Verge of Extinction (Apex Predator Book 3)

by Glyn Gardner

  As the second day came to a close, she realized that her group seemed to be larger than most. The helicopter landed three times that day. Each time somewhere between four and six people walked off of the aircraft. Not once in two days on the barge did she see a group larger than six walk down the ramp.

  She had pondered that thought for a long time. She knew there were three helicopters working on the Mississippi River. If they were having the same luck as this barge was, that meant that only about 15 or 20 survivors a day were coming in. That really didn’t seem like a lot of people, considering the area they were searching. She didn’t do the math. She knew how few survivors there were. She had cried herself to sleep that night.

  The next day, the survivors were transferred to a larger ocean going boat. This boat had a pilothouse and a flying bridge, an open air bridge. The captain of the boat, an older man with bad teeth named Sully, stayed to the bridge. His first mate was a very young man of maybe 18 that the older man constantly referred to as Slim. The name fit the young man. He was tall, maybe a little over six feet; Jen didn’t think he weighed more than 150 pounds.

  The younger man looked out of place on the boat. Where Captain Sully acted the part of a salty old sea dog, the young man acted more like a tour guide. He seemed to be very comfortable getting everyone a place to sit, setting Jen and Indira up with a makeshift sickbay, or getting everyone a canned soda. He didn’t even talk like a sailor, thought Jen. He didn’t use nautical terms at all. To Slim, right was right and left was left. To Captain Scully, they were starboard and port.

  The boat they boarded in the half-dawn had a deck below the main deck where there was a galley and two sleeping births. Jen and Indira were set up in the pilothouse. Several people had received injuries during their escape. The medic from the River Rats had been nice enough to give the two women some medical supplies for the trip. He told them the trip would take the better part of the day.

  She walked out of the pilothouse onto the aft deck. The other groups had all charged onto the boat and laid claim to the staterooms below decks. SSgt Brown and Jackson sat beside Sgt Procell. She recognized the look of worry on SSgt Brown’s face. She’d seen it before.

  Beside Jackson sat Theresa and Kerry. The two women, girls really, Theresa was 14 and Kerry couldn’t have been much more than 18, had become fairly close. At least, they seemed closer to each other than they did to others. The two had both suffered horrible trauma over the last month. Theresa had seen her entire family slaughtered by the growing zombie hoard. Her brother Davy had shot himself outside of Jen and Mike’s house in the first few days.

  Kerry had suffered a different kind of trauma. When the group had found her, she and three other people had been holed up inside of a sporting goods store. Two of her fellow survivors were brothers. The Adams brothers were pieces of work. She shook her head. They had pretty much kidnapped Kerry and her friend Simon. It was obvious to all involved that the two brothers had raped the girl. The corners of her lips rose slightly. Killing those two assholes had actually been one of the good things to come out of this whole zombie apocalypse.

  Her eyes drifted to the figure at the very aft of the boat. He was older than the two girls. She knew he was in his 30’s. His shoulder length brown hair, oh she hated that hair, was blowing slightly in the ocean breeze. She’d been on to him for months to get it cut. He had wanted it to grow out a little so he could “shape it.” What the hell did he know about shaping hair? Now it just looked like a damned rat-tailed mullet.

  Mike turned his head. He could feel her eyes on the back of his neck. He saw the scowl on her face. What, he thought, had he done now? He inadvertently ran his fingers through his shaggy mane of hair. Oh, that’s it. She smiled and nodded her head. Yes, it is too long mister; her unspoken words coming through loud and clear.

  She slid into the space between him and the back, what she thought; bulkhead, hull, something else? Whatever it was, it pressed her closer to him. She could feel his breathing, the weight of his arm on her shoulder and neck. She felt comfortable for the first time in what seems like months.

  SSgt Brown woke with a start. Something had changed. What was it? It took him a moment to realize the boat they were in was turning. He looked for the sun. It was getting low towards the horizon, and was now off of the left side of the boat. They must be heading north. He stood and walked to the port side. He could see land to the northeast of them. That must be their new home.

  An hour later, Sully pulled the boat along side one of the docks on Singing River Island. There were three other boats tied to the same dock. All were smaller than the one on which he stood. He could see a double row chain link fence surrounded most of the island. He assumed this was the fence line that surrounded what used to be Pascagoula Naval Base.

  They had been told that the base was closed several years ago. They were also told that the only way to the mainland was a bridge that spanned more than a mile over the Gulf of Mexico. SFC Riddick had told him it was the safest place on the planet. He sure hoped the grizzled old ranger was right.

  A quick glance told him the rest of the group was also asleep. Jen was softly snoring in Mike’s arms, and Jackson, Theresa, and Kerry had formed a little tripod of bobbing heads. Even Indira was asleep in the makeshift sickbay. Sgt Procell was the only other soul awake. But, SSgt Brown could tell the man had just woken up and seemed to still be groggy. He merely smiled at the older NCO before nudging the gaggle of young people to his left.

  The large man standing before them must have played basketball at some point in his life. If not, thought Mike, it would have been a waste. The man must have been six-four. His hair was silver as the clouds and he spoke with a very thick Cajun accent. He had introduced himself to the new arrivals simply as the Bishop. He was an imposing figure. Mike could see that he wore a pistol in drop-down holster on his left thigh and something that looked like a sword on his right hip. He looked like a cross between a SWAT team member and a medieval barbarian.

  His giant smile suddenly turned into a scowl. “There are a few rules that need to be addressed before you go any farther,” the man was bellowing. “One, violence on another person ain’t allowed. Two, stealin’ ain’t allowed. Three, hoarding ain’t allowed. Four, everyone works. There are a few exceptions to this rule, but I make the exceptions. Five, in the immortal words of Spock: The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Again, I decide what the needs are.”

  Lastly, there is only one punishment.” He paused for dramatic effect, “banishment. If you violate the rules, you will be returned, under guard and without supplies, to the mainland.” His smile returned. “Now, I understand there are some people that I am to take a special interest in.” He read off a list of names. Jen and Indira were the first two names called. They were followed by Sam Reynolds, SSgt Brown, Sgt Procell, and Jackson. “Would you folks be so kind as to follow me to my office? The rest of you please follow Jerry here. He’ll get you settled in.”

  Jen and the rest followed the Bishop as requested. She thought for a moment about his request. It most certainly was not a request. This man did not request anything. She realized that he barked, and people obeyed. Her stomach turned, although she was not the least bit hungry. She noticed Indira had the same worried look on her face.

  They entered a small building tucked between two large hangers. SSgt Brown thought it had the feel of an operations center. There were maps plastered to the wall. Several of the maps were of the southern US. One was of the entire eastern seaboard, another showed the Rockies, and another represented the west coast. There were large areas outlined in red. Shreveport was smack dab in the middle of one of the red areas. Most of the major US cities were surrounded in red. One of the maps on the wall represented Atlanta. Most of the city was colored in red. However, he could see, there was a small area outlined in black. The center of the small circle seemed to glow white on a map covered in subdued colors.

  The Bishop waved a hand at several folding meta
l chairs along the wall. “Have a seat,” he ordered. They did as they were told. A small woman entered the room. The tray she carried contained several varieties of soda. Jen could see the water beading on the side of the cans. She realized they were cold. She hadn’t had a real cold drink in what seemed like forever. The woman never spoke as she offered the drinks to the new arrivals. After the last person, Sam, removed his can from the tray she turned and left without a word.

  “Welcome to the Island,” the Bishop said with a smile. “I‘ll cut to the chase. I’ve asked you guys here because you have specific skills that we need here.” He waved his soda in the direction of Jen and Indira. “You ladies both have medical training. As you’ve no doubt noticed in your travels, people have a bad habit of getting injured in the brave new world.”

  He took a long drink from the red can. “Right now I have two paramedics and three military guys with basic first-aid training. You ladies are a God’s send. I’m going to assign you two to the dispensary. You can keep or relieve any of the current employees you wish. I just ask that you keep the dispensary open 24 hours.” Again, Jen was sure that he was not asking, but demanding.

  Without waiting for them to answer, he turned to the soldiers. “Staff Sergeant Brown, you are now my top soldier. I have three other trained soldiers on this base. They are now yours. I also have a fairly robust volunteer force. Most of them know how to handle themselves. They wouldn’t be here if they didn’t. I want you to organize and train them. Keep in mind that their main mission is foraging on the mainland.” He handed the big NCO a sheet of paper. There were about twenty names on it. Jackson, Sgt Procell, and his names were smack dab on the top. He also saw Theresa and Kerry on the list.

  Again, the Bishop didn’t wait for a response. He turned to Sam. “You and your firemen are the only people I have who know the first thing about water, pumps, plumbing, anything like that. I have a water purification unit here. Your people are going to get it running. I want fresh water in the dining hall, and I want showers.”

  Sam was beside himself. He was fireman, not a damned plumber. What the hell did he know about water purification? “Sir, with all due respect…” The Bishop stood, leaning over his desk cutting Sam short. “Look, Captain,” he began, “you and your men have been given a job. If you can’t handle it, I can always make sure your names find their way onto Sergeant Brown’s list. Maybe your people will be better at dodging the dead than fixing the water.”

  The message was clear: Do as I tell you, or go with the foragers to collect batteries and toilet paper. “Yes, sir,” he stoically replied.

  “Jerry!” he bellowed. The younger man from earlier, burst through the door. “Take these people to their quarters. Then you can take them on the tour.” He motioned for them to follow.

  An hour later, SSgt Brown was sitting on a cot that would serve as his bed. The tour they had been given was actually pretty informative. The base really did appear to be secure. The bridge had been blocked with several overturned 18-wheelers. It was close enough to the mainland and far enough away from the island that the local undead didn’t pay it any mind. There were two men sitting on top of the trailer. Each had a sword on his belt and a spear close enough for him to grab. They also had rifles slung over their backs. Jerry had told them that the guards had not fired a single round in two weeks.

  The rest of the base was laid out in a big circle. There were a few warehouse-like buildings near the waterfront. Several buildings that were obviously office-type buildings and a couple of hangers that were farther off of the water made up the rest of the base. Jerry had told them that there were currently eighty seven souls on the Island. “One-hundred-twenty-seven if you count the River Rats,” he had clarified.

  “Are there any other survivors?” Indira had asked.

  “Well,” he began. “There’s a bunch of people in Atlanta. You know the CDC? They’re holding on, but food is becoming a problem. The word is there are still a lot of folks in the northwest. It seems that someone got smart and sealed Denver off from the outside world. That city is overrun, but the rest of Colorado, Utah, Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, and the western part of the Dakotas’s still have fairly large living populations.” He wasn’t able to tell them where he’d heard all of this. But, at least it was some news.

  Day 36

  Singing River Island

  SSgt Brown could hear the click-clack of someone walking on crutches before he saw the man. “How do you like my new legs?” Sgt Procell asked.

  “Not bad,” the older man answered. “You know you can’t go out like that right?”

  The younger man looked dejected. “Oh, Staff Sergeant Brown, you have so little faith in the resourcefulness of this highly trained and experienced combat engineer.” He smiled widely. “I believe that anything you do today will require the use of a water-borne mode of transportation. While I may not be able to outrun a one-legged zombie on land, I can easily outpace him from the driver’s seat of a boat; a boat that we need to go and pick up soon.”

  Last night one of the “volunteers” told them how foraging had been conducted. Each five person group was to acquire a boat from one of the many marinas on the gulf coast. That was then their boat. They used it for all of their foraging raids. SSgt. Brown would be expected to have his own boat by the end of the day, and foraging was to begin the next day. The man had explained that foragers didn’t get days off unless their captain was willing to go into Indian country with less guns. This was simply not done. The prevailing attitude amongst the three captains was the more guns the better.

  SSgt. Brown couldn’t help but think how much this sounded like an island run by pirates. He was a teacher when he wasn’t playing soldier in the National Guard. He remembered hearing how the pirates of Nassau operated. He rubbed the salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin. Greybeard he thought to himself. Na, he chuckled, not very scary.

  He found Jackson, Theresa, and Kerry waiting on the dock. Behind them was a 22 foot boat. A large blue strip ran down the side with the words “Queen Anne’s Revenge” on the bow. Standing in the cockpit was a short man with arms that looked like undersized beer kegs. SSgt Brown was sure the man had to have his shirts tailor made just to fit those huge arms. He wore a maroon baseball cap with the letter “A”in white on the front. Two men with rifles were standing on the bow of the boat. He recognized the trio. Their names had been on his list.

  “Well don’t just stand there gawkin,’” the man in the baseball hat yelled over the sound of the engines, “get onboard.” His southern drawl was as thick as any SSgt Brown had heard. They climbed aboard.

  SSgt Brown sat next to the captain. “Do you guys have to do this every time someone new comes along?”

  “Sure do.” He answered.

  SSgt Brown didn’t like that. Like most military guys, he was of the belief that more is better, and way more is way better. When they arrived at whatever marina they were going to, he would make sure that he returned with more than two boats.

  The man in the Crimson Tide cap suddenly chopped the throttles. The bow of the boat dipped and the wind stopped. The world didn’t go completely silent, but it did become quite a bit quieter.

  The end of the pier was about a half mile away. “Two bobbers off the port, two-hundred yards,” called one of men. He was taller and he had a deep brown tan. SSgt Brown thought his name was Jimmy G or something like that. He could tell the man had worked outside most of his young life. He wore a black concert tee-shirt for a band that SSgt Brown was convinced did not exist any longer. “I got ‘em,” the captain acknowledged quickly.

  SSgt Brown leaned in close to the captain’s ear. “What the hell is a bobber?”

  “A bobber is a floating zombie,” he replied, never taking his eye off of the sea in front of him. “You see, them zombies get all full of gas in the belly. Just like real dead things do. So, when they chase after us and fall in the ocean, they bob around like a bobber on a fishing line. Gotta be careful with ‘em. Sometimes th
ey ain’t all the way dead. They can still bite. They got sinkers too. Them’s the ones who ain’t got no air in their bellies no more. They just sink. Water’s about twenty-five foot deep at the end of the pier, so they ain’t no worry.”

  The thought of a bunch of zombies bobbing around in the water just waiting to bite a passing sailor sent a shiver down SSgt Brown’s spine. He wondered how long the bobbers bobbed. He was going to ask, but they were approaching the end of the pier. No more chit-chat.

  He moved next to one of the boatmen. It was the one who called out the bobbers. “How many times have you guys been to this pier?” he asked quietly. “Three times,” the man replied. “We usually ground the boat on the beach, or ‘Bamma here keeps circling out past the surf. Pier is a mighty bad place be. We try to avoid it.”

  SSgt Brown realized that these men had a system worked out for raiding the mainland. He mentally kicked himself for not talking to them earlier about tactics and procedures. He made a mental note to get his boat captains together tonight and get his people up to speed.

  ‘Bamma quietly slid the boat alongside the pier. The two boatmen with him, SSgt Brown couldn’t help but think of them as a shore party, soundlessly crossed to the wooden pier. Each man grabbed a line and tied a quick figure eight to a cleat secured to the pier.

  The man with the concert tee-shirt waved the others out of the boat and pointed at the deck next to his right foot. SSgt Brown leaned in so the man could whisper. “This is as far as we go. The first four boats on both sides are either busted or we couldn’t find keys. I can’t tell you anything about the boats closer to the beach.”

  He motioned to the far end of the pier with his rifle. “There’s usually a few Zeke’s that hang out down there. So, keep it quiet.” The soldier nodded.