Scott waited until the orange juice and Champaign drinks were all poured before he tapped his glass with his knife and rose to present a toast in a loud and commanding voice. “Founders of the Terminal Island Safe Haven, distinguished guests, passengers and crew of the Sovereign Spirit; let’s drink to our accomplishments, to our survival, and to the Flotilla!”
“To the Flotilla!” was the shouted reply from over a hundred voices.
As the cheers died down and the people in the room raised their glasses in salute, Scott added a more somber toast, “While we celebrate our good fortune and the blessings that we have been granted, let’s not forget to mourn all those who have been lost, all who have been infected, and all who still strive to survive, living in fear and mortal danger, both at sea and even more so ashore. Let us count our blessings for everyone here today and offer not only our prayers, but also our dedication and conviction, to save as many others as possible and to strive towards the goal of survival and recovery for all.” The cheers that followed that toast were deeper and full of purpose.
After that the mood was somewhat subdued, but still festive overall. Most of these people had never confronted a zombie face to face, or even had to shoot one from a distance. Most of them hadn’t seen any of their friends and loved ones turn into mindless cannibals. The delegates from Los Angeles were a different story, having spent the time since Z-Day in constant combat or besieged by zombies. They seemed to take Scott’s speech even more seriously and somberly than his friends and family. That was exactly how Scott had planned it. The general optimism and good spirits of the people aboard the ship had a significant impact on the visitors. They saw people who still had hope, food, and security. It was a powerful, if unstated, message that seemed to take root.
“You and your people seem very optimistic,” commented Special Agent Corrigan. “And this is the best meal I’ve had since Z-Day. I must say that this visit is giving me some of the first hope that I’ve felt since the outbreak. Your plans and objectives are visionary, Commodore. But, as you alluded to in your toast, we’ve been facing a very different version of the Zombie Apocalypse in LA than you and your people have on this ship. You’re still civilized, damn it! But we’ve spent the past ten days in Hell.”
“You’re observation is quite astute, Agent Corrigan,” replied Scott. “I think we’ll find that there will be some significant differences between how the survivors ashore and the boat people of the Flotilla will react and adapt to the Zombie Apocalypse.”
“What do you mean?” asked the mayor of Los Angeles.
“I mean that even you, at the top of the food chain in LA, can’t provide this type of brunch buffet for yourselves, let alone your constituents. Your people are starving or dropping like flies to zombie attacks. Meanwhile the people on this ship and virtually every boat in our Flotilla are safe, secure and provided for. So our boat people will have a much different collective experience with the Zombie Apocalypse than your people will.”
“And you think that’s important?” the mayor asked.
“Not immediately,” replied Scott thoughtfully. “But in the long run it could be significant. I guess it depends on how many people you can save and how much of a civilization you can maintain. If you don’t get some safe zones established soon, your people are headed for anarchy or extinction. But, assuming you pull a significant number of people through this, they’ll have a different worldview than my people in the Flotilla will. That doesn’t mean that we can’t work together for our common goals of survival, but we need to recognize that we’re going to have different perspectives and priorities. It’s just something to keep in mind as we go forward.”
“Well said,” agreed Chief Harris. “And thanks for the excellent meal. But you’re right, it’s almost a shock to see your people doing so well while the rest of the city, if not the whole world, is falling apart so completely. I must say that I’m more than little jealous of your good fortune.”
“That’s only natural,” said Scott sympathetically. “And it’s why I brought this topic up in the first place. I want you all to know that we’ll do as much as possible to help you and the people of Los Angeles, as well as other communities. But whatever we can do will probably not be enough to give your people the same level of safety or standard of living as the Flotilla will have. And I’m not willing to lower the standards for my people just to prevent yours from becoming jealous.”
“I see your point now,” said the mayor. “And I’m beginning to agree with most of your suggestions on establishing safe zones and fighting off zombies to do it. You’re doing quite a job of leading by example here, Commodore Allen.”
“Thank you, Mayor Del Fuego,” Scott replied sincerely, then glanced at this Rolex watch. “Now, if everyone is full, I suggest we proceed with the tour. Please follow me back to the Pool Deck.” Scott rose from his seat and everyone who had eaten at the VIP table followed him aft, through the Sports Bar, across the dance floor, and out to the open rear deck where the swimming pool and outside bar area was located. Scott had arranged for the bar to be tended when they arrived and said, “If anyone wants a beer, cocktail, or other refreshment, the bar is open. Otherwise, let’s step back to the fantail where I can point out some of what we have accomplished here and what we have to work with.”
Scott walked back and stood below his Seawind airplane that was secured to a crane and cradle above the stern. All of the visitors, including those from Sea Launch and the merchant ship captains were staring up at the plane when Scott turned to address them. Noticing their interest, he said, “That’s my Seawind amphibious plane. It seats four to five people, depending on their size, and can fly up to fifteen hundred miles at over two hundred miles per hour. I haven’t flow it since Z-Day, but it gives us the ability to fly scouting missions or visit destinations within a radius of more than 500 miles without refueling and can operate from water or airfields.”
“The capabilities of your ship are truly impressive,” commented Agent Corrigan.
“Thank you,” replied Scott smugly. He didn’t want to come off as arrogant, but considering the situation it was probably unavoidable. “What I really wanted to show you are the other ships of the Flotilla. Next to us is the Cape Inscription under command of Captain Crenshaw.” As Scott was speaking an 18 wheel tractor trailer loaded with a 40 foot container drove up the Mole and turned to drive over the vehicle ramp into the Cape Inscription. “As you can see, we are in the process of loading her with trucks carrying food for resupply of the Navy, Marines and civilian refugees on Coronado Island. She will sail tomorrow morning with enough supplies to feed a hundred thousand people for a month or more.” Everyone nodded in agreement with the plan. They all knew that long-term survival and recovery would depend in large part on keeping what was left of the military intact and functioning. “I intend to keep the Cape Inscription busy on supply runs to San Diego, as well as other safe havens when we establish them, if the Navy allows it to remain based here.”
Then Scott pointed beyond the ro-ro ship to the Sea Launch ships. “The other ships here are the Odyssey Launch Platform and the Sea Launch Commander. The Odyssey is a semi-submergible platform that we intend to use as the mother ship for a safe haven of boat people at sea, probably off the inland coast of Catalina or the Santa Barbara Channel Islands. The Sea Launch Commander will remain here at the Mole for the time being, as the communications command center for the Terminal Island Safe Haven. You can see the buildings at the end of the Mole. Those are the land based facilities for the Sea Launch Team. They will also be useful in organizing the safe haven.”
Turning towards the west, Scott pointed towards the big white ship at the fuel pier. “Down there is the Coast Guard Cutter Stratton. She’s the newest and one of the largest and best armed Coast Guard cutters in service. That gun turret on her bow is a 57mm automatic cannon. When she’s in port she will provide defense from pirates or other threats from the sea, or the air. As you can see, her position along the Mo
le offers her a commanding field of fire on the entrance to the ports of both Long Beach and Los Angeles.”
“Pirates?” asked the mayor dubiously. “Are you serious?”
“After the coverage we got on GNN, anything is possible,” replied Scott seriously. “Anybody with satellite television anywhere along the Pacific Rim now knows that we are sitting on a gold mine of treasure. Zombies won’t be the only threat we face in this new world order. Or should I say disorder? There’s no law or order anymore, unless we can enforce it ourselves.”
“That’s an extremely drastic description of the situation,” said the mayor. “I think you’re making some unwarranted assumptions of the threat level. What makes you think we need to worry about pirates or anything like that?”
“Anything like what?” responded Scott. “Like a ship full of heavily armed people taking over your ports? What if you had been correct last night and we really were pirates and looters? What could you really do about it? Seriously; do you actually think your SWAT teams could take us out? You should be damned glad that it was us who showed up here first and that we want to help you. But make no mistake, Mr. Mayor, the next ships that come here might not be so friendly. So this safe haven will always be prepared for that possibility, as well as zombie incursions, or even attacks from the LAPD for that matter.”
“That’s a boastful claim,” said Commander Austin of the LAPD SWAT unit. “I still have over a hundred elite SWAT operators to throw into any make or break mission. Do you really think that the force you leave on Terminal Island could stop us after you sail away tomorrow?”
Scott actually laughed before replying, “Damned right I do. I’m leaving part of my own elite group of Force Recon Marines with fully armed and armored fighting vehicles, including automatic grenade launchers and anti-aircraft cannon. There will also be hundreds of armed members of the Flotilla and Coast Guardsmen on duty here. They will all have orders to repel any form of armed invasion of this safe haven. So yes, Commander Austin, I am fully confident of our ability to repel or destroy any assault that you could mount against Terminal Island or the Port of Long Beach, even in my absence. After we complete our tour of the safe haven today, I think you’ll agree with me.”
The visitors seemed a little taken aback by Scott’s blunt claims, but Scott didn’t give them much time to dwell on it. He saw movement coming around the point from the Main Channel in the Port of Los Angeles. It was what he had been waiting and expecting to see, so he pointed to draw attention to it and said, “And now I’ll show you the newest addition to the Flotilla. The ship coming around the point down there is the SS Lane Victory. She’s an old World War Two Victory ship that was restored as a merchant marine museum, but she’s fully functional. She’s been taking people on trips to Catalina Island a few times every summer, but now we’ll be using her for regular supply runs to Catalina. Her advantage over newer and bigger container ships is that she’s small enough to get into Avalon’s ferry terminal and has her own cranes to unload cargo.”
“You stole a museum!” complained the mayor.
“Actually,” interjected Captain McCloud. “The Coast Guard just commandeered her, Mr. Mayor. Nobody was aboard her when we found her and she will be a valuable asset in helping the people waiting for us on Catalina. I might add that Catalina Island is part of Los Angeles County and the people out there are your constituents too.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” the mayor admitted. “By all means, then, make use of the ship, if it will help save lives.
“We’ll be loading her with supplies today and she will sail to Catalina with the Sovereign Spirit tomorrow,” Scott explained. “Now we better go take that tour of the safe haven and discuss the rest of our plans for the future.”
*****
Interlude in Hell
Chevron Refinery, 10:30 AM, April 11, 2012
Carl had called everyone together for a meeting at the motor pool. Most of the workers and new residents of the refinery were there already, working on completing alterations to make the RVs zombie-proof. Carl paused to evaluate their progress and was pleased by what he saw. Almost every RV was now protected by chain link and sheet metal armor. Some people had gotten even more creative. One big diesel pusher had what looked like a snow plow welded onto the front end. It was poised about a foot above the ground and angled to shove anything it hit off to the right side of the road. It looked heavy, but the RV still appeared to be riding pretty high on its shock absorbers. The man who owned that particular land yacht was busy showing off his handiwork to several curious onlookers. Carl had to admit that it probably would do a good job of clearing a path through a crowd of zombies.
“Okay, Carl, I think everyone is here now. So what’s the meeting for?” asked Gus as he appeared at Carl’s side.
“Just some options that we need to consider,” replied Carl as he stepped over to the Suburban, set the PA to low volume and tested it by blowing into the hand held microphone. Satisfied, he said, “Thanks for coming everybody. This shouldn’t take too long, but I wanted to talk to all of you about some recent developments and the options that they offer us.” He paused and was pleased to see that he had everyone’s attention.
“Most of you watched the interview with Commodore Allen on GNN last night. The rest of you have probably heard about it by now. What we learned for sure is that this Commodore is setting up a secure safe haven not far from here in the ports of Los Angeles and Long Beach. He says they found enough supplies to support a lot of refugees and it sounds like he’s willing to accept people into his safe haven, if they can get there. He doesn’t think that people can get there safely on the roads, but he doesn’t know about our zombie-proof convoy.” He gestured at the trucks and RVs parked around him.
“Another thing that nobody seems to know, or if they do they aren’t telling anyone, is how to use water to deter zombie attacks. I’m sure some other people have figured it out somewhere, but it hasn’t made it on the news yet. I have thought about using a fire department radio to try to spread that news and hope that someone will hear me and understand how important it is. However, that might also attract some unwanted attention to what we are doing here. After hearing the mayor’s position last night, I’m not sure what the reaction will be when they find out we’ve taken over this refinery, not to mention our recent shopping trips.” Carl paused to let that sink in.
“That’s right,” he continued. “He would probably consider us to be squatters and looters. I know it sounds insane, considering the situation, but insanity seems to be all too common these days. So we need to be prepared for an unfriendly reaction if the remaining authorities discover us.
“I know that we’ve accomplished a lot here. As long as the sprinklers keep working, we seem to be safe from the zombies, and we have every reason to believe that we can hold them off indefinitely. We also have an almost infinite supply of fuel. However, we do not have a lot of food and other supplies. The stuff we got from the supermarket will keep us comfortable for a few weeks to a month at the most. That means we will eventually have to go back out there to do some more looting and risk losing more good people in the process.” He saw the sadness in the faces of many oil workers as they were reminded of the loss of Frank.
“We can follow that course, at least for the short term, but we will need to drive a little farther on each shopping trip to find new supplies and each trip will probably attract more zombies to our perimeter. It’s simply not a good long term plan.” Again he paused to give them all time to digest his words. It had taken him hours of thought the night before to reach this conclusion and he knew it was a bitter pill to swallow. He wouldn’t have even mentioned it, if he hadn’t also come up with another idea.
“That’s why I want you all to consider another option. We do have a zombie-proof convoy and heavy equipment to clear the roads for it. And we now know of a new safe haven that we could reach within an hour or two, even if we have to clear some of the roads, block by block. We
don’t have to stay here. We can drive down and join the Survival Flotilla at the port. I think that Commodore Allan will welcome us, especially if we bring him our discovery of using water cannon and sprinklers to keep the zombies at bay. He may also be the best person to spread that news to other survivors around the world.”
A murmur rose from the crowd as they grasped what Carl was suggesting. Carl noticed that Karen Slade was smiling at him, while Chuck and Gus were nodding. Others took longer to see the wisdom of Carl’s suggestion and more than a few seemed terrified by the thought of driving through zombie infested streets all the way to the port. Nevertheless, the seed had been planted. Carl would spend the rest of the day talking to small groups and individuals, addressing their questions and concerns, while convincing them of the wisdom of his new plan.
Chapter 6: Tour Guide
"We are destined to be a barrier against the returns of ignorance and barbarism…What a colossus shall we be…” – Thomas Jefferson in a letter to John Adams, August 1, 1816
When Scott led his visitors down the vehicle ramp to the Mole they seemed surprised to see the big Hydra Terra excursion vehicle waiting for them. It had been lowered from the lifeboat davits onto the dock and driven around to the stern. The sides of the amphibious tour vehicle stood a good 10 feet off the ground and a ladder was extended from the door half way down its right side. Scott led the way up and into the vehicle as he said, “We’ll be taking the tour in this amphibious vehicle because it is high enough to be safe from attack by zombies and, if we run into real trouble, we can always drive into the water where zombies won’t follow. There’s plenty of seating for everyone too. Please keep your heads and hands inside of the vehicle at all times.”
“I’ll be bringing my SWAT team along to protect the mayor,” said Commander Austin as a statement rather than a request.
02 Flotilla of the Dead Page 17