“I’m sure.”
“Fair enough.” He looked at Schumitz. “Captain, you have thirty-six hours to meet at the rendezvous point. See you when you arrive.”
“Yes, sir.”
When they were filing out, the team leader who had tried to kidnap me on the Diamond slowed down as he passed me. He made sure his boss wasn’t looking, and he looked me in the eye, leaning in. “Run,” he whispered, and strode from the office.
Gone
The Stockdale left that evening at 2000 hours. That’s twenty hundred hours, and it means eight o’clock in the evening. Twenty hundred sounds way better.
Earlier, I had spoken to Captain Schumitz about how he had originally said he was going rogue, and that he would be here, with his boat, to protect Atlantis. The captain told me that he had made that decision because he hadn’t heard from any type of naval command in months. Now, with a fleet of naval ships down in Panama, Schumitz felt compelled to follow orders, especially when those orders came directly from the highest power in the Navy. He did offer any absolutely non-essential crew members the opportunity to stay on Atlantis if Austin was okay with it. Schumitz would convey to the Navy that those crew members had been killed. He would lie. In a true testament of loyalty to either his command, or the power of the United States Navy, every crewmember left with the Stockdale.
Remo is not a crew member. He is retired Navy if you remember from my incoherent babblings earlier in this journal.
Austin was in the room when I spoke to Schumitz. He blinked several times and managed a shocked, “What?” when I told him I was leaving.
“Eventually, that Navy suit-dick is going to come for me. Either he will send people to snag me, or someone will order him to do it. They know where I am, and that makes me a danger to everyone here.” I actually hung my head in sadness.
“Where will you go?” He sounded bewildered. “There’s nowhere safe.”
“You’re right, there isn’t, but I can’t be responsible for the deaths of everyone here. What if they aren’t interested in me saying ‘no’?”
Schumitz chucked in his two cents. “He’s right. Eventually, they will swing back around to thinking he’s got the cure for all of this inside him. What they simply can’t understand is that it’s too late. Everything’s already gone.” The captain stuck his paw out to me. “Good luck.”
I shook it. “You too.”
We exchanged more pleasantries, including a glass of some type of really expensive whiskey that Austin had hidden in his office. It tasted like lighter fluid. I would have preferred a Bud Light, but the sentiment was great. I left and went to pack my shit at just before 1700.
Donna and Ship were in my shack waiting for me.
“Of course I’m coming,” Donna said. Ship nodded his giant dome as well.
“I know, but have you considered you’re the best medic on this tub?”
“Damn right! We have two doctors here now, they don’t need me. You do.”
“Damn right,” I whispered and touched her face. “But the kids—”
“Are coming too,” she finished. I started to say something, but she gave me that look. If, Dear Reader, you’re a guy, then you know that nut-shriveling look your woman gives you. The one that both tells you to shut up and not to fuck with her at the same time. If you’re a woman, Dear Reader, then that look is inherent, and needs no explanation.
A noise from the doorway made me glance to my right. Remo was leaning against the doorframe, Josey Wales-style with a toothpick angled out of the corner of his mouth instead of a cigar. “The kids should stay here. When was the last time you were on land? It’s bad.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Donna told him. “If they stay here, they deal with bullets and grenades from the people who will come for the cure, or someone wanting Atlantis. If they leave with us, they deal with the dead. The dead are easier.”
It was true that the dead didn’t shoot guns, or use advanced tactics, but there were way, way more of them. People just don’t get what everywhere means when you tell them that the dead are everywhere. Ship put his gorilla mitt on my shoulder. “Yeah, I know you’re coming. I wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave this place without you. Or him,” I added, pointing at the jarhead.
His raised a thin eyebrow. “And what makes you think I want to keep saving your ass over and over again?”
I shot back with an epic eye roll. “Because you’re already dying of boredom here. You didn’t become… whatever the fuck it is you are, for the money. Besides,” I pulled up my shirt exposing the bullet and surgery scars, “save my ass? Of all the people on this asylum, you’re the only one who’s shot me.”
Ship snapped his fingers. I looked at him and he was nodding No. Seeing my dumbfounded look, he pointed to the poster on the wall of a kitten with its claws in a tree branch. Hang In There was the caption.
I might not be Ship-caliber smart, but I could pick up what he was putting down. “Oh yeah. Kat shot me first. Sorry, Remo, you lost that game. Besides, you love me. You’re coming, we all know it.”
He didn’t smile, but I’ve known him long enough that I could tell he wanted to. “Any extras coming?”
I counted on my fingers. “I’ve got eight. Tim, Remo, Ship, the wife n’ kids, Kat, and Alvarez.”
Ship was holding up one finger, then pointed his thumb up like he was hitchhiking. I looked at Remo, who did that little huh thing he does while looking elsewhere briefly. “He means there will be nine of us. You forgot yourself, dumbass.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Fine. Whatever. We can leave tomorrow. Right now, let’s pack and figure out how we get where we’re going.”
Donna looked at me, “And where is that?”
Tim walked in right then, excusing himself past Remo, and dropped his stuff on my bed. “Where’s what?”
“We’re leaving,” I told him, my head hung a bit low.
“About damn time. I think I got more sleep running for my life. I hate it here. We going to San Francisco or what?”
Ship was making this ridiculous huff-huff noise and I turned to look at him. He was laughing. “You sound like an idiot,” I told him, smiling. He pointed to me, to his eyes, then held up one finger, and started laughing harder. Meant I look like one. An idiot, I mean. Everybody started to laugh, and soon we were crying-laughing. A couple of people walking by looked at my shack, shaking their heads and moving on.
Ship came up with a map, and we looked at North and Central America. “Here,” I pointed at a spot south of Brownsville, Texas, “we should land here, cross all the way to here, El Colorado, Mexico, get a boat, and go north.”
Remo sauntered over to the map. “A few hundred miles north of one of the most populated cities on earth. Ten miles south of a city with a population of about a hundred and eighty thousand. From here to here,” he drew his finger across the map, “is nothing. Not United States nothing, where there’s a gas station or convenience store every twenty miles. Mexico nothing, where there’s nothing.”
“Nothing is good though, right?”
He looked up at me. “Maybe. There shouldn’t be any infected, but there won’t be any water, and that’s all scrubland and desert until you hit the mountains here.” He pointed at a green swath on the map and raised his eyebrows. “And look,” he put his finger on the map again, “Monterrey. Right between us and where we need to go. Monterrey is a big city. More than a million, I think.”
We talked about what to do until 2200, and decided we would land between Brownsville and Corpus Christi, Texas. We would head west and see what happened when we hit the coast. Then north to Frisco. Yeah, I know nobody from San Francisco says Frisco, but this is my journal, and you can screw. I’m not from there and I can say or write what I damn well please.
Chloe got off her shift at the kitchen just as we were finishing up. Richy showed up an hour later, and we told them what was happening. They were apprehensive to leave, but didn’t want to stay without us. “Can we take the PlayStation?” Richy asked hopef
ully.
“Yeah Rich, you can plug it into your butt!” his sister chided him.
We snickered, Richy too, and began to pack our stuff.
Tim moved off to his shack to get his shit together and to tell Alvarez and Kat what was happening. Alvarez showed up half an hour later, telling me Kat’s stuff had been packed for weeks. Alvarez didn’t have a lot of things. None of us did, really, but Alvarez was bringing bullets and underwear.
Alvarez, Ship, Tim, and I showed up at the galley, and there were a bunch of sundries already packed for us. Austin had apparently told the cooks, who were also the keepers of the food stores, to give us what we wanted. They had pre-packed and labeled the food and water. “I didn’t give you any of the asparagus,” Gabriella, my favorite cook told me, and burst into tears. She threw herself at me in a hug, sobbing, “I didn’t think you would be able to cook it on the road. I’ll miss your stories.”
I kissed her on the top of her head. “I’ll miss telling them.” Gabriella was in her late forties, short, and made the best damn apple cobbler on earth. All four foot five of her looked up at me. “Austin said there was some more stuff on the Mary’s Joy.” She passed me a key.
We grabbed the stuff, including two five-gallon water bladders that were damn heavy, hugged Gabriella and Shawn, the other cook, and brought the stuff to the boat. The key Gabby had given me was for a footlocker. Inside were two MP5SD3 submachine guns with a thousand rounds of subsonic 9mm, and another thousand rounds of .556. Two tactical Beretta M9A1 handguns were also in the locker, with eight suppressors, three that would fit our M4s, three for the HK416s, and one each for the M9s. A short note accompanied the weapons and ammo cache:
Sorry, this was all I could spare. Just had the suppressors for the rifles milled on board. I would have given you a set of NVGs, but I never did get one back after the Majestik mission… Best of luck, and I hope I never see you again.
Schumitz, you old softie. The note wasn’t signed, but I knew who had left the stuff. I hoped I did see him again. I would buy him a drink as long as he wasn’t trying to capture me for experimentation.
I locked the locker and put it in one of the storage bins under the seat cushions. To be fair, Tim helped me because it was damn heavy, and I was still a bit sore. I rubbed the scar on my arm where Captain Bob had bitten me. It was always sore.
Donna and the kids hauled the rest of our essentials down to the boat. There wasn’t much besides what we needed. We would never have enough weapons and ammo, but I had my dead friend Ray’s EBR; a .308 battle rifle with a sexy scope. Alvarez had his M4, and Ship had acquired a beautiful Benelli tactical shotgun with a pistol grip.
It was just before 2300. We would leave our stuff here, post a guard, and split in the morning. We were all on the boat, Kat walking down the gangway with her stuff, when Remo and Ship did that staring at the sky thing that I have learned means deep shit. The two goons looked at each other, then Remo looked at me, “Trouble.” He had his HK416, and he nodded to Alvarez. They both took off back up to Atlantis.
“Shit!” I huffed and started to run after them.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Donna demanded.
“Richy went for the fucking PlayStation! You shoot anybody who comes down here that isn’t us!”
Donna spun and looked around for the kid, but he had slipped away. Kat jumped out of the boat with a rifle. “No!” I yelled a bit loudly. “You stay and protect the boat! I’ll be right back.” I could tell she wanted to come, and honestly, I would be happy for her aim, but she nodded and hopped right back in. Ship, however, would not be deterred. Not that I even tried, I wanted him with me.
Ship and I were on the main deck in just under a minute. It looked totally fine, but I had seen Ship’s and Remo’s Spidey-Sense in action before and I didn’t doubt it. What I didn’t see right now were Alvarez and Remo. They had melted into the darkness.
I could melt. I could melt into the darkness too. Ship was used to melting; he was seven feet tall, three hundred pounds, and never made any type of sound if he didn’t want to. I could do that.
He followed me as I ran to the rec center looking for Richy. The kid wasn’t there, but the PlayStation was. The place was empty, which was weird for ten PM. I looked at Ship and whispered in anger, “Fuck! He didn’t come for the stupid video game, he went for that damn dog!”
Ship spun on his heel and sprinted for my shack. The guy might be big, but he’s fast. One of his strides is like three of a non-sasquatch’s. Still, he made not one sound. I caught him when he stopped near one of the shacks. He held his hand out for me to stop, and I did. His hand is the size of a dinner plate, so I really had no choice. He pointed toward his own, recently vacated, shack. A furtive figure was just exiting. Clad in black, it carried a suppressed weapon which looked just like an MP5. It moved into the next shack. I moved to go after it, but Ship’s mitt hit me in the chest. He pointed to another figure, similarly garbed, covering the first. It was dark, but I had seen that black camo before. The dead dickweeds that had been on the Kanawha had been wearing it.
I tapped Ship on the shoulder, indicating I would slip in behind the guy and cover him. Ship nodded, pointing his shotgun at the crouching douche, covering me. I snuck right, moved through the superstructure, up three stairs, hooked left, and came up behind the lookout between the shacks.
“Harvester Two copies all,” the guy whispered. “Harvester One, eliminate all hostiles until you find primary target, then we exfil, how copy?” He put his finger to his ear, and I began to shake in anger. I willfully sent that shit away quickly. Don’t get me wrong, I was fucking pissed, but I wasn’t going to go all red-eye on him. There were probably plenty of these assholes to question, so I grabbed his forehead with the palm of my left hand, pulled it back into my shoulder, and drove my SOG downward into his throat up to the hilt. For good measure, I sawed back toward me and his red stuff literally exploded from his neck, coating the shack next to us. I had seen someone do this exact maneuver, and I have to tell you, it works. I yanked my knife out of him, lowered him to the ground, then stabbed him in the left eye, turning the knife when it was in. It was a bitch to pull back out, but I needed it, so I got it. I dragged his body back between the shacks, and crouch-ran to the door his pal had gone through. Ship had moved up, switched positions, and was covering me with his shotgun, across from the door.
The bad guy exited the apartment in front of me, but I was a damn ninja and hid behind a vertical pipe. He made it to my door, but it opened from inside and out strolled Richy with the dog on a rope-leash. He looked right at the guy in uniform, asking, “Who are you?”
The guy began to raise his SMG toward the kid, and I was too far away to do anything. I didn’t have to. Ship blew the dude out of his shoes. The boom of the weapon made every shack lamp on Atlantis light up, and this shit was on.
Gunfire erupted from all over and the fire alarm, which had become the anything at all that is wrong alarm, began to sound. I hadn’t heard so many alarm klaxons, or even known what the word “klaxon” meant until this fucking plague.
Both Ship and I sprinted to the wide-eyed kid, who was doing his best to control the now absolutely ape-shit dog. Ship did something then that I didn’t even consider. He didn’t pick up the kid, but scooped up the pooch and clamped a gigantic mitt over the thing’s jaws effectively silencing it. Sasquatch then used his massive boot to turn the dead, black-garbed asshole’s head into oatmeal, with a side order of yuck. He nodded his head toward the boat and Richy followed. I trailed them for a few steps to let Ship think I was with him, then veered off and headed for Austin’s office.
Atlantis was suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree, with every work light on board flashing to life. This would make it harder for the bad guys to be as stealthy, but it would work against us as well. I heard suppressed gunfire in front of me, so I skidded to a stop. Some female screaming came from my left, but it was cut off almost immediately. Austin stumbled from his office
up above me on the catwalk. I climbed the steel steps three at a time until I reached the walkway. “Austin! Do you know how many of them there are?” I whisper-yelled. He was looking the other way, sort of glancing around. Guy was probably terrified. I dashed to him, put my hand on his shoulder, and spun him around. He lunged at me, grabbed my shirt, and did his best to get a nibble. He was ghastly white, except for his shirt, which was a deep crimson down the front. A wide gash ran across his throat, deep enough I could see the tube of his trachea. Although surprised, I was able to use one of the moves Remo had taught me, and I punched upward under his arms, then brought my arm around and over, slamming my forearm over both of his. One hand let go, but the other was on me like iron. I thumped him in the face with the butt of the battle rifle, stunning him. He let go, staggering back a step, and I took that moment to give him a kick, aim the rifle at his face, and shoot without using the long-range optics.
I hadn’t fired this weapon before. This was not like a .556 weapon, and I was unprepared for the kick. It was substantial, and it hurt my shoulder a little bit. Usually, when I fired my HK416, or one of the M4s, the head of an infected would snap back, or a small bit might fly off. It was a bit disgusting, but I was used to it. This thing was more of a sniper rifle, and most of Austin’s head, from the upper lip on up the right side, simply ceased to be attached. It flew off to my left and he flew backward, landing on the steel mesh of the deck. In a moment of grand stupidity, I looked at the rifle and then back at my dead friend.
A fairly large explosion from a deck lower and behind me brought me to my senses. I climbed up the side of the ladder on the office, situating myself on the flat roof. I was in a small rain puddle, but I would deal. Looking through the scope on the weapon was tough, because even though Atlantis was covered in light, it was still dark outside. I panned the weapon to my left and saw a guy in black camo raising his rifle. There were two bodies next to him, both in civilian clothes. I put the crosshairs on him, pulled the stock of the rifle close to my shoulder, and squeezed the trigger.
The Zombie Theories (Book 3): Conversion Theory Page 16