But sometimes you had to know when to hold them and know when to fold them.
Chapter 2
Andrea’s diary – 12/2/2019
That was a pretty fucking easy raid!
Okay, by now it’s probably pretty obvious that I have a bit of a potty mouth. I’m a marine after all … or am I a former marine? Once a marine always a marine… but the corps is no longer in existence… That’s a long story and in keeping with Sam’s journals, I’m writing down my thoughts at the same time.
One day, though, and I’ve told him this, we’ll have to talk about it. To write it down for posterity if nothing else. Suffice it to say, though… there hasn’t been an organized Marine Corps for over four months. No organized anything for that matter.
So we frag those dead heads on 22nd Ave. And go east back toward the marina where Sam keeps his boat. He lives on it, has since before the Z-poc… Zom-pocolypse… whatever the hell you want to call it. Since before the world went to shit.
We’re in Saint Petersburg – Florida, not Russia, obviously. Sam moved here when he decided to leave the Navy a little less than a year ago. That too is another story and one best left to him.
Andy and I were living in Tampa when the shit hit the fan. I was stationed at the MacDill Airforce base in Tampa, attached to the Marine Forces Central Command. I was in charge of a Viper squadron and also an instructor at the nearby reserve training center.
Anyway, I’m getting off track.
So we’re driving down 22nd headed toward the east side of town. It was probably about one in the morning and the town was ghostly quiet. You can’t imagine how quiet… well, you being a survivor you probably can. It’s a quiet like nothing we ever knew before the end of the world as we know it.
There always used to be some noise. Distant cars, a lawnmower, whatever. And lights, too. In these new dark ages, when the sun goes down it gets dark… really dark. So dark, even in a populated area like Tampa Bay that the light from the stars and moon could really be seen. I know that sounds contradictory – but because there were no streetlights, porch lights, security lights, traffic lights and no lights in any windows, the world was devoid of light pollution.
Somehow, even though you could see by the moonlight and stars… it just seemed incredibly dark. And if it was cloudy… That darkness added to or was enhanced by the silence that permeated everything.
So when something artificially bright appeared, it got your attention.
“Headlights,” Sam said as I noticed them in my rearview.
Our trucks, both Sam’s and Tony’s, were blacked out. We had headlights, but rarely ever used them. The taillights and reverse lights were disabled so that we weren’t as easily spotted. But I guess somebody scoped us.
“You guys see that?” Tony asked over the CB.
“Yeah,” Sam replied, “whose stupid enough to run around a deserted town full of the undead using headlights?”
“Bad guys?” Andy’s voice asked.
“Probably,” I grumbled.
“Okay,” Sam said, “Andrea and I are going to pull into someplace at the corner of 34th street. Maybe they want to trade for some crabs.”
There was a single click as an acknowledgment.
The word crabs in this context was one of our code words. It meant that we wanted to enclose our targets in a pincer maneuver. We generally used a set of rotating frequencies on the CB but it still wasn’t secure. If somebody was listening, they might pick up on a more verbose description.
I grimaced, “Do you think these guys are hostile?”
Sam shrugged and reached into the back seat. He pulled out two M4’s and checked the load out. He passed one to me after clearing it and cleared his, “You got your Glock?”
I nodded and patted my hip holster. I saw him draw his .44 Magnum Desert Eagle. He jacked a round into the chamber and then ejected the clip. He placed another bullet in the magazine and reinserted it.
“Nine shots for me with a reload,” Sam said, “Not counting the carbine.”
I nodded, “should be enough once Tony and Andy get behind them.”
The headlights were much closer now, maybe a quarter of a mile back. The driver of the vehicle flashed the high beams twice. I pulled into a gas station at the corner of 22nd and 34th and parked near the far side of the parking lot. Sam got out and stood leaning against the grill and I stayed in my seat. I eased the barrel of my M4 over the lip of the window and waited.
A few seconds later, a late model BMW pulled into the lot and parked about fifty feet away. I had the NVG’s on and could easily see two people sitting in front. Both front doors opened and two men got out.
The driver was a well set man, maybe in his forties. He was maybe a little under six feet with a strong build and sported a shaggy beard. The other man was younger, a little taller and skinny. He had an unpleasant hawk like face with a thin mustache. I don’t know why, but I just didn’t like the look of him.
Both men wore holsters with the butts of their sidearms clearly visible.
“Morning,” Sam said with a friendly wave. His M4 was laying on the hood of the truck right next to his left arm which he had casually draped on the hood as well, “you men are going to attract a lot of attention using those headlights.”
“Nah,” The older man said flippantly. He pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it. His friend only stood there, eyeing us. I noticed how close his hand was to his gun, “We only turned em’ on to get your attention. We seen that pile of zombies back up the road a ways. Yall do that?”
“Sure did,” Sam said casually, “They were blocking the road. Would’ve stopped to burn them but we figured it was better just to move on. Saw another pack of them on Tyrone.”
“Yep,” The first man said, “you out scavenging?”
Sam nodded, “Yeah, nothing big though.”
“Why don’t you tell your driver to step out here,” Man 1 continued in his red necky drawl, “Don’t feel right us being so exposed and all.”
“We’re exposed too,” Sam said, “And like I said, we’ve got places to be. How can I help you men?”
The second man spat on the ground, “You can start by sharin’.”
Sam shrugged, “Nothing worth trading, really. Although you never know, what’ve you guys got to swap?”
The beefy man laughed a cold laugh, “We ain’t lookin’ to trade, you asshole. We want what you found.”
“It’s not valuable,” Sam said reasonably, “Just some scraps. No food, booze or ammo. Even if we did have any of that, it’s not yours for the taking.”
“You hear that, Randy?” Man 1 asked his friend, “Guy says it ain’t ours to take.”
Randy spat again. I guess he thought that was intimidating.
“Don’t go for those guns, Mister,” Sam said, his voice not so cordial now, “My friend in the truck has an assault rifle trained on you. She’ll burn you both down before you can get those pistols out of the holsters.”
The two men laughed and as they did so, a third man stood up from behind the car with a long barreled weapon pointed at Sam. He’d slipped out from the backseat on the far side of the car and now they thought they had the drop on us.
Amateurs.
“Looks like you’re outnumbered,” Man 1 said, “so how about being nice and telling her to get out of the truck. No weapon.”
Sam shrugged and waved to me. I set the M4 on the passenger seat and stepped out of the truck. I’d removed the NVG’s, of course.
“Damn, Fred,” Randy said with a leer I could see even in the darkness without my enhanced vision, “Maybe we oughtta take her too. Real piece of ass. I ain’t had a good piece of ass in months.”
“Shit Randy,” The third man cackled, “You ain’t never had a good piece of ass!”
Fred laughed and Randy scowled, “Fuck that, Brian. I’m about to.”
“Drop the iron, fuck face,” Came a deep voice from the darkness. It came from behind the rifleman.
&n
bsp; To emphasize his point, Tony fired a three round burst over the men’s heads. Like the idiots they obviously were, all three turned. Randy and Fred grabbed for their pistols and Brian tried to bring his rifle to bear. I couldn’t even see Tony, but it sounded like his voice came from the sidewalk along 22nd Avenue.
Sam snatched up his rifle and levelled it at the three men and I yanked my Glock 19 9mm out.
“Drop your weapons,” Sam barked, “you’re surrounded.”
“Shit…” Fred grumbled. He stretched it out into two long syllables.
“Do it!” Tony snapped, “And put your hands on top of your heads! Right fucking now!”
I heard the clatter of metal against concrete and saw the three idiots put their hands on their heads. I sighed. This wasn’t the first time we ran into less than friendlies and I knew it wouldn’t be the last.
“Come around to the front of your car,” Sam ordered.
As the three men complied, I heard Tony’s truck turn into the gas station lot from 34th street. Andy pulled up next to Sam’s Dodge and stepped out of the cab with his own rifle trained on the men.
“We wasn’t gonna do nothin’,” Randy pleaded, “We just wanted to see if yall had anything to spare. Most of the stores are empty now and we’re getting’ low on food.”
I scoffed. Tony appeared from behind a telephone pole and walked up to where the men had dropped their weapons. He began collecting them and unloading them.
“We aren’t carrying food,” Sam said coldly, “And threatening to rape this woman is not what I’d call ‘not doin’ nothin’. You guys are fucking idiots. Instead of trying to steal and harm people, why don’t you try and work together. There must be hundreds or even thousands of survivors in this area you can get together with. Instead you try some stupid B movie bullshit on us.”
The three men just stood there, looking sullen. Sam sighed and waved dismissively at them, “Tony?”
“Two.357 Magnums,” Tony said, “And a bolt action 30/30. I’ve unloaded them and put on the safeties.”
“Lock them in the trunk,” I said, “Now listen to me, men. We’re going to leave and when you don’t see us anymore, you can get your weapons out and be on your way. Keep in mind that after tonight, if I see you again, I’ll consider you legitimate targets. Am I making myself clear? Lower your hands.”
Fred rubbed his palms together, “You sound military.”
“We are,” Sam said, “My friend over there and I are Navy SEALS. The young lady you spoke to so disrespectfully is a Marine Viper pilot.”
“Fuck…” Brian said nearly under his breath.
“Let’s go,” Sam grumbled.
We piled into the trucks and headed north on 34th street. The idea was that we didn’t want those morons to follow us. When we got to 38th Avenue, we turned right and took that all the way to 4th street. This we followed south through downtown Saint Pete and turned left at 11th Avenue south.
The Harborage marina had been one of the best in the area back when the world was normal. It had floating concrete docks, a pool, laundry facilities, a captain’s lounge and a good management team.
Although looking at it as you pulled into the parking lot you wouldn’t really see anything different. Except for the lack of lights, nothing had really changed all that much over the last 6 months or so. Some of the landscaping was overgrown and the pool was now coated in a layer of algae… but things looked relatively calm and peaceful and normal otherwise.
Most of the wet slips were still occupied… by boat, I mean. When the zombie outbreak really started getting out of control, I guess going to the marina and taking care of the yacht wasn’t a concern for most folks.
There were some vacancies, though. A few people had bugged out, I guess.
When we’d first met, I’d helped Sam clear out all the boats in the marina. Believe it or not, there were several dozen zombies in some of the sail and power boats. They’d turned while on board and couldn’t figure out how to get out.
What was nice about a marina, and Harborage in particular, was that access to the floating docks was limited by a very strong fence and gate. Zombies would have to break that down or swim up to the boats, which they couldn’t do.
Marauding humans were a bigger problem, but unless they had a boat themselves, access was difficult.
On top of all of that, there were almost two hundred boats left at the marina. This meant fuel, electrical parts as well as some food stores to scavenge. It was pretty damned lucky that Sam lived aboard his boat when the shit hit the fan.
“Okay,” Sam said as we got out of the trucks and did a quick perimeter scan, “Let’s get four carts and load all this shit up and take it out to the boat. The watch word is ‘fast.’”
That got a chuckle. Between the four of us, we were able to quickly load up dock carts with the stuff Tony and Sam had gotten from West Marine and were trundling them down the gangway onto the floating docks within ten minutes. There was so much that we’d have to make at least two trips.
“Where are you going to put all this stuff, Sam?” Andy asked.
“Some on the boat,” Sam replied, “and some in dock boxes and other boats close by. I haven’t seen any other boat owners out here since before I met you guys, so I’m pretty confident we’ve got the run of the joint.”
Sam owned a fifty-five foot Erwin ketch. He said he’d chosen that particular boat because despite it’s size, it had a relatively shallow draft in shore and had an extendable keel that gave her stability in deep water. The boat was almost thirty years old but looked almost brand new thanks to Sam’s care.
The big yacht was moored out at the end of dock B on the outside of what he called the T-head – the end of the dock where the last finger made a “T” that was about a hundred and twenty feet long.
There was a big fancy motor yacht tied up ahead of Sam’s, probably damned near eighty feet long. It made a good storage place and we began loading stuff onto the two boats and into the dock boxes nearby.
Sam’s boat was nice. It had a big aft cabin with a queen sized bed and full sized head – we shared that. There were two small cabins forward and a v-berth too. Tony and Andy had one of the little cabins to themselves. If we had to, we could put a few more people in the v-berth and in the saloon, too.
The boat had a big galley, two heads and plenty of space. It even had central air conditioning, although we didn’t use that much now that the weather had cooled down.
Sam had a few solar panels rigged as well as a diesel generator and would run the engine every few days to charge the batteries. We had lights, hot water, refrigeration and could even desalinate water so drinking, washing and bathing water was never a problem.
“With these extra solar panels,” Sam commented as he stacked the six 120 watt panels behind the cockpit, “We’ll have a total of 10 panels with about 1,500 watts, or about 120 amps per hour when the sun shines. Plenty to charge the battery banks and run the fridge and freezer… hell everything, really.”
“What about the heat and AC?” Andy asked.
“Yeah, for a while,” Sam said, “Not that we need either in December in Florida, of course. If I can find bigger panels, I may replace some of these, too. The trick is rigging these up so they’re out of the way and don’t get hung up on stuff.”
“What about rigging them outboard,” Tony suggested, “And when we shove off you can take some of them down.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, “I’ve thought of that. We’ll see what happens. It’s late, though, and I’m bushed.”
Despite the fact that the marina was pretty secure and unmolested by zombies or people, we all took turns standing watches at night. It was the world we lived in and you couldn’t be too careful.
Andy volunteered to go from 2 in the morning to five and Tony would take the five to eight shift. That let Sam and me get some rest down below.
Well, eventually. Even in this day and age, or maybe because of it, I couldn’t keep my hands off him. I was a
lways a randy chick, but with Sam… things were on a whole new level.
After about an hour, we lay next to each other panting and sweating with a couple of fans blowing on us. I laid my head in the crook of his shoulder and sighed.
“What’s up, Major?” Sam asked.
I chuckled, “Is it wrong to feel so happy in all of this?”
Sam shrugged.
“I mean,” I continued, “The world is… dead. We’re simply surviving and yet when we’re together like this…”
“I know,” Sam said as he stroked my hair, “Almost seems wrong. I guess I’d say enjoy every moment that we can. Things aren’t going to get easier. Our encounter with those assholes tonight is a good example. Pre-packaged foods and stuff in the stores is already pretty much depleted. People are going to have to start figuring out how to produce food now. Things will get leaner and leaner and unfortunately, people are going to get more aggressive. There needs to be some kind of a plan.”
I sighed, “I bet you have one.”
“Yes,” Sam said, “For us. But what about humanity? What about all we’ve worked for through recorded history? Is it destined to vanish? Assuming people can survive this, what will things be like in a hundred years?”
“Probably we’ll be living like they did in the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries,” I opined, “Oil lamps, candles, maybe the occasional steam powered something. And a lot of farming.”
Sam nodded, “Yeah. Right now fuel is pretty plentiful, but fuel doesn’t last forever. It gets contaminated and begins to turn to lacquer. Three or four years from now, if things don’t change, there won’t be any more gas or diesel power.”
“It’s depressing,” I said quietly.
“I’m sorry, love,” Sam said softly, “But I don’t believe we’re licked yet. There must be a way to resolve this.”
I chuckled, “I believe I’ve been licked.”
We laughed for a moment and I settled in for a long snuggle.
World of Corpses (Book 1): World of Corpses Page 3