They’d wasted several hours of the early dawn to armor their boat, but despite the sun being high in the sky the temperatures were below average and a storm out at sea brought fog as part of its leading edge.
“This shit is impossible.” Clair complained. They only had fishing sonar, which was useless except for finding their depth. Sticking close to the shore, they’d patrolled only perhaps two miles to the South of the ruined FEMA launch when they found their first derelict. Another fishing boat, similar size and class, half submerged at the bow, her propeller blades just tipping the crest of the waves. Seagulls gathered on the boat, picking at something on the other side of a broken window. Whoever had been on that boat was either dead or no longer aboard. Either way it should have been an omen, but the brave voyagers continued on their way.
“Just do what you can.” Daniel kept reading the book he’d found in the hold. It was a self-help book for people who wrote unsuccessful self-help books. If it was not meant to be satire Daniel wouldn’t have been surprised, but reading it in Robin William’s voice helped.
“I worked for GNN before this. Spent four years in college to work a Doppler Radar System… Now I’m reduced to fishing sonar a child could operate. I guess it’s just disappointing.” Clair admitted.
“I get it, I think. Before this shit people like me weren’t very useful. I can fight, I can shoot, it’s not rocket science, and my life was probably going to reflect that. Now suddenly my skills are in high demand, and yours are almost useless, no offense. But it won’t last. Eventually we’ll all either be eaten, or we’ll sort this shit out and warriors like me will just go back to having a very short useful span before the military wears our bodies out and we are relegated to spending the rest of our miserable lives working at gas stations, all the while wishing we had died gloriously in battle instead. Eventually Radar Operators are going to have to teach a whole new generation how to do it again. Then you can tell them how much this sucked, inspire them to make a better system, and so on and so on… Just hopefully without all the zombies.” Daniel sighed. He’d also been accused of overthinking things.
The other two crewmen on the trip, an experienced salvager and his stoner son, were hanging out on the prow of the boat, tossing back a couple beers when the hull hit something that made a loud clunk noise. Daniel looked behind them and saw a white sneaker bob to the surface in their wake. “Slow down, I think we hit a body.” He said quietly, not wanting to alarm anyone, but Clair was piloting and therefore started to freak out enough to set “empowered women” back at least a decade.
“Chill out, it’s just a body.” Leon, the fisherman’s son said as Clair went on frantically babbling about hitting a survivor. He gave her what she thought was a cigarette, but after some furious coughing she was a bit calmer, and really thirsty.
Daniel picked up their binoculars and looked back into the wake of the boat, but the debris was hard to spot. Inside a wake trough he saw the hacked up corpse the twin outboards had made short work of. The life preserver the body had been wearing was white foam confetti on the water, the bloated blue-green corpse split open in several places started to slip beneath the waves again, the last thing to go under was a pale, unmoving hand. The way the hand was decomposing reminded Daniel of the final moments of
Terminator 2
, when John Conner’s first and only friend slipped beneath the boiling metal and every fanboy died a little inside.
“What the fuck was that?” Captain Ricci asked, stepping out of his private bunk for the first time since their last battle drill.
“Hit debris, Sir.” Daniel said, sharing a look with Leon Jr.
“Well cut it out. You break a propeller blade and we’re crawling home at half speed.” Ricci slammed the thin hatch to the inside of the ship and left the boat again in Daniel’s care. For hours longer they saw nothing, just Florida swamplands, until light started to fade and the decision was made to anchor just off shore. The chances of the storm front pushing their way seemed mild and the risk decidedly acceptable.
That night Daniel didn’t remember taking his pills, in fact he thought he’d specifically left them at the house so he didn’t take a long walk off a short pier during a dream. Despite what he thought he remembered, when he opened his eyes again he was met with Lea sitting Indian-style on the helm’s dashboard. She didn’t say anything, just smiled and met his gaze. They didn’t say anything to each other for a while, what was there to talk about after all?
“Go away.” Daniel finally said, rolling over on the bench seat behind the pilot’s chair.
“You have the
powah
!” Lea imitated Prince Adam.
Daniel didn’t roll to face her. “I’m too young to remember
He-Man
.”
“Oh, c’mon.” Lea pouted. “You’re insane, congratulations. Try enjoying it for once.”
This time Daniel did roll over. “I’m not even on anything. Why am I seeing you?”
Lea looked at Daniel with an incredulous expression, “You’re the crazy one, why are you asking me this?”
“…fuck me…” Daniel said in exasperation.
“We could.” Lea raised her eyebrows a couple times.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because at the end of the day I’m still just fucking myself.” Daniel smiled. Lea laughed. That joke would have made her laugh if she were still alive. “I miss you.” He said finally. Lea’s ghost didn’t have anything to say after that. Daniel blinked and she was gone. He blinked again and dawn was beginning to break over mainland Florida, his bones and indeed very soul felt more rested than he could ever remember, like the gentle rocking of the waves as a cradle. Daniel would need that energy as he and the crew found that their safe place to anchor had in fact been on the doorstep of the most nightmarish scene no sane person could ever have believed without seeing.
“Did one of you spike my coffee?” Captain Ricci asked, pinching himself.
“Yeah, because I’d waste my shit on you.” Leon Jr said, snapping a picture of what lay before them. It was an old Kodak instant camera, the image it spat out on the developing film was concrete evidence that they were in fact looking at a beached cruise liner and not tripping balls on Leon Jr’s supposed stash. This was not just any liner though, the lovechild of an eccentric Australian billionaire, the
RMS Titanic II
was supposed to be the namesake’s second chance to prove to the world that if handled properly the Olympic-class liners were in fact the grandest of the turn of the century luxury liners. Almost small by modern shipbuilding standards, compared to their fishing boat this infamous vessel still lived up to her namesake.
“Was this here last night? Did we drift?”
Ricci checked the map against the coastline and then the anchor line. “No, we’re exactly where we anchored last night.”
“How…?” Was all Clair could mutter.
Daniel wasn’t very well versed on the
Titanic
legend, he wasn’t sure if the open gash theory was still accepted, or if explorers had found something new. Either way the fate of the original
Titanic
had nothing to do with this one. Surely, if the wreck remained, mankind would find this scene just as fascinating, if only much easier to access. Right now though, it was just a ghostly hulk with tattered flags and no lights impeding their progress south. A few portholes near the white trim of the upper decks had scorch marks from a fire that had burst through the glass. That the entire ship hadn’t been consumed by it was a testament to this incarnation’s more modern features, however, it wasn’t designed to contain a plague.
“Turn on the radio. I need to call Crystal River.” Ricci said, pointing to the microphone next to Daniel.
“With all due respect, Sir, I don’t think that’s wise. We don’t know who else is listening.”
“Well we can’t very well explore this ship with just the five of us.” Ricci rebutted.
Daniel looked at their captain like he was insane. “We are
not
exploring anything. We’ve found a potential treasure trove of supplies with that ship, but you’re right, we can’t do it with just the five of us. We need to go back to town and get more people. Besides, did you consider there may be nothing on there we need? We could be expending valuable resources for little if any return.”
“I thought you were the one who suggested ocean going vessels would have supplies.”
“Yeah, freighters or liners that were still docked. This thing… Jesus…” Daniel looked away from the nightmare. “Probably ran aground because whoever was on it ran out of everything they needed too.”
“How did we not hear this?” Leon Sr. asked aloud.
Ricci shrugged. “She may have drifted in. Or maybe the lights were turned off and we just never saw her. If she was going slow enough, though, we’d never hear a thing.”
“Well wouldn’t the people getting off the ship make noise?” Clair used the binos to check the swampy, alligator ridden shoreline.
“Clair, I don’t think anyone got off that ship.” Daniel said, pointing to a porthole just below the fire charred windows. “Are you telling me that’s a survivor slapping at that window?”
Looking through his binos, Ricci confirmed what Daniel was seeing. “She’s a plague ship. Probably abandoned a while back.” That was the happiest version anyone imagined.
“So do you still want to turn around?” Daniel asked their captain. “We’re not even as far as Tampa Bay yet.”
Giving it some thought, Ricci decided they could at least sail around and see what was on the other side of this
Mary Celeste
. On the port (left) side of the beached steel and iron goliath, the story was much different. How the ship had stayed afloat through this disaster was a testament to the modern designs hidden beneath the veneer of historical accuracy. Daniel could see all the way inside the ship, whatever disaster had befallen her had blown a massive hole in the side about ten feet above the waterline around the amidships.
“A fire did this?” Leon Jr questioned with incredulity.
“Not likely.” Daniel affirmed. “This is a blast pattern. See how the steel is warped outward in some places and inward in others?”
Ricci reached for the radio and made the call to Crystal River. If someone attacked a cruise liner, a small town would barely be more of a challenge. The Police department back home responded without much delay, promising backup. It was likely the
RMS Titanic II
had been attacked by more than just zombies, someone with guns, really big guns, had seen fit to unsuccessfully send her to the bottom. But why? Was this how the Navy dealt with plague ships now? And if so, why not finish the job?
A few zombies inside the ship must have heard the motor because they started appearing from the dark, burned recesses within. Just like they’d seen before, the plague victims acted blissfully unaware of any danger to themselves, and one by one plopped into the ocean like so many turds or fell deeper into the ship as the ruined decks gave way below them.
“Skipper, you were in the Navy, right?”
“I was in the Coast Guard for eight months in 2002, then they found out I married my partner Ryan in Canada on my first leave. So… yes?” Ricci confirmed everyone’s suspicions.
“Wow. A thousand Sailors go out and five hundred couples come back.” Daniel teased. “Okay, still, the Army wouldn’t do this kind of damage to a target and then leave it largely intact. We’d smash it until was unrecognizable. Wouldn’t the Navy do the same if they were sinking plague ships?”
Ricci had to think about it for a moment, “Yeah, they’d just torpedo it or at least shoot below the waterline. You’re right, this doesn’t make any sense.”
Clair spoke up, surprised she had to be the one. “And what does this ship, as creepy as it is, have to do with us? We’re looking for supplies and survivors, not shipwrecks.”
“Don’t be so short sighted.” Daniel argued. “If the US Navy didn’t do this, then who did? Because if they’d dare to shoot up a famous luxury liner, we’d mean less than nothing to them.”
With no way of doing anything more about the situation the exploration mission went on, the port of Tampa Bay only a short distance away now. Already, and still not being out of sight of their grizzly discovery, more beached ships were coming into view. Some of them were in the later stages of succumbing to the elements, others floated about, their anchors either still attached or broken off long ago. A few of the largest vessels, cargo ships and the like, were technically sunk, but the water was so shallow their masts and forecastles were high and dry. Most, they saw, had infected people onboard. Some didn’t, and those were the most interesting ones. Each and every ship without infected aboard showed signs of attack from actual weaponry. None of them were detectives, or even cops for that matter, but it didn’t take a genius to start to piece together what had happened here. Someone attacked a bunch of unarmed ships off the coast of Tampa Bay, this was easy to see. What was harder to see at first, and what probably would have sent them scurrying for home, was the scene inside Tampa Bay proper. Boats by the hundreds littered the water just below the trough of the waves, threatening to drag the boat down if they made any wrong moves.
A distant explosion ashore, who knew from what, sent a washing machine high enough into the air they could see it from the sea. “Well that was different.” Leon Jr. commented as the flaming white appliance reached its apex, seemed to hover in mid-air for a moment, then came crashing back down like a missile fired from orbit.