To Sail a Darkling Sea - eARC (33 page)

“Yes, ma’am,” Sergeant Major Barney said. “We need more than one frequency. Hill, Sergeant Major. Status.”

“Topside is clear. Door’s locked.”

“Send Hadley back to the first yacht. You stand by on the second, the one that you are on. Just wait there. Over.”

“Ok… Roger, Sergeant Major.”

“Uh… Sergeant Major, Rusty. We’ve got an infected coming down the way… ”

“Gunboat,” Sophia said, looking through her binoculars. “That’s on me, I think.”

“Very well, ma’am,” Sergeant Major Barney said. “but if I may… Singer Team. Stand by. Gunboat should take care of it. Do not fire unless ordered.”

“Uh… Roger, Sergeant Major.”

* * *

“We’re Singer Team, right?” Rusty said.

“Hell,
I
dunno… ”

* * *

“
Guppy
, Away Team, over.”

“Away Team, Guppy. Yes, we can.”

“If you would, please,” Sophia radioed. “Nuke ’em from orbit. It’s the only way to be sure.”

* * *

“Aim,” Chief Schmidt growled, pointing at the oncoming infected. It was approaching more or less directly at the gunboat’s position. “If you cannot hit that target with your first burst, I will find a new gunner and you can just spend the rest of your career humping ammo.”

“Yes, Chief,” the Seaman Recruit said, sweating.

“One burst,” Schmidt said. “Take your time.”

“Yes, Chief,” the gunner said.

“Wait,” the Chief said. “Your sight’s off for this range.” He clicked the ladder sight. “You’d have fired over.”

“Thanks,” the gunner said.

“Fire.”

The burst, fortunately for the gunner, hit the infected with one of its rounds.

“And you get to keep your job,” Schmidt said, taking off his earmuffs. “For now.”

“Thanks,” the gunner said.

“That would be… what?”

“Thank you, Chief,” the gunner said and gulped.

“Better.”

* * *

“Okay,” Sophia said as the last yacht cleared the marina and joined the growing Flotilla. “Now we need wheels if we’re going to clear this town.”

With the yachts cleared, the team had gathered at the point that the breakwater reached the shore for a little huddle.

“Very well, ma’am,” the Sergeant Major said. “If I may?”

“On you, Sergeant Major,” Sophia said, nodding.

“First, all but Zelenova Team and Singer Team, drop your magazines and clear your weapons.”

“Sergeant Major?” Rusty said, raising his hand. He had the 240 slung.

“You’re not in bloody primary school, Seaman Apprentice,” the Sergeant Major said. “Seaman Recruit Steinholtz, what is the proper way to ask a question?”

“Permission to speak, Sergeant Major,” Steinholtz said.

“So, Seaman Apprentice,” the Sergeant Major said. “Try it again.”

“Permission to speak, Sergeant Major?” Rusty said.

“Permission granted, Seaman Apprentice,” Barney said.

“Uh… ” Rusty said. “I forgot what I was gonna ask… ”

Sophia turned around and covered her mouth to keep from bursting out laughing. She coughed instead.

“Bloody hell… ” Sergeant Major Barney said, just getting warmed up.

“Sergeant Major!” the assistant gunner said, quickly raising his hand. “Permission to speak, Sergeant Major!”

“Permission bloody granted,” Barney said. “And it had better be bloody important!”

“Are we Singer Team, Sergeant Major?” the AG asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Rusty said. “
That
was it… ”

“Yes,” Sergeant Major Barney said, nodding. “You and Seaman Apprentice Bennett are Singer Team. That was my mistake. Singer is British Army slang for a machine gun. Now, everyone but the
machine-gun
team and Olga’s team, clear your weapons. And don’t bloody ask why. You know why. Right. Hadley, carry the jumper cables. Steinholtz, carry the battery. Zelenova team has point. Then the Lieutenant, Singer Team, Hadley and Steinholtz, myself and Hill. Is that clear?”

“Clear Sergeant Major,” Olga said.

“There’s gates on this marina,” Sophia said. “Get them closed so we have a secure fallback point.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Barney said. “SR Zelenova, move out.”

The reason the infected had only been trickling in to the marina was clear when they got to the gate. There were two. The larger rolling gate was locked. The smaller swing gate was jammed by a small car that had hit the partially open gate and rolled over, blocking the entrance. The passenger side window had been smashed out.

“Yu,” Barney said. “Climb up on the car and see what the other side looks like.”

“Nothing, Sergeant Major,” Yu said, looking around. “Some cars scattered around. I don’t see any infected.”

“Orders, ma’am?” Barney asked. “Do we clear the gate or try to get the other open?”

“Can we clear it?” Sophia asked.

“Oh,
yes
, ma’am,” the Sergeant Major said.

“Clear the gate, Sergeant Major,” Sophia said, stepping back.

“Singer team, drop your Singer,” the Sergeant Major said. “Jumper team, drop your gear. Over
there
to the side you bloody idiots, not in the bloody way. Zelenova team, outside and keep an eye both directions. Hill team, that’s Hadley and Hill, over the car to the far side. Singer Team, take the bonnet side. Steinholtz, that side, I’ve got this. Now, the trick is for everyone to lift on command, with your knees… The command will be a two part, prepare to lift and lift. Team, prepare to lift… Lift! Walk it to the water… careful… ”

The Fiat 500 only weighed 2400 pounds. Six reasonably in shape guys could lift it easily. Once it was out of the gate, they set it down.

“Keys are in it, ma’am,” the Sergeant Major said. “Tip it upright and try to get it started?”

“We’re going to need cars that are a bit bigger,” Sophia said. “But might as well just to get it out of the way.”

“Right, and here’s how you do
that
… ”

* * *

After several months upside down the Fiat wouldn’t start but there were plenty of cars abandoned outside the gates.

“Orders, ma’am,” the Sergeant Major said as the abandoned small SUV finally caught.

“The way the Marines usually do this is two-man teams,” Sophia said. “I don’t think we should split up, though. Find a car with a sunroof. Put the Singer up there. Put that in the lead. I’ll take that one. Then the rest of the teams, two to a car. Wait… ” She stopped and thought. “Standby. Division, Away Team.”

“Away team, Division.”

“We can secure this marina. There are gates and we can get them closed. Request additional support for hand-off of refugees at the marina gate. We’ll handle the town. Over.”

“Roger, away team, we’re observing that. We’ll unload the security element from the Guppy to hold the gate, over. Also going to check on the fuel situation. One of these yachts is nearly dry.”

“Thanks, Division. Seawolf out. Okay, that’s got us a secure point to fall back on. We’ll go as a group forward. If we find refugees, we’ll send them back with a two-man security team. Does that sound like a plan?”

“Sounds like a plan, ma’am,” Sergeant Major Barney said. “All right you horrible lot… !”

* * *

“Hola!” Sophia said as an emaciated man staggered out of the apartment complex. He was being helped along by Olga and Yu. “Buenos Dias!”

“Buenos Dias, verdaderamente,” the man said. “Bendice a la Armada de Estados Unidos!”

There were four more refugees with him, all skinny as a rail. But most people they found were. The apocalypse had been the best diet plan in history.

“Bendiciones para los habitantes de las islas Canarias,” Sophia said. “Sergeant Major?”

“Hill, Hadley, get these people back to the marina then catch up.”

“YES, SERGEANT MAJOR.”

CHAPTER 26

Things got hot in El Salvador
C-I-A got caught and couldn’t do no more
He’s got diplomatic immunity
He’s got a lethal weapon that nobody sees
Looks like another threat to world peace
For the envoy

Warren Zevon
“The Envoy”

“Before we move you over to the other boat, you need to go through a decontamination shower.”

Thomas Walker covered his shades covered eyes with his arms against the sun and just reveled for a moment at the touch of sunshine. There were thin clouds that cut down on it a bit but that was for the good. After so long in that fetid hold it was glorious. The smell of rotting flesh had become so common he barely noticed it. What he mostly noticed was the strong, clean, wind from the sea. It smelled like wine it was so clean.

Thomas Walker wasn’t his real name. It was a common alias he’d used over the years. So common, he’d stopped using it years before the Plague. He knew why he’d instinctively given an alias when the crap hit the rotary impeller. He was out in the cold. Until he was sure what he was dealing with, he was staying under cover. Right now what he seemed to be dealing with was some sort of militia, not the pre-Plague military.

The other reason was, this was a new world. That was what none of the idiots he’d shared the compartment with for six long months could understand. Who you had been, what you had done, accomplishments and failures, no longer existed. The only thing that existed, now, is who you really were.

For now, he would be Thomas Walker, English as a Second Language Instructor, and just go with the flow.

The harbor of Santa Cruz De Tenerife was crowded with boats and ships. There were two megayachts, a dozen smaller yachts, two supply ships, a small passenger liner and a tanker all moored in the channel. Around and between them zipped at least a dozen inflatables.

What he noticed, first, was that one of the megayachts was the
Den
ʹ
gi Ni Za Chto
. That was Nazar Lavrenty’s yacht. So the oligarch was apparently involved. Not something in the group’s favor: he couldn’t imagine Lavrenty changing his spots. An American flag was flying from it, but flags could be changed. There were some uniforms, all US. Navy and he’d seen one Coast Guard driving a boat. Uniforms could have come from a salvaged vessel. Although it would take a ballsy militia to loot a Navy ship. Or complete idiots like the Somalis. The team that found them identified themselves as United States Marines and they had the sound. Except for the woman who he’d pegged as teenage girl despite the encumbering gear. Teenage girls were not Marine Lieutenants. Or, perhaps they
were
in an apocalypse. New world. Which was rather exciting since he had been getting bored with the old one.

“There are some clothes, not much, over here,” the man said. “Grab a pair of shorts, a shirt, a towel and one of the plastic trash bags. Put the shorts, shirt and towel on the table by the shower. Get in the shower. Put your clothes and personal effects in the bag. Then turn on the water. You get one temperature, which generally feels scalding at first. You can take as long as you’d like, we refilter the water, but please clean off quickly. We’ve got more survivors coming through. Do
not
drink the water. It has decontamination chemicals in it and while it won’t kill you, it will make you throw up. If you’re really thirsty, right now, there are bottles of water. So grab some clothes and let’s get moving.”

“May I ask a question, sir?” Bennett said, raising his hand.

“It’s gone,” the young man said. “It’s all gone. It’s the first question I asked, too. It’s what everyone asks. If you don’t believe me, try to get one of the zodiac guys to drop you off on the shore. Ask the zombies. Whatever place you’re asking about, we probably don’t have contact and we don’t know. There’s some Yanks who are in a headquarters somewhere in the US. Omaha or something like that. They’re sort of in charge but they can’t get out. Now, we really need to do the showers so I can get you over to the boat and you can get some food, a bunk and people who are there to answer your questions.”

The response sounded rote. The guy has answered the question before. A lot.

“Decontamination shower” had some rather unpleasant historical connotations. But he could smell the chemicals and there was enough spray around that if it was mixed with, say, Tabun, the guy running the shower would have been doing the dying cockroach.

Thomas grabbed a pair of Navy PT shorts and a Marine T-shirt. Someone had found a well-stocked US Navy ship. Presumably The Hole had given them permission to loot it.

The shower was, as advertised, hot. And that was good after spending months in a hold with limited, and always cold, water.

He showered quickly. He wanted to just sit under the water for an hour. But he washed grabbed his towel, shorts and shirt, put them on and got out.

“Put the towel in the bucket, please,” the young man said, pointing to a blue bucket. “They get laundered and reused. What compartment were you in?”

“L-1438,” Thomas said tossing the towel in the barrel.

The kid pulled out a piece of plastic and a Sharpie and carefully wrote L-1438 on it.

“Were all you in the same compartment?” he asked, handing it to Thomas.

“Yes.”

“Right,” the kid said, pulling out more plastic and starting to write the compartment on them.

“May I ask the purpose of this?” Thomas asked.

“They keep people in the same compartment together at first, mostly,” the kid said. “You may bloody hate your compartment mates but they’re the only people you know at first.”

“Okay,” Thomas said. “What now?”

“Wait for the rest of the blokes to get done,” the kid said. “Unless they call for a group to head over to the boat.”

“How many you got?” an older man said, walking up.

“Just this one, right now. Five when they get done showering.”

“You okay going on your own?” the older man said. He was wearing a US Navy uniform with rank tabs for a Petty Officer Third Class but no name tag.

“Yes,” Thomas said.

“Zodiac’s ready to go with some others,” the man said. “Come on.”

He led the way around the corner to the promenade deck of the liner and pointed aft.

“See that group by the gangway?” he asked. “That’s the stair thing. Join them. Okay? Or you can wait.”

“I’ll go with them,” Thomas said.

The group, with the exception of an older man wearing a US Navy uniform and no rank, was also dressed in T-shirts and shorts, holding plastic bags. From there it was possible to see another decontamination shower, a larger one. There was one of the fire-gear and MOLLE covered “zombie hunters” under the shower, still holding his M4, being doused down. The water was running off him blood red.

Thomas briefly wondered if he’d just taken a shower in zombie blood contaminated water.

“Right, the zodiac’s here,” the man in uniform said. “Make your way down the steps, carefully, and into the boat.

The boat wasn’t, technically, a Zodiac. It was a Brig designed to carry four and a driver. Thomas found it interesting that a sailor was calling it a zodiac and not a RHIB. Language changes were already occurring. He pushed ‘RHIB’ to the back of his memory since using the term might betray his cover.

There were six in the group. People needed help getting in. Everyone could barely see.

Thomas waited until the other passengers had found seats before boarding. He stepped lightly onto the boat and dropped into a spot on the deck. He was wedged between an older man on the deck and a fortyish woman sitting on the front seat.

“Wrap the blankets around you if you get cold,” the kid driving it said. “You’re going to have to leave them in the boat.”

The blankets were USMC green wool blankets and already damp. Thomas decided to forego.

“Everyone keeps saying everything’s gone,” the woman next to him said. “It can’t simply be gone.
Something
had to survive!”

“I don’t know, lady,” the kid said, pulling away from the floating dock. “There’s zombies all over on the land and there’s not much in the way of radio stations. Some ham operators, pretty much. There’s some that say they’re, like, king of some place I’ve never heard of, but there’s not much.”

“Submarines?” Thomas asked.

“There are subs,” the kid said. “So I’ve heard. I’ve never seen ’em but other people have. The boat I’m taking you to used to be owned by some rich Russian dude. He tried to jack the boat that found him. It’s one of the real ‘Navy’ boats. Some of the boats are run by civilians and some of them are Navy. Anyway, the guy tried to jack this Navy boat and a sub surfaced and told him they’d open fire if he didn’t surrender. So then I guess we jacked his.”

“So there are Navy ships?” the woman asked.

“Sorta,” the kid said. “They found a Marine ship, which is where the Marines and a bunch of the loot came from. But it’s still floating somewhere out there. The boats are all salvage. Some of them are Navy, some of them are civilian. Something about who can have what guns. Like, I’m a civilian. I didn’t want the whole ‘three bags full’ thing. But my boss is Navy. But he was an Army dude when he was a kid and he’s never been in the Navy before. It’s all sort of like that. Sort of fucked up but it mostly works.”

“I’m confused,” the woman said.

“Okay,” the kid said. “The boat you’re going to, it’s called the
Money for Nothing
. It’s got a Navy dude in charge of it but the captain, the guy who runs the boat, is a civilian. But the Navy dude, who’s the operations guy for the squadron, had never been in the Navy before this. So if you’re confused, you’re not the only one. Like I said, it has to do with who gets guns.”

“Controlling legal authority?” Thomas asked.

“That’s it,” the kid said. “Like, they’re clearing out some of the little towns here in the islands and to do that you’ve got to have… what he said. Somebody told me it’s sort of technically an act of war but we’ve got permission from somebody or something.”

“So did you live here, before?” the woman asked.

“Oh, hell no,” the kid said. “I was on a cruise ship, too. We abandoned ship when the zombies took over. I was in a lifeboat that got found by one of the Wolf boats. And let me tell you, that fucking sucked. Being in the boat, I mean. Look, there’s a pamphlet they give you when you get to the boat. Just wait til you read it then ask questions, okay?”

The inflatable pulled up to the waterline transom deck of the yacht and people were helped out. Thomas took the offered hand of a man he pegged as an Indonesian and probably a steward. There had been four stewards and two Indonesian waitresses, initially, in the compartment he’d been stuck in along with six other passengers. Two passenger as well as one of the stewards had “turned.” During the subsequent six months he had, slowly and painfully, “learned” the dialect that was common to the other ten survivors.

He’d never let on that he spoke two other dialects of Indonesian and had been able to understand what they were saying two hours after they’d closed the compartment.

“Hello, my name is Nadia… ”

The young woman was good looking, even beautiful, with a strong Slavic accent. She also was noticeably pregnant. So were the two Indonesian waitresses. Thomas figured even if humanity was mostly wiped out, there was about to be one hell of a baby boom.

“I’m to be your guide for a short time as you get acquainted to Wolf Squadron. The first step being to get you some food and answer any questions. But the food, first. If you could follow me, please?”

They were led into the main saloon of the yacht. It was showing definite signs of wear but it was still more luxurious than any of the compartments on the cruise ship.

“So this is how the other half lives,” the fortyish woman said. Thomas could tell she was bristling a bit at the Russian girl. She wasn’t pregnant which meant she was either fixed or no one in the compartment was interested. Given that there were four other men with her, she was probably fixed.

“There is soup,” Nadia said, pouring a cup and handing it to the woman. “There will be more in a moment but some people have not had much to eat and this helps their stomach. There are three kinds, tomato, chicken and lamb. The Americans generally prefer the tomato or the chicken. Help yourself.”

“Can you… what’s going on?” one of the men said.

“This is always the problem,” the girl said, smiling. “Do you feed the questions or your stomach first. Here is a pamphlet,” she said, picking one up and handing it to the man. “Please to read. Then ask questions.”

Thomas read the pamphlet while sipping a cup of tomato soup. There had been tomato soup in the compartment but
hot
soup was delicious. Most of the information he wanted was in the first section. Given what his compartment had been like, he could see why there was a waiver on UCMJ actionable offenses. It was probably on a case by case basis, though, he’d have to read the reg.

It brought up the question, though, if he should make contact. The problem being, the most the Hole would have had was a two star Flag Duty Officer. And if he popped up, they’d expect him to take over this jugfuck retired or not. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. There was a reason he’d retired. If he wanted to do anything, it was kill freaking zombies or cruise around on a boat. Not sit in an office and figure logistics. On the other hand, he was getting a little long in the tooth for that. It looked, however, like this was a legitimate operation, if a bit cock-eyed, not a pre-Westphalian militia.

“What about Britain?” one of the men from the group asked.

“There is currently no contact with the British government or any government organizations other than those listed. We recently freed some people from the Canary Islands including a policeman. He is the closest we have to a member of the government of Spain. There is a group called Sons and Daughters of Britain in Exile which meets regularly on Wednesday nights. Their chairman is a former Member of Parliament and is, more or less, the Prime Minister in exile. Although he is quick to point out that all he is is the chairman. There are similar groups that meet on other nights from other countries. On the bulletin board there is a list.”