On being told by Captain Adams that Dégrad des Cannes was a French Navy refuel and resupply base for the Southern Atlantic, she’d pictured a large port with cranes and a dry dock, a shore-battery, and anchorage for a fleet. The reality was an aquatic diesel-stop built on a concrete pier, a hundred metres from shore.
“No movement,” Clyde said, as she followed him up the ladder and onto the pier. “I’m going to check the storage buildings. Hold this position.”
Tess lingered by the top of the ladder, gun half raised. The refuelling platform was thirty metres long, ten deep, and linked to the shore by a hundred-metre-long pier wide enough for a tank. She doubted any were ever brought ashore here, not somewhere the rainforest grew so dense it had already begun a creeping reclamation. Ringing the platform was a head-height wire fence, except around the ladder, next to which was a steel box, fronting onto the river, with a water-tight conduit linking it to one of the three single-storey huts.
Clyde moved from one hut to the next, throwing open the door, sweeping inside while she watched the corners outside.
“All clear,” Clyde called. “Blue door is the pump room.”
“Doc, Zach, you check the fuel,” Tess said. She turned back to the boat, in which Petty Officer Glenn Mackay waited by the controls. “Call the captain. All good so far.”
Oakes and Hawker were aboard the helicopter, heading for the civilian city and harbour a kilometre up-river. Their secondary destination was the airport in the city of Cayenne, ten kilometres north and on the other shore of this bulbous peninsula.
She joined Clyde by the gate sealing the refuelling platform from the shore.
“The gate’s been blown,” Clyde said, untying the loop of rope currently holding the gate closed. The newly exposed steel on the jagged-edged lock plate was already rusting in the humid air. “Shape charge. Someone knew what they were doing, but they were in a hurry.”
“Probably had food or medical supplies as their priority,” Tess said. “Looks to be a mechanical lock, originally. Not digital. Because of the humidity, I suppose. Plenty of security cameras here.”
“Sat-uplink back to a base in France is cheaper than soldiers,” Clyde said. “But not nearly as useful in a crisis. The garrison left the keys in the pump-room controls. That small hut is a tool room. The other’s a sentry post. They’ve been searched and looted. We’re not the first people to come here looking for fuel. But I’d say the garrison left with the first lot of ships.”
“Returned to France?” Tess asked.
“Could be,” Clyde said, looping the now loose rope over the lock. “About two hundred personnel were stationed here. On shore, the other end of the pier, that’d be their base. Terrorism was a risk. Theft, not so much.”
“What I know about French Guiana comes from having read Papillon just after I learned Australia used to be a penal colony,” she said.
“Devil’s Island,” he said. “That’s further up the coast.”
“You’ve been?” Tess asked.
“Not even close,” he said. “Jace stuck this place on our one-day-maybe list, mostly because of that book.”
“You’ve a weird idea of holiday-research if you learned about the military bases.”
“Nah, last year we were approached to help clean up the Colombia-Venezuela border,” Clyde said. “Politically, it was expedient to use French Guiana as a staging ground, and get the European Union to cover some of the costs. We were still negotiating access come February.”
“We’ve struck oil!” Zach called out, as he and Avalon came out of the pump-room.
“Diesel,” Avalon said. “A scientific mind prizes precision, Zachary. But that is not what will be of most interest to our detective. There is a log of all the ships refuelling here since the outbreak.” She held up a transparent plastic envelope.
“A single piece of paper?” Tess asked, taking the sheet out of the envelope. “I count twelve ships. Lists their names. And… okay, some writing in French, some in Spanish, and some in Portuguese. Can you translate?”
“It’s twelve entries, but only eleven vessels,” Avalon said. “Nine went north. One returned and went south. The other two only went south. The second entry claims to be from the Aconit, a French warship, though it is distinctly unmartial in its phrasing. La France est morte. L’Europe est morte. Le nord est radioactif. Would you like me to translate?”
“I get the gist,” Tess said. “What’s the most recent note say?”
“It’s from a ship called Isabella la Bella,” Avalon said. “The captain writes that Natal was destroyed. Their vessel was going north, despite the warning left by the French warship.”
“Zach, photograph the note. Return it to its envelope, and to where you found it. We’ll ask Captain Adams if she wants to write an entry from us.”
“Saying what?” Zach asked.
“That’ll be up to the captain,” Tess said. She glanced down at the dosimeter. “Doc, go back to the boat, and radio the ship. Tell the captain there’s fuel, and it seems safe enough to bring the Te Taiki in to dock. Tell her about the log, too. We’ll take a look ashore.”
“There’s a croc!” Zach called, peering over the rail close to the gate. “There’s a croc in the water!”
“Nonsense,” Avalon said, following him over.
“Its eye just opened,” Zach said. “Don’t you tell me that’s a log.”
“It’s a caiman, not a crocodile,” Avalon said.
“What’s a caiman?” Zach asked.
“A type of alligator,” Clyde said.
“We’ll take a look at the military base,” Tess said. “Clyde, watch for zoms. Zach, watch for crocs. Flo, go call the captain, and tell Mr Mackay he better come up onto the platform.”
“What are we looking for?” Zach asked as Clyde pushed open the gate.
“Supplies, survivors, and the story of what happened,” Tess said, as they walked side-by-side down the perforated metal planking covering the pier. “But if eleven boats have already docked here, we’ll be salvaging the dregs of the dregs.”
The military camp was more clearly visible now. Ringed by the same type of fence as the pier, and that fence seemed to be all that was keeping the rainforest at bay. Single-storey huts, a few vehicles, and a radio antenna dotted with CCTV cameras so it could double as a watchtower.
“No smoke. No lights. No greeting,” she said. “No one’s here.”
“What if we find people?” Zach asked. “We’ll help, right?”
“Always,” Tess said. “Don’t ask me how. Not until we find them.”
“Because not many people lived here, but Brazil was huge, wasn’t it? Loads of people lived there, and it’s not that far away.”
“Suriname is immediately to the northeast,” Clyde said. “Brazil is to the south and east. To the north, across the sea, are the Caribbean islands. Rainforest and rivers are everywhere except where it’s water. But someone targeted the coastal cities in Brazil. You saw the images the helicopter brought back? Belem wasn’t nuked. It was shelled.”
“Why do you think they did that?” Zach asked.
“Orders,” Clyde said. “Because that’s what soldiers are trained to do.”
“Yeah, okay, but why were those orders given?” Zach asked.
“Debate it later,” Tess said. “Focus on the present. On what you can see, and whether that means danger for our ship.”
“I can see jungle,” Zach said.
“I think this is rainforest,” Tess said.
“What’s the difference?” Zach asked.
“Taller trees,” Tess said.
“There’s more crocs down there,” Zach said as they neared the shore. “A lot more.” He stopped. “Boss?”
“I see them,” Tess said. “Don’t worry, they’re no threat to us up here.”
The shore-side of the pier was blocked with another high gate, again with a lock, which had been professionally destroyed and then re-secured with a length of chain held in place by a half-metre-long s
teel road-tie.
“Someone left a note here, Commish,” Clyde said, pointing at a corner of paper still taped to the broken lock.
“Probably a message warning people not to go any further,” Zach said.
“Probably,” Tess said. Beyond the gate were bones. Five femurs, a few smaller bones. No skulls. While the bones danced with insects, barely any muscle and flesh remained. Beyond the bones, the fence continued for another ten metres. At a sentry-post checkpoint, the fence branched left and right, following the shore. Beyond the sentry post was a battered military four-by-four, and a bullet-flecked civilian bus. On either side of the road were regimented rows of military prefabs, tall lampposts, and scraps of bone-filled clothing. But Tess was drawn to the figure in the lurid flower-patterned shirt. Definitely the kind of shirt someone would buy for an equatorial holiday. Probably after they arrived. Had it been someone from France, visiting Cayenne? Or had they taken their vacation on an island but made it to the mainland before the infection had found them? The feet and hands had been chewed, but not eaten, whereas the bones by the gate had been gnawed.
“Zom!” Clyde said. “The left.”
It wore military green, though without any boots, and walked the monsoon-soaked embankment path between the fence and the river. Until it slipped, splashing into the water. The river rippled as dozens of semi-submerged crocs sped towards the floundering prey. The water churned, bubbled, and foamed black as the zombie was tugged underneath. But the zom kept on fighting. So did the croc. Finally, the zombie resurfaced. Not swimming, not even floating, just thrashing until it disappeared beneath the churn as another caiman took its turn.
“Let’s go through,” Tess said.
“What, in there?” Zach asked.
“Someone has to, and we’re the ones here,” she said. “The fence keeps the crocs outside.”
“Tell that to the bones,” Zach said.
“More zoms coming,” Clyde said. “Two, on the embankment side of the fence.”
Tess pulled the gate open, kicking the bones out of her path. “Two more in front of us,” she said.
“Got them,” Clyde said, raising his rifle. They fell, thudding into the dirt, causing a flock of iridescent birds to scatter from within the trees’ broad branches.
“Hold,” Tess said. The birds circled, landed on a distant hut’s roof, only to dart skywards again before disappearing into the forest canopy. From behind the hut the birds had rejected as a roost, a zombie staggered out. A second followed. A third.
“Hold fire,” Tess said, but only until she counted to ten. “Take them, Clyde. Zach, radio the ship. We need sailors, ammo, and something better than a broken chain to secure this gate. Same for the gate at the far end of the pier. Go.”
Clyde kept firing, shifting aim from one rotting head to the next, but they came on faster than he could fire.
“Rivers and rainforest,” he said. “Stops people leaving as much as arriving, doesn’t it?”
She’d come ashore with a carbine, and without a suppressor, but silence wouldn’t help them now. She raised her weapon, firing five shots before stepping back, and nearly losing her footing on a bone.
“Back through the gate,” she said, taking up a position on the far side. At least two hundred zombies were heading towards them now, with more still emerging from around the buildings on the western side of the camp. “If we close the gate, can you fire through that fence?” she asked when her carbine clicked empty. The nearest zombies were now at the sentry post.
“No worries,” Clyde said.
They slammed the gate shut, rethreading the chain. Clyde drew a bayonet, forcing it through two links, before replacing the original metal pin.
“That won’t hold them for long,” Tess said.
“No worries,” Clyde said, balancing his barrel on a diagonal of chain-link. “The crocs aren’t massing by the shore,” he added as he fired. “Did you notice that? The caimans are survivors, too. Chased here by the zoms.”
“Rescuing a bunch of gators is definitely beyond our remit,” Tess said. “Can we blow up the pier?”
“Fuel tanks must be inland,” Clyde said. “Pipe runs underneath. Just down there. We’d be blowing up the fuel-pipe.”
Feet pounded the metal walkway behind them. Mackay, Zach, and Avalon all sprinted to a halt by the gate.
“Mackay, my left,” Clyde said. “Doc, you’re on the Commish’s right. Zach, you get ready to sub in when I say. Count about five hundred so far.”
“Where’d they all come from?” Zach asked.
“Nowhere,” Avalon said. “They were here all along. In the trees, I suspect, and ventured further into the rainforest when our helicopter flew inland.”
Conversation ceased as the zombies staggered nearer. Some wore uniform. Some wore civilian garb. Many wore unidentifiable rags, coated in oily mud.
Above, the helicopter buzzed low, returning from its inshore survey mission. Behind, feet clanged on the pier’s metal planking as the captain led twenty sailors to their relief. Half were armed with rifles, the rest carried tools.
“Mr Renton, form a firing line,” the captain said.
Tess stepped back, surveying the still approaching foe. The dead lay knee-deep, but even more walking corpses staggered out of the rainforest and around the huts, pressing up around the perimeter fence.
“Captain, how long will it take to refuel?” Tess asked.
“Which time?” she asked. “Because we’ll need to refuel on our return. Unless we make Robben Island our next destination, we must hold this position.”
“But how much weight can this bridge take?” Tess looked around for inspiration, and found her gaze caught by the V-shaped waves rippling across the river. “Can we dismantle the fence there, at the side of the pier, and build a new wall further back? Give the zoms somewhere else to go but straight on. Let them fall into the river.”
Adams looked from the approaching undead to the caimans below. “Feed them to the crocs? Major Brook, hold this position. Mr Renton, your team with me. We’re dismantling the causeway.”
Four sailors began unbolting the metal plates that formed the pier’s roadway. Two more detached a long section of chain-link, and then the horizontal support bars. Adams, with the rest, began bolting the plates into place. Tess returned to the firing line. The dead zombies had created a trip-hazard. In turn, that spoiled her aim. Every other bullet was wasted as the lurching column fell into a crawling mass now pushing against the gate.
“Fall back!” the captain called.
“Zach, get the doc to safety,” Tess said. But she waited with Clyde. “Time for us,” she said when everyone else had retreated.
“You go,” Clyde said, not lowering his carbine.
“You first,” Tess said.
Clyde lowered his weapon. “We need to pull that pin, and the bayonet, from the chain,” he said.
“Exactly. You’ve got a son to get home to,” she said. “You’ve got that rope, haven’t you? Seal off the causeway. Tie the rope to the open gap, and tie it short. I’ll jump off the gap and swing back to safety on the other side of the wall. Go on, before we run out of time. Go!” She pushed him back, and raised her carbine, firing into the nearest walking corpse. One shot, then the next. One target, then the next, until her magazine was spent.
“Commish!” Clyde called. “Ready.”
Tess used the butt of her carbine to knock the pin loose, grabbed it, and pulled it free. That left only the bayonet. She gripped the knife’s handle, took a breath. The gate creaked as another two undead pushed against it, while five behind pushed against them. Along the bridge, drills whirred as the new wall was still being built.
“Now!” Adams yelled.
The creaking was growing louder. The sound didn’t come from the gate, but from below, from the pier itself. She tugged the bayonet free, and ran, looking for the rope. Behind her, the gates swung open. Flesh smacked into the metal road-plates as the undead fell forward. Bones cracked a
s more pushed forward, falling over that first rank. She saw the rope. One end was looped around the edge of a support post where the fencing had been removed. She wrapped it around her left hand, turned, and saw the horde approaching. Teeth snapping, hands grasping, hundreds, with more coming from the shore, and now only metres away.
She’d intended to walk-climb-haul herself around the outside of the fence, but with death approaching so fast, she jumped. Fell. The rope went taut, sending a jolt through her shoulders, and down her spine. Her feet entered the water, nearly ankle-deep. Bending her legs at ninety degrees, she raised them up as V-shaped ripples dashed towards her. A metre-long croc rose out of the water, mouth open, snapping closed on air a whisker shy of her heel.
Behind came a splash as the first zombie hit the water. Another. But her rope was being pulled upwards, and to a gap behind the new wall.
“Lost your bayonet,” Tess said. “Sorry, mate.”
“No worries,” Clyde said.
“You didn’t lose the rope,” Avalon said. “So no harm done.”
“Fall back!” Adams called. “We’ll build another wall here.”
“There!” Zach said, pointing upriver. “Look up there at the river bank. The crocs are crawling away.”
“Says it all, really,” Clyde said. “It really does.”
2nd April
Chapter 34 - Evidence at Sea
Guyana
“Croc. Croc. Bug. Croc,” Zach said, swiping left through the photographs downloaded onto the tablet. “Croc attacking a zom. Bug. Croc. Doc Flo took a lot of photos of animals.”
“Check them all, and check them again,” Tess said. “Right there is perfect for the desk, Clyde.”
“I’ll bolt it down,” he said, and picked up the drill.
With the gym off-limits, Tess had requested permission to claim it as a temporary investigation centre. In practical terms, that involved bringing in a desk and a couple of whiteboards from the galley.
“If we’re not moving any of the workout machines, does that mean we can use them?” Zach asked.
“Absolutely not,” Tess said. “If coppers don’t obey the law, you can’t expect anyone else to. Back to those photos.”
Life Goes On | Book 4 | If Not Us [Surviving The Evacuation] Page 28