World of Corpses (Book 1): World of Corpses

by Cook, Scott W.

  “Andrea?” Carl asked softly.

  “I’m okay,” I said with a sigh, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Near the far back corner of the building, we did find the office of Lieutenant Colonel Paul Anderson, M.D. I knew him, he was in charge of the base’s medical section. We found a report sitting on top of the desk that must have been written the day the shit had hit the fan.

  “Here’s something,” I said, holding up a sheet, “A summary of all medical supplies and locations. Looks like the hospital was running low but the backup medical stores were holding out. I know where this building is.”

  “Cool,” Carl said, “Nice to feel like we’re getting somewhere.”

  “Green, red, radio check,” Came Sam’s voice over the walkie.

  Even though I had the volume way down, the crackle and the voice made both Carl and I jump.

  “Red this is green,” I replied, “I read you five by five.”

  “Anything?”

  “Affirmative,” I replied, “Located secondary medical stores. You?”

  “No joy,” Sam replied, “Yet. Glad to hear you’ve found something. Continuing. Out

  We finished our sweep of the first floor and found nothing else of much worth. One report we found explained how the fuel stores had been running dangerously low. The date was only about a month ago. This cluster fuck of an attack couldn’t have happened that long ago, then. Made sense, based on the fact that the bodies weren’t fully decayed.

  “I think we’re done on this floor,” I said, “Let’s make our way up to two. There’s another stairwell that we passed at the rear of the building. We’ll go up that one and work our way back to the main stairs.”

  Carl nodded as we turned around and headed back down the hall.

  “Red, green,” I said into my radio.

  “Go ahead, Green.”

  “Silver and I are headed up secondary access,” I explained, “Will work our way toward primary and meet you. Out.”

  A single click acknowledgement.

  I opened the door to the rear stairwell and like Sam had done, listened intently. No sound came from the inky darkness, but a strong smell certainly did.

  “Fuck,” Carl hissed.

  I grinned at him, “What, the stink we’ve been tasting since we got here wasn’t a warning?”

  Carl smiled back, “Guess I’d sort of gotten used to it. Or just kind of ignored it. This is like a fresh blast… worst Glade plugin ever…”

  “Yeah… zombie mist or some shit,” I said with a chuckle, “Dead G’s in here along with their funk. Just try not to toss your breakfast, huh? Oh, here…”

  I pulled a jar of Vicks from my pack, opened it and dabbed some under my nose. Carl did the same and grinned.

  “Oh yeah…” Carl said, “Like a fresh spring day now…”

  We slipped in and I clicked my flashlight on. There were indeed bodies in here. A shitload of them.

  It looked like a bunch of ghouls had broken into these stairs and somebody had picked them off before they could go much higher. Dead G’s were stacked two and three deep all up and down the steps.

  “Now what?” Carl asked.

  “Now we get dirty,” I said, “We’re already committed.”

  “Fuck…” Carl drew the curse out in a plaintive whine.

  We began to climb, holding onto the handrail and stepping on rotting zombie bodies. And they were fucking rotten too… more than once, my boot sunk into a mass of soft and squishy something that oozed noxious odors and unspeakable fluids I could hear dripping through the metal steps.

  “Oh, fuckin’ cock…” Carl cranked between retches, “We need one of them Costco drums of Vicks for this shit…”

  I tried to aim the light ahead in order to find the least objectionable pathway. Yeah, like sinking into rotting flesh only two bodies deep instead of three.

  We rounded the first landing between the first and second floors and it looked like the bodies were a little less dense. It wasn’t much of a consolation, but something was better than nothing.

  We were on the second to last step, at least I think so… you couldn’t actually see the treads themselves, when I froze. Carl bumped into me and swore.

  “What?” He hissed in my ear.

  I wasn’t quite sure. Something had set off an alarm in my mind. I wasn’t even conscious of it, but I could feel the sudden rush of fear based adrenaline and I knew I’d heard or sensed something. I clicked the flash off and waited.

  “Did you—“Carl started to hiss again.

  I shushed him and stood in the pitch dark, listening.

  You know, it’s funny… in this new world, the term listening has taken on a whole new meaning. Before, you listened with your ears in a casual way. Now, though, you listened with your entire body. Your mind strained to process even the tiniest sound, your eyes took in every detail, your sense of smell seemed far more acute because now you really paid attention to it.

  You felt every change of breeze on your skin and just… noticed more. Often it wasn’t even on a conscious level. It’s a skill that foot soldiers and guerilla fighters honed over years of combat and stealth. It was probably how animals behaved. Prey and predator alike were fully attuned to their senses in order to survive.

  After a few more seconds, I began to think I was just being paranoid. I sighed and stepped up onto the second floor landing. I reached for the door and stopped again.

  “Did you hear that?” Carl’s lips were almost pressed right up against my ear.

  I nodded. I’d heard it that time. It was a kind of scraping noise. A subtle sound of movement from above.

  “Sam?” Carl whispered hopefully.

  The sound came again. Maybe it was my paranoia kicking in, but it sounded… sly. Like something was intentionally creeping around in the stairwell somewhere in the vicinity of the third floor landing. But it only lasted for a second, because the sound changed to a more deliberate movement.

  Something… no a group of somethings… was moving in the dark above us. And they were getting closer.

  And then they began to moan…

  Chapter 19

  From the diary of Tara Shafer

  Dated 12/4/2019

  Dear Diary,

  There’s a lot of shit to go through for this day, so I’m just going to try and do it in order – well duh, right?

  It’s just that… it’s just that today was maybe the first day when all of this dead world shit really started to sink in. I mean, yeah, a lot has happened since the start of the apocalypse, but it seems like now the straws are really starting to pile up on the camel’s back… and today it really hit home for some reason.

  Ironically, the day started out pleasantly enough. Andy and Tony delivered Sam and Andrea and Carl to the shore to go to the military base easy enough. It was really a nice morning and started out great.

  “Come in Houston,” The VHF crackled suddenly while Andy and I were relaxing in the cockpit.

  Andy reached for the radio but Tony beat him to it over on the other boat, “We read you Eagle.”

  “We’ve established tranquility,” Sam’s voice responded to Tony’s reply.

  Then Tony said: “Acknowledged. How’s it look?”

  Sam: “Moonscape.”

  Tony: “Understood. Potential?”

  Sam: “Unknown. Reconnoitering.”

  “Pretty tight code,” I said to Andy, “What’s all that mean?”

  Andy smiled, “they’ve reached the base, and it’s dead – probably in more ways than one… and Sam’s not sure yet about the stuff. They’re looking around. He’ll be in touch again in an hour or so.”

  “Okay,” I said and sighed, “It’s nice out… but I’m kind of bored. What a thing to complain about after last night, huh?”

  Andy grinned at me, “I get it. Sitting and waiting makes it harder. Maybe it’s time we started your sail training like we talked about earlier.”

  “Okay,” I said eagerly.


  “The first thing,” Andy said, “Is learning some basic terms—“

  “I know about port and starboard and fore and aft and all that shit,” I told him.

  “I know that already,” he said with a patient smile. He really is a great guy, “I’m talking more about stuff specific to sailing. What the lines are called, the rigging, that kind of thing. And the basics of sailing theory.”

  I smiled at him, “I’m putty in your hands, sir.”

  Andy had a shit eating grin on his face, “I’ll bet.”

  He took me by the hand and we went forward to stand by the main mast where he began pointing.

  “Okay,” Andy began, “I know you probably know some of this, so if I tell you something that seems obvious, don’t be mad. I’m just being thorough.”

  I kissed him lightly, “I won’t be mad, sexy.”

  He grinned, “Cool. First, you know there’s the main mast and the mizzen mast on this boat. This is a ketch… a two-masted rig where the main mast is forward. For each mast, you have cables that are attached to the deck to support it. These are called stays. There’s a forestay, a back stay and the stays along the sides are called shrouds.”

  “Yeah, that I knew,” I said.

  He nodded, “Good. The shrouds and stays are referred to as the standing rigging. Each mast also has what’s called the running rigging. These include the halyards that raise the sail, a downhaul, but not always, to pull it down again, a topping lift which is used to raise and lower the end of the boom and a few others. Then there’s the sheet. The rope that you use to haul in on the end of the boom.”

  I nodded. I knew about the sheet, of course, but some of that stuff was new, “Damn, it’s a lot to remember.”

  Andy put a hand on my shoulder, “Don’t worry, a lot of it isn’t really that important for everyday use.”

  I nodded again.

  “Don’t worry if you forget some of this,” Andy reassured me, “You’ll get it in time. Okay, now there’s the sail itself. In a Bermuda rig, the sail is a triangle and has six basic parts. The leading edge of the sail, the part that attaches to the mast, is called the luff, the part that attaches to the boom is the foot and the outer edge is the leech. Now of course each corner has a name too. The outer bottom corner is the clue, the forward lower corner at the junction of the boom and mast is the tack and the upper corner is the head. Sometimes it’s called the earring also.”

  I sighed, “Good grief…”

  He chuckled, “Take it easy, Charlie Brown. Just two more things for now. When the boat is sailing, there are what’re called points of sail. We’ll leave that alone for now. The basic thing, though, is knowing what tack you’re on. So, if the wind is on the starboard side, you’re on the starboard tack, and vice versa.”

  “I should write some of this down,” I said, feeling a little overwhelmed.

  “Don’t worry,” Andy said, putting an arm around me, “You’ll get it, especially once we start sailing. Use makes master, as they say. I didn’t know shit about boats six months ago.”

  “Hey!” Tony called from the Sexual Heeling, “I think we’ve got company, Andy.”

  Tony was standing on the cutter’s spreader (hey, I got those two terms right) and pointing toward Saint Pete. Andy and I looked to where he was pointing.

  It was a good six or seven miles away, but there were two small white shapes on the water and they looked like they were coming toward us.

  “Friendlies?” Andy asked sarcastically.

  “They could be,” I said softly and hopefully, even though I didn’t believe it.

  Tony had a pair of binoculars in his hands, “Can’t tell. Looks like a couple of small boats… twenty footers, something like that. A center console and a bow rider. Maybe… ten men on board.”

  “Fuck,” Andy muttered. Then louder, “Fast?”

  “Not too fast,” Tony said, “The wind has picked up out of the northeast. Bay’s cutting up a little rough.”

  “Then we need to bug out,” Andy said in a way that made me think he wasn’t all that happy about it.

  “Those are the orders,” Tony said, “Get your engine fired up and your anchor pulled. We’ll head for the skyway.”

  “What about sails?” Andy asked, “Wind’s fair for a nice broad reach.”

  “No time,” Tony said, “We can throw up head sails but putting up mains and mizzens will take too much time. I figure we’ve got fifteen or twenty minutes.”

  “Can you handle the windlass?” Andy asked me, pointing to the machine on the bow sprit.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Okay,” Andy said, “Once the anchor is up, go below and bring up one of those Winchester .308’s for me and an M4 for you. Extra rounds and mags for you.”

  The boat’s diesel started and Andy put it in forward to help the windlass haul the forty feet of anchor chain on board. Right about the time we were free, Tony’s boat was too. I went aft and heard the VHF in Andy’s hand crackle to life.

  “Okay, L T,” Tony said, “Let’s not make it easy for them. We’ll head for the bridge at full speed. I think this boat is a little slower, so I’ll take the lead. Once I tell you we’re maxed out, set your autopilot and keep fairly close to my stern.”

  “It’s going to be like the old days,” Andy said, not able to suppress a grin, “Form line of battle and exchange broadsides. I only wish we had more people… or actual cannons.”

  There was a grunt from over the channel, “Yeah. I’m having Brenda stay out of sight until the fireworks begin. You should have Tara do the same. Our one advantage, I think, is that if it’s Mark and his merry men, they’ll either want to talk or they’ll want what we’ve got. They’ll be less likely to simply pepper the boats with bullets if they can close and board instead.”

  “He doesn’t know that for sure,” I pointed out to Andy.

  I guess Andy had the talk button pushed, because Tony came back with, “No, I can’t, but I’m hoping that’s the case.”

  We were now headed straight for the center of the huge Skyway Bridge. It was a good eight or nine miles away, though, and at the eight knots we were moving, it’d be over an hour before we reached it.

  I don’t know if that would make any difference, of course.

  “Good,” Andy said, “Tony’s setting his jib and stay sail. Let’s do the same. That’ll give us an extra half a knot or more. Maybe more than a knot for him with two out.”

  “Will that really make a difference to those power boats?” I asked, pointing to starboard where the two boats full of men had halved the distance between us. They were close enough that you could see them bouncing across the waves and see individual faces.

  “Every bit helps,” Andy said as he untied the furling line and began to haul on the starboard jib sheet. The big head sail flew outward, filling and bowing outward.

  Andy hauled it in so it was in what I guess was a good shape and tied the line off to a cleat. After a minute, he smiled, “Tony’s at about nine knots now. Nice… the faster we go, the faster they’ll have to go. Those are small boats and the waves are getting to be around two feet. That’s a lot for a small boat to deal with. It’ll be fine for driving along, but for shooting, it’ll be a bitch over there.”

  I nodded, “So we’re on a much more stable platform. It’ll be easier to aim.”

  “Right,” Andy said as he throttled up a bit to match the other boat’s speed, “Even if they slow down to pace us, their boats will be pitching and rolling a lot compared to us. In either case, we have the advantage.”

  “They’ve got speed, though,” I pointed out.

  “Yeah, but like I said, it doesn’t do them much good in combat. Only in closing. You’d better get down and stand ready.”

  It didn’t take long for the two small motorboats to come up to us. I had gone below and was peeking out through a starboard port. The window was open so I could see and hear what was going on outside.

  The first of the two boats pulled up along
side of us and matched our speed. They were maybe a hundred feet away. It looked like the Hell’s Angels had decided to hop off their bikes and go fishing. There were five guys in leather biker gear and one of them was Mark.

  “We need to talk, Andy!” Mark called out.

  “We’ve got nothing to say to each other,” Andy shouted back, “Now turn that boat around while you still can.”

  I heard the VHF crackle in the cockpit but couldn’t quite hear what was said. It was dark below, and I could look out without being seen. If I had to, I could remove the screen and poke the barrel of my M4 through the port and open fire. I had a clean path to Mark’s boat. The other one was a little behind the lead.

  I saw one of the men put a rifle to his shoulder and try to aim for us. Mark’s boat was bouncing around a bit and the man was having trouble keeping stable.

  Still, from that distance, the prick could simply open up on full auto and probably damage something… or somebody.

  A three round burst went off but didn’t hit anything. A warning shot?

  “I’ll give you five minutes to stop these boats and let us come on board,” Mark shouted.

  Andy appeared at the base of the companion and noticed me.

  “Hey,” He said, “I slowed the boat a hair. Tony’s going to try and maneuver around Mark. Can you shoot through this murder hole?”

  “Huh?” I asked in confusion.

  Andy pointed to the port, “Like they have on tanks and armored vehicles. A protected slot a gunner can shoot through. A murder hole.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Okay,” Andy replied, going forward into Tony’s cabin, “Whoa – Tony’s slowly going to leeward, keeping ahead of us but edging his way across Mark’s bow… looks like he wants to close him in a pincer.”

  I slid the screen aside and poked the barrel of my assault rifle out, just enough to clear the sill but hopefully not enough to be seen.

  If I moved aft and looked out of the port at an angle, I could now see the cutter sort of sliding sideways a bit. Tony was already in front of Mark.

  “What the fuck!” Mark shouted.

  There was more weapons fire and I distinctly heard the pings of rounds hitting the masts outside.