Turning Point (Book 3): A Time To Live

by Wandrey, Mark

  The infected’s head shattered in a blast, part of the energy from the impact rocking the creature off to the side. Vance closed his eyes and mouth to keep the blood out and rolled in the opposite direction.

  “Vance, you okay?” Tim yelled as he ran over, his Mossberg shotgun still against his shoulder, the barrel smoking.

  “I think so,” he said as he got shakily to his feet. He pulled a cleaning rag from a pocket on his pants and ran it over his face. There was no blood on the rag. His breath was coming in shuddering gasps. “Fucker came out of nowhere.” He pointed at the edge of the balcony.

  Tim moved over and slowly looked over the side. “Holy shit,” he said. Boom, boom, boom. “They’re climbing up the damned brickwork!”

  “How?” Vance asked. He drew his Glock and went over to look. One female infected was dangling from her fingertips only a few feet below them. He shot her in the top of the head, and she fell into the eager arms of a hundred hungry zombies below.

  “I think they’re wedging their fingers into the spaces between the bricks,” Tim said. The other five in their group ran in, demanding to know what had just happened. Tim and Vance explained. Ann and Belinda instantly examined his face for signs of blood, Ann with concern and fear in her eyes, Belinda with the expert eye of a trained trauma nurse.

  “I didn’t get any on my face,” he said.

  “You’ve got blood all over the rest of you,” Ann said. “You didn’t get bit or cut?”

  “No,” he said and felt his neck. It was painful. Belinda checked it too, confirming the skin wasn’t torn enough to bleed. “Dodged a bullet,” he said.

  Cobb, Harry, and Nicole were firing over the side, picking off the ones who were trying to climb. “Their hands look deformed,” Harry noted.

  “They’re fuckin’ mutating,” Cobb said, then noticed how they were all looking at him. “Or something, man. Look at their hands, they’re not human!” The sound of breaking glass from the other side of the building made many of them spin around, weapons at the ready.

  “They’re coming in the other side of the building,” Cobb snapped and ran toward the sound.

  “Help him check the barricade in the courtroom,” Vance said.

  “We’re cornered,” Ann said, her voice a low moan.

  “We’ve been cornered since we retreated here,” Vance reminded her.

  “Now we’re really cornered,” Tim said.

  Those left on the balcony took turns leaning over and picking off the infected with carefully placed head shots, so ammo wasn’t wasted. Another problem was looming. The bodies were piling higher, giving the rest a grisly meat ramp with which to speed their attempted assault on the trapped humans above.

  “Got it shored up as best we can,” Cobb said when he returned.

  “It’s not going to hold long,” Harry observed as something banged on the barricaded door.

  “No,” Vance said. “No it won’t.”

  “Hey!” a voice yelled from above.

  They all looked up and their mouths fell open.

  “I must have died,” Vance said after a second.

  “Then I died too,” Tim agreed, “because that’s a flying houseboat.” It was perfectly steady and quiet, maybe twenty feet above them. It illuminated the area in all directions, probably from lights on the deck. Its hull was hard to discern because it was dark and covered in dirt. Vance could just see a gleam from the craft’s motionless propeller.

  “You dumbasses going to just stand there gawking?” a voice boomed from above them. Vance looked to one side of the houseboat and saw a big, round, red-cheeked face with a bald head looking down at him.

  “Bisdorf?” Vance gasped.

  “No, I’m the goddamned Easter Bunny! No shit, it’s Bisdorf. You all gonna grab the rope or not?”

  The only one with the wherewithal to grab the dangling rope was Cobb. Vance guessed the army man had probably seen crazier things in his wanderings after the plague. Or maybe he was beyond the point where he could be struck dumb. Either way, he took the rope.

  “Good. Now climb your asses up here before you get made into zombie goulash.”

  “We can’t just leave our shit,” Vance said.

  “You got supplies? How much?”

  Vance gave him a brief list of the guns and ammo they had, but he didn’t mention the precious little food that remained. “There’s a lot more in the pickups in front of the courthouse,” Tim added.

  “They’re three deep under zombies,” Bisdorf said. “Here, hold on.” A second later, ropes started dropping over the side. “Start tying shit up, real fast like.”

  “What do we do?” Harry asked.

  “You know this guy?” Cobb asked.

  “Yeah,” Vance said. Tim nodded. “He’s Paul Bisdorf, one of the preppers from my network. Man’s a legend in the ham radio community. Last I heard from him, we’d all agreed it was a Code-B.”

  “B for bugout,” Tim added for Cobb’s sake. “Means we believed society was toast, and the government couldn’t stop the collapse.”

  “Yeah,” Vance agreed. “It means use deadly force to protect your property. Kinda stuff you don’t do when the law could show up. SHTF, shit hit the fan.”

  Cobb nodded in a way that indicated he didn’t understand preppers.

  “Time’s a wastin’!” Bisdorf yelled from above.

  “It’s a floating boat!” Ann said incredulously to Vance, one hand resting protectively on her stomach. “You can’t honestly expect us to climb up there?”

  The sound of splintering wood in the courtroom made them all look nervously in that direction. “You have a better idea?” Vance asked.

  “Fuck it,” Cobb snarled and ran back into the courtroom. A second later, he came running back out, staggering under the weight of four huge ammo cans salvaged from his Stryker. When he headed back for his second load, the others joined in.

  As they worked, Bisdorf continued to throw ropes over the side instead of hauling up the ones with secured loads. Vance didn’t take time to question the tactic. It took them five minutes of breakneck work to get the majority of their gear tied onto the ropes, by which time the big, heavy, oak, courtroom doors had a crack wide enough to allow them to see ravenous flesh eaters on the other side, tearing their hands to bloody shreds trying to get through.

  “Time to go, I think,” Vance said, far calmer than he felt. Then he looked at the rope and the improbably hovering houseboat around 20 feet above. He swallowed. The best description of his size would be rotund. He could do a few pushups and jog a half mile without giving himself a coronary. However, it had been many years since he could do a pullup.

  Cobb, Harry, Belinda, Tim, and Nicole all grabbed ropes and climbed. Vance looked at Ann who looked back in growing panic.

  “No way I’m going to be able to climb,” she admitted to him and patted her growing tummy.

  “Me neither,” he agreed and patted his grown tummy. He was trying to come up with a solution and checking his AR-15 when the courtroom door cracked down the middle and failed.

  Out of time to consider, Vance grabbed one of the remaining ropes and looped it over Ann’s back and under her arms. He tied a quick overhand knot.

  “Vance…” she started to complain.

  He looked over his shoulder. At least a dozen infected were falling over themselves to be the first into the courtroom and the feeding frenzy which awaited them. Time moved in slow motion as the first broke free and sprinted toward them. Vance looked at Ann, smiled, and nodded. “I love you,” he said and yelled up. “If you can, lift!” Then he turned his rifle toward the rushing monsters and fired as quickly as he could.

  “Vance!” Ann screamed as the floating houseboat rose. The dozen odd ropes lifted their attached gear like a bunch of lures from the water as the boat ascended. Ann tried to get a hand under the rope around her chest but failed as it tightened, and she was pulled off her feet. “Vance, no!”

  “I got this,” he said. The magazine in
his AR locked empty. He ejected it, found another in his belt pouch and rammed it home. A pair of rushing female infected were only a yard away when he closed the bolt and fired at hip height. Both sprawled on the dusty, brass scattered floor. More infected were right behind them.

  Everything was rising now. He glanced up and saw Cobb reach the gunwale of the boat and scramble over the side. Harry wasn’t far behind, and the others were making progress. None were looking at the drama below. The courtroom doors were torn off their hinges, and a wave of infected came at him, looking like army ants.

  The last rope swung over and hit him in the left shoulder. Vance coiled his left arm around the rope and locked a hand on it. Instantly, it went taut, and his shoulder ached as his bulk was lifted. He wanted to drop his rifle and grab the rope with his other hand. Wanted it with all his being. Only the wave was approaching, and the weapon was all he had. He fired methodically, a small part of his mind counting down from 30.

  The pain in his shoulder quadrupled and something grabbed his right leg and pulled. Vance looked down and saw one of the two female infected he’d shot. Blood was jetting like a fountain from her torn carotid artery. It was a lethal wound, but she took no notice of it.

  Automatic weapons fire from above tore into the advancing infected, ripping great chunks from flesh and bone. Vance was dimly aware of dozens being cut down. Confused by the sudden attack, the wave faltered as Vance was bore aloft.

  Pain consumed him as he lowered his weapon and tried to aim. The sights blurred as he lined up the weapon’s muzzle. I can’t aim, he realized. But then the infected saw the barrel and grabbed it with one hand, thinking she could use it as leverage to reach higher up Vance’s body. He let her pull the weapon downward as far as his arm would allow, then squeezed the trigger. The 5.56mm round blew the top of her head off, and she fell away.

  The rope he was holding moved, then moved again. Vance managed to get the AR’s sling over his shoulder and grab the rope with his other hand. A short time later, he was being pulled over the gunwale of the houseboat by many hands and lowered to the deck.

  Bisdorf’s round, ruddy face looked down at him. “Welcome aboard, my friend.”

  “Thanks,” Vance gasped as he gingerly moved his shoulder. He looked down, sighed, and quit checking his shoulder. It didn’t matter.

  “Vance!” Ann cried and pushed through to him. “Baby, are you okay?” The look on his face made hers turn white. “What’s wrong?”

  Belinda was kneeling next to him, examining his right leg. Blood was pooling on the deck. She produced a pair of medical sheers and cut away the BDU fabric to expose his flesh. It was torn in the half circle pattern of a bite.

  “No,” Ann moaned.

  “Yeah,” Vance said.

  “You should have pulled him up first!” she screamed at the others. None of them would meet her rage-filled gaze.

  “No, they shouldn’t have,” Vance said sternly. “You’re pregnant.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ann cried. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does to me,” Vance said. The other men began pulling up the gear dangling below the floating houseboat. Now that he was on it, Vance realized it was indeed Bisdorf’s old houseboat that he kept on the Ninnescah River river just outside Wichita. “How?” he asked Bisdorf. Belinda was bandaging his wound. He didn’t have the heart to tell her to stop. Ann was sitting on the deck, crying into her hands.

  “It’s a long story. Can you walk?”

  Belinda had finished applying the bandage, so he held out a hand. Bisdorf took it with one of his big, beefy paws and easily pulled Vance to his feet. The leg hurt like a son of a bitch, but it supported him. He nodded, and Bisdorf led him to the cabin. Ann got up and followed mechanically. Cobb fell in, watching him closely.

  He heard Tim asking Cobb if there was a chance nothing would happen.

  “I don’t know,” Cobb replied. “One of my men was bit on the hand. He turned in hours.”

  Vance pretended he hadn’t heard, but he could hear Ann sobbing louder. He’d known as soon as he was bit that he was a dead man. The virus was far too communicable. It hadn’t hurt as badly as he’d thought it would. If he hadn’t been trying to keep his arm from being dislocated, it probably would have been worse.

  Bisdorf led him into the cabin and showed Vance the hatch opening into the engine section. There was a weird crystal taped to the framework, and what looked like a cobbled together electronics module with wires leading away.

  “What is it?” Vance asked.

  “I found…well,” Bisdorf looked uncomfortable.

  “Spill it,” Vance said.

  Bisdorf responded by taking out a smartphone and calling up an image before handing it to Vance. It displayed a picture of a silvery thing, pointy at one end, wider at the other. “It’s a damned spaceship, Vance.”

  “Bullshit,” Cobb said. Bisdorf reached over and swiped the phone’s screen, showing more images. Tim and Cobb leaned in to watch. The pictures showed the object opened up with several glowing rods like the one before them inside.

  “I intercepted some shortwave traffic,” he explained. “It was encrypted, but not very well.” Bisdorf grinned. “It was a bunch of locations and instructions on how to use ultrasonic frequencies to open up the ships. Well, one of those locations wasn’t a mile off the Ninnescah River, so I tied up at an old fishing pier and checked it out.”

  He moved further forward, into the hallways leading to the houseboat’s various cabins. In one was the thing he claimed was a spaceship. A pair of openings showed panels he’d removed, and one still had a blue, glowing crystal inside. “Still think it’s bullshit?” Vance shook his head in amazement.

  “Along with the other data were some details on how to wire this and make it work. Didn’t say what it did,” Bisdorf said, then laughed. “Imagine my surprise when Hubba Tubba here took to the skies.”

  “I’d have shit myself,” Tim said.

  “How long can it just…float?” Vance asked.

  “Don’t know,” Bisdorf admitted and shrugged. “I haven’t set it down since I turned it on—goin’ on three days now. I been looking for survivors. Found quite a few. When I locate them, I take them to a safe place.”

  “Where?” Tim asked.

  “Right now, up by Amarillo.”

  Vance coughed and staggered. Tim and Bisdorf looked at him in concern. “I don’t feel well,” Vance said.

  “Come up on deck,” Tim said and took his old friend by the hand.

  Vance was having trouble concentrating. He blandly allowed himself to be led. The rest of his group was on deck, their faces wearing looks ranging from fear to mourning. Ann stood in front of him, despair etched on her features. “Ann,” he said. His words were slurred. She ran over and took him in her arms. “Ann…I…I…” he couldn’t make the words form.

  “I know,” she sobbed in his ear. She moved to kiss him.

  “Ann, no,” Cobb said.

  “He’s my husband!” she sobbed.

  “You are going to throw away everything he sacrificed for you. You’re pregnant. Think about the baby.”

  “It’s not fair,” she cried.

  The words didn’t make sense anymore. Another voice was speaking in the back on his mind, its sound becoming louder and clearer. Bite, chew, rend! A little snarl escaped his lips, and suddenly, Ann was pulled from his arms. His teeth snapped closed, just missing her fingertips.

  Tim and Harry held him from behind. He struggled wildly, the voices driving him to attack. He felt them remove his gear belt and pull him toward the side of the boat. He fought as hard as he could, harder than he thought he could. The flesh. Share the flesh!

  “Belinda, Nicole, for the love of God, get Ann below,” Tim yelled. Bisdorf stood aside, his eyes wide, unable to do more than watch. Cobb was near him, waiting, in case they needed help.

  “We can’t just throw him over the side,” Harry said. Ann screamed as she was taken below.

  “No,
he deserves better,” Tim said.

  Very little of Vance Cartwright’s mind remained his own. He did everything he could to pull his arms free from where they were pinned behind him. He heard a safety click without understanding what it was. He never heard the boom of the gun firing.

  * * *

  USS Gerald R. Ford

  Approximately 400 miles above San Diego, CA

  “Miss Clifford, I would have to be insane to let the man anywhere near the alien drive.” Captain Gilchrist was surrounded by a dozen officers begging for his attention. Kathy had managed to get to the door of the CIC by saying she had vital information. The powerful ship’s captain had been less than impressed when she only appealed to let Wade try again.

  “Have your people been able to do anything?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” he said.

  Despite his seeming confidence, Kathy could see the faces of the men around him and knew they had no clue.

  “Then what do you have to lose?”

  “A carrier, Ms. Clifford, and the thousands of lives aboard her.”

  “Come on, Captain, see logic—”

  “Madam, I won’t be lectured. We’ll figure this out without Mr. Watts’ none-too-gentle help. An idea has been proposed, and we’re making plans around it.”

  “I hope it doesn’t involve cutting the power to the alien drive.”

  Gilchrist blinked and shot a look at one of the men behind him. The other man swallowed. “And why is that?”

  “Because Mr. Watts says doing so would probably kill everyone on board.”

  His mouth became a thin line, and he nodded. “Okay, I’ll take it under advisement. Now, you must excuse me.”

  She tried to stop him, but the burly Marine guarding the door strongly, but gently, moved her back as it closed. That was that. Well, she’d given it her best. She turned and headed back toward her compartment. A little smile played across her face. At the least, she’d gotten several minutes of video from inside the CIC on her concealed camera!