by S. Ganley
Shellie pushed herself free from the zombie and backed into the room where she could stand back up and lean against the frame of the bed while she recovered from the episode. Kyle pushed the slumped body of the zombie off his lap and slid backwards out of the bunkroom until his back ran into the desk in the center of the large open entryway. He remained sitting on the floor while he struggled to catch his breath and regain his composure.
#
It had taken the better part of the day to get the USS Abraham Lincoln and the Los Angeles class nuclear powered attack submarine, the USS Cheyenne, geared up and ready to steam north to take up a position one hundred miles off the coast of Northern Virginia. The aircraft carrier was the linchpin for the mission with its ability to launch flights deep into the mainland. No other surface ship would be involved in the mission for fear that airborne contamination could possibly reach even that far out to sea. The Abraham Lincoln had been reduced to a skeleton crew with all personal not completely essential for the operation of the ship or flight operations removed to temporary shore side duties at Guantanamo. An additional compliment of seventy five personnel with training in decontamination procedures, twenty five ground troops equipped and trained to operate in chemical and biological environments as well as scientific staff from the segregated science compound at the far end of the Guantanamo complex were airlifted aboard the carrier to support the operations. Sending a national asset like an aircraft carrier into any form of potential hazard dictated that some form of support accompany it. Since the danger in the case of this particular mission was not from any potential armed adversary the presence of only the Cheyenne was deemed sufficient. The mission of the sub was to remain submerged on station near the carrier at all times and in constant radio contact. If radio contact was lost or the sub was able to determine that the carrier's crew had become infected and attempted to return to Cuba or the surrounding waterways. It was ordered to disable the carrier before it could reach any Caribbean islands or within helicopter range of Cuba. The sub was not only tasked with that unsavory task but it was also carrying two teams of navy SEAL's and a specialized submersible for transporting the SEAL's to the carrier. If a portion of the carrier was compromised and the crew was able to compartmentalize the effected sections, the SEAL's would respond to the carrier in full biological protective gear and make an assessment of whether or not the carrier was deemed safe to be allowed to return to port in Cuba. Keeping the SEAL's segregated on board the submarine ensured they were not comprised and could make an impartial determination if the carrier was truly safe to be allowed to return.
The flight wing of the carrier had also been reduced to a skeleton crew, far below anything an active aircraft carrier steaming into harm’s way had ever carried. Six F-18's, two refueling craft, two EA-6B Prowler electronic warfare aircraft and two Sea Stallion heavy transport helicopters were almost swallowed up in the massive below deck garage of the carrier. The aircraft had been selected due to their ability to be configured to protect their crews in chemical and biological warfare environments. The Prowlers would rotate duty staying aloft at all times while the carrier was in transit and on station off the Virginia coastline. Their sophisticated suite of electronic warfare equipment made them especially suitable to locate and monitor any transmissions from the mainland. This ability would aid them in locating survivors still capable of transmitting distress calls and learn more about conditions inside the infected areas. The F-18's would fly the actual missions over DC and any other recon missions they were tasked with. Stripped of all weapons except for cannon ammunition and fitted with detection and collection equipment a pair of F-18's would be able to loiter over the target areas for up to two hours at a time. The missions would also film and take still photos of specified locations and anything of interest the pilots noted for later examination. If it was determined that the area was safe enough to attempt a ground operation, the Sea Stallions would ferry troops and scientific personnel to designated landing areas.
A section inside the aircraft hangar in the belly of the carrier was designated for the scientific work and segregated from the rest of the crew. Two inflatable contamination shelters had been erected to store all the equipment and samples that would be used in conducting the work. There were also a pair of metal cages with shackles already in place right next to the shelters and in their own contamination shelter. If the mission went well and it was deemed safe to attempt the capture of infected personnel or even zombies themselves, they would be secured under armed guard inside those cages. This part of the mission planning had almost given MG Brookover a coronary and he had argued heavily against any consideration of actually retrieving those types of specimens. He had even taken his argument straight to the President, stressing the danger to all them involved in approving such a reckless operation. Dr. Woods had come right back with the counter argument that live specimens were paramount to studying the progression of the virus and learning how it interacted with the brain and other organs. If they were to have any chance of finding a cure they needed complete access to all of the tools possible to fully study it. Dr. Woods’s arguments won the day and MG Brookover was reminded by the President that any and all endeavors towards finding a cure would take the highest of priorities, to the point that the carrier and its crew were deemed expendable. MG Brookover was reminded of his orders to fully support Dr. Woods and all efforts his team was making in studying this event. In the end the General had accepted his Commander in Chiefs criticisms and assured him that he would follow his orders to the letter. Dr. Woods on the other hand suspected that despite such assurances from the General he would still have an uphill battle with the man at every turn.
The Abraham Lincoln along with the submerged Cheyenne finally set sail just after sunset. At full speed it would take just over fifteen hours to reach their designated operational area and flight operations would begin immediately upon their arrival. The flight crews accompanying the Abraham Lincoln were volunteer only, Lt. "Crusher" Chapman had volunteered to head flight operations. He understood the risks involved, there was a very good chance that this would be a one way trip. His reason for stepping up to the plate was that he knew there was no one else who would do it and he also knew just how important this mission was. Everyone of them had lost loved ones in the days following the outbreak and those of them that had survived so far were on borrowed time. It was probably only a matter of time before the virus found its way to Cuba. Even if that didn't happen anytime soon, they were sure to be facing other disasters with their isolation from the rest of the world. The island of Cuba was self-sustaining only to a certain point, all it would take would be one bad storm or a failed crop season for food to suddenly become scarce. Suicide rates had already skyrocketed as the hopelessness of the situation sank in within their ranks. There were many more scenarios that could spell doom for the rest of them that he was hesitant to continue thinking about while making his decision. It came down to the simple fact that if they didn't do something soon to fight back and try to regain their place in the world their fates were sealed just as surely as their loved ones they had left behind.
When Crusher stepped up and took on the responsibility of organizing the flight operations for the mission and explained his reasons for doing so to the rest of his squadron and the other pilots from the Abraham Lincoln, he found himself standing in front of a rank after rank of pilot volunteers eager to follow his example and join the mission. He went through the list of volunteers and selected the pilots that would be joining the mission based on experience and capabilities. Ltjg. "Huntress" Frostburg, his latest wingman, had not been chosen based on any of those criteria. She had approached him after he had given his speech to the other pilots about why he had personally elected to volunteer. She told him about her husband and son who she feared had been lost to the virus and how important it was that she do her part in any way possible to honor their memories. She admitted that she was terrified of joining the mission, that it was takin
g every fiber of courage inside of her to approach him with the request but that for her to face those fears and get beyond them she needed to take her place as his wingman once again. Crusher had been moved by her request and the reasons behind it, she would not have been one of his choices but considering her heartfelt and touching story he found that he couldn't turn her down. Once the remaining pilots were chosen they all bid farewell to those who would not be accompanying them and then stood shoulder to shoulder on the flight deck saluting each of them in turn as they departed the aircraft carrier. Once the last of their comrades took to the skies, they all silently returned to their cabins to begin going over their maps and preliminary mission planning, even though none of them said it aloud they each had their own suspicions that this was likely the last set of missions any of them would fly.
Chapter 8
The banging on the outside of the door started to noticeably subside a little after midnight, by two in the morning it had stopped all together. Even after silence descended on the room, each of them found it difficult to sleep without waking every few seconds expecting to find the room flooded with zombies. Garrett and Calvin had rotated turns standing guard throughout the night, Miranda had offered to take a turn on watch but they had declined her offer. It had nothing to do with either of them having any doubt about her ability, she had more than proved her usefulness in a fight and she had rightfully earned their respect for that. It came down to simple male ego that would not allow them to let her stand watch while they slept. Cameron and Doug were clearly in no shape to put on the rotation list nor did either of them offer to volunteer. They had already spent several nights in the shelter sleeping soundly without incident and took it for granted that they would continue to remain safe. While both Garrett and Calvin agreed that there was probably not much chance of the zombies actually getting through the secure door, their military training and experiences could not let them even consider laying their heads down without knowing that someone was up at all times standing a watch. Emily had finally gotten over her fits of sobbing but continued to sulk silently with her back to everyone refusing any attempt at engaging her in conversation. She laid down across the couch a little after ten and promptly fell fast asleep. Her snores and other disquieting bodily sounds added to the already uncomfortably atmosphere inside the shelter.
It was Calvin's second watch of the night at four in the morning when he heard a soft rustling sound somewhere in the room. The only available light was a sliver of moonlight streaming in through the small windows, leaving the majority of the room covered in inky darkness. Calvin had better than average night vision and an excellent sense of hearing. He closed his eyes and concentrated on tracking the sound in the room from where he was sitting near the door on the floor with his back against the wall. He envisioned where everyone was sleeping, the layout of the room and how he remembered everything being situated before he had lost the last of the light the evening before. Other than Emily sleeping by herself on the couch, everyone else was sprawled out in close proximity on the floor in one large group. He was reasonably sure that the sound was coming from somewhere near the couch. Opening his eyes again he focused on that part of the room and patiently waited until his vision adjusted to the darkness and he could make out the shape of the couch and table a few feet in front of it. He was able to discern a lump on the couch that must have been Emily's sleeping form and as he concentrated on it he was sure he could see small but subtle movements near her head. He thought it possible that the woman was actually awake and engaged in some type of discreet activity that she was making great efforts to hide. He studied her in the darkness and tried to guess what she could be up to, for a little while he just considered not bothering with investigating further. It was after all her house they were in and she had just about every right to do whatever the hell her fat ass desired that didn't put the rest of them in any danger. He then dismissed that thought. He really wanted to know just what she could possibly be up to at four in the morning while everyone else was tossing and turning trying to get a little bit of rest. The only flashlight that Doug had squirreled away inside the shelter was a three cell Mag light with batteries that only had a little bit of life remaining. They had put it on a small table near the door and only a few feet away from where Calvin was sitting on the floor to be used only in emergencies. Without making a sound he reached over to the table and grabbed hold of the light turning it towards the couch and lining it up on Emily before pressing the on button. The light caught Emily directly in the face and caused her to throw a hand up to shield her eyes from the unexpected explosion of light. As she raised her hand Calvin saw something drop to the floor alongside the couch and he trailed the object with the beam of light. He would have laughed at the discovery if the implications for the rest of them had not been so serious. Calvin had caught the woman red handed with a can of beef stew that she was eating cold right from the can with a plastic spoon.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me." Calvin proclaimed as he shone the light back on the stunned woman's face, a smudge of stew was still visible clinging to the outside of her lips.
She just stared back at him through the beam of light, guilt and surprise evident on her face. "Whaaat? It’s not what you....I was hungry, there was only a little." She was choking up as she struggled for an appropriate response.
The exchange was enough to wake everyone else in the room and it only took them a moment to take in the scene and understand what was happening.
"She has food?" Doug cried out. "We haven't had a thing to eat in two days and you have had food all this time!"
Fully awake now, everyone crowded around the couch where Emily was still sprawled out with a can of beef stew spilled on its side on the carpet next to her. Miranda reached down and ripped the blankets from the couch to expose the large woman lying there in nothing but her underwear, and also revealing a box of saltine crackers tucked under her arm.
"Get up!" Miranda demanded. The tone of her voice making it clear that the demand was not up for debate.
Emily looked from face to face and knew that she did not have any allies in that room, even her own husband was glaring at her, his face red with anger and fists clenched at his side. She stood slowly and stepped a few paces away from the couch and out of arms reach of any of them in case someone decided the discovery of her secret stash of food warranted at jab to the nose. Reaching down to the couch Miranda grabbed the box of crackers and put them on the floor next to the can of stew. While she was reaching down she noticed the seam of the couch near the floor was pulled out from the couch in one spot. Dropping to her knees she asked Calvin to shine the light onto the seam and she reached her hand into the space under the couch.
"What the hell!" Miranda exclaimed as she pulled out two more cans of beef stew, a half empty bottle of Gatorade, a second small box of crackers and several slices of bread tucked into a plastic baggie. She spread the incriminating pile on the floor at the side of the couch and looked up at Emily.
"You bitch. Your husband and Cameron have been going without food for days. None of the rest of us have had anything to eat or drink since yesterday and you have a stash of crap like this tucked away under the couch!" Miranda stood and started to take a step towards the cowering woman when Garrett grasped her gently by the arm.
"Kicking her ass all over the room might be tempting, but counterproductive at the moment." He said as she turned towards him with rage billowing in her normally beautifully bright eyes. "Let’s just divvy up the bounty, everyone get a little something in their bellies and try to get a little more rest. Once the sun is up we need to try and move out, all of us need to be fresh."
There was a connection between Miranda and Garrett at that moment that everyone in the room could clearly see. She relented to his earnest request to put aside her anger for the moment and not lash out at Emily. Garrett felt the electricity that passed between them as he continued to gently grasp her arm and looked deep into her eyes. He r
ealized that it was very possible the two of them had just past a milestone and he had to admit he was anxious to see what lay beyond for them. The rage that he had seen in her eyes was replaced with something else, something that told him that she was feeling the exact same way towards him. He let the moment pass, there would be another more appropriate time for them but it was not right then. Miranda stepped aside and let Garrett move forward to divide the stash of food.