“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Max!” blurted Ana, throwing her hands up. “That was over forty years ago. You couldn’t run two blocks let alone fight your way out of a zombie-infested city.”
Jumping up Max yelled, “Well, we can’t stay here! You want to die curled up in a ball on the floor, go ahead. I am not going to die like that. Not now, not ever.” He looked at everyone then stormed off into the kitchen to cool down.
Gail, who hadn’t raised her head throughout the whole discussion, finally looked up at Ana and spoke. “They’re right, Ana. We will surely die if we continue to stay here. I don’t want to leave either, but I don’t think we have a choice. It’s dying here or taking our chances outside. Not pretty, but there it is. I feel like throwing up right now I’m so scared, but we have to go.”
Ana stood there for half a minute then sat back down, folded her arms, and turned her head to the side, saying, “It better be a fucking good plan.”
5
Pierre Bouchard sat in the galley of the main boat they used in their privateering, a fifty-one-foot Ferretti 510 that he acquired in Fort Lauderdale. He could have had a much bigger and more luxurious yacht. Hell, he killed the owners of this one; he could have just as easily killed the owners of any boat he wanted. His problem was a pirate crew that actually knew how to handle a boat. They had two twin-engine Wellcraft Scarabs and a Cigarette Top Fish speedboat as their “chase boats.” All of these required people who were skilled sailors. While they weren’t piloting anything as complicated as a large sailboat, most of his “crew” couldn’t tell fore and aft from saltwater taffy. Bouchard now had a couple of cartel hitmen and four drug runners who used to bring in coke from Jamaica to the mainland. The rest were assorted waterfront thugs of various sorts. Corso and Guzman were essential for keeping order. Corso because he was smart and had the respect of everyone and Guzman purely because the thought of spending an hour alone with him scared the shit out of the toughest of his men.
Of course, Bouchard snickered, I always have Daffy Duck. The aforementioned waterfowl was his newest “buccaneer.” Actually from Alabama and named Jesse, he was a wildly crazy kid with a shaved head, completely tattooed skull, and more piercings than the entire audience at a Gwar concert. His eyes were always completely dilated, making them appear black. They picked him up in Marathon. He was actually one of the five men who torched the four semis on the Route 1 bridge, thereby creating an inferno that sealed off the Keys. Of the other four, one died in the explosion, two were bitten by zombies afterward, and one just disappeared. Daffy Duck said he drowned, but like everything else he ever said, you never really knew. Everyone called him Daffy Duck because he was a real loony tune. You never quite knew what he was going to do. Bouchard thought he was a “real hoot.” He loved it when a town’s leaders would try to negotiate with him for leniency and he would nod sagely and then introduce Daffy as his top negotiator. It was always a show. Sometimes as they were speaking and pleading, Daffy would sit and stare at them just inches from their faces, or he would run around the room screaming some nonsense, usually involving his suspicions of alien implants. One time, he jumped on the mayor’s desk and started masturbating while cackling loudly. Usually by this point, the councilmen would have peed themselves already. Like he said, hilarious. This last time, he had grabbed a fountain pen and jammed it up the mayor’s nose then hammered it home with the butt of his pistol, all the while screaming, “Just sign on the dotted line,” in his face. Bouchard always appreciated a good joke.
Corso, who was sitting silently in a chair next to him, leaned in. “Something’s up in the other part of town. I think that big yacht that pulled in last month is getting ready to leave. Rumor has it that the group split up and only some are leaving. Sounds good for us.”
“Aye, mate. She’s a prize, and I want her. She’d make a fine home for the crew,” Bouchard said, nodding.
Corso sat there looking at Bouchard with hooded eyes. This pirate shit is getting old, he thought. Enough with the Long John Silver crap. If Bouchard wasn’t so good at it, I’d fucking slit his throat right now. Christ!
Bouchard, deep in thought, didn’t notice how malevolent Corso’s expression had turned. It was only a slight dipping of the corners of his mouth, almost unnoticeable. But for Corso, this slight change spoke volumes. Slowly Bouchard smiled, and then he turned toward his accomplice. “I want you to sneak in there and find out more exact information. I want to know how many are going to be on that boat. What kind of arms they’ll have. Also, if we could find out when they’re going to go. Then make it back here, and we’ll make plans to board and take her when she’s in deep water. After that, I have a little surprise for the rest of our friends in Key West. They’re about to have their own ‘zombie invasion.’”
6
Everyone was back together in the lobby of the Key West hotel. It had taken a little longer than predicted for everyone to make up his or her mind.
“So, how do we do this?” asked Mike. “Show of hands? Separate sides of the room? Or ‘My Decision’ in twenty-five words or less?”
“That last one may be a good idea,” said Sean. He looked around. “I think just a yes or no is a little cold, and I really would like to hear what people are thinking. After all, we’ve all been through so much together.”
“I like that,” said Carol. “I think the reasons we will have are important too.”
“I second that,” replied Malik.
“Is that okay with you, Tommy?” asked Sean, looking at the master sergeant with a concerned look.
“Sure. I told my men they’re on their own. Whatever they want to do is all right with me.”
Sean looked over and smiled at the soldiers. “Welcome to civilian life.”
They smiled back, although rather uncomfortably. His other sergeant, Manuel Ortega, didn’t even raise his head.
Sean gave the room a brief glance, and then, nervously scratching the back of his head, he said, “Well, I guess I might as well start.” He looked at his girlfriend Linda and smiled at her. “Linda and I are staying. We talked, and although Antigua sounds interesting, we really don’t want to leave the States. I’d like to see if there is anywhere where order is restored.”
Michael turned and said, “Sue and I came to the same conclusion. We are not staying here in the Keys but are going to go north with Sean and Linda.”
“The same with me,” Jack said with a smile.
Malik didn’t stand. Instead, he leaned over toward Sean. “If you want, I’d like to join you too. I don’t think I want to give up on this country just yet.”
“Sounds good to me, doc,” Sean said with a grin.
Naomi squirmed then said quietly, “I’d like to stay here. I’m tired of running. I ran from the hospital, to the house, to Boca, now here to Key West. I’m tired of it. I like it here. I’m sorry…I love you all, but I just can’t do this anymore. I’m bone tired.”
Jack leaned over and rubbed her back. “It’s okay,” he said, “we understand.” She sniffed once or twice then nodded her head.
Carol sadly looked at Naomi and then at Sean. “I…I would like to come with you guys. I guess this whole thing has, ah, sort of changed me. I’d like to continue to explore this new person.” She looked at the previous speakers. “If it’s all right with you.”
Jack smiled. “Sure, Carol, love to have you continue on with us.”
There was a moment of quiet and then the two soldiers, Mario and Luis, who had helped Jake sail the yacht to the Keys, stood. Mario cleared his throat, looked at Luis and then at Tommy. “Um. Luis and I really like being on Jake’s boat. It kind of brings back good memories, and we both want to continue doing that.”
Luis chimed in. “Sarge, I guess you could say we went from grunts to squids.”
Tommy laughed and said, “Hey, if you want to swab decks all day, God bless you.”
Manuel Ortega stood. He looked at them sternly and then broke into a big smile. Punching Mario in his muscular ar
m he said, “I always knew you two were closet Navy.” Looking to Tommy, he paused and then said, “Sgt. Di Meola, I wish to reenlist.”
“You don’t have to do this, Manny,” said Tommy.
“Yes, I do. I’m a grunt. I’m good at it. Where you go, I go.”
As Tommy and Manny looked at each other, Rich stood up and then Travis, Jamal, and Paul. “Where do we sign up?” they all asked.
Tommy looked at his squad fondly. “You guys are nuts, you know.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” chuckled Rich.
“How did you all know I was going to stay?” asked Tommy.
“You’re Sarge!” Jamal said with a laugh.
Just then, Tommy looked over and noticed Vince Pasko still sitting. Looking dejected with his head hung down and his arms on his knees, he finally looked up at his former sergeant. Tears were running down his face.
“Vince, what’s wrong?” Tommy asked.
“Two years ago my wife, Sharon, and I went to Antigua on our honeymoon. It…it was the best time we ever had together. It was so beautiful. We always used to say, ‘Wouldn’t it be great to stay here forever?’” Vince looked directly at Tommy, a searing, painful expression on his face. “Sarge, she died while we were in Afghanistan. She was coming back from work when she was attacked in the street by those fucking zombies. I…I wasn’t even there to help her.” Vince lowered his head and then roughly wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I want to go back to Antigua. I got nothing here. Maybe if I’m there, I’ll feel like Sharon is with me again. I need this.”
Tommy walked over. Vince stood, and the two men hugged each other. “I get it,” Tommy said softly. “Go. Maybe there’s a little bit of Sharon waiting for you there.” He slapped him on the back.
“Thanks, Sarge,” said Vince, smiling with wet eyes.
The small boat silently pulled up to the deserted dock on the western side of the city. Tying off the small skiff, two men got out of the boat.
Corso looked around carefully and then turned to his companion. “C’mon, Tank. Let’s go.”
They trotted down the dock to dry land. Stopping, Corso looked around again and then turned to the other man. Tank was a huge, immensely muscled bodybuilder. He was bald and had shiny ebony skin. He was the biggest man Corso had ever seen. He wasn’t that tall, but he was as wide as a large refrigerator. Tank was a raging ’roid-head and all but lived at the gym. He shot up anabolic steroids so frequently that he was hugely over muscled. An ex-con, the steroids made him even more aggressive than he normally was. He supported his ’roid habit by doing collections and “tune-ups” for one of the big loan sharks in Fort Lauderdale. He couldn’t believe he was actually being paid to do what he liked to do, which was putting other people in the hospital. His problem was that he was too good at doing just that. His boss was always yelling, saying that the victims couldn’t pay him back if they had to spend six months in a coma. Then Pandora came, and the whole world went to hell. Bouchard knew him from his travels and scooped him up as part of his growing band of pirates.
“Listen, Tank,” Corso said, “if I’m not back in three hours, you know what to do.”
Tank nodded his head and smiled at him. Two sparkling diamonds shined in that big, toothy grin. Corso gave him a small, quick smile in return and then trotted off and disappeared into the buildings around the wharf.
Jake came into the lobby, and the rest of the group told him of their decisions. Everyone was talking about possible plans when Tommy turned to Jake. “Now that everything is decided, are you leaving this weekend?”
“Yes,” replied Jake, “as soon as everything is aboard and stowed away.”
“I think we still may have a problem,” Tommy stated. “We still have Bouchard and his merry band to contend with.” Jake looked at him in sudden realization, his face turning pale. Tommy continued, “With most of us remaining behind, the amount of firepower you will have is going to be minimal. That psycho is going to know this and will attack the boat with everything he has the minute it gets a few miles out.”
“Sarge is right,” Mario chimed in. “With only Luis, Vince, and me locked and loaded and Bouchard’s men in three boats, we wouldn’t stand a chance out there.”
“How about if we follow you in another boat with everyone on board?” asked Jack.
“Negative,” Tommy said. “You’d have to go all the way to Antigua with them. It’s not practical.” Tommy thought for a second then said, “Let Manny and me hash this problem out, and we will get back to you all later on.”
Standing up he continued, “In the meantime, we’re up for our turn on watch at the barricades. The Z’s have been slowly gaining in numbers out there, and we still have to make sure the fortifications hold. Paul, Vince, Rich, and Luis, you’re up. Let’s go.” With that, the meeting ended and everyone went his or her own separate way.
Two hours later, Regina King was making the rounds and checking on the people manning the barricades. She stopped as she saw one of the KWPD force jogging up to her. She recognized Delbert Nolan as the officer.
“Officer Nolan. What’s the rush?”
“Sheriff,” Del said, coming up to her, “I think we may have a problem.”
“What’s up?” asked Regina.
“Patrolman Larney just told me one of his people thought he saw one of Bouchard’s men roaming around.”
“How did he know he was Bouchard’s man?”
Nolan said, “The guy was up in Marathon when they raided the city. He remembered seeing this guy standing next to Bouchard as the trouble was starting.”
Regina, nodding her head at his story, said to Del, “Do we know where he is now?”
“Larney said he tracked him to one of the only open bars in town, The Rusty Anchor.”
“Okay,” she stated. “Let’s go pick him up and see what he has to say.”
Twenty minutes later, Sheriff Regina King, Tommy, and three other Key West police officers caught Corso leaving the bar to head back to the skiff.
Quickly cuffing the cursing man, they hurried him off to the building they were using as police and military headquarters. Hearing this, Sean came running over too.
Sean entered the former warehouse and encountered Del Nolan. “Who is this guy?” he said quickly as he purposefully strode to the room they were using as their interrogation room.
“We don’t know, but I’ll tell you one thing,” Del remarked. “This is one really scary dude. He looks at you and it gives you the creeps.”
“We’ll see,” said Sean confidently. He entered the large anteroom were Corso was being held. As soon as Sean entered, Corso’s gaze moved to him. Mother of God, he thought to himself, he fucking looks like Dracula.
Corso sat in the middle of the room, his hands still handcuffed behind him. He was sitting in an old, cheap office chair with a metal desk in front of him.
Tommy turned to Sean and said, “Other than being extremely pissed off, he’s been no problem.”
Regina stepped up to him, and he slowly turned his gaze her way. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” she asked him. Corso just stared at her with a calm, nonchalant expression. “Who are you and what do you want here?” she repeated. Corso still sat there staring at her. He looked as though he were watching a fly on the wall. Regina leaned a little closer. “I’m talking to you!”
Another officer, Frank Larney, had come up behind Corso. Frank Larney looked like a cop. In his late twenties with a “high and tight” buzz cut, muscular build stuffed into a too-tight shirt, and a no-nonsense expression, Larney was the kind of cop you always hoped never pulled you over. Now directly behind Corso, who was still staring at Regina, Frank quickly bent down and, putting his mouth to Corso’s ear, yelled, “Talk, motherfucker! ”
Everyone unconsciously jerked at the sharp, sudden sound. That is, everyone but Corso. Still staring at Regina, he didn’t jump, didn’t move, didn’t even blink. What he did do was slowly smile—a chilling smile that
never reached his eyes. Tilting his head slightly toward Frank, he said in a soft, gravelly voice, “I guess you’re supposed to be the scary fuck, huh?”
“Oh yeah, I’m scary all right,” Frank said, grabbing the shirt material on Corso’s shoulder. The cop was still bent down. Corso spun his head toward him with a snakelike quickness. His expression was now pure hatred. As Officer Larney started to rise, Corso shot up at him. With his face an inch away, he shouted, “Boo!”
Frank tried to move back but stumbled, legs tangling, and landed flat on his back. As he tried to scramble up and back at the same time, Corso roared with laughter. “Now that is scary, motherfucker.”
Hands grabbed him and shoved him back down in his seat. Corso continued to laugh, obviously enjoying himself.
“Who are you?” Regina yelled, putting her hands on the metal table.
“Fucking Santa Claus,” snarled Corso, changing from loudly laughing to scornfully sneering in a split second.
Tommy spat disgustedly. “Shit, we’re getting nowhere fast. What are you doing here?”
Corso looked up at Tommy, his eyes black and piercing but his expression completely blank. “I came to see how the other half lives.”
Tommy turned away, “Oh, for Christ’s—”
“No really,” said Corso calmly. “Bouchard is driving me crazy, and I thought it was time for a change of scenery.”
“What are you planning?” asked Sean.
“Well,” started Corso, turning his gaze back to Regina, “I really planned on getting another drink before I left, but you assholes fucked that up.”
Frank Larney was standing off to the side again. His face was beet red from the humiliation he received at the hands of this maniac. He was shaking, he was so angry.
Corso smiled at Regina. “How about you come and have a drink with me to make up for it, and I’ll show you some neat tricks with these handcuffs.”
Before anybody could react, Frank bounded over, cursing, and threw a punch at Corso’s head.
Pandora 2: Death is not an Option Page 3