“I can’t, Captain, he’s marrying my sister. I’m going to be the best man, please, Captain, there must be something else we can do?” Gomez said.
The captain nodded to the lieutenant who had no qualms, as quick as a flash and much to Gomez’s utter horror, shot Matthers between the eyes.
CHAPTER 32
13:00 PM
Several miles upriver Sophie and Luke watched in amazement as the tall mast of an eighty-foot yacht drifted slowly toward them along the Intracoastal Waterway. They crouched in some bushes, near to the water. “How the hell did that get on the river?” Sophie asked.
“Beats me.” He shrugged as the tall mast snapped the overhanging tree branches. “Maybe it drifted in from the ocean.”
“But it’s under engine power,” she said, “I can hear it.”
“Perhaps it has some sort of GPS and is trying to re-correct its course.”
“So you think it will continue all the way down the river to the tributary we came in on?”
“That’s my guess,” he said.
She smiled, “Y’know that would make one hell of decoy. They would think we’re miles south, while we head north.”
“Cool. What weapon do you have?” he asked her.
“One flare left. That’ll have to do,” she waited for the yacht to draw level, then lit the flare and tossed it onboard. “Fingers crossed,” she smiled.
“You never know, what with all this dry weather, it could catch alight.”
13:30 PM
Gomez sat at the back of the naval motor launch staring at the corpses of Matthers and Weston along with the leg of Chen. He sat in silence, not daring to speak after watching his friend and fellow sailor murdered in cold blood. He formulated the letter he would send right to the top, to Vice-Admiral Reed. He would report this to the highest level. There is no way he would let the murder of his best friend go unchallenged. He would complain vehemently that the killing was unlawful, that Matthers had still been alive and who could say if he was going to recover or not. They had not tested him to determine whether Matthers had the disease, they just shot him dead anyhow and then tossed his lifeless carcass onto the boat like an old garbage sack. Matthers’ dead eyes stared at him accusingly and he had to look away.
The captain spoke on the radio; “Affirmative, we’ve identified the remains of Matthers, Chen and Weston. They have been informally identified and will be buried at sea in accordance with our mandate, thank you, Vice-Admiral.”
The captain turned to Gomez. “Over the side with them, we can’t have them contaminating the ship, now can we?”
Gomez’s face registered absolute horror. “B - but, Captain,” he stuttered unable to believe his ears.
“Why does everything have to be an argument with you Gomez? You do not question the chain of command, when I give an order you damn well follow it – no questions, is that understood?”
“Aye-aye, Captain,” Gomez said flatly.
“We are going to need to have a serious chat about your future on my ship, affirmative action or not.”
The racist remark hit Gomez like a slap in the face, but he snapped to it, like a good sailor. However, this was not over; he would make sure of that. With the help of the lieutenant, he heaved the carcasses of Matthers, Weston and the leg of Chen to a watery grave. Gomez crossed himself and sat back down, his head had started to throb, but unable to rub his head, or ease the pain thanks to the goddamned helmet and hazmat suit.
The Captain turned to him. “If I found out that you removed your helmet out there you will be put on a charge for disobeying a direct order.”
14:00 PM
“I think this should be enough to be going on with,” Luke said to Sophie as they taped a gas pump-handle open and laid it on the ground where it emptied gasoline all over the forecourt along with the other pumps he had doctored.
He hopped onto the motorcycle, Sophie clambered onto the back, and he kicked it over, revved the engine then screeched away leaving a trail of rubber in their haste to put some distance between them and the gas station.
Sophie held around Luke’s middle with one arm, twisted to face backwards, held up Luke’s pistol and fired at the gas station. The first slug hit the forecourt harmlessly, she sighed and aimed more carefully, no mean feat, as the BMW motorcycle rapidly accelerated up to 80 mph and she lined up the second shot and missed again. She flicked hair out of her eyes, held her arm straighter, squeezed the trigger gently, and fired.
This time the spark ignited the spilled fluid, which speedily whooshed up to the pumps, and in turn ignited the underground storage tanks. The garage erupted with a massive detonation that shook the earth. The roof flew up into the sky followed by black, billowing smoke, pluming into a mini mushroom cloud.
14:30 PM
The naval launch arrived back at the aircraft carrier, it bounced several times against the side of the massive ship and it took the Captain several attempts to attach the craft to the lifting apparatus. Eventually he managed the task and with a lurching motion, the craft slowly lifted from the sea, which seemed reluctant to release the small launch from its grasp. The boat swayed as it hoisted skyward, Gomez’s head pounded and he felt nauseous.
The lifting gear hoisted the launch to the top and they had to swing inward to the ship. Various deckhands helped the shipmates to disembark. The captain lumbered out of the craft first, severely inhibited by the hazmat suit. The sailors on deck grabbed him by the shoulders to heave him onboard. The lieutenant went next, followed by Gomez, whose legs gave way the moment he was onboard. As they tried to help him up he sneezed violently, covering the inside of his helmet with mucus making the sailors recoil.
The Bubonic Plague would now contaminate the six thousand men crammed into the confined space of the aircraft carrier USS Thomas Jefferson. . . .
CHAPTER 33
14:35 PM
Luke whooped as he heard the explosion. He felt euphoric, as if they were finally achieving something, taking control of their actions rather than reacting to the hazards thrown at them. They were causing distractions that could only assist in their escape, while the local military patrols attended the fires there would be less around to catch them. He held up his hand for Sophie to high five.
He was still congratulating himself when an armored jeep sped out from a side turning, heading toward the fire, but on spotting him, spun a huge arc to give chase. Luke opened the throttle further, knowing that the BMW 1200 GS would have a top speed of 125 mph.
The jeep was hot on their tail, the passenger stood with a rifle, took aim and fired, but the bullet passed harmlessly. Sophie saw this, leaned in close to Luke’s ear, and shouted what had happened. He took evasive action, swerved side-to-side, sometimes long wide arcs, and other times short, to give the sharpshooter no time to find a pattern. “Oh shit,” he mumbled.
“What’s up? Sophie asked. He nodded forward, and she saw the abandoned makeshift road block, made up of burned-out vehicles, some of which were still smoking. Luke slowed the motorcycle, knew he only had seconds to find a way through and saw a slight gap. He grinned, opened the throttle and they shot through the gap like a cork out of a bottle. The jeep tried for the same spot and crashed headfirst into the heap. The soldiers were shaken by the impact, but no one had been seriously injured. The driver backed the armored jeep up and drove straight at the gap once more, already widened at his first attempt, smashing into the vehicles with the sound of grinding metal, the gap widened further. A Mustang fell from its perch on top of the roadblock and helped enlarge the opening. He reversed once more, crunched into the stack of twisted vehicles and pushed on forwards, the engine screamed under the pressure, but eventually the driver succeeded and they pushed through the roadblock and continued their pursuit of the suspects.
The motorcycle was a dot on the horizon, as they chased after them quickly closing the distance between them. As Luke hurtled towards the coast, Sophie tapped his shoulder. “Faster! They’ve made it through!”
>
She watched in abject horror as the jeep gained on then, she looked over Luke’s shoulder willing him on. The boulevard was dead straight, and they would soon cross the bridge over the river then they were only blocks away from the beach and somewhere to hide amongst the hotels and gift shops.
When suddenly to Sophie’s surprise, the jeep appeared to slow.
“What you doing?” the gunner asked. “Why are you stopping? They’re far too far away for a shot.”
The driver switched off his engine put his feet up and lit a cigarette. “They ain’t going anywhere,” the driver said grinning broadly. “Gimme the radio.”
14:45 PM
Fort Lauderdale is famous for its canals; more canals than Venice as they liked to proudly boast and along with the Intracoastal Waterway and other rivers; Florida was a sailors’ paradise. Due to Florida being so flat, conventional bridges were out of the question. They needed a way for boats to pass under the low bridges, and Fort Lauderdale along with most major towns in south Florida had an abundance of bascule bridges, commonly known as drawbridges, where the two sides would rise into the air to allow boats a safe passage along the river.
These bridges were a major annoyance amongst the inhabitants, as mistiming a trip and having to wait for the giant jaws to open and the tedious wait as the boat passed along underneath at a snail’s pass, could easily add twenty to thirty minutes to a journey.
They broke down constantly as the local government cut the maintenance budget with the subsequent mechanical failures. Each bridge had a control room that would lower the flashing warning-barrier as the up to forty feet high leaves would open. Since the start of the Bubonic Plague outbreak, military personnel operated the cantilever bridge control rooms. They would raise the metal jaws to allow naval vessels to pass along the Intracoastal Waterway River and then lower them back down for the military vehicles to cross the bridge. However, for the last two days there had been little to do for the men stationed in such control rooms.
It was one such control booth that the jeep driver had radioed with instructions to raise the bridge. The operator acknowledged the order, glad to have something to do and initiated the opening of the drawbridge.
14:46 PM
“Oh shit.” Luke said when he saw the warning-barrier lowering, with flashing red lights and accompanying dinging of a bell, he knew it could mean only one thing, the bridge was about to rise, effectively trapping them.
He slowed for a moment considering their various options and realized that they didn’t have any. He couldn't give up, if he did, they'd be executed.
Sophie saw the barrier lowering and had lived in Florida long enough to know of its significance, that the bridge was about to open, when she was almost thrown off the back of the motorcycle as Luke opened the throttle. “Oh no . . .” she gasped and crossed herself.
“Oh yes.” he said as they hurtled underneath the warning-barrier. Sophie had to duck to stop the barrier decapitating her. “Don’t worry,” said Luke. “I’ve done this before.”
He opened the throttle suspecting he’d need all of the one hundred and twenty-five horse power the engine had to offer to keep them on trajectory and give him the momentum to clear the gap.
The military jeep stopped. “That is one crazy sonofabitch!” said the driver as he watched the valiant escape attempt as the motorcycle appeared to climb the almost vertical metal jaw.
“Twenty bucks says he doesn’t make it,” said a youngster from the back. They sniggered and placed bets.
“Who does he think he is – Evel Knievel?”
“Who’s Evel Knievel?” asked the youngster.
As Luke and Sophie neared the top of the jaws they were nearing the seventy degrees mark and were in danger of stalling and tumbling back down when they took off and flew into thin air. Sophie screamed, but Luke screamed louder as he looked at the river eighty feet below them, then glanced forward and saw the corresponding jaw was twenty foot away and ten foot down, “Oh shit . . .” he said for a second time.
Then, with a bone shattered thump, he landed the BMW 1200 onto the second half of the bridge, but as he made his descent, the leaf opened further to its maximum of nearly ninety degrees pointing almost straight up into the air. Luke had to stand on the foot brake to engage it fully, to stop them falling forward, he leaned back laying on Sophie to keep his balance and by the time they made it to the bottom the jaw was almost perpendicular.
“Cool! Let’s do it again!”
Sophie looked over her shoulder gazing in wonder at the giant bridge unable to believe what they had achieved, then, “Did you say you’ve done that before . . .?”
16:00 PM
Submariner Pete Williams aboard nuclear powered submarine the USS Amarillo had scoured the entire ship and concluded that he was the last man alive. It had been the case for at least two days, and now the smell of death was over-powering. He locked each airtight door in an effort to reduce the gagging stench but the recycled air seemed tinged with the rotting smell.
He had hauled some of the bodies together trying to keep them in one place, but it was too much effort. He was hot and distressed; knowing that he was the only person alive aboard the vessel put an enormous strain upon him. The responsibility was enormous. He was only supposed to deal with computers. He had no idea how to maintain the nuclear reactor, which might explode without regular check-ups. Was it at this very moment, contaminating him with radiation? How could he find out? He did not even know how to contact the mainland; he had no training in radio operations. He had failed miserably the day before when he tried to raise the alarm and gotten no response. He knew that they were on a secret mission, so therefore, presumably there was to be no communications between base and the submarine so maybe that had been why they did not respond, or was he using the equipment wrongly.
He suddenly thought that the captain would have to be able to communicate with his superiors and made his way to the captain’s cabin. Yet each step he took weighed him down. He was covered in sweat and the air conditioning seemed to be malfunctioning, probably only needed re-setting but he did not know how to do that either. He stepped over the blackened corpse of a crewmember and could not fathom how they had gotten such a fast-acting disease onboard. There were medical checks after all, but somehow it’d happened. Was it a terrorist attack? His superiors needed to know; maybe the captain would have a computer giving him regular up-dates. After all, the high command would have to contact him if he was ever to launch the forty-eight nuclear warheads they carried. That would be the answer; he would get into the captain’s cabin, read the latest bulletins, and act accordingly. What if the protection of the USA was relying upon his submarine and that he was letting the country down? If he read that they had to retaliate, he would do so without compunction, if only he knew how.
There must be sequenced keys and codes. He knew the captain kept the codes in the safe, that would be standard procedure, but what else would he need? He climbed the metal steps to the upper deck, his footsteps echoing along the metal corridor. The heat sapped his strength and his will, but with dogged determination he made it to the captain’s quarters and was pleasantly surprised to find them unlocked.
The captain had died in a swivel chair by his desk. Dried blood had congealed on his face where he had bled from his eyes, ears and nostrils. There appeared to be dark black stains under the captain’s armpits and Pete Williams could detect the unmistakable smell that indicated the captain had lost controls of his bowels.
He wheeled the captain away from the desk, gazed at the computer screen and saw that the captain was halfway through composing a letter. He quickly scanned the letter and saw the captain was of the opinion that they were under some terrorist attack and had recommended swift retaliation, but he had not completed the letter and had not transmitted it.
He felt elated to think he finally had a lifeline to the outside world; he knew the navy would not let him down, or more importantly, not wanting to have a nuclear ar
med sub, unmanned and drifting helplessly on an unknown course. He felt euphoric that there was still a link and that they might come and save him, he was not going to die of suffocation on this stinking cigar-shaped coffin.
Williams added a paragraph below and typed ‘everyone dead from a virus, apart from me, submariner Peter Williams, please send help immediately. I have no way of steering, or surfacing, please, please help.’
He thought of the panic HQ would suffer upon receiving his message. There would be an uproar, how in the name of god had an entire crew been slaughtered, by an enemy force and not even one person knew it was happening. Now you know how I feel, he thought.
How had the captain allowed this virus to get on board? There were stringent medical checks on the submarine to prevent such a disaster happening.
He was suddenly startled by another thought; if this was an enemy attack then they already knew the USS Amarillo was on a secret mission, that it would not be in communication with a land base and would not be missed, and that they would use that time to plunder the sub and loot it of all its weapons. Oh god, he thought, there was no time to lose. He added another paragraph, ‘boarding by enemy imminent’
He smiled thinking that that would get a reaction and relaxed for the first time in days thinking that he might possibly survive this. They'd rescue him and he'd be the sole survivor and hailed a hero. Might even get a medal out of this, his heart swelled with pride as he thought of his parents face’s, his mom would be crying with pride, even his surly old man might raise a smile, although he doubted it. When he told him he had signed up to join the navy, his old man had promptly called him a faggot, claiming only sissy-boys joined the navy, real men joined the army like he had. After many similar conversations, Pete Williams had left home under the cover of darkness not wanting any more confrontations with his old man, he felt sorry for sneaking away from his mom, but they came as a pair and she would always defend the miserable sonofabitch.
The Doomsday Infection Page 22