Murphy held the loose end of the rope and tossed the ring over the side. It landed in the water two feet from Rogers. The private swam over to it.
The sinking deader reached out and clasped Rogers’ ankle, pulling him under. He attempted to kick free but the deader held on, its weight dragging them both deeper into the bay. The ring floated three feet above him. Rogers strained not to breathe, his only hope being to free himself and head for the surface. Running his free foot along his ankle, he broke the deader’s fingers. It released him and dropped to the bottom. Rogers swam for the surface. His lungs strained, desperate for air. Just a few more—
Unable to hold out any longer, Rogers inhaled. Ice cold water poured down his windpipe and into his lungs. The shock froze him. His hand broke the surface, scraping against the ring. Then his body sank. His last vision before he died was of Murphy on the pilothouse landing, leaning over the side and reaching for him.
Susie hugged Patricia, crying against her chest. The woman stroked the girl’s hair and reassured her everything would be okay.
Murphy turned to them. “Wait here.”
“You’re not leaving us?”
“I need to make sure the pilothouse is clear. I’ll be right back.”
Raising his carbine, Murphy entered the pilothouse, scanning all four corners before moving to the center. An open door on the rear wall led below deck. He approached it, stopping five feet away.
“Is anyone down there?”
Silence.
Murphy raced forward, closed and locked the door, then headed back to the landing. He waved the women inside.
“It’s all yours.”
Patricia released Susie. “You stay right by me.”
“I will.”
Patricia studied the console for a moment, then selected and pressed a green button.
A roar sounded from the engine room and the vessel vibrated. She glanced at Murphy and grinned.
“Impressive,” said the corporal.
“Thanks.”
“I assume you can operate it?”
“Good enough to get us to the mainland.”
“Excellent.” Murphy headed for the door. “Both of you stay here.”
“Where are you going?” Patricia asked nervously.
“I’m checking on the others.”
Murphy stepped out on the landing and scanned the dock, hoping the others had made it safely.
Alissa and Rebecca half carried and half dragged Nathan while Kiera watched for deaders. They reached the tug and paused, wondering how to get Nathan over the gunwale.
“I can board on my own,” he said.
“You can’t even stand.”
“Sure, I can.” Nathan pushed the two women away and immediately collapsed. They caught him.
“Asshole,” said Alissa under her breath.
Ben broke from his group and ran forward. “I can take him.”
“Are you sure?”
Ben nodded. He threw Nathan over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and cautiously boarded the tug, careful not to slip.
From the landing, Murphy called, “Bring him up here.”
Alissa motioned to Rebecca. “Go with them and keep an eye on Nathan. I’ll join you in a few.”
Ben and Rebecca headed for the pilothouse. Alissa and Kiera waited for the others, assisting Ames and Robson with getting Saunders and Chris on board. Boyce and Costas jumped on, taking firing position along the starboard gunwale. Hoskins and Woody were the last to board. The closest deader was still twenty yards away and moving slowly.
Alissa looked up at the landing and yelled. “Everyone is on board.”
She did not notice the deader buried under the snow rising on the aft deck.
Murphy glanced over his shoulder to Patricia. “They’re all on board.”
“Tell them to cast off.”
Murphy relayed the order. Woody moved forward to detach the bow moor line from the deck fitting. Hoskins stepped over to Alissa, who blocked the aft fitting.
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
Alissa moved to the right, directly in front of the deader rising out of the snow.
Both men signaled Murphy that the lines were free, who passed the information on to Patricia. She steered the wheel to port and revved the engines more than intended. The tug pulled away from the dock and lurched forward, knocking off balance everyone on deck. Saunders dropped out of Ames’ arms, landing onto the metal stairs on his wounded leg and crying out. Costas fell forward, grabbing the gunwale before he toppled over the side. Kiera slipped and fell back against the bulkhead, spotting the deader approaching Alissa.
“Alissa, behind you.”
Alissa spun around. The lurching of the boat threw her and the snow-encrusted deader off balance. It fell forward, its forehead striking Alissa’s left eye. The two tumbled onto the deck, the deader landing on top of Alissa. For a second, her vision blurred. She placed her hand on its chest and ran it up until it struck the chin, then locked her elbow. The deader snarled and snapped at her fingers. Kiera raced over and drove the stock of her carbine into its forehead, sprawling it on the deck. Hoskins grabbed Alissa and pulled her to safety. Once clear, Kiera fired two rounds into the deader’s head.
Hoskins helped Alissa to her feet. “Were you bit?”
“I don’t know.” Alissa held her breath as she examined her hands and, finding no bites there, ran the palms across her face. She exhaled heavily when she saw no blood. “I’m good.”
As Kiera hugged her, the lieutenant motioned to Boyce and Costas. “Throw that damn thing overboard.”
“Yes, sir.” The two picked up the corpse and tossed it into the bay where it sank beneath the surface.
With the deck clear and the tug underway, they made their way to the pilothouse.
Chapter Thirteen
Patricia navigated the tug south through the channel between Warren Island to the east and the state park to the west, cruising toward West Penobscot Bay. Hoskins and Costas stayed with her, each keeping watch to port and starboard. After searching the crew compartment, Ames and Murphy checked out the engine room. With no deaders lurking below, the rest of the group went down to relax. The crew compartment was not spacious, modern, or luxurious, but it was warm and indoors. It consisted primarily of a table on the port side running the length of the cabin with an L-shaped bench around it. Two sets of bunk beds sat opposite it against the starboard bulkhead.
Saunders reclined on the first bunk as Boyce tended to his wound with the tug’s first aid kit. Chris and Nathan rested on the next one in line, seated on the mattress with their backs to the bulkhead. Robson slept in the top bunk. Ben stood at the counter making a pot of coffee. Woody sat by himself at one end of the bench, his elbows resting on the table, his eyes staring off into space, obviously coming to grips with having to take his friend’s life. The women sat at the other end of the bench, Rebecca keeping an eye on Susie and Kiera entertaining the young girl. Shithead had curled up beside Kiera and napped. Alissa felt so proud of Kiera. Despite everything she had been through in the past twenty-four hours, she focused her attention on Susie, playing and joking with her, helping the young girl deal with the trauma of losing her family, watching her world crumble around her, and nearly being killed herself. Alissa wished she had Kiera’s resilience.
Chris called out to her in a hushed voice. When Alissa met his gaze, he slid over on the mattress and tapped the spot between him and Nathan. She joined them.
“How do you both feel?”
“Like I’ve had the flu,” said Nathan.
“What are your symptoms?”
“I’m exhausted and barely have the energy to move. My muscles ache. And I have a horrible craving.”
Alissa involuntarily moved closer to Chris. “For what?”
Nathan focused his eyes on Alissa. “Pancakes.”
Alissa and Chris stared at each other for a moment and laughed, one of those boisterous laughs that made everyone in the cabin stare at them.
“What’s so funny about pancakes?” asked Nathan.
The two laughed even louder.
Chris stopped first and patted Alissa on the knee. “Congratulations. Again.”
“For what?”
“For being a hero.”
The humor drained from Alissa. “I’m anything but a hero. Everyone on that island is dead.”
“Not everyone.” Chris motioned to those seated around the table. “They’d all be dead if you didn’t insist on going back for them.”
“I got a lot of people killed in the process.”
“Stop beating yourself up over that. We’re in the middle of an apocalypse. People are going to die. Millions of them. You can’t prevent that. All you can do is save whoever you can. Fifteen people are alive right now who otherwise would be dead if it not for you.”
Alissa looked over at Susie. “I suppose.”
“What about Kiera and Little Stevie, and their parents. And Connie?”
Her eyes opened wide. “Jesus, I forgot about them. Miriam must be frantic with worry.”
“She’ll get over worry a lot quicker than grief. Even more important, we went back to Boston and retrieved those blood samples, so now the government can create the vaccine against the virus. Do you still think you’re not a hero?”
“I guess,” mumbled Alissa, knowing Chris had a point, although she still did not view herself as a hero.
“Wait a minute.” Nathan sat up, groaning as he did so. “We went back to Boston?”
“We did.” Chris pointed between himself and Alissa. “You stayed on the island with Kiera and Rebecca.”
“How long was I out?”
Alissa shrugged. “Two or three days?”
“What happened while I was unconscious?”
“Do you remember the deader attack on the cabin?” asked Chris.
“Yes.” Nathan’s eyes widened. “And being bitten. Why haven’t I turned.”
“You fought off the virus, but you’re not immune to it.”
“That’s why we had to go back to Mass General and retrieve the blood samples,” added Alissa. “It’s the key to the vaccine.”
“What vaccine? And how did we get to Maine?”
“We drove.”
Chris nudged Alissa. “He slept through the stampede. Remember?”
“Stampede?”
“We were nearly killed by a herd of stampeding deaders.”
“How did you get shot?”
Chris glanced down at his wound. “A Marine shot me.”
“Actually,” corrected Alissa, “you were wounded by a ricochet.”
“My version sounds more dramatic.”
The nonchalant way they discussed the events drove Nathan nuts. “When were you planning on telling me all this?”
“We’ve been kind of busy.” Alissa had a tone of humorous sarcasm to her voice.
“Don’t worry. You can go on the next venture alone.” Chris patted his wounded leg. “I’ll have to sit that one out.”
Alissa smiled, took one of their hands in hers, and squeezed lovingly.
Costas came down from the pilothouse. “Miss Madison, can you join us on the bridge?”
“Anything wrong?”
“No, ma’am. Just a strategy discussion.”
When she arrived in the pilothouse, Hoskins stood by the plotting table examining a map. He waved her over.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Yes. We have a slight problem.”
“What?”
“According to this chart of the area, the closest dock to Belfast Airport is over two miles away. Even if we landed as close to the airport as possible, it’s over a mile to get there. That’s going to be tough enough in two and a half feet of snow with Susie and Chris. At least he’s mobile. Nathan and Saunders aren’t going to be able to walk that far on their own. And that’s not even factoring in deaders.”
“Did you see any when you were at the airport?” asked Costas.
“No. But then the blizzard was at its height.”
“We still have the problem of Susie and the wounded,” said Hoskins.
“It’s a shame we can’t drive there.” Costas sighed. “It’s only a few miles.”
Alissa smiled. “I think I can arrange that. Patricia, take us to Lincolnville.”
* * *
Thirty minutes later, Patricia brought the tug alongside the dock at Lincolnville and idled the engine. Woody and Ben jumped off and secured the mooring lines to the dock as Hoskins’ troops provided cover.
Alissa, Hoskins, and Woody examined the area inside the perimeter walls with a pair of binoculars they found in the pilothouse. On the way in, they spotted a dozen deaders sauntering around the southern façade of the barricade and assumed twice as many were nearby unable to be seen, probably attracted by the fighting that had taken place on the island. None were inside the perimeter that they could see. However, after the incident at the marina, they assumed more may be buried under the snow.
“Shit,” mumbled Hoskins.
“What’s wrong, sir?”
“There are only two Humvees left and the gate is down. The men there must have abandoned their posts when they assumed the island had fallen.”
“We still have the two Humvees,” said Alissa.
“There’s not enough room in them for everyone. Half of us will have to walk.”
“It’s at least five miles to Belfast,” added Woody.
“We don’t have any other options.”
The M1150 Assault Breacher Vehicle stood in the center of the parking lot.
“Do any of you know how to drive that thing?” asked Alissa.
Hoskins shook his head. “I wish. My men are all ground pounders.”
“I might be able to,” said Woody.
“Were you in armor?”
“No. But I’m certified to drive forklifts and bulldozers. The concept is the same.”
Hoskins thought for a minute. “Do you think you’re up to it?”
Woody grinned. “It beats walking.”
“I’m sold,” said Alissa. “Let’s do this.”
Five minutes later, they had formulated a plan and briefed everyone. As the others prepared, those with weapons checked their ammo supply and redistributed it evenly. They were down to one spare magazine plus what they still had in their carbines. There were only two spare magazines for the Sig Sauers which Alissa carried since her weapon had a suppressor.
As the others waited on deck, Hoskins’ team climbed onto the dock to retrieve the vehicles. Woody and Ben led the way, the former carrying an ice breaker they found aboard ship and the latter a hook on the end of a long poll, both men prodding the snow ahead of them for any deaders concealed under it. Murphy and Ames stayed close for support while Shithead walked between them, sniffing for danger. Alissa, Hoskins, and Costas brought up the rear.
It took ten minutes to reach the M1150. Hoskins climbed up on the vehicle, opened the turret hatch, and peered inside. He banged on the armor. No response.
“It’s clear,” he whispered.
Woody climbed into the driver’s seat while Ben stood in the open turret hatch.
Hoskins crawled down to the chassis to talk with Woody. “Wait until we start the Humvees before firing it up.”
“Gotcha.”
The others made their way across the parking lot to the Humvees, this time with Murphy and Ames prodding the snow ahead of them. When they reached the two vehicles, Costas provided cover as Alissa opened the doors, checking inside for deaders. The Humvees were empty. Alissa climbed behind the driver’s seat of the first vehicle and Costas the second. Both engines started on the first try.
A chorus of moans echoed from the other side of the barricade. The living dead would be upon them in minutes.
Alissa checked her fuel gauge. “I have over half a tank.”
“More than enough to get to Belfast.” Hoskins stepped back and called to Costas. “What’s your fuel situation?”
“Three quarters of a tank.”
“Perfect. You two have this?”
Alissa and Costas responded in the affirmative.
“Then let’s do it.”
Alissa and Costas performed a U-turn in the parking lot and drove down the dock to the tug.
Hoskins and Ames rushed back to the M1150. Woody had started it. Both soldiers climbed on board, the lieutenant replacing Ben in the commander’s hatch. By now, the first three deaders had crossed the drawbridge into the compound. Hoskins placed the helmet to the tank’s Combat Vehicle Crewman integrated communications system over his ears and spoke into the microphone.
“Woody, can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear.”
“Back up the end of the dock. I’ll guide you.”
Woody slowly maneuvered the tank in reverse. At first, the vehicle went in the wrong direction and jerked, slamming Hoskins’ waist into the cupola of the hatch. After a few minutes, he got the hang of operating it and reversed more smoothly. With the lieutenant guiding him, Woody centered himself along the centerline of the dock. At the last second, he veered right and cut left, stopping the M1150 at the beginning of the dock so nothing could get past.
“That’s good.”
Ames, who stood behind him on the turret, tapped the lieutenant’s shoulder. Hoskins lowered the headphones.
“What do we do now, sir?”
Hoskins watched the pack of deaders, now numbering fourteen, stagger toward them. “We sit tight and wait.”
Alissa stopped her Humvee by the tug and jumped out, leaving the engine running. Costas did the same. Boyce and Patricia helped Saunders over the gunwale onto the dock, at which point the medic supported the commanding officer as he limped to the second Humvee. He placed Saunders in one of the rear seats then took the adjacent one. Patricia rode shotgun, the Glock clutched between her hands. Robson curled up on the back deck along with Susie.
Alissa and Rebecca assisted Nathan to the first Humvee while Kiera helped Chris, a huge grin on her face.
“I can walk on my own,” protested Chris.
“Don’t be so macho.”
“I thought you liked me being macho.”
Kiera blushed with embarrassment. She helped Chris into one of the rear seats then took her usual position in front.
Nurse Alissa vs. The Zombies | Book 6 | Rescue Page 10