by DeLeon, Jon
"Not really," Joe said.
"That's fair. It's hard to describe. Here, take the wheel and stay with the crowd." Ricahrd stepped away from the steering mechanism, letting Joe take his place. "I'm going to draw you a map. It will be way easier than trying to describe all of this, and if we get separated, it'll be good for you to have." As Ricahrd worked, drawing a map by hand, he talked about the details of the city that he wouldn't draw. "The two large sections of the other rings of Newlantis are made up of container ships for general housing and barges used for farming, lined with container walls to protect the field from the salt water, storms and ships. The two inner ring sections are connected to the outer rings by container-walled bridges. Everything in Newlantis is walled except the docks, and the fishing docks for max security. The fishing docks make up one section of the inner ring. Basically floating docks that are packed with any ship seaworthy enough and that can pay the daily fee to engage in fishing."
"Pay to fish?" Joe asked.
"Yeah, if you show up and want to be a fisherman, you have to pay. If you can't afford the fee or have too many bad days fishing, well you're out of luck. You either leave or stay, but then you give up your boat."
"Give up your boat?"
"Yeah, you can always work in the market, doing maintenance or farming, but in that case, you forfeit your boat to the government. They either use it for their military, give it to a more successful fisherman whose boat is smaller or in worse condition, or just sink it."
"They sink your boat, your home, if you can't pay." Joe didn't like the sound of Newlantis, or how matter-of-factly Ricahrd spoke of the practice.
"I'm telling you, the king is not a good man."
"Just seems like a waste," Joe said.
"You'll see. The king abhors the poor or common class. It's not good." Ricahrd paused for a moment, focusing on his drawing. "Anyway, the other section of the inner ring is more farming and some fuel storage. As for most of the oil, and the elite and government housing, each have their pie pieces of higher walls and better security. The highest walls are reserved for the center ring. While the market, which is one half of the center landmass, has no walls, and there are the same two-container-tall walls around the communication and military areas, the king's complex rises up high above everything else, in a makeshift tower overlooking everything."
"What kind of tower?" Joe asked, trying to form a picture in his mind. All he could see now was a wall, two containers stacked on top of each other. He made a mental note of a guard post on top of the over twenty-foot-tall wall.
"Yeah," Ricahrd continued, “it's basically shipping containers stacked on top of each other in an interweaving pattern, forming a large rectangular structure. Its base is a massive barge. It's actually pretty impressive. At the top, the rectangular tower becomes a square that rises over a series of stepped gardens and a heliport. The top of the tower is his main home. It's well appointed with Persian rugs and fine art, pillaged from museums around the Mediterranean. It's really nice. Too bad such a piece of shit owns it."
"How did he come to be in power?" Joe asked.
"Well the story goes, he was on one of the massive container ships when this zombie outbreak happened. In a previous life, he was the son of some shipping company billionaire. After the father died, the company struggled. Captains quit and loads started arriving late. Well the son, now called the king, had flown to a ship to put pressure on a ship captain to get his loads and trips back on schedule. Then the undead started eating people. The crew of the ship had been forced to take Enerjax as part of a company mandate. The king apparently called in for help, receiving it from a Coast Guard unit close by. After everyone was dead, the king struck a deal to share the supplies of his fully loaded container ship. So the Coast Guard sent word for anyone and everyone to meet them at that location. Newlantis started to form. But the king, being a shrewd businessman, found a way to create a de facto government, with himself as the operation manager. After he had accrued enough power, he found some loyal, violent friends and overthrew the Coast Guardsmen. Soon after, his rise to power was complete." Ricahrd stopped, standing and admiring his own work. "Not bad if I say so myself. Although my handwriting isn't the greatest, it should do the job. Here." He handed Joe the hand-drawn map.
Joe looked at the map and studied it.
Joe looked over at the case he had brought from New Miami, sitting on the bench seat across from him. There were only a few vials left inside, a ruse meant to fool the king into thinking he was the only one with the Enerjax booster. "Are you sure about this plan?"
"Trust me. I know the king well enough."
"You better be right. If it doesn't work, you're costing me the chance to get to my brother," Joe said.
"Helping the resistance is the only way we'll have a chance at saving your brother. Without their help, you won't know where to go. If he's alive . . ."
"He's alive," Joe said, determined.
"You haven't heard from him. I'm just saying, temper your expectations." Ricahrd and Joe sat in silence for a few more minutes. Ricahrd shook his shoulders out, getting ready for the next part of their journey. "Okay. Here we go." They reached the end of the container wall. As they passed its shadow, a line of ships coming in and going out of the wide mouth of the public docks appeared. Ricahrd and the ships from the convoy turned, merging into the stream of boats.
Joe looked around. He could see flags of at least a dozen different countries in the stream. "Do all of these people live here?"
"No. A lot of them want to, but there isn't enough space for everyone. So many commute from small islands or rocky outcroppings, they dock up for the night. But it's dangerous outside the walls of the city. Piracy is back and strong."
Joe looked out the front window in awe. He could see the monolithic tower of the king. It was at least sixty feet tall, standing a clear and prominent icon. As he scanned down the building, he saw the satellite dishes that linked to the commutations area, which according to the map was behind the government wall. Below that, colorful sheets and paints waved in the sea breeze. The market, and the first step of their journey, was not far away.
"Get below and stay there. I don't want them to know what ship you're on," Ricahrd commanded.
"You don't trust the king that much, huh?" Joe stood up and grabbed the case, moving toward a small ladder.
"No way. Why do you think we're driving this old junker instead of the security boat?" Ricahrd slapped the wheel of the late-seventies fishing boat they were on.
Joe was halfway down the ladder to the storage compartment. He could still just barely see out the window. "You don't think you're a little paranoid?"
Before Ricahrd could answer, three Jet Skis came moving fast, shooting rooster tails into the air out of the shadow of the wall, speeding toward the security boat. Each Jet Ski carried two men, the back of each holding a rifle. The security ship turned hard. Joe could see the burly man he had met earlier in the convoy's journey steering the ship away. He pushed the throttle, sending water into the air, not too fast to truly escape, just fast enough to keep the chase alive and lead the assailants away. "Like I said, don't trust the king," Ricahrd said, exhaling, relieved his plan had worked.
"How do we know that wasn't your resistance?" Joe asked.
Ricahrd's face was blank. "Get below. Pray I'm right about them."
The Russian Cabin: Outbreak Day +94
Sweat fell to the wood floor. Boards creaked under the weight of Tyler's body as he finished his final burpee. Kurt was sitting against the wall, panting, sweat dripping from his face and running down his body.
"Good work. Tyler," Kurt said between heaving breaths.
Tyler collapsed to the floor, giving a thumbs up to Kurt. After a minute or two, Tyler recovered enough to talk. "Wow that sucked! Probably worst workout we've done yet."
"Worse than that hike we took where we got lost and almost didn't find our way back?" Kurt asked while wiping his face off with his shirt.
"We were never lost. We hiked like thirty minutes up the hill and came back down."
"Yeah, and ended up like a quarter-mile downstream. It took us another thirty minutes to find the cabin again."
Tyler nodded. "True, and to answer your question, yes, this was worse. I hate burpees."
"I think everyone does," Kurt said, smiling.
"Not you. You're like a spring, down and up so fast. I thought I could beat you on this one, but you were too fast."
"You are catching me though," Kurt said.
"I'll get you one of these days," Tyler said back.
"How is your rib feeling with all the dropping on it?"
"Good." Tyler felt his chest, amazed. "I didn't even feel it, actually."
"I told you you'd heal."
"Thank God. I've got to say, this has been a fun three weeks. Reminds me of wrestling. We used to go to camp and stay in these little shacks for two weeks in the summer and just train."
"You were a wrestler? You never told me that."
"Yeah, only through high school though. After that I was tired of cutting weight and constantly smelling like BO."
"Were you any good?" Kurt asked, standing up from his position against the wall.
"I was all right. Never made State but didn't lose every match either."
"Yeah? Teach me something," Kurt said.
"Teach you something?" Tyler asked.
"Yeah, there has to be some useful wrestling moves."
"Well what do you want to know?"
"How about how to escape a choke hold?" Kurt asked.
"Escape a choke hold?"
"Yeah, there has to be some move, or I guess you'd say defense, to get out of one, right?”
"Well, yeah, I guess. I mean, the main defense is to not get into one in the first place."
"Yeah, no shit, but let's say I'm already in one. What would you do?"
"Okay." Tyler stood up. "So I'm going to stand behind you and put you in a choke hold."
"Okay."
Tyler put Kurt in a weak rear choke hold, one arm looping around the front of Kurt's neck and the other arm behind Kurt’s head, together squeezing. "So most people try to pull off the arm on the front of their neck. Give that a try."
Kurt tried to yank the arm off. It didn't budge.
"Doesn't move, right? So instead I want you to reach over your head and grab my other arm with both hands." Kurt followed instructions, grabbing the arm behind his neck. "Now you are going to pull slowly this time to just feel it, and you are going to pull straight up over your head and then down to your chest." Kurt did it fairly easily. "Now I only have one arm’s strength holding you and it's easy to escape. The best now is to let go of my arm and quickly yank down on the arm around your neck." Kurt did it, freeing Tyler's grasp on him. "Nice, now duck underneath and take a step back." Kurt ducked and stepped backward, instinctively pulling Tyler's arm behind Tyler's body. "Perfect! Now you have me in a position of control and my rear unguarded."
"That was easy!" Kurt said, proud of himself.
"Well I did let you do it. In real life, you have to be fast and aggressive. If the choke gets too sunk in, you're fucked," Tyler said back.
"Gotcha," Kurt said, nodding and wiping the smile from his face.
"Want to try again?" Tyler asked.
"Yeah," Kurt answered.
Kurt and Tyler practiced a few more times, with mixed success.
"Okay, that's good for now, but we'll practice more until you've mastered it," Tyler said.
"Sounds good to me," Kurt said.
Chapter 2
Newlantis Market: Outbreak Day +94
After Ricahrd had docked the fishing boat at a public inlet, he and Joe told the dock guard they were coming to bargain for fishing supplies. The disguises of old, tattered and fish-stained clothes they were wearing, combined with the smell of dried dead bait they had each coated their pants in, left little to the imagination, making it an easy sale to the guard.
They walked through the market streets, passing stores selling all kinds of things. Corn stands, electronics shops and clothing stores were everywhere. People were shouting, trying to entice buyers to come, and buyers were haggling for deals. It was controlled mayhem. After a long walk, Ricahrd nodded to Joe. "This is the place." Ricahrd nodded toward a symbol spray painted next to the store's name. It looked like a fishhook, but the prongs were on the wrong side. Ricahrd and Joe went inside. It was bright and full of colorful handmade fishing lures. The people of Newlantis were truly inventive. Everything from spoons to toys had been cut up, bent and melted into the shape of fishing tools. Ricahrd walked to the back of the store and approached the clerk. "We are here looking for something that can help us really rise up, you now, elevate our game so that we can come from the bottom to the top."
The shopkeeper looked at Ricahrd and Joe for a moment and then scanned the rest of the store and outside. He waved for them to follow. He led them into a back room. Moving a box labelled “HEAVY,” he reached down and opened a hatch, leading down into the hull of the barge the shop was placed on. He pulled a flashlight out of his pocket and turned it on. Its purple glow was easy to recognize as UV. The storekeeper aimed it at the floor at the bottom of the hatch. The same hook symbol shined in UV paint. He then handed the light to Ricahrd and pointed down the hatch. Ricahrd nodded to Joe and climbed down. Joe followed him. He was barely at the bottom of the ladder leading down when the storekeeper closed the hatch. It was pitch-black other than the reflective glow of the UV paint. They could hear the box being dragged back on top of the hatch.
Ricahrd scanned the area with the UV light. Another symbol shined on the floor about twenty feet away. "This way," he said as he started to walk, slowly.
After following UV symbols for over ten minutes, Joe was starting to get nervous that this was all a sick way of wasting their time when they found a new UV-painted message: “KNOCK AND WAIT.”
Joe, tired of the dark, reached forward. Knock. Knock. Knock. "How long do you think we'll have to wait?"
"I don't know," Ricahrd said. "Can I admit something?"
"What?"
"I hate the dark."
Joe smiled and then, unable to keep his cool, began laughing quietly.
Ricahrd joined him, laughing under his breath at their current situation.
A creak silenced their laughter. The message was moving. The door it was written on opened to reveal a strange bluish light.
Philipo's Office: Outbreak Day +94
Joe and Ricahrd stepped through the door. As it was closed behind them by a masked man, their eyes struggled to adapt to the suddenly not-pitch-black room. The same masked man patted them down. He removed their weapons. But as he reached for the case, Joe pulled it away. The man pointed a gun at Joe.
"No!" a voice shouted from across the room.
Joe squinted, trying to see the room more clearly. As his vision recovered, he could see the source of the light. The blue tint that colored the whole room came from the far-side wall. It was all glass, one massive window looking out at an underwater scene. To his right, against a wall, sat five people all working at desks bolted to the floor. On each desk sat a computer terminal, and pasted to the walls were maps of Europe, the Middle East and Africa.
Joe's attention turned to a man who had gotten up from a desk that faced the glass wall. It was he who had shouted to the guard. The blue light behind him made it hard for Joe to make out details until he was close. The live-skinned man stood about six feet and wore a pair of simple khakis and a collared golf shirt. His black hair was about the length of his ears and combed to one side. As he got closer, the man's face was easier to see. He wore a welcoming smile.
"Ciao. I'm Philipo." The man extended his hand. Joe took it and shook it politely. "I'm the leader of the resistance. Welcome to our communication office." Philipo shook Ricahrd's hand. "Ricahrd, glad to see you again, my friend."
"You too," Ricahrd replied.
Philipo turned
his attention to Joe. "Thank you so much for bringing us such an awesome weapon against the zombies." He reached for the case. Joe pulled the case away. A confused look came to Philipo's face.
"Philipo," Ricahrd said, handing him the small duffel bag he carried.
Philipo looked inside. Four vials of the Enerjax booster were nestled inside. "Do you know why we do all this? Track all the distress calls?" Philipo asked the air, but clearly aimed toward Joe.
"No."
"Before all this, I was a firefighter. I ran into burning buildings and saved people. When the zombie shit happened, do you know what I did? I ran. I was running on the beach, and I saw what was going on, and I just jumped into the ocean and swam to the nearest ship. Only thought about myself. Everything I was, everything that made me, I had just abandoned. I didn't know how to live with myself. Then I heard the first desperate call over the radio. The boat I was on went back. I got an instant chance for redemption. We only saved one man. That's him, there." Philipo pointed at the masked man who had searched them upon entering the office. "I realized I had found a way to still be me. I got involved with the man who calls himself the king now. His real name is Franc. I helped him build all of this in a matter of weeks. It's nothing short of a miracle. At first we saved a lot of people, mainly those who didn't have a ship of their own. Then his real self came out. Started talking about needing to cull our current population. He ordered no more rescues. When I challenged him, he tried to inject me with Enerjax. I got away. So here we are, in the basement, logging rescue requests, which gets me to the main point. I need your help."
Ricahrd enthusiastically said, "We're here to help."
Joe spoke flatly. "That's what the vials are for. That was the deal. You get the Enerjax booster, and I get the location of my brother."