“Okay,” Scott remarked. “Let’s see about getting the Reliable Burden underway now. I want to take her around the point and bring her in to the cruise ship pier, as close to the Queen Mary as possible. Then we’ll need to string some temporary utility lines to provide power and water from the container ship to the Queen Mary. After that we can see about bringing a mobile crane over there to get access to more of the containers. And we’ll need to check all of the gates and fencing around the cruise ship pier to make sure they are zombie proof. If necessary, we can set up a barricade to provide a safe route along the waterfront between our ships and the Queen Mary too. The remaining crew on the container ship should be able to keep the generators and water makers running. That will be enough to set up the Queen Mary as a safe haven for now. Tomorrow we can send out more teams to inspect other containers. We’ll focus first on reefer units that might hold perishables that are still useful. This port is a treasure chest, but a lot of it has expiration dates. Anyone have questions?”
Everything went smoothly as the Reliable Burden was moved around Terminal Island to the cruise ship pier. A team of twenty volunteers, protected by a squad of armed Marines, quickly deployed high voltage power lines and a water hose to connect the Queen Mary with the container ship. By sundown the old Queen was lit up like her glory days. The water line was set up, but kept in reserve while the domestic water supply still provided enough pressure to keep the taps flowing. Now the focus turned to opening some of the containers. Thirteen of them were positioned so that the doors could be opened. It was a simple process to cut off the locks. They opened two reefers that day. The first was full of oranges, a great find. The second was even more rewarding, full of hundreds of racks of fresh lamb. Scott ordered a truck load of each sent to the Queen Mary and the same to the Sovereign Spirit. Then he had one of the Reliable Burden’s two lifeboats lowered and filled with oranges and lamb for the boat people who remained isolated over at the oil islands. This would be a peace offering and welcoming gift to let them know that help had arrived.
*****
George Hammer was up on the flying bridge of Expiscator with Stan Dawson, the new skipper, as he piloted the yacht into Long Beach Harbor. The Flotilla, now numbering 217 boats, followed them in a ragged line that stretched nearly two miles. The Coast Guard cutter Sea Otter steamed along near the front of the line and the larger cutter, Stratton, shadowed the Flotilla several miles offshore. Scott had radioed with news that the Sovereign Spirit had secured much needed sources of provisions and fuel in Long Beach which would be distributed to the boats of the Flotilla as needed. Everyone’s spirits were lifted, at least a little, by this encouraging development.
The calm waters of Long Beach Harbor came as a welcome relief to everyone on the yachts of the Flotilla, many of whom had been tossed by swells at sea since leaving Cabo San Lucas the previous week. They were also happy to see the Sovereign Spirit’s Cigarette boat come out to greet them near the outer breakwater and lead them back towards the Cruise Ship pier. The pier itself was well secured by fences that were high enough to keep zombies out, but George shivered slightly as he saw that several dozen of the crazed flesh eaters were lined up along the chain link barrier, clawing at the wire and staring with hungry but dead looking eyes. Two Marines walked guard duty inside the fence, ready to put a bullet in the head of any zombie that tried to climb over it, but George still felt a bit queasy looking at so many zombies standing there. He was glad that he had given instructions for the rest of the Flotilla to remain at least a hundred yards from the pier until a procedure and schedule could be set for them to come in for service and provisioning.
The Expiscator pulled up to the pier next to the Sovereign Spirit and George was happy to step onto dry land for the first time since jumping into the water in Cabo. It was strange not to have a boat rocking under his feet, almost disorienting for a moment. He felt as if he were walking like a zombie as he made his way to the lowered stern ramp of the Sovereign Spirit. The Marine on duty there was expecting him and ushered him aboard without incident. It was nice to know that his quarantine was finished and his family could all return aboard the ship whenever they wanted to. The Marine escorted him to the elevator and told him that the Commodore was waiting for him on the top deck.
It was a pleasure to step out of the elevator into the opulent Sky Deck Lounge. The feeling of being back in a world that was designed to be hospitable to human beings was almost tangible. Scott Allen was waiting for him by the bar and gestured him over with a friendly wave. “Welcome back, George,” Scott called across the room. “Come join me for a little toast to your successful voyage. You did a damned good job organizing the Flotilla on the way up here.”
“Thank you, Mr. Allen, uh, I mean Commodore,” said George. “It’s sure good to be back aboard your ship. This has been a Hell of a week.”
“You’re telling me.” said Scott with fatigue in his voice. “It’s been a non-stop waking nightmare. But we seem to have caught some good luck along the way. You got your family out of Cabo. Then we made it past the Navy who wanted to take this ship. We were able to enlist the help of the Coast Guard and Marines. We’ve rescued some people. And now we’ve found a place to re-provision and set up our first safe haven. Things are looking up.” Scott passed a glass of Johnnie Walker Gold Label scotch on the rocks to George and lifted his own glass for a toast. “To the Flotilla,” Scott said.
“To the Flotilla!” replied George with a touch of pride. He took a sip of scotch as he gazed out the window of the Sky Deck. It was a great view of the harbor with the flotilla still streaming into it. And he could see several hundred other boats that were already tied up to manmade islands in the harbor. If they all joined the Flotilla, they would probably double the total number of boats. Could the Flotilla absorb that many boat people?
Scott must have noticed George’s look of concern because he gestured across the harbor and said, “The Flotilla is going to get a lot bigger, and not just from the boats here in Long Beach. We saw hundreds of boats up near Marina Del Ray when we made the rescue flight to Malibu, and the Coast Guard reports thousands of boats anchored out at Catalina Island.”
“Thousands?” George exclaimed. “How can we hope to organize and support that many boats and people?”
“It will take some doing,” Scott agreed. “But I think we’ve made a good start right here. There are enough supplies in Long Beach Harbor to feed all those people for years, if we can secure and preserve it all. Of course we can’t just bring all of the boats here. That would create logistic, security, and sanitary nightmares. We’ll need to use the Sovereign Spirit and other large vessels to distribute supplies and create local flotilla commands for each safe haven.”
“Sounds like a lot of work,” commented George with a grin.
“It will be,” Scott confirmed. “And I’d like you to take over a good chunk of it.”
“Me?” asked George. “What part?”
“I was thinking of making you the Flotilla Harbor Master here in Long Beach,” suggested Scott. “You could move your family and friends onto the Queen Mary, or I could leave the Expiscator with you for a while if you prefer. What I’m thinking is that your experience with heavy equipment and construction would be useful in building a secure perimeter around the harbor and in moving all of the containers full of food and supplies that we will need.”
“Is it safe?” asked George. “I saw a bunch of zombies trying to get past the fence out there.”
“Yeah,” Scott said. “It should be safe enough. We killed over five hundred of them yesterday. Since then we seem to be attracting about a dozen new zombies per hour. We decided to let them build up to a few dozen at a time before luring them further down the pier and dispatching them. It’s easier to clean up the mess that way. But we’re already looking into ways to cut off all the bridges and roads onto Terminal Island so we can prevent more zombies from getting out here from the city. Then we can make a sweep of the island and try to
clean out the ones already here. There will still be danger of stray zombies showing up here, or over in the cargo terminals, but we should be able to keep the numbers manageable. It’ll be safest for people to continue staying on boats, or aboard the Queen Mary, of course. And I’ll be leaving some weapons for the people who stay here.”
“No Marines?” George asked dubiously.
“Probably not, at least not many,” replied Scott. “I’d like to leave you a powerful force, but we might need most of them to secure other safe havens. However, I’m hoping to reestablish a permanent Coast Guard detachment here, and one of your jobs would be to organize a volunteer militia with people from the Queen Mary and the local boat people, as well as those who followed you here. So, are you interested?”
“Sure,” said George after a moment of thought. “I’d like to work on land again anyway. I’m really not much of a sailor anymore. I seem to have lost most of my sea legs. But I’m good at running construction projects and operating cranes and forklifts. I can boss a job site with the best of them. So, yeah, as long as I can keep my family safe on the Queen Mary, or the Expiscator, I won’t mind being your ramrod on the docks. By the way, do you want your pistol back?” George indicated the .357 Desert Eagle in the shoulder holster that Scott had given him in Cabo.
“No, George,” Scott answered. “You can keep it and I’ll make sure to get you more ammo for it and for the other guns we gave you. I should also be able to provide more weapons for your militia. Will you want to keep all the people you rescued in Cabo too?”
“Probably,” George said. “But the college kids have been talking about going back up to Santa Barbara.”
“I’ll be taking the Sovereign Spirit up there before long,” Scott said. “They can come with us when we do, if they want to, but I doubt it will be safe for them to go ashore – unless we can find or establish a safe haven there too. In the meantime, you should probably keep them here.”
“How many of these safe havens do plan to create?” asked George curiously.
“That depends upon how many people survive and how many secure locations we can find,” Scott replied honestly. “It will also depend on how much in the way of supplies we can provide. I wouldn’t want to gather a bunch of people together if they’re just going to starve to death. That’s why your job here will be so important. The largest ports in Southern California are all within a few miles of here. The area seems to be totally infested by zombies, so the supplies are all salvage as far as I’m concerned. Once we have a secure base established here we’ll need you to take an inventory of supplies. The more food you find, the more people we can save.”
“That makes sense,” agreed George. “But I’m not going to walk around looking for stuff as long there’s a good chance of being jumped by zombies.”
“Don’t worry, George,” said Scott with a smile as he refilled George’s glass with Scotch and ice. “I’ve already got teams scouting for appropriate vehicles and equipment that can move around in zombie infested areas. So far they’ve brought back a 50 ton mobile crane, four semi tractor trailers to move containers, a small shuttle bus, and a big Caterpillar skip loader that we used to scoop up all the dead zombies. They also brought over a fire truck to wash away the mess in the parking lot. You’ll have all of those and more at your disposal. In fact, I can leave you my old Brinks armored car for scouting missions, if it’ll make you feel safer.”
“That sounds perfect,” agreed George. “Thank you.”
“No problem at all,” said Scott. “I don’t expect to find any other piers where I can drive it on and off the ship along the coast here. We’ll probably be using amphibious vehicles everywhere else.”
George finished his drink, shook hands with Scott again, and started back to tell his family on the Expiscator the news, but decided to stop in the Grand Salon for a snack first. He shouldn’t have been surprised to run into Carla there. She noticed him first and walked over to intercept him at the sushi bar.
“I really should thank you for sending me over to this ship, George,” she said with a coy smile. “It’s much more comfortable than the yacht and there are a lot more available men to choose from.” Her smile seemed to turn sinister as she delivered the punch line.
“I’m glad to hear that you’re enjoying yourself,” was all that George could think of saying.
“Oh yes,” smirked Carla, “I’m having a blast. The food is great, my room has TV and internet, there’s even a beauty salon on board. And everyone has been so friendly. I’m feeling quite at home here. There are plenty of single men too,” she pressed her dig. “Not only among the passengers and crew, but a lot of the Marines that came aboard yesterday look lonely too. The captain of the ship would also be good catch. But I haven’t chosen anyone yet.” She was clearly still raw from his rejection of her. “So how’s your wife?” she asked.
George tried to control his temper as he replied, “She’s my best friend and the love of my life, but I do hope you find happiness too, Carla.”
“I’m sure I will, George,” she said curtly. “So, have you told her about us?”
“No,” George answered, equally curt. “And I don’t plan to either. What happened on the voyage from Cabo was between you and me. I think we were both suffering post-traumatic shock from facing those zombies. Maybe we needed each other to get through it. But it’s over now and I don’t intend to put my wife through any suffering just to clear my conscience.”
“Oh, how noble of you,” Carla sneered. “I think you’re just afraid to tell her. Should I tell her for you?”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” George said earnestly. “There’s enough suffering in this world without turning on each other. Let’s just try to live and let live.”
“I’ll think about it,” Carla said as she turned away.
George wasn’t sure what to make of that, but realized that he had lost his appetite. He took one last look at the sushi bar, then turned to head back down to the pier and rejoin the smaller boats of the Flotilla in the harbor: a harbor that it seemed he would soon be responsible for. He was glad that his new role as Harbor Master would keep him and Carla separated most of the time, and even gladder that Carla wouldn’t be meeting his wife anytime soon.
*****
Interlude in Hell
Chevron Refinery, El Segundo, CA, 2:30 PM, April 7, 2012
Carl had spent most of the day supervising work on the twelve motor homes that had followed him to the refinery from the RV park on the beach. They had proven to be zombie resistant, since the people inside had survived being surrounded by the undead for almost a week, but most of them were covered in dents from the pounding fists of the undead and a few had damaged doors and cracked windows. Carl decided that they all needed to be upgraded to the same level of zombie-proof standards as he had employed on the vehicles from the refinery. There was no plan to take the RVs outside of the fence, but Carl had little trouble convincing the owners that it was in their best interest to reinforce their vehicles in case they did decide to leave, or were forced to evacuate the refinery. There were several experienced welders among the thirty-seven surviving refinery employees. Carl, a mechanical engineer until last week, supervised the installation of crash bars on the front and rear of each RV. They also added chain link fence over the windshield and windows, as well as sheet metal along the sides. Ladders to the roof were removed, as were any rear racks that a zombie could grab onto. It would take several days to complete the modifications, but Carl didn’t see any need to rush the work. At least it kept people busy and distracted them from the zombies surrounding them.
There were hundreds of zombies gathered along the fence separating the refinery from the beach, but Carl and Gus had spread them out, away from the gates, by driving the Suburban along the inside of the fence and herding them with insults and more than a few well placed shotgun blasts. So far the fence was holding them back nicely and Carl had organized periodic patrols to monitor the fence and disperse any
dangerous concentrations of zombies. The system was working, but Carl worried that the patrols would draw more and more zombies to the fence line. Eventually there could be thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, of zombies lining the miles of fence encompassing the refinery. They needed to come up with a better system soon, or they might be totally surrounded. Carl decided to discuss the problem with Chuck, the burly truck driver who had picked him up when he scaled the fence. Chuck seemed to be the nominal leader of the remaining refinery workers.
“Hey, Carl,” said Chuck with a smile as Carl approached him. “I see you’ve been busy and you’ve certainly made yourself useful around here. The zombie proof vehicles worked like a charm. We picked up everything we need to survive from the sporting goods store, at least for now. And that stunt you pulled yesterday to save all these people in the RV park was fantastic. So what can I do for you?” Chuck said as he reached out to shake Carl’s hand.
“I’m getting a little worried about the fence,” Carl replied. “The patrols are working for now, but I’m afraid they will draw more and more zombies to the perimeter. We need to think about other ways to disperse the mob, or drive them back from the fence.”
“What do you have in mind?” asked Chuck.
“Well,” Carl paused. “We could take some vehicles out to mow them down every time their numbers get dangerous, but that might just attract more of them too. On the other hand, I was wondering if there were any irrigation sprinklers in the green belt along the fence line that we could point out at the zombies.”
02 Flotilla of the Dead Page 3