through the front windshield he changed his mind. “Oh my God!” was all he could manage. What had once been a beautiful green oasis in a city otherwise covered in asphalt had been transformed. It could best be described as a vision of Dante's epic poem, Divine Comedy; what Dante surely would have seen on his journey through Hell.

“Frank, shut us down now!” Harry commanded, and Frank immediately turned off the Bearcat.

There were several things that stood out very clearly for Harry, all of which he took in at the same time. The first was the dead bodies, and as many body parts, carpeting the area with what appeared to be dozens of all-too-active infected milling around. Several creatures at the rear edge of the horde had noticed the Bearcat’s arrival, turning toward it. Fortunately they seemed to be more interested in what was in front of them, and quickly turned away once the truck stopped moving.
Harry was also interested in what held their attention.

The Marina Green was rectangular in shape, with Marina Boulevard on its south side and Marina Green Drive on the north, closest to the edge of the
Bay waters. The infected appeared to be moving toward the marina harbor area which lay to the west side of the Green.

“Frank, get us moving and head toward the harbor entrance but go slowly. Let’s not attract any more attention than we have to,” Harry said while gazing at the scene before him.

Frank started the truck and drove slowly toward Yacht Road, which would take them to the main entrance of the Marina Harbor and the docks where the boats were berthed. The truck drew some attention from the throngs of infected, with a few closest to the outer edges breaking off to investigate, but for the most part the truck was not what held the horde’s interest. Although moving fairly slowly, Frank was able to outdistance any curiosity seekers from getting too close.

Once the truck had travelled about halfway between the Green and Yacht Road, Harry said, “Pull us over here, Frank. Let’s see what has these things so interested.”

Frank brought the truck to a stop and shut down the engine. Looking out of the passenger door window, Harry had a fairly clear view of the area. This side of the harbor ran parallel to the shoreline and was where the heaviest concentration of the infected appeared to be amassing. Because the truck sat high, he not only could see the infected that were lining the shore facing the dock, he could also see just about all of the boat slips.

Approximately thirty feet from the water’s edge were several dozen boats of various types; Harry could just make out from his vantage point that many of those boats had live survivors aboard each. They were staring back at the crowd of infected as if some divine intervention would bestow itself upon the situation to save them from the horde. Some sat on the edge of their boats with feet casually dangling over the sides. Others paced back and forth with blunt weapons in hand – everything from bats to hammers – as if they were waiting for the infected to commence their assault on this small flotilla. Harry could only make out a few of the details.

The last thing that Harry noticed was sitting just to the east of the remaining docks and boats: the SFFD Fireboat Phoenix II. He knew the boat immediately, as he had been invited to the christening of this awesome vessel. He was also privileged to have been among a few to tour the fire department’s newest addition to their fleet that day. The particular boat that Harry now saw sitting in the Bay waters had replaced another bearing the same name. The original Phoenix had been constructed in the mid 1950’s, and had been instrumental in saving the Marina District in the aftermath of the 1989 earthquake when the entire area lost water pressure. The old boat was able to pump water from the Bay, charging fire hoses and refilling tankers which helped to save many structures. After much debate it was determined that the Phoenix had serviced the department well, but with age came deterioration. The cost of hull repairs and the needed modifications to update the electronics of the old boat was nearly as much as the cost of a new one. It was finally decided to retire the Phoenix. Realizing the boat’s vital contribution, the fire department spent millions of dollars on what was then christened the Phoenix II.

At nearly ninety feet long and twenty-five feet wide, painted bright red with white trimming, the Phoenix II was very impressive. It had six fire monitors, sometimes referred to as water cannon, and twenty-six manifold valves used to connect hose line. With massive onboard pumping capabilities, it could deliver more than sixteen thousand gallons of water per minute with enough pressure to put water on target from a distance of over three hundred feet.

Boasting a steel hull with a main deck and forward-positioned pilothouse, it could accommodate three crewmembers, four firefighters, and up to sixty rescue victims. It also had forward-looking infrared (FLIR) to aid with search and rescue, along with a fuel capacity that allowed the boat to remain on scene and pumping water for up to thirty-six hours without refueling.

Harry could not understand why the Phoenix II was sitting idle and not attempting to assist the people on the other boats. He could detect movement but it was too far away to see anything clearly; he hoped the movement he saw was a good sign.

“Frank, can you get the fire department frequency on the radio and see who answers the phone?”

“You’re on, LT,” Frank replied almost immediately, having anticipated Harry’s request.

Pulling the radio mic from the dash clip, Harry said, “Phoenix II, do you copy this frequency?” Waiting a few moments without a reply he tried again, “Fireboat Phoenix II, this is the San Francisco Police Department unit off your port, do you copy?” There was still no reply from the radio, but there did seem to be increased activity. “Did we pack long eyes with the toothbrushes?” Harry asked.

“Try these,” Derrick said, handing him a pair of tactical binoculars.

“Okay, let’s see what these guys are doing,” Harry muttered as he focused in on the boat. What he saw made him sit up in the seat. Without taking his eyes from what he was observing, he said, “Derry, time to go to work; get eyes on that boat.”

“On it Harry,” Derrick responded without question, turning back to the rear compartment to retrieve his Remington 700P sniper rifle from the wall rack. After hitting the switch which opened the roof hatch, he stepped up on the platform. Glancing around the truck to make certain there were no unwelcome guests, he quickly unfolded the front bipod, setting the sniper rifle on the roof and uncapping the scope. Derrick scanned the fireboat that was brought in near and clear through the scope, immediately seeing what Harry was looking at below.

“Harry, what’re we going to do here?”

What Harry saw on the boat, and Derrick was now focused in on, was a heavily tattooed white male with a shaved head. This individual was standing in the pilot house holding a handgun directly to the head of a man who appeared to be a firefighter standing behind the controls of the boat. There were two other people on their knees in the rear of the boat with their hands on top of their heads.

“Phoenix II, we see that you have company and we certainly do not want to appear rude, but it would be nice to have a little chat,” Harry said into the mic without moving the binocs from his eyes. The thug in the pilot house obviously screamed something at the fireman. Harry saw the crewmember lean forward slightly, picking up a radio mic.

Before the firefighter could say anything, the thug grabbed the mic from the firefighter and shouted, “YOU BETTER GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE BEFORE I START WASTING THESE DUDES! You got no right to be harassing me. I know my rights! I ain’t gonna let them things get me! I got to get outta here and this here boat is doing just that! You hear me!” With some alarm Harry saw the thug push the gun into the back of the crewmember’s head, emphasizing his point.

Harry took the binocs away from his face enough to rub his eyes. He leaned back in the seat, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. “Listen,” Harry calmly said into the radio mic after giving the thug a moment to calm down from his rant, “there’s enough going on without adding to it, friend. We are all scared but we need to work together to get through this.”

That was all Harry was able to say before he heard the sound of a muffled shot. Even through the thick armor of the Bearcat the sound was unmistakable. Quickly raising the binocs to his eyes again, he was in time to see one of the crewmembers slump to the deck at the rear of the boat.

“That nut just shot one of those people!” Derrick said, peering intently through the scope of the sniper rifle, his hands gripped tightly around the stock.

Harry had known anger in his life, especially over the past few weeks, but what he felt at that moment was pure animalistic rage. A rage so powerful that it began in the pit of his stomach and radiated throughout his being. His hands trembled slightly as he held the binocs to his eyes.

“Harry …” Frank began, but a radio transmission from the fireboat interrupted any further discussion.

“YOU SEE WHAT YOU MADE ME DO! I’m serious SO BACK THE FUCK OUTTA HERE before I waste more of these guys!” It was the thug, and the tone of his voice was nearing the point of being panic-stricken.

Without removing the binocs from his eyes, Harry reached down and picked up the radio mic that had fallen into his lap. Depressing the transmit button he very calmly replied, “Okay, take it easy buddy, we’re leaving.”

“Frank, back us up. Very slowly,” Harry instructed.

Frank started the big truck and put it in reverse, smoothly backing up as instructed. This garnered the attention of several infected again on the outer edge of the group, who immediately turned toward the sound of the heavy engine and started in the men’s direction.

25

Continuing to watch the activity on the boat, Harry saw that the thug had moved slightly away from the crewmember he had been holding the pistol on during the radio exchange. Apparently the thug thought he no longer needed a shield.

“Derry, do you have the shot?” Harry asked, knowing that Derrick would still be looking through the scope of the sniper rifle. Training would have taken over and he would be prepared to take out a target of opportunity. In this case, one heavily tattooed white male with a shaved head standing in the pilothouse.

“I have the shot,” Derrick intoned coldly.

“You are cleared to take the shot,” Harry said in the same deadly calm voice he had used to speak to the thug just moments before. Before he was able to inhale after giving that order, there was a crack from Derrick’s rifle. Harry watched through the binocs as the thug’s head whipped back and the body slumped to the deck floor.

“Harry, we have company,” Frank said nervously as he brought the big truck to a full stop. Lowering the binocs, Harry saw that there were now at least two dozen infected quickly making their way toward the Bearcat, with several others from the horde also turning their attention toward the source of their brethren’s interest.

“Derrick, button up. Frank, take us away from the area and hang a left on Broderick. Go up a few blocks and we’ll circle around and try to lose these things,” Harry said while staring through the windshield, watching the infected advance toward them.

“Got it Harry,” Frank replied while putting the truck in gear once again; he started toward Broderick which was just one street down from their current location. He quickly closed the distance and made the left hand turn as Harry had directed, accelerating just as the radio came to life, startling both men sitting in the front seats.

“Fireboat to SFPD, do you copy?” a rather shaky voice said over the radio.

Picking up the mic, Harry said, “Fireboat we copy, this is Harry Lancaster. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, we’re good, considering. Never experienced anything like that before though. What a rush! My name is Philip Sanchez. Phil. I’m a paramedic assigned out of Station 2. Wow, I can’t believe you took that guy out. He was standing right beside me! Damn, there’s blood all over the place! Anyway, a couple of the other guys and I were able to make it to the Phoenix just as one of the crew was taking it out. One
of the guys didn’t make it though. Too many of those things running around. What’s up with all these people? Haven’t heard much news because I’ve been moving around the City. These things are everywhere! Almost didn’t make it a few times. Are you leaving? Hey, you really need to help us …”

Frank had been quietly listening to Phil ramble on, but finally glanced to Harry with a puzzled look on his face and asked, “Is that guy alright?”

Harry nodded slightly, acknowledging Frank; he knew Phil’s rambling was a direct result of what he had just gone through. On top of what he must have already experienced over the past couple of weeks in the City. Post-traumatic stress. Harry had seen this many times over the years in victims of crime. People are not usually prepared for traumatic events that life can sometimes throw up in the middle of a perfectly good day, let alone the current state of affairs.

“Harry,” Derrick began, looking out of the rear door armored windows, “we need to pick up the pace. They’re gaining on us.”

“Frank, get us moving. Go up to Beach Street and jog around,” Harry said.

Frank accelerated down the relatively clear street, only having to swerve around a few vehicles. He reached Beach within a couple of minutes, slowing as he approached to make the left-hand turn. This time he was forced almost to a standstill as he navigated around a MUNI bus that blocked part of the intersection.

“Let’s go down two more blocks and start heading back toward the marina,” Harry said to Frank as he depressed the mic button to speak. “Phil, I need for you to maintain radio silence for a few minutes while we lose the tail we have attracted, and then I’ll let you know what we need to do. Do you copy that, Fireboat?”

“Copy that,” Phil said, sounding like he had regained his composure a bit.

Derrick had moved from the back window up to the front passenger compartment while listening to the exchange, and now said, “So what is it exactly we are going to do, Harry?”

“No clue yet,” Harry replied, looking intently through the windshield and frantically trying to come up with something. He knew they had to get back to the marina and try to organize those people. He also knew that they could not just keep driving around the City trying to avoid the infected. Their luck would run out eventually. Harry watched as Frank made the left onto Beach and remained quiet until they’d gone several blocks east.

“Stop here, Frank. Turn the engine off and let’s sit it out for a few minutes and see what happens,” Harry said. He desperately hoped that without the noise from the big engine those things in pursuit would either lose interest or would be unable to find them. At least long enough for him to come up with a plan.

“Gotcha,” Frank said as he stopped the truck and then turned the key to kill the engine. The silence was almost deafening, and all three men jumped when Phil’s voice came through the radio speaker.

“Sorry to break radio silence here,” Phil intoned, “but you guys better come up with something soon. It looks like there are more of those things arriving, and the fog is beginning to roll in through the Gate.” Phil was referring to the entrance to the Bay from the Pacific Ocean around the Golden Gate Bridge.

“THAT’S IT!” Harry shouted, startling both Frank and Derrick again.

“WHAT!” Derrick shouted his response as Frank simply stared with his mouth slightly agape.

“I’ve got an idea,” Harry said, then keyed the radio mic. “Okay Phil, we copy. I think I have an idea but you need to get somebody who can operate that boat at the controls.”

“No problem. Jimi is one of the boat’s crew and as soon as he helps me finish getting Gus patched up I’m pretty sure he can take care of that,” Phil said.

“Who the hell is Gus?” Harry quickly asked.

“He’s the firefighter who got shot. It was a through and through wound to the upper shoulder. Looks like no major damage but he’s going to be hurting for a while, that’s for sure. I’ve got some stuff in the med kit that should take care of that for now, though.”

“Yes!” Frank said while doing a fist pump.

Harry’s relief was beyond description. He’d been sure the guy had been killed when the thug shot him. Glancing first to Frank and then back to Derrick, both with huge smiles on their faces at the news, Harry replied, “That’s fantastic news, Phil! Take care of Gus, then ask Jimi to get ready to move the boat as close to the bayside of the marina entrance as possible. Can you ask him how hard it is to use those two forward monitors?”

“Sure thing, hold on just a sec,” Phil replied.

“What are you thinking, Harry?” Derrick asked while waiting for Phil respond.

“I’m thinking we can use the fog and some high pressure water to disperse the crowd from around that main gate a bit,” Harry said excitedly. “If the same thing happens that I saw getting to the station, the fog should disorient them, and with the added water from the monitors we should have a nearly straight shot to that gate. We’re going to get wet but I think we can make it.”

“Harry, I don’t know about this plan of yours, buddy,” Derrick said a bit apprehensively.

“Hey Harry, Jimi said that both of those forward monitors can be operated very easily. All we have to do is switch on the hull intake pumps and we’re good to go. Once he gets the boat into position he and I can operate them well enough,” Phil said through the radio, interrupting Derrick. “What do you have in mind?”

“That’s great, Phil. I need you to let me know the minute you guys are ready to move. I don’t want you to rush attending to Gus, but time is of the essence here so do your best to get it done quickly,” Harry replied through the mic.

“We’ll be ready in about ten minutes. I’ll let you know when we’re moving,” Phil said.

“10-4,” Harry said.

Harry glanced toward Frank. “Head us back toward to the marina. Hopefully the boat crew will be moving by the time we get there.”

Without replying, Frank started the truck and made the first left turn he came to. This section of San Francisco, referred to as the Marina District, contained a maze of smaller streets that to those not use to navigating could be very confusing. Short winding streets sometimes abruptly changing names, although appearing to be the same street. Luckily Frank knew the area well and was having no difficulty finding the quickest route. Just as he turned onto Retiro Way, the men in the truck saw a woman and a child run into the street about ten houses up from their location.

Although she could not be heard through the thick metal and bullet resistant glass of the truck, it was obvious she was screaming. Equally obvious was the fact she was not infected. She was pushing a young girl in front of her and was looking over her shoulder.
The three men in the truck also saw what she was looking at. Eight or ten of the infected were closing in on her with only about twenty-five yards separating them.

“Oh shit,” Frank said, stepping on the brakes of the truck hard enough to throw Harry and Derrick forward, both men grabbing onto anything they could to keep from impacting with the dash.

“They’re not going to make it,” Derrick said after quickly recovering from the violent forward motion. He stared out of the front windshield in the direction of the running duo.

Harry had recovered only slightly faster than Derrick and, while opening the passenger side door of the truck, he quickly said, “Get the truck rolling and follow me, but nobody else is to get out!” Before Frank or Derrick could protest, Harry grabbed his AR-15, jumped down from the truck, slamming the door shut, and ran to meet the woman.

As he approached her and without breaking stride, Harry shouted, “GET TO THE TRUCK!” With that he ran past her and the kid. The girl, rather. She looked directly at Harry. The terror in her eyes was beyond question, but he did not have time to stop and console. Running further past them a few yards, he saw that six more infected had joined the small horde which was rapidly closing the gap. He could hear the truck behind him but did not look back to see its exact location. Bringing the AR-15 up to his shoulder, he sighted in and began firing.

Harry’s complete focus was forward and through the sights of the weapon. Firing short bursts at first one of the infected and then another, he dropped each of his targets. Although he began to realize that the group did not appear to be getting smaller, and they were now only ten feet or so from reaching him! “I am seriously getting too old for this shit,” he once again reminded himself when he realized the rifle was empty. Allowing the AR to drop on the sling attached to his tactical vest, he quickly drew the Glock and resumed firing. With one shot, a head exploded and the target went down. Shooting again, he hit one of the infected in the shoulder, spinning it around. The group was close now and Harry began to think he was done. “You may finish me,” Harry said with determination while hitting another of the things and dropping it in the process, “but I am going to take a couple more of you out before you do!”

At that moment the air horn from the Bearcat sounded directly behind Harry, startling him enough to nearly cause him to jump squarely into the putrid outstretched arms of the infected rapidly closing in on him. Instead he leaped to the left, feeling the Bearcat pass with what felt like mere inches to spare with a rush of air as it did so. While struggling to regain his feet, he glanced toward the group of infected in time to watch the truck collide directly with the cluster that had not been as quick to move, apparently not caring that the nearly eight-ton vehicle was bearing down on them. Bodies flew in all directions, with one sailing completely over the top of the truck and landing with a solid wet
thwack
on the pavement. The head exploded upon impact, spattering the area around the body with gore.