Convoy 19: A Zombie Novel

by Mark Rivett

  How long do clothes really last? Were people with the skill to make textiles a critical need he had overlooked? There were people out there with only the clothes on their back. How long could the fabric of thirty-some thousand people last in ocean air? His mind wandered as he gazed out over the aircraft carrier’s landing deck.

  Helicopters of varying shapes and sizes sat next to fighter jets that, Henry noted, were not as numerous as when he had first arrived on board the U.S.S. Ronald Reagan. A group of soldiers and sailors slowly loaded cargo onto a Chinook Helicopter that would eventually transport Henry and a dozen other men to the U.S.S. Boxer – an amphibious warfare ship that had been largely converted into a floating refugee center.

  The cool sea breeze felt good, and the fresh air made Henry realize how much he had gotten used to the dank smell of mildew and body odor below deck. When he returned, Henry decided, he would have to make a point of getting more fresh air.

  The sound of rotors preceded a green Iroquois helicopter’s arrival. It landed on the carrier deck, and six marines poured out…carrying two stretchers. They rushed toward Henry with alarming urgency, a marine medic held two IV’s in the air as they went. A man dressed in civilian clothes chased after them. His shirt was drenched in blood, and his face bore a look of anguish.

  The marines rushed past Henry, and one of the soldiers broke off to intercept the civilian man before he made his way into the ship. “They’re in good hands, sir. Docs will have them stitched up in no time. Are you okay?”

  Henry could see, as the civilian man came closer that his face was broken and bruised, and there was a deep gash in his right arm. Instinctually, he took a step forward to help and if necessary—inspect the man for bites. The marine seemed to have things under control, however, and Henry forced himself to stay out of the situation.

  The marine removed some gauze from his backpack and began wrapping the civilian’s lacerated arm. The two men then began to move in Henry’s direction. As the marine worked, he looked up and acknowledged Henry…but continued tending to the civilian’s wound. “Okay, I’m gonna take care of this quick, so that you don’t bleed all over sick bay…and then you can see your kids.”

  Henry allowed silence to linger for a few minutes before speaking. “What happened?”

  “There’s a riot aboard the Sapphire Cruise ship.” The marine answered nonchalantly.

  “They stabbed my kids!” The civilian man continued. “I tried to… I tried…” The man broke down into tears and was unable to continue.

  “Come on, let’s see your kids,” the marine offered. The man’s sobs persisted, echoing up the steel corridor as the two men disappeared below deck.

  “That’s a damn shame.” A familiar voice startled Henry.

  He wheeled to face Senator Allan Nostrum. The overweight, balding man clutched a brown suitcase and frowned at Henry. Henry did not enjoy being startled, but he managed to calm his rising anger before responding in an even tone: “Yep… damn shame.”

  The Senator held Henry’s gaze. He was a good deal shorter than the Doctor was, but the Senator carried himself with the presence of a much larger man. “The captain of the Sapphire’s been begging the Admiral for a security detail for over a month. Those marines were just over there inspecting the situation. Lucky they were there, else that man and his kids would be dead.”

  Henry considered asking Nostrum how he knew about the Sapphire, but he arrived at the answer almost as soon as the question entered his mind. Nostrum was a politician with a knack for building networks of contacts. While Henry was busily solving the world’s problems, Allan was cultivating his power base. “Good thing I guess…” Henry replied, wary of the predator in his midst.

  “There are gonna be a lot more riots. There are not enough soldiers to spread around. We’re gonna lose a lot more ships – civilian and military – before we make it to the Gulf.” Nostrum continued in his smooth New England accent. “A lot of people…”

  “We’ll have to consolidate the civilian fleet into the larger vessels to maintain security. It’s all in my report,” Henry replied.

  “I read your report,” Nostrum answered. He moved to the doorway and peered out at the soldiers loading the Chinook helicopter. “You have a forward-thinking mind, Henry. That’s good.”

  Henry was reminded of the patronizing tone he had endured while working in the department of Health and Human Services as an analyst. He had almost forgotten about it. He had learned to ignore it, but after months of being the man in charge, the sting came back all at once. He struggled to keep his anger in check. “You can call me Doctor, Senator. Doctor Damico.”

  “Then what will I call your wife when I meet her?” he smiled a toothy smile. “I can’t call you both Doctor Damico. That must be so confusing at cocktail parties.”

  “What do you want?” Henry asked impatiently.

  “Me? Nothing, I’m just waiting for my ride.” Nostrum responded in a tone that feigned hurt feelings.

  “You’re going to the Boxer?” A sense of sadness washed over Henry. He had hoped to spend a couple days alone with his wife, and the thought of having to keep an eye out for a nosy Senator was not appealing.

  “The Boxer? No, I’m getting dropped off on the Horizon Pacific container ship. The captain has had his underwear in a bunch since we pulled an Imminent Domain on him and started distributing his cargo of food to the fleet. I’m going to see if I can smooth things over.”

  Henry set his jaw and nodded in reluctant approval. The resources on many ships had been commandeered by the military for a variety of purposes – food stuffs, supplies, fuel. The captains of those vessels had become entitled astonishingly quickly. There were no active ports in which to dock, and the corporations that owned the freight were defunct or dead. In their minds, they were the de facto owners of their cargo. They imagined themselves, in part, as new wealthy nobility who had inherited their fortunes by default. Small ocean-borne feudal societies had already begun to spring up – complete with courts comprised of the ship’s crews and protected by mercenaries or civilians willing to pledge fealty as “knights.” However, the military had stepped in to inform those captains that not only were they not the twenty-first century kings they fancied themselves to be, but they would also have a permanent military presence on board for security and distribution of goods. Once the illusion was shattered, those ship’s captains and crews had been thrust into a rocky relationship with the military. If not for the ever-present threat of the walking dead, the Mexican military and marauding pirates, many ships may have likely attempted to abandon the fleet.

  Henry turned away from the senator and stared out over the tarmac. The world was becoming a very strange place, and men like Nostrum had a knack for navigating it. It was frustrating to see someone thrive amidst the chaos for which they were in part responsible.

  “What do you want?” Nostrum repeated Henry’s question back to him.

  Henry hesitated before answering. He had been operating on autopilot for so long he hadn’t really considered the question. “I want to see my wife.”

  “Of course… but what do you want?” Nostrum stressed the word, indicating that his question was meant to be much broader than the answer Henry had given him.

  Henry wondered if he should answer. Was Nostrum looking for leverage? Was he probing for information he could later use against Henry? He decided to give an answer that was both honest and something Nostrum already knew. “I want to get as many people to the Gulf of Mexico as possible, reestablish land-based civilization, and take back North America.”

  Nostrum chuckled. “That’s a good answer, Henry. A lot of people, they’d answer that they want the undead to go away or their loved ones to come back. Everyone wants those things, but that’s not going to happen. You want real things, attainable things. That makes your dreams more than fantasy. You can achieve your dreams. That’s healthy.”

  “My dreams would be much easier to achieve if incompetent politicians wou
ld get out of my way and let me do my job.” Henry answered bitterly. “What do you want? To float here until we’re overrun or run out of food and supplies? To go to war with the Chinese and get us all killed?”

  “Sirs…” A young sailor barely in his twenties had approached them. “We’re going to be taking off soon.”

  “Oh look!” Nostrum picked up his suitcase and gingerly stepped toward the helicopter. “My ride’s here.”

  Henry glared at the Senator, but he picked up his own suitcase and followed. The two men got into their seats and buckled in. The rotors roared louder and louder until the ungainly helicopter, piled high with boxes and bags, took off.

  From the air, the fleet looked unlike anything Henry had ever seen. Destroyers and cruisers patrolled a wide perimeter. Large groupings of civilian vessels were huddled together like floating neighborhoods. Smaller yachts and fishing boats sat next to larger cruise ships. Further inside the perimeter sat the container ships and supply frigates that were vital to the fleet’s survival. At the center of it all, sat the U.S.S. Ronald Reagan Super Carrier, looming like a mighty giant over its domain.

  The view was impressive, but there were other, more ominous sights as well. Here and there, undead floundered helplessly about in the ocean waves. Abandoned and capsized vessels dotted the sea, their broken and half-submerged carcasses floating aimlessly through the military perimeter. Oil fires of sunken ships, gasoline slicks, garbage bags, and human filth – the sum of the waste that thirty thousand people can produce—covered the ocean like a watery garbage dump. The fleet truly was a floating city with a complete lack of plumbing or trash collection, and the blue water carried a brown and green tint.

  As quickly as it had taken to the air, the helicopter landed on the deck of the Horizon Pacific container ship. Henry sat patiently while the marines and sailors unloaded cargo.

  Nostrum unbuckled himself from his seat and stepped onto the deck. A heavy set man with a gray beard approached the Chinook. He had his arms wrapped around two attractive young women in bikinis, and he wore a gaudy gold ring on every finger. With a red-faced toothy smile, he extended a hand in greeting. “Senator!” The man said with the rough voice of a life-long sailor. “It’s good to see you again… you didn’t have to bring the squaddies, though. I would have sent an escort to get you.”

  Henry had heard the derogatory term ’squaddies’ before, but not in a long time. Ever since the military became the difference between life and the undead, they commanded a level of respect among the civilian population that was unassailable. It took a special kind of degenerate to insult the Navy in private, let alone in their presence.

  “Captain.” Nostrum took the man’s hand, nodded, and seemed about to continue speaking, when the boisterous man shoved one of his women toward a soldier who had just set down a large sealed black box.

  “C’mon, boys! Stay a while. We got beer! Food! Women!” The man chuckled.

  The soldier caught the woman. Her face was expressionless—almost sad—as she ran her hand up the inside of the marine’s thigh. The soldier released her, pushed her gently away, shook his head, and returned to his work.

  “Men?” the captain grinned. “I know about you navy boys…”

  “Captain, I’ll meet you on the bridge momentarily.” Nostrum interrupted as he watched the woman the captain had pushed scurry away between containers. “I need a moment with Dr. Damico.”

  “Eh? Dr. Damico?” The Captain turned his attention to Henry who sat quietly in the helicopter. “Well… nice to finally meet the Admiral’s butt boy. Here!” He shoved the other woman toward the helicopter. “Have a blow job and stop taking my loot!”

  The woman began to climb into the helicopter with Henry. Now that she was closer to him, he could see the unmistakable outline of bruises on her face and arms. Makeup had been caked on to cover the abuse, but—in the bright sunlight—it was plain to see. Henry made eye contact with her and shook his head. “Get out,” he ordered. A feeling, part pity, part anger, and part helplessness, washed over him. He slowly shifted his gaze to meet the captain’s as the woman climbed back out of the aircraft.

  The captain’s grin vanished from his face as he met Henry’s icy stare. “This is my loot, Captain. You’re just watching it for me. Do not abuse that privilege.” Henry was almost surprised at the words coming out of him. For the first time, he felt the intoxication of power and how it could be seductive. He was both horrified and excited by the sensation. “There are plenty of people who can do your job. Just give me a reason to replace you.”

  Nostrum broke in. “Captain, I’ll see you in a moment. Please…”

  The Captain gaped for a moment, unaccustomed to being spoken to in such a manner on his own ship. He was about to protest, but thought better of it. Wordlessly turned on his heels and walked away.

  Nostrum walked back over to Henry and leaned in. “The fleet is not a place for high ideals, Henry. People know your name, and you can’t expect them to understand what you do. There’s no in between for you. People love you or hate you. He…” Nostrum nodded in the direction of the captain, “hates you and he has more power to spread that hate than you know. You do not want him as an enemy.”

  “It sounds like he’s already made me his enemy,” Henry replied. “We have to tolerate men like him? I could have the Admiral…”

  “What? Kick him off his ship? Execute him? Banish him for being a womanizing asshole? For taking advantage of his position?” Nostrum interrupted. “Listen to yourself.”

  Henry was about to argue back, but Nostrum’s words rang in his ear; “For taking advantage of his position…” the rebuke had touched on a sore spot.

  “You’re a smart man, Henry, but you don’t know a damn thing about what’s going on out here. This isn’t Camelot, and there isn’t room for any white knights… Go to the Boxer. Go see your wife and let me do my job,” Nostrum continued. “When you get back you’ll have your Gulf of Mexico.”

  Henry cocked his head curiously.

  “I’ll give you the Gulf, but when I need a favor from you…you’re going to deliver.” Nostrum stepped away from the helicopter and smiled. “Deal?”

  Chapter 26

  Private Stenson took a running jump, and he reached up to catch the top edge of the second story clinic. A swarm of zombies burst onto the ground floor roof of the music store behind him. He pulled himself up with a grunt, and he dragged his body onto the ledge. Dozens of howling monsters reached after him in frustration as he crawled exhausted onto the elevated clinic roof.

  Well out of reach of the angry horde, Stenson rolled onto his back and gazed up at the blue sky. Every part of him wanted to rest…to stay there and let exhaustion have its way with him. Sleep deprived and pushed to his physical limits, he let fatigue win for a moment. While the bright California sun warmed his weary body, the clamor of the undead swarm seemed to fade into the wind.

  When he felt he had rested enough, Stenson crawled over to the front of the clinic. He leaned against a ventilation shaft and looked out over the lot. Thousands of undead were packed into the blacktop. They were moaning, staring blankly off into space, and wandering aimlessly. The gun towers that had once guarded the DDC resembled old stilt houses that rose from a rolling ocean of gray undead. The fence that had surrounded the DDC lay in twisted ruin.

  “What are you gonna do with that, Private?” The first real conversation he’d had with the Tierrasanta DDC sergeant rang in his memory.

  “That’s my magic bullet, sir!” He had replied with a smile. The sergeant had asked for a daily inventory of all the ammunition in the DDC, and every day Private Stenson had reported all the ammunition he carried on him – including a single Beretta pistol clip containing a single 9mm round. The number stood out in the reports, and eventually, the sergeant had gotten around to asking him about it.

  The sergeant smiled and nodded. “Sometimes things get so fucked up that all you have are bullets.”

  “Just making sure I h
ave the bullet I need if things get too fucked up, sir,” Stenson replied.

  Since that day, other soldiers had taken to carrying “magic bullets.” Some had them on necklaces…others had them on key chains or even bandoleers, but only a handful understood what a magic bullet was. They kept them in special clips that were separate from their combat ammunition.

  Stenson closed his eyes and sighed as he rolled up a pant leg to examine his wound. During the morning’s escape from the quiet room and subsequent climb to the music store roof, he had felt the sharp pinch of jaws closing around his ankle. It was barely hard enough to hurt, barely hard enough to break the skin, but it was hard enough. It had only taken a few hours for the tiny gash to spread black spider veins up his leg and numb his foot. Now, his entire lower leg was the same grey-green pallid rubber of necrotic flesh. He had kept the wound secret all day. Doomed as he was, he could still help, and there was no use in scaring everyone.

  He sighed, fished a cigarette out of his pocket, lit it, and took a deep drag. After he had covered the convoy’s escape, he had fought his way out of the clinic office through a rampaging onslaught of ghouls…without being bitten. He had shot and stabbed his way through a long hallway crawling with undead without so much as a scratch. Finally, he had made it to the music store roof and then to the clinic roof untouched. All that was for naught, however, given the ankle bite he had already received. It felt so unfair that his fate would be determined by such a small thing – a split-second where he was a little too slow…and some random ghoul had been just fast enough.

  Reaching into his right pocket, he felt for the hard metal clip where he kept his magic bullet. His other hand reached for his sidearm, popped the empty clip out, and replaced it with the new one. After giving his sidearm to Liam in the quiet room, his first order of business had been to acquire a replacement. It made him cringe to loot the corpses of his comrades, but there had been no other choice. He then proceeded to spend all his ammunition on the defense of the convoy’s escape. Now, only his magic bullet remained.