Carl was about to signal Joey to turn around and head back when he noticed a big red fire truck at the edge of the traffic jam. It appeared to have come to the scene of a major accident and never left. Not surprising, considering the people who the firemen came to save had probably eaten them. What caught Carl’s attention was a water-cannon mounted above the driver’s cab of the big pumper truck. This water cannon was small compared to the monster on the Panther, but it would put out a hell of a lot more water than any sprinkler.
“Think you can drive this SUV back?” Carl asked Karen as he looked in the rear view mirror and estimated how long it would take for the fasted zombies to catch up to them. Less than a minute…
“Why?” she replied with an edge to her voice. “What are you thinking?”
Carl didn’t answer immediately as he pulled up next to the fire truck and threw his door open. “I’ll tell you in a second,” he called over his shoulder as he pulled himself up to the driver’s door of the fire engine. Leaning in he confirmed that the key was in the ignition, but would there be any charge in the battery? Glancing back, he saw the zombies closing in fast. He would only have one chance at this. He noticed Karen moving into the driver’s seat of the Suburban and giving him an incredulous look, but what gave him enough hope to continue with his idea was seeing the big Cat turn back towards the zombies and rumble towards the leaders of the pack. That should buy him at least a few more seconds.
Carl climbed into the fire engine and turned the key. Nothing happened. In the mirror he saw that some of the zombies had made it past the earthmover. His time was up. He made time for one quick look at the dashboard as he started to open the door again and his eyes fell on a switch labeled “Emergency Power”. Even as he was moving out the door his right hand turned the switch. Suddenly the lights on the dash lit up and he noticed the reflection of the flashing emergency lights above the roof of the cab bouncing off the cars in the traffic jam. The fire engine had a back-up battery!
Rolling the dice, Carl closed the door again and waved Karen away. The Suburban burned rubber as it backed up and then fishtailed back toward the approaching zombies, slicing through them as it sped up to catch the Cat. The first of the zombies arrived at the fire truck moments later. Carl moved around the cab quickly, locking all the doors in the front and rear seats. By that time the undead had spotted him, probably attracted by the flashing lights of the truck too, and were clamoring over the exterior of the vehicle. Several of them were pressed against the side window as Carl settled back into the driver’s seat.
Carl turned the ignition key again and the big diesel engine turned over, and over, and over, but didn’t catch. It wouldn’t start. Carl scanned the plethora of gauges until his eyes fell on one marked fuel. It read empty. He realized immediately what had happened. The firemen had arrived at what they thought was an accident scene and left the engine and lights on as they got out to assist apparent victims. At some point they were attacked and never got back to the truck. The fire truck would have sat there idling until it ran out of fuel and stalled, then the lights would have kept flashing until the primary battery died. Carl had found the reserve electrical power, but the fuel tank was empty. Now he was surrounded by zombies pounding on the windows.
Carl tried not to panic. He wasn’t dead yet, but had certainly put himself in a bad spot. Trying to ignore the demented faces glaring in at him, he looked past them and saw the Suburban and Cat driving back and forth a hundred yards away, ripping zombies apart as they tried to stem the tide of bodies headed towards Carl. He could also hear Karen screaming into the PA and this time her shrieks sounded even more authentic – so much so that some of the fiends surrounding the fire truck actually turned back towards the rampaging SUV. Carl was grateful for her efforts, but willed her to drive back to the safety of the convoy.
Gathering his thoughts quickly, Carl returned his concentration to the interior of the truck. There must be something he could do. Suddenly the passenger side window spider-webbed as a particularly strong zombie connected with its forehead. Time was running out fast. Carl looked back to the fuel gauge and studied the surrounding instruments and switches. It was much more complicated than any vehicle Carl had ever driven. He almost gave up in confusion, but he was an engineer, damn it! Then, as if a light-bulb had been switched on, his eyes fell on a switch marked “Reserve”. He flipped it quickly and was pleasantly shocked to see the fuel gauge pop up to ¼ full. There was second, smaller, tank of fuel available!
Carl pumped the accelerator and engaged the ignition again, and again, and again. He knew that diesel engines were a bitch to prime and ignite after running dry, but this simply had to work! He kept trying to start the engine as the cracked passenger window finally shattered and a large zombie began to climb inside. Controlling his fear, Carl kept turning the ignition with his left hand as he drew his 9mm pistol with his right and shot the zombie in the head point blank. Its body collapsed, half in and half out of the window, which had the advantage of blocking others from entering the same way, as long as it stayed there, but the moans of the other zombies echoed through the cab, grating on Carl’s weakened nerves.
Then, like a monster waking from a long and deep sleep, the engine of the fire truck sputtered, coughed, and roared to life! New hope sprang alight as Carl released the ignition and revved the engine. Now, if he could only figure out how to put it in gear, there was a chance of getting out of this alive. He looked and felt around the floorboard, but didn’t see a clutch. Carl hoped that meant it was an automatic. Reaching up to the column he pulled down what he assumed was the gear shift and was rewarded by seeing the gear indicator slip through reverse and neutral into drive, but when he applied a little throttle the truck didn’t move. Carl was starting to panic slightly as he searched for the emergency brake release. Meanwhile the zombies climbing on the passenger side of the truck were starting to pull their dead comrade back out of the shattered window.
Finally Carl found the brake release located between the driver and passenger seats. At least a dozen zombies were clinging to the sides of the fire truck as he eased it forward, pushing an abandoned Honda out of the way with a grinding screech, and turned north on the southbound lanes of Aviation Boulevard. He could see the Cat and the SUV up ahead, swerving back and forth as they tried to delay the advance of the horde. He could also hear Karen’s intermittent and amplified screams as she drew them towards her in a valiant attempt to protect Carl. It was an act of bravery that he would never forget and he only hoped that they would both survive long enough for him to thank her.
Then Carl remembered that there was a fire department band radio in the fire truck. He fumbled with the frequency setting as the truck plowed through zombies and ran over them like squishy speed bumps. He knew he had found the right frequency when he heard Peter’s voice saying, “…can come down there if you think we can save him. The cargo truck is almost full and we can leave now, if you need us.”
“Yes!” Karen’s voice came through loud and clear. “He needs help now!”
As soon as the frequency cleared Carl press the transmit button and said, “Not so fast, partners. There was just a slight delay. I’m okay and I’m catching up to you now.”
“Carl?” Karen said breathlessly. “Is that you?”
“Yes,” Carl answered. “I’m right behind you. Now use the PA to tell Peter to head back for Big 5. I’m fine and I’ll be right behind you.”
He heard Karen’s voice on the PA a moment later, but was too far away to make out her words. Then the Cat straightened its course and drove down the center of the road, clearing a path paved with pulverized zombies. The SUV swung into line and followed closely. Carl couldn’t resist swerving back and forth to take out some of the zombies that the earthmover missed, but he knew better than to get carried away while driving a large and unfamiliar vehicle. As they drove back towards the sporting goods warehouse Peter’s voice came back on the radio saying, “We are wrapping up here and all vehicle
s will be ready to roll in a minute or two.”
“Excellent,” Carl answered. “When you see us coming, just fall in behind with the Panther right behind the new fire truck. I’ve got a bunch of hitchhikers hanging onto this thing. Maybe you can wash them off with your water cannon.”
“No problem, Carl,” replied Peter. “I got your car wash hanging.” Carl wasn’t quite sure what he meant. It had sounded almost obscene until he spotted the big machine moving out from behind the Big 5 retail store with its water cannon extended on a 30 foot boom in front of the mammoth eight wheeled fire fighting machine. Since Carl’s version of the Pied Piper had drawn all of the zombies away from the warehouse, it would have a full load of water too. Yes, that was one hell of a car wash hanging out there! Carl chuckled as he followed the Suburban into the intersection and turned left towards the refinery. The dice were still rolling in his favor.
Chapter 7: Message from Avalon
“How I wish that somewhere there existed an island for those who are wise and of good will.”
– Albert Einstein
It was less than an hour cruise at moderate speed for the Sovereign Spirit to reach Catalina Island from Long Beach, but that speed was cut in half by Scott’s desire to bring the Flotilla’s first task force to the harbor of Avalon in a coordinated fashion. The tug pushing the fuel barge was the slowest member of the task force, so she set the pace for the rest. This put their speed at about eight knots and stretched the crossing time to almost three hours. Scott spent much of that time reviewing everything they had learned about conditions on Catalina and how the Flotilla could improve them most effectively.
The task force that Scott had put together for this first mission to Catalina included half a dozen ships and a dozen smaller boats. The Sovereign Spirit and the Coast Guard Cutter Stratton led the way for the container ship Traveling Trader, the old cargo ship SS Lane Victory, the LP Odyssey and the tug boat Lester Jones that was pushing a large fuel barge filled with 250,000 gallons of diesel and 150,000 gallons of premium unleaded gasoline. The barge was designed with a U shaped wedge in its stern where the tug boat’s bow fitted in like the missing piece of a puzzle, allowing the tug to push the barge as if it were an extension of itself. The barge, named Gladys 151, would be anchored offshore to become a floating gas station for the boats surrounding Catalina Island, with a two man live-aboard crew to operate the pumps, while the tug boat would be free to perform other work around the island, or return to Long Beach to fetch other barges.
The smaller vessels included three commercial fishing boats, two sport fishing boats, one fish processing ship, a refrigerated fresh fish transport, a refueling tender that could be refilled by the fuel barge and distribute the fuel to other boats, and four utility boats that would distribute supplies to all the yachts they expected to find off the shore of Catalina Island.
Since the Sovereign Spirit and the Stratton were cruising side by side, less than a hundred yards apart, Scott was able to hold a video conference on his local wi-fi network with Captain McCloud who had the most detailed information about Catalina via reports from Coast Guard units that had fled there with the boat people on Z-Day, as well as information from recon flights by his Dolphin helicopters. Now he shared video from the latest recon flight with Scott. It was quite informative.
“As you can see,” Captain McCloud spoke while the video played on Scott’s computer and McCloud’s face appeared in a video dialogue box in the corner of the screen. “There are now several thousand boats moored along the eastern side of Catalina. We spotted hundreds more in protected coves on the western side of the island too. Most of the Catalina high speed ferries are there at Avalon Harbor. But the most interesting vessels we found were five large cruise ships anchored off the coast of Avalon.”
“That is interesting,” Scott interjected. “Do you know which ships they are and whether or not they are full of passengers?”
“Yes,” replied Captain McCloud, glancing down at his notes. “The ships are the Carnival Inspiration, the Carnival Splendor, the Sapphire Princess, the Oosterdam, and the Disney Wonder. At least three of them should have passengers aboard, although with the economy the way it was they probably weren’t full. Some of the people may have gone ashore on the island too. The other two ships, the Disney Wonder and Carnival Splendor, were scheduled to depart from San Pedro and Long Beach, respectively, on the afternoon of Z-Day, after arriving back to port early that morning. Most of the returning passengers probably disembarked before they realized what was going on ashore and the ships probably would have left port without waiting for new passengers to arrive, once they figured out what was happening. Those two ships probably didn’t get refueled or re-provisioned on Z-Day either, so they will be low on fuel and supplies. In contrast, the Oosterdam had departed San Diego the night before Z-Day for a 15 day cruise to Hawaii. She must have turned back soon after the news broke and decided to anchor off Catalina until things settled down. She’d still have a lot of fuel and provisions, as they were prepared for a long cruise.”
“It’s interesting that they all chose to gather off Catalina,” Scott commented.
“It’s not really surprising,” replied Captain McCloud. “Cruise ship captains like to stay relatively close to other cruise ships whenever possible in case of emergencies, such as a fire at sea, so that they can transfer their passengers if they ever had to abandon ship. Catalina offers a safe anchorage away from the chaos on the mainland, but near enough to receive radio and television news reports. The first ship that chose Catalina as their refuge probably radioed the rest of the ships to meet them there. By staying close to the mainland they may also be hoping for the type of assistance that the Flotilla is about to provide.”
“That makes sense,” Scott agreed. “And now we can offer four of them sanctuary at the Terminal Island Safe Haven and one at the Cruise Ship Terminal next to the Queen Mary. They should be quite happy to see us.”
“Yes,” McCloud agreed. “And in return, each of them can offer sanctuary for thousands of refugees, minus the beds already filled by their own passengers and crew, of course.”
“Absolutely,” Scott confirmed. “That could more than double the housing available on Terminal Island. I’m sure they would prefer to be docked at a secure pier with shore power and access to supplies than being anchored here off Catalina. We should be able to convince them to accept refugees in return for secure docks, shore power and replenishment from the supplies in the port.” Scott was jotting down notes as they talked. “Of course the passengers could create some problems, if they expect to be pampered indefinitely by the crew. We’ll need to find productive work for them, but I suppose my own Possession Rule will allow them to keep their current staterooms indefinitely.”
“Yes,” said Captain McCloud approvingly. “They should be allowed to keep those cabins. But that doesn’t mean they will keep getting free food or service from the crew of those ships without pitching in for the common good. I’m sure we’ll have to work out details on a case by case basis, at least at first, but just being able to keep them safe and alive will be a major accomplishment.”
“Truer words were never spoken, Captain,” Scott agreed. “That has to be our first priority.” Scott nodded towards the video camera on his computer and Captain McCloud smiled acknowledgement on the screen. They both took for granted the technology that allowed them to video conference between their ships. But Scott’s face hardened slightly as he thought about how much of the technological civilization had been lost since Z-Day and how those who were still plugged into the shrinking internet were becoming islands of technology, as isolated in many ways as the island of Catalina that they were sailing towards.
“There’s something else that might interest you,” Captain McCloud interjected.
“What’s that?” asked Scott absently.
“The little Catalina airport is totally packed with airplanes,” McCloud explained and Scott’s interest was indeed sparked again.
“Over a hundred,” replied Captain McCloud. “Crammed in so tight that they’re almost blocking the runway. Here’s a video from the flyby our Dolphin made this morning.” He keyed something on his computer and a video replaced his image on Scott’s display. “As you can see, it looks like a dozen or more planes either overran the end of the runway, or were pushed over the edge to make room for more to land.”
“Yes,” Scott agreed. “It was probably a mixture of the two. That can be a tricky field to land on for pilots who aren’t familiar with it, but it does look like they also ran out of room to park any more planes and started pushing them off the hilltop too. You know, this concentration of planes, and obviously the pilots who flew them here, could prove invaluable. I probably should have expected it too. Catalina would have been a natural place for pilots of small planes to escape to on Z-Day. Even if there were zombies in Avalon, they wouldn’t be likely to climb ten miles of hills to reach the Airport in the Sky, as local pilots refer to it. Anyway, I think we should try to arrange a meeting with as many of those pilots as possible and discuss how they might be useful in the recovery process.”
“That’s a good idea,” agreed Captain McCloud. “And if the Mayor of LA takes your advice about setting up a safe haven at Bob Hope Airport in Burbank, they would have a safe place to fly from here. There are probably other airports that could become safe havens too.”
02 Flotilla of the Dead Page 21