World of Ashes II

by J. K. Robinson

  Next up was Deputy Gifford, Jose staying on the main deck just as backup. Daniel and Carl finished clearing the deck they had easy access to before going below. The corridors were lit with red emergency lighting and it smelled like an open pit latrine in summer. They didn’t find any blood trails on their way down, which was encouraging, or maybe even more disturbing if you believe in ghosts and other mystical bullshit. If they’d been outside with Jose they might have heard him comment largely to himself that if the lifeboats were still aboard, where did the crew go? That unheard question might have given them pause before exploring further without backup. Hell, they may have just scuttled her and called it a day.

  The hatch to the main deck in the structure below swung open with a groaning sound, the hinges not well oiled. Jose was waiting for them in the bright sunlight with a stupid grin on his face. “I was betting myself you guys would get eaten.”

  “You need help.” Gifford said. The two friends followed the cop back up to the radar room they’d been in. Jose found a schematic of the ship, though written in Russian the visual part of the blueprints was easy enough to figure out. From the radar room they worked their way up to bridge, the control deck with the steering wheel. “Can either of you read Russian?”

  “That’s kind of a dumb question, man.” Daniel sighed. “But looks like there’s flooding in the stern just before the engine room, assuming these two squares here represent the engines. It’s the only compartment that could hold enough water to tilt us, and yet not sink the ship.”

  Gifford and Jose shrugged, figuring it was as good a place to start as any. “Look at you, a regular Squid with all that Navy talk.” Jose teased.

  “My dad taught me how to sail. He’s from England. Thought it was a ‘right and proper thing for a young man to learn.’” Daniel imitated his father’s accent perfectly. He’d have had no trouble convincing anyone who wasn’t from England that he was.

  “You two are the cutest couple.” Gifford teased, “Now seriously, can we get back to searching for the crew? We can send someone who knows more about ships to look at her later. All I care about is finding survivors, or bodies.”

  “That’s delightfully morbid.” Daniel said.

  “C’est la vie.”

  The rest of the ship’s castle was empty. Food stores were left in unlocked cabinets, inner hatches were unsecured and the farther down they went the more evidence presented itself that the crew may never have made it off the ship in the first place. Lots and lots of 7.62mm brass on the floor below the gun deck, and below that the blood spatter started in the ship’s cramped sickbay and leading into the ship’s mess told a clear story. Their mission had gone from search and rescue to a crime scene investigation in moments, not that you can charge a zombie with a crime, they’d eat their lawyers first. (Oh what a tragedy that would be…)

  “We need to find the armory.” Daniel whispered, feeling quite naked with only a riot baton. Jose agreed and pointed down a corridor they hadn’t checked yet. Spare magazines and stripper clips for loading them were scattered everywhere, a good sign an arms room was close by. When they found it, it wasn’t an armory as someone in the US Military might understand the concept. There weren’t any cordoned off cages with restricted access, most of the small arms were in personal lockers or kept on an unlocked rifle rack. It reminded them of the weapons caches found in video games like Half Life, or Wolfenstein for the older folks.

  Daniel put on a blue beret with a conspicuously enormous Russian Navy Crest weighing down one side, feeling it was more or less his war trophy now. He wasn’t going to wear it every day, but Kaylee might enjoy seeing him wear the funny looking hat back to the house. He took a heavy uniform jacket too, since he didn’t have one and one day he might be someplace cold, not to mention it might offer some level of protection if attacked by a zombie. The rifle Daniel took for himself was probably some Red’s favorite, an old style Kolashnikov Ak-47. He figured it was special because it was the only one with a polished stock and brand new sling. It might have been for ceremonies, but was fully functional.

  With lots of ammunition to go around, Jose and Gifford armed themselves with more modern, compact weapons like the AN-94. There would be time to retrieve more weapons later, but for now they were better able to clear the ship. The task took hours, by the time they found the compartment with and internationally known skull and crossbones spray painted across the hatch, they were tired and thirsty and more than ready to be off this fucking wreck. Jose put his ear to the hatch, something even Daniel would never have considered. The brawny Latin boy jumped back, “Yeah, they’re in there.”

  “So who was left to shut the hatch?”

  “Maybe the ship was abandoned. They could have ditched close to shore or even been transferred off by another crew. For some reason it looks like they won, then maybe abandoned her before the storm?” Daniel took a swag* at it. (Scientific Wild Ass Guess)

  “But the question remains, how did the infection get onboard in the first place?” Gifford’s analytical mind was working like a cop now.

  “They were probably part of the UN task force that was coming in the beginning… Before this went global.” Jose guessed. “Let’s get back and report. I’m seriously getting the creeps here.”

  “There are walking corpses around every corner… and a rusty old boat gives you the willies?” Gifford eyeballed Jose with mock suspicion.

  “Screw you.” Jose was the first to turn and leave.

  By the time they found their way back to daylight there were six other boats and more police and fire rescue than were really needed. Gifford found his Sheriff, a gray haired man who was more than elated his deputy and son-in-law hadn’t been eaten. He slapped Gifford in the back of the head, shouting obscenities about putting himself in unnecessary danger with a wife and two of his grandchildren at home to think about.

  “Don’t open the hatch with the skull on it. There’s dead inside.” Jose warned the men preparing the search the ship after they’d sat to eat some MRE’s. The rescuers had brought all kinds of food and water in preparation for survivors. For whatever reason Jose and Daniel stayed onboard, making themselves comfortable with the EMT’s who’d set up shop on the bow. Daniel couldn’t help himself and posed on the crest of the minesweeper in his best interpretation of the infamous scene from Titanic with Kate Winslet and Leonardo De Caprio. Jose caught on and came up behind Daniel to hold him for the pose and an EMT on a skiff below snapped a picture, promising to post it to Facebook when the internet came back on. You had to enjoy the little things when the world was ending.

  Just before dark shots rang out below deck, everyone jumped and raised their weapons, radios crackled with reports and curses. Someone had forgotten to tell folks above deck that they were going to open the marked hatch and shoot the infected. A recently retired Navy captain they’d brought onboard, a rather plump woman who wore ridiculous Hawaiian shirts with her Captain’s ball cap embroidered with the outline of a ship and the name U.S.S. ABRAHAM LINCOLN CVN-72, called the all clear and reminded the men below deck to maintain radio contact. If there was a question about who was in charge, there wasn’t anymore.

  Another call that did make it through the static was for the EMT’s to report below, a survivor locked in the foremost compartment of the ship had been found. Daniel and Jose escorted the EMT’s down, even though there wasn’t much reason for an armed escort now. The medics were already carrying guns of their own to put down plague victims, they just wanted to see who it was as much as anyone.

  Standing next to the men who’d cleared the compartment, Daniel watched while the EMT’s hooked the survivor up to an IV and oxygen while they started taking vitals. He was dehydrated and emaciated, barely aware that he’d been rescued. It took more than an hour, but the medics stabilized him enough on the scene that he could make it outside under his own power. Once in the fresh air of the Florida sunset, their guest opened his eyes and looked around. “Где я?”

  “
We don’t speak Russian.” The Captain said.

  “American. Good.” He said, drinking water from a bottle like it was going out of style. “I am Chief Anton Kuzma, Russian Minesweeper Sonya.”

  “Welcome to America.” She said. “I’m Captain Jane Harrisburg, I’ll be taking custody of this vessel until it can be returned to the Russian Navy. For now, you are safe and are not a prisoner. Think of yourself as a guest.” She smiled.

  “I thank you for your hospitality, Captain.” Kuzma’s accent was thick, but clear, making them wonder where he’d learned to speak English so well. “But I fear there is no Russian Navy to return to. At least not one that would travel this far for such a small boat.”

  “How did you make it this far inland?” Harrisburg asked the next logical question.

  Chief Kuzma looked around in bewilderment that this was not a beach, but an inland harbor. He really didn’t know. “How do you say it… Um, the fuck if I know, Captain. Admiralty ordered us to anchor in Havana, said it was safe there. Then, of course, the dead come. Some jump onboard when we pull out of dock.” He swigged more water. “We fight them off, so we think, but Command does not want our ship near the main fleet. They believe it is contaminated. I was to scuttle the boat, but charges…” Kuzma shook his head, looking away with an ironic expression that was nearly a smile, but only for lack of another expression. “Blasting caps for charges were in the room we locked the dead refugees in. I had carefully crafted plan to retrieve.” He laughed for real this time, thinking of how stupid the rest of the story sounded. “Does anyone have vodka? I feel like there is blood in my alcohol stream again.”

  Captain Harrisburg handed him a flask of whiskey. “It ain’t vodka.”

  “It’ll do.” He said, making no gesture to hand it back. “Is this Jack Daniel?”

  “I don’t make that much on a Navy pension.” Harrisburg laughed, taking a seat across from Kuzma. Daniel and the others stood around while the EMT’s continued to monitor their new friend’s vitals before he would be taken to the shore.

  “Da. Russian Navy does not pay us well either. So, where was I? Oh yes, carefully crafted plan… I say fuck it and call for extraction, you know? Have destroyer sink Sonya, but helicopter does not come. Pilot says storm is coming, I must wait and hope I do not sink. I check lock on door where zombie refugees are kept, lock is broken. I tied it up, but it seems I’m not that good at tying ropes. Next morning, ship’s anchor is also broken. I do not know this, but during battle infected become trapped in engine room as well as in doctor’s room, the ropes slipped or broke, I don’t know, and somehow they got out. I fight them again with batons and shields, one by one, back into ordinance hold. I almost have handled when rescue team arrives during eye of storm. They are sloppy and get bitten, and battle starts again.” Kuzma rolled his eyes and sipped more cheap whiskey. “Only this time I am too tired, I cannot fight anymore. I lock myself in closet where I slept during rest of bad part of storm. Not enough food, not enough water, no water-closet… It was hell. I do not even know how Sonya ends up here. Grace of God, perhaps.” Kuzma drank the rest of the cheap whiskey and then returned the flask. He looked up at Daniel, “You look smart in officer’s coat. Do I need to salute?”

  “Thanks.” Daniel smiled back. “But I’m not officer. I still work for a living.”

  Kuzma got the joke. “You can keep.”

  “I wasn’t asking.”

  Kuzma laughed more. “You, I like. So, what is for dinner?”

  Taking the Russian Sailor and what weapons they could retrieve, the party returned to the docks. Kuzma went to the aid station to recuperate, though he’d have much rather gone to the bar. Those in charge stayed up late to discuss their findings at the police station. Daniel and Jose listened in on the meeting, though they weren’t the ones shouldering any responsibility.

  Someone they didn’t yet recognize was being very vocal. “Why, exactly, would a minesweeper have a dozen infected corpses onboard? They weren’t a research vessel.”

  “Could have been they didn’t have permission to dump the bodies. They are Russian, after all. Orders from their leaders don’t have to make sense.”

  “We could, you know, just fucking ask him.” Sheriff Dougherty suggested.

  “Is the ship salvageable?” Harrisburg changed the subject. Why wasn’t her job, taking it from here and making something of it was.

  “Yes.” A bearded man said, still wearing a trucker’s cap that read John’s Underwater Welding Plus. “The flooding was caused by running aground, probably on the rocks in the delta. The ship had to have ridden a storm surge and somehow drifted here, because I can’t find any evidence she’s been under power for days. We can seal the holes in the morning, but there’s damage to the ship’s emergency batteries and one of the diesel engines. Also, it needs diesel fuel, so I hope you’re not planning any long term voyages with her because the tanks are almost dry. Even if they weren’t, she’s still too big to pilot out of the bay right now.”

  “At least the fuel didn’t spill. That’s the last thing we need.” Someone else said. That was pretty universally agreed upon. The Deep Water Horizon spill was still fresh in the minds of those who’d lived through its devastating economic aftermath. Everything from a decrease in fishing and tourism to an unnecessary moratorium on deep water drilling had seen to the demise of much of Florida’s prosperity under the current political regime.

  “So what are we going to do with a Minesweeper?” Harrisburg asked. “We’ve got enough able civilian sailors to crew her, and enough military veterans to use as officers.”

  “We obviously need to fix it, we can’t have such a large wreck in King’s Bay. Hell, if she sinks she won’t even be fully submerged. We’d never be able to get rid of it then.” Dougherty said. Several marine salvagers agreed that without specialized equipment the King’s Bay area would be getting a new landmark in the form of a shipwreck.

  “Fine. First thing in the morning we get the Sonya righted. We need someone besides Chief Jackoff to translate Russian into English. Wouldn’t hurt to translate it into Spanish as well, I don’t think cultural boundaries mean as much as they used to, certainly not borders. I wish I had more information for you all, but it’s getting harder and harder to contact anyone on the outside. The security detachment at the power plant has also abandoned their post, so we can’t drive up there and ask them either.”

  The room was silent before Chief Kuzma spoke, he’d snuck out of the hospital tent with a juicy American hamburger in both hands and a bottle of Budweiser in every pocket. “Am I interrupting?” He asked with his mouth full when Harrisburg spotted him.

  “Not at all, Chief. For those of you who have not yet met our esteemed guest, this is Chief Anton Kuzma of the Russian Minesweeper Sonya.” Harrisburg gestured to Kuzma as he finished another hamburger. No one could blame him for eating and drinking so much, not after what he’d been through.

  “Hi, my name is Anton.” He said, standing. People who got the joke at AA’s expense repeated with Hi Anton.

  “Is there anything you can add?” Sheriff Dougherty asked. “…Chief.”

  “Da. Envier Virus is global, this is true. I was aboard Sonya when Terrorists and Severnaya Koreya make announcement that they help plague jump oceans. Frantsiya, España, Germaniya, Kitiya, Kuba, anywhere we could make port, they are all gone. Comrade Putin said there would be reprisal against Ayatollah, but nothing yet.” He took a sip of beer to wash down the burger, “New infection cases are reported from London to Moscow, to Bearing Straight and South Africa. Most of world is declaring emergency… or war.” He shrugged at the last part, accepting the futility of fighting living humans long ago.

  “Can your ship be fixed?” Harrisburg prodded.

  “I have no idea. If what your divers say is true, probably.” Kuzma shrugged. He obviously wasn’t the ship’s engineer.

  “What was your position on the ship?” Jose asked.

  “I was Navy Infantry, like your Marines, o
nly not all of us are paroled criminals. Not the highest rank, not the lowest. It was okay job.” Kuzma put down the rest of his edible booty to talk. “Since Russian Federation Navy is probably not going to come get either of us, it is yours now as spoils of war. If you want to get her moving, that might be okay, but there is no fuel, and not so much bullets for the guns.”

  “What about satellite radios and radar?”

  “What you would expect on boat that size.” Kuzma wasn’t super helpful. He looked like a bum with his unkempt, scraggly beard. It made it hard to believe he was any kind of elite soldier. “But honestly, Captain. Who are you trying to call? There is no one left.”

  Harrisburg harrumphed. “Call it quits if you want, Chief, but I choose to take whatever life-line is thrown my way right now.”

  It was decided in the next few minutes that preventing the ship from sinking was probably the best idea, even if it was useless otherwise. Another plan in the works was a fallback point on an uninhabited island in King’s Bay called Buzzard Island. It couldn’t sustain them for long, but if the town was overrun at any point by these rumored mass migrations from Miami and the rest of the South, they’d have somewhere to go.

  After midnight Jose and Daniel made it back to Mr. Sitton’s home. Kaylee thought her new blue beret was the end all, be all of cool stuff. Her grandparents were just happy to see the two boys alive again. At midday Daniel got up, still long before Jose, who’d been sipping on a bottle of tequila before bed. He wasn’t going to wake up any time soon. John had gone to the store with Kaylee, leaving Joanne in the kitchen making tea. The news was on, not the repeats he’d been watching, but live broadcasts from the northern states. Every network was covering a recent battle in Denver, one that was still going on in fact, but hadn’t ended as quickly as many others. The footage reminded Daniel entirely too much of Washington, of those horrible days of knowing nothing and fearing everything. Had anything actually changed, or had he lulled himself into complacency?