Zombie Apocalypse: The Chad Halverson Series

by Bryan Cassiday

  “In fact, we are going foraging in San Francisco,” said Bascomb.

  “Great. Let’s go and kill some ghouls.”

  “Let me make this perfectly clear.” Bascomb paused for effect. “You’re not gonna kill anyone unless you’re attacked.”

  “For sure, they’ll attack us.”

  “Haven’t you been listening?” Halverson asked Bascomb, irked by Bascomb’s intransigence. “The ghouls have got to be killed and torched as well, in order to prevent their spreading the plague.”

  “And also to prevent them from eating us,” said Reno. “Don’t forget that tasty tidbit. I don’t want to end up an entrée on some zombie’s bill of fare.”

  Bascomb went on as if Halverson and Reno had not spoken. “If we see any of the infected committing crimes, we’ll make every attempt to arrest them and bring them back to face justice here on the Rock.”

  With that, Bascomb abruptly turned away from them and swung toward the pier with his security personnel in tow.

  Halverson, Victoria, Reno, Parnell, and Brittany stayed behind and huddled together.

  “I’m not going on the raid,” said Brittany. “I feel like I’m gonna pass out any second.”

  “Good decision,” said Parnell. “You need rest more than anything. I don’t see any point in my going, either.” He swept his eyes across Halverson and Reno. “I’m not waging a vendetta against the infected like you two are.”

  “The more ghouls we kill now, the less we’ll have to kill later,” said Halverson.

  Parnell shook his head. “I’ll escort Brittany back to a room in the prison where she can catch some shuteye.”

  “I don’t feel like going on the raid either,” said Victoria, face haggard. “I’m too worn out.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Halverson.

  Halverson and Reno trotted after Bascomb and his retinue.

  “I don’t know about you,” said Reno, “but if I catch one of those ghouls anywhere near me, I’m plugging it. No questions asked.”

  Halverson thought about it. “I think we better do as he says, or at least appear to do as he says. The last thing we need is to have him bust us.”

  “You think?”

  “He would feel as much reluctance chucking us behind bars as he did with those other people he imprisoned. And besides, he’s got more firepower than we do.”

  Chapter 32

  Halverson and Reno caught up with Bascomb as they reached the end of the rise that commanded a striking view of the bay. Directly below them stood the guard tower that looked like a narrower and smaller version of the water tower on their left.

  Beyond the guard tower stretched the small dock, where three inflatable Zodiac boats as well as the Costaguana were moored. With his CIA training, Halverson recognized the Zodiacs as MK 4HD workboats. They were just shy of seventeen and a half feet long and had room enough for twelve. From this distance he wasn’t able to make out the types of outboard motors the Zodiacs sported on their sterns.

  Despite the fact that the dock lay directly below them, Bascomb, Halverson, and the rest of the foraging party had to descend a zigzag cement path with a couple of long zigs and zags to reach it.

  As they approached the crafts, Halverson could make out Evinrude 60 hp in-line engines mounted on the Zodiacs.

  A dusky pelican flying overhead dipped through the sky searching for prey in the ocean.

  “Where do you get gas for the motors?” asked Halverson. “Or do the gas stations work around here?”

  “No,” answered Bascomb. “Nothing works. The power’s out. You can’t get gas out of the fuel pumps at the stations because of the power outage.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “We syphon gas from the abandoned cars all over the place. We fill up on gas whenever we go foraging.” Bascomb indicated half a dozen empty red plastic five-gallon jerricans in the nearest Zodiac.

  Halverson counted ten persons in their group. They piled into the bobbing boat.

  “You don’t expect us to go unarmed with you, do you?” he said.

  “You don’t need guns when you’re on the Rock.”

  “We sure need them if we’re headed into ghoul territory.”

  “The problem is, you took our shotguns,” Reno told Bascomb.

  Bascomb leaned over a steel box secured with a combination lock in the prow. He dialed the combination, removed the lock, and opened the box. He fished out two AK-47s and handed one to both Halverson and Reno.

  “These are better than shotguns when defending yourself from the infected,” he said.

  “No kidding,” said Reno, accepting the AK.

  “Where’d you get the AKs?” asked Halverson.

  “How do you know they’re AKs?” said Bascomb, searching Halverson’s face.

  “Everybody knows what an AK-47 is,” chimed in Reno, inspecting the automatic rifle. “If you haven’t seen one of these by now, you’ve been living all your life in a cave.”

  Halverson felt relieved Reno had answered for him. Halverson didn’t want Bascomb to suspect he had special weapons training. He knew Bascomb feared the government and might suspect him of working for them if he exhibited an inordinate knowledge of guns. There was no telling what Bascomb would do if he found out Halverson worked for the CIA.

  Halverson and Reno slung their AK-47s over their shoulders and claimed seats on the inflatable hull with the other members of the foraging party.

  That was one thing Halverson never liked about Zodiacs. Despite their excellent performance and buoyancy, they didn’t have thwarts to sit on. If you didn’t sit on the gunwale, you had to get down on your knees in the middle of the craft, which was safer but murder on your knees. He would rather sit on the bulky gunwale and risk falling overboard as seawater splashed in his face.

  The other men in the group were of the same opinion, he could see. They sat like he did and clung onto a rope that was strung along the top of the gunwales as the Zodiac prepared to shove off from dock.

  One of Bascomb’s men untied the Zodiac’s painter that was knotted to a cleat on the dock.

  The tillerman, Kobe Jones, started the outboard motor, and they shoved off.

  Spindrift pelted their faces as they made for Fisherman’s Wharf near the foot of the imposing orange-painted Golden Gate Bridge.

  It didn’t take long. It was little over a mile from Alcatraz to San Francisco.

  “I don’t see any of those things,” said Halverson, scoping out the wharf.

  “If I never see another one of them, it’ll be too soon,” said Reno.

  Nevertheless, Halverson knew the walking dead were out there somewhere. He could feel a kind of tension in the absolute silence. He didn’t know how else to describe his feeling of unease. Even the gulls and pigeons seemed to be avoiding the once-thriving wharf.

  Jones slewed the Zodiac to a halt in front of the wharf, kicking a frothing wave into the weathered planks and pilings. Bascomb had one of his crewmen tie the boat’s painter to a wooden bollard on the dock’s floor.

  “Remember when times were good and you didn’t have to worry about a ghoul eating you?” said Reno.

  “That seems like years ago,” said Halverson, though it was only a couple of days ago, he knew.

  Reno waxed nostalgic. “When all I had to worry about was getting harassed by my editor and my coworkers, meeting deadlines, paying my bills on time, and trying to get hooked up with a new girlfriend. That seems like heaven compared to now.”

  “Joe, Bill, and Sam,” said Bascomb. “Each of you rustle up a couple of jerricans and syphon gas for us.”

  Three burly guys in their early thirties gathered up the empty red jerricans and clambered out of the Zodiac onto the wharf.

  Halverson and Reno hopped out after them.

  “I guess I’m just a landlubber,” said Reno, feeling more comfortable on terra firma than he had at sea.

  “Not you two,” said Bascomb. “I want you to come with the rest of us and search for
food.”

  “Fine. As long as I get to plink my share of ghouls.”

  “We’re not plinking anyone unless we’re attacked. This isn’t open season on the infected. The same rules of law we have on the island apply here on the mainland.”

  “If they see us, they will attack us, I guarantee you.”

  “If you see them committing crimes, such as looting, arrest them.”

  Reno smirked and glanced at Halverson. “Is he kidding?” said Reno out of the side of his mouth so Bascomb could not hear him.

  Halverson held his tongue. He doubted Bascomb was kidding. In any case, Halverson was in no hurry to arrest a ghoul.

  “Is that clear?” said Bascomb.

  “How are we supposed to arrest them?” asked Reno.

  “Two of my men carry animal grabbers. The two of them will capture the guilty persons by fixing the animal grabbers to the culprits’ necks. Then we’ll transport the suspects back to the Rock for a fair trial.”

  “If they don’t eat you first.”

  “Nobody’s eating anyone. If we do come under attack, we’re retreating. We’re not getting into a pitched battle with the infected. That will solve nothing.”

  Bascomb picked at the corner of his eye.

  “You shouldn’t touch your eyes,” said Reno. “Remember what Parnell said. You could get the plague that way.”

  Bascomb jacked up his eyebrows but said nothing, his expression stony.

  Reno allowed a half smile to flicker on his lips. “I was kidding. You know Parnell. He’s like Chicken Little.”

  Bascomb didn’t laugh. “You have twenty minutes to gather supplies and return to the boat. We’re not staying a second longer than that. The infected will show up soon.”

  Halverson glanced at his black digital wristwatch to note the time.

  “Where to?” asked Reno.

  “We split up,” answered Bascomb. “That way we can cover more ground.”

  “But you guys know this area better then we do. You’ve been here before. You know where to look.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’re new faces. You two might be able to think of places that we’ve missed.”

  “In a pig’s eye.”

  “If you decide to arrest one of the infected, be sure to read him his Miranda rights first.”

  Reno burst out laughing. He could not help it.

  “Did I say something funny?” demanded Bascomb.

  When Reno saw that nobody else was laughing, he gathered himself together. “Why do we have to read Miranda rights to corpses?”

  “They’re not corpses. Corpses don’t walk.”

  Reno didn’t feel like getting into another argument with Bascomb. It felt too much like banging his head against a stone wall.

  Reno closed his eyes and plucked his earlobe.

  “How can we arrest the ghouls if we don’t have any animal grabbers?” asked Halverson.

  “Good question,” answered Bascomb. “If you see the infected committing crimes, notify me and I’ll send out our guys with the animal grabbers to help you.”

  “I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” said Reno.

  Nobody said anything.

  Reno swept his eyes across the blank faces of the foraging detail.

  He pegged these guys for robots. None of them seemed to be able to think for themselves. They did what they were told and shut up.

  “As always, the one who brings back the most supplies gets to keep half of them for himself,” said Bascomb.

  The men’s faces became animated. They nodded in approval.

  “The one who brings back the least,” added Bascomb, “gets left behind.”

  Nobody moved. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

  Reno could not stand the silence any longer. “You’re condemning someone to be eaten by the ghouls if you leave him behind.”

  There was a long silence before Bascomb responded.

  He smiled. “I was messing with you. You should see your faces. Everybody looks like somebody just walked over their graves.” Bascomb laughed. “Lighten up. You’re all too tense.”

  “Your sense of humor leaves something to be desired,” said Reno.

  “All right. Let’s go. Everybody split up. You’ve got twenty minutes. You take one second longer, you will be left behind.”

  Chapter 33

  Halverson and Reno exchanged glances.

  Halverson nodded.

  The rest of the men spun around and scattered over the wharf.

  Halverson and Reno scampered off in different directions then reunited a block away.

  “I don’t know about you,” said Reno, “but I’ve had it up to here with this guy Bascomb.”

  “He’s still better than living with the ghouls breathing down our backs,” said Halverson without enthusiasm.

  “I’m not so sure. At least with the ghouls, you know where you stand. Bascomb’s a snake in the grass. You don’t know what he’s gonna do.”

  “I share your concern. But we’re still safe from the ghouls on Alcatraz.”

  “Safe from the ghouls, but not from the Chosen One,” said Reno and formed quote marks with his fingers as he said “Chosen One.”

  Halverson froze in his tracks.

  “What is it?” said Reno.

  “Look down the street.”

  It wasn’t really a street. It was more like an alley along the wharf, Halverson realized. In any case, it wasn’t the alley that had stopped him cold. It was the figure standing in the alley.

  The fortysomething male figure was standing in a battered shepherd’s check jacket, his legs splayed out at awkward angles. Wearing wraparound black sunglasses, the figure held his head canted to the right as if he could not hold it up straight and was leaning it on his shoulder for support.

  The tilt of the head didn’t look right to Halverson. It looked unnatural, like the neck was broken.

  “We got a ghoul at twelve o’clock,” said Reno.

  “It looks like it, but I can’t be sure till I see his eyes.”

  “Eyes are no eyes, that’s a ghoul. Look at the way it moves.”

  The figure shuffled toward them.

  “A living person with a neck like that couldn’t walk,” agreed Halverson.

  “Any person with a neck like that wouldn’t be living.”

  “Where there’s one, there’s usually more nearby.”

  “So read him his Miranda. You heard what Bascomb said.”

  Halverson smiled with half his mouth. “He hasn’t committed a crime.”

  Reno raised his AK-47 to his shoulder. “If you ask me, his being there is a crime. It’s a crime against nature.” He sighted on the ghoul’s head.

  “Don’t.”

  Halverson latched onto the muzzle of Reno’s AK and lowered it.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Reno. “You’re not afraid of Bascomb busting me for murder, are you?”

  “It’s no laughing matter. He’s dead serious about that.”

  “Who’s laughing?”

  “The problem is, your gunshot will attract other ghouls in the area. What we don’t need are more ghouls.”

  “Well, I’m not gonna just stand here and wait for that thing to come over here and eat me.”

  “We need to gather supplies and get back to the boat. We don’t have time for this thing.”

  The creature kept scrabbling toward them.

  Halverson picked up on a scarcity of abandoned cars in the alley. He wondered why. He looked farther down the alley and realized the reason.

  The alley was a cul-de-sac littered with upended green metal garbage Dumpsters and blue plastic recycling bins at its dead end. Garbage lay strewn across the asphalt, spilling out of the overturned receptacles.

  To his left Halverson made out a large warehouse flanked by a loading dock that skirted the alley. The steel accordion door on the loading dock was rolled half open. He peered inside the warehouse, but it was too dark to see anything.

  “This ware
house might be a good place to search for food,” he said.

  “Depends on what kind of a warehouse it is,” said Reno.

  They climbed the concrete steps to the loading dock and ducked under the accordion door.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Halverson remarked the ghoul with the broken neck lurching in their direction.

  “Our friend’s following us,” said Halverson.

  “If we don’t put it down, it’s gonna follow us wherever we go, I’m telling you.”

  “I’m not worried about that thing at the moment.”

  “Then what?”

  “We’re running out of time and we haven’t gotten any supplies. Let’s case this place fast.”

  “Do you think Bascomb would really leave us behind if we’re not back at the boat on time?”

  “I’m positive he would.”

  “What if we return empty-handed? Will he make us walk the plank?” said Reno with a smirk.

  Halverson shook his head more in disgust than anything else, not knowing what Bascomb would do. On the one hand, Bascomb seemed rational and law abiding. On the other, he seemed paranoid and obsessed with being in charge. At this point, it wasn’t looking like a harmonious combination.

  “Fuck him,” said Reno.

  Wooden pallets were stacked in the corner of the dim cement loading dock. Several dollies stood beside them. Five-odd feet away from the dollies, a yellow forklift was parked.

  On the torn black leather seat of the forklift sat a mauled corpse without a head. Coagulated blood coated the driver’s side of the vehicle, while on the dock’s cement floor beside the forklift’s front left wheel a tacky puddle of blood had formed.

  “He’s not gonna reanimate,” said Reno.

  Halverson winced. “Not without his head.”

  Reno raised his AK-47 in anticipation. “There must be more of those things around here.”

  “That blood’s not fresh. The creatures may’ve left by now.”

  Near the swinging black doors to the warehouse proper, Halverson spotted a round object about the size of a bowling ball. He approached it with trepidation.