“How can I thank you?” Ladley asked Carver.
“You can move to the ranch to help rebuild the island,” Carver said. “The ship’s going to anchor here now, and its crew will be coming onshore.”
“But the town,” he complained.
Carver assured the family. “We’ll eventually clear it. It’s going to take time. Believe me, when I tell you that we’re nowhere near making the place safe. Every building will need to be inspected before anyone can return to live there.”
“But eventually we’ll be back?” he asked.
“Yep, and you can put your medical office anywhere you want. I’ll bet there is a building with a view of the water that would make a perfect spot for your practice.”
“The hospital,” he replied despondently. “There’s so much in there I could use, but it all needs electricity.”
“No worries,” Seaman Dixon said. “The captain’s going to park us in the harbor and run electric lines into town. It won’t power the whole city, but it should be enough to reopen the hospital and a few other buildings.”
“We might just make it.” Ladley grinned.
“All we can do is give ourselves a chance,” Carver replied. “Now, it’s up to you all to make it work.”
— 34 —
Avalon
Three Months Later
USS Freedom’s Wardroom
We have always held to the hope, the belief, the conviction that there is a better life, a better world, beyond the horizon.
— Franklin D. Roosevelt
Carver wiped the sweat from his forehead. The late spring day had brought some unusually warm weather and the monkey suit he was wearing wasn’t helping him at all. He despised wearing a suit and tie, but this was beyond annoying. It was torture.
“Relax, buddy. We’ll get through this,” Shader said, noticing his friend’s discomfort.
Carver saw his fellow SEAL standing in the doorway. Both men were wearing black-and-white tuxedos. Unfortunately, the girls had found the formal shop in town and, as their bad luck would have it, two suits that fit each man well enough for the ceremony.
“What I wouldn’t give for my mess dress uniform.”
Shader grunted. “Hell. You hated that, too.”
“Not as much as this.”
Both men stood and stared at each other. The realization of what they were about to do was weighing heavily on them. It was no small journey that they were embarking on.
“Come on, Dad,” Shader said. “It’s time.”
“Not a dad yet,” Carver said unconvincingly. He’d felt his baby moving a while back. Hope’s pregnancy became very real for him that day. He sighed and straightened his coat. “Let’s do this.”
Both men strode out and took a ladder to the next deck.
Gonzalez and Lazzaro were waiting for them by the portal that led to one of the outer decks of the ship. Both men had their BDUs on, washed and crisply pressed.
“Damn, Chief. You clean up good,” Gonzalez said.
“Stuff it,” Carver replied, earning chuckles from both Marines.
“You sure about this?” Lazzaro asked. “Either of you can back out now.”
Shader gave the big Texan a glare, but neither Marine backed down. They finally had their team leaders at their mercy. They continued their verbal barrage, urging both men to reconsider their actions.
“I swear. Both of you will regret this day,” Shader hissed.
“Not as much as you two are feeling right now.” Lazzaro laughed. “You could never make me look as bad as you do right now.”
Carver was about to slap the kid, when Captain Theriot opened the outer hatch. He was wearing his dress whites, his face smiling as widely as either of the men had ever seen.
“You boys ready?” he asked.
Shader and Carver looked at each other and hesitated.
Gonzalez smirked. “Sorry, Cap. But these two are having second thoughts.”
Carver reached out to hit the diminutive Marine, but the kid was too fast.
“Never gonna catch me in that suit.” He laughed.
“Come on. Forget those two turds,” Shader said as he tugged on Carver’s sleeve. “We’ve got the rest of our lives to kick their asses.”
“Gentlemen,” Theriot said, waving his hand out and onto the deck.
Both men turned to follow the captain.
“Hey, Chief,” Gonzalez said.
They both stopped and turned.
“You guys did good. I’m happy for you.”
“Me too,” Lazzaro added. “It’s a great day.”
“Thanks,” Carver said.
“Shut your pie-holes and don’t make any problems today. You got it?” Shader added.
“Aye, aye, Chief,” they both blurted.
The two nervous SEALs ducked through the portal and turned to the aft upper deck. If either man had any reservations about what they were doing, they disappeared when they saw the women.
Both Chloe and Hope were standing against the aft railing, seemingly hovering above the harbor. Standing to the side of a massive MK-49 missile launcher on the flat roof above the cargo garage, they had a panoramic view of the water that surrounded them.
On the landing deck below, the rest of the islanders stared up at the two brides that stood waiting for the grooms.
When Carver and Shader appeared, the small crowd erupted. Their cheers carried across the water and echoed back at the ship from the buildings that lined the harbor.
Kyle appeared along with Potoski. They were the best men for the twin wedding that the captain was about to perform.
Theriot stood at the railing and turned to face the people that had gathered below. “My friends, when these two gentlemen first approached me about this, I was elated.”
A voice called out. “Who are you talking about? You said ‘gentlemen’.”
Both brides began to giggle as did most of the crowd.
“If that’s Gonzalez or Lazzaro, I’m going to kill them,” Shader hissed to his friend. Carver nodded but turned and cracked a smile. That was something that he would have done.
Theriot grinned and ignored the interruption.
“As a ship’s captain, I am empowered to perform marriages. Although, I’ve never been called to do this before; it will go down as one of the happiest jobs I’ve ever performed in the United States Navy.”
He turned back to the two couples and had them face the rest of the guests. He stood between them and began.
“Do you have the rings?” he asked loudly.
Kyle immediately produced both rings. One for Carver and the other for his mother. Potoski, on the other hand, fumbled for a several seconds before producing the two pieces of jewelry that Shader and Maxwell had chosen.
Theriot nodded and the ceremony began. It was a rare moment in a world that had long since torn any happiness from their lives. Gone were the memories of dead friends, pushed down to make room for the joy that the early evening ceremony provided.
As the two couples were wed, the sun set over the spine of the island. The orange-and-pink light filtered over the harbor. The ship’s lights sparked on, revealing the strings of bulbs that the sailors had wrapped around the landing deck. A smattering of lights popped on in the city as well, giving the land a feeling of life. When the sun finally set, the starry night and scattered lights of the town merged. It was hard to know where the sky ended, and the town began.
“I’m not a very good partner,” Hope whispered as she and Carver danced. “My belly’s sort of in the way.”
Carver smiled at his bride. “I think I had something to do with that.”
She dropped her head on his shoulder and let the music take her away. They glided over the dance floor. The world was safe and there was optimism that a brighter future was in store.
Carver looked over Hope’s head and watched Shader and Maxwell dance nearby. The big lug was remarkably nimble on his feet. Carver was impressed, but they spent most of their time ki
ssing and touching each other. Carver resisted the urge to tell them to “get a room”.
Carver sighed. They were close to finishing renovations at the ranch. That meant he and Hope would be leaving soon.
They’d cleared the island of Variants. A trip to the mainland near Dana Point to raid a solar company, along with a visit to a couple of big box stores, had completed their needs. They now had plenty of equipment and extra supplies for future expansion or repairs. The island was as prepared as they could make it.
Over the last three months, two more pregnancies had occurred on Catalina, while Lost Valley had three. Rather than being a nuisance, kids were now considered a gift. The species needed to survive and that meant as many children as possible.
All in all, Catalina had grown by nearly forty people. Over a dozen had decided to move from Lost Valley to the island, joining the remnants of the Freedom’s crew. With kids on the way and a fresh attitude, they had a great chance of making it.
Cattle and bison were exchanged, and both Lost Valley and Catalina now had plenty of stock for the future. Pigs and chicken were being raised, as well.
Biodiesel production was beginning at both locations. Rapeseed, a relative of Canola, grew in well-drained soil. One acre of the four-foot-high weed could make two hundred gallons of biodiesel. To find the best climate for its growth, it was being sown on the sides of the island’s hills, as well as on the plains of Lost Valley’s high mountain desert. They’d know in three to five years where it would thrive.
Several larger sail boats and catamarans were anchored nearby, salvaged from the island and several of California’s harbors. Sailing might be their only form of transportation between Catalina and the mainland in the near future. All the smaller, private boats were moved out of the sheltered water, their fuel and supplies taken before being scuttled. Some of the larger, diesel-powered craft were moved to Two Harbors in case their parts were needed for salvage.
Gasoline was becoming tainted. They had a few months to use their non-diesel fuel before it went bad. Regular gas just didn’t hold up over time, although a few thousand gallons, treated with fuel stabilizer, had been stashed at Lost Valley. That would likely last for another year before it went sour as well.
The Avgas was their biggest problem. Once they lost their Osprey and helicopters, transportation between the two colonies would become more problematic.
Back on the mainland, they were continuing to recover survivors, while the infected were beginning to thin out. From a practical standpoint, there wasn’t enough protein left to support the Variants’ massive numbers. Trips into the smaller towns rarely involved an encounter with the viral creatures.
They decided to stay out of the metropolitan areas. Too many buildings and far too much chance of running across a herd of the monsters. San Diego and Los Angeles were off-limits for the foreseeable future.
The moon began to rise over the ocean. The music being pumped through the deck’s speakers, along with the food and drink, washed away the pain and stress of the past year. Tonight, they celebrated. Tomorrow would have to take care of itself.
Carver raised his wife’s face to his and kissed her lips. As Sinatra crooned the crowd, he couldn’t have been happier. Life was good and that was as much as this new world could offer.
The Sewers Below San Diego
The Alpha
The giant alpha sits on the wet concrete and survey’s its kingdom. Thousands have joined it, using the massive runoff drains and sewers under San Diego to hide from the sun. Its brain, ravaged by the virus, struggles with its former humanity. Its brain wrestles with a lost identity. A new, primal instinct drives its actions, overriding any remnants of its former self.
It is the leader, the king of its kind. It must plan for the future.
The “us” suffers. Meat is scarce. Humans are best, but there are so few.
Many now sleep, shutting down when there is no food.
The weak are killed to feed the “us”. The taste is foul. It is nothing like human flesh.
There are other animals that live in the caves. They are small and fast, but their fresh flesh is good, especially the chewy tails. They are collected and fed, contained in a dead-end part of the caves. The tiny creatures thrive and produce more of themselves. It is all there is to eat.
The flying ones that joined the clan are having offspring that are very different. Strong and fast. The “us” is now greater.
More human flesh is needed!
The large, red-headed alpha strokes the sheath that hangs from its neck. It smiles as it remembers killing the human that had worn it. It was a Carver man.
The thought of Carver sends a wave of anger through the alpha. It suddenly snarls and barks a terrifying cry. A smaller Variant standing nearby shrinks from the alpha’s sudden outburst. It tries to move away but is grabbed by the giant creature. It cries out before its head is ripped off. The bloody carcass drops to the ground as the alpha hurls its skull against the drainage tunnel’s concrete wall.
Others freeze in place, hoping to avoid the massive Variant’s wrath. The alpha stomps off, looking for a female to mate with. Mating satiates its anger and pushes the thought of the wretched human from its tormented and infected mind.
As the alpha disappears down the tunnel, the rest pounce on the dead clan member, ripping the body apart. A lucky few take a chunk of flesh and scamper into a corner, hoping to get a bite or two of the meat into their bodies before the juicy prize is torn from their grasp.
The barking and screeches from the group reach a fever pitch as dozens of the monsters fight over the corpse.
The alpha hears it all. Its blood lust for Carver and the animal they call Shrek is piqued by the primal rage he’d just created. It finds the female it is looking for and snatches it from its place. It hurls the female into a dark area and screams.
After it has finished, it lumbers back to its throne. It sees the bloody patch where there had been a corpse just minutes before. It closes its eyes and the vision of Carver killing its offspring and others in its group flashes into its brain. Even after mating, the cursed human haunts its thoughts. It cries out again, frustrated that it hadn’t gotten revenge.
It would find Carver. It would find its animal companion. It would kill and eat them both.
The Variant settles down finally. It has a plan and Carver will die.
Shrek
I hear the workers returning to the ranch. I have stayed here, guarding the farm, while the others have gone off to the large ship.
The asps have been driven from the island. I have met the infected and they have died. They fought against me and my fellow warriors. They never had a chance. Now, I lord over this place, where humans, their animals and others of my kind live. I am king of this land.
The female I have mated with lies at my feet. She tires easily as the life within her grows. I will protect her, just like I protect all in my clan.
The night is quiet. The war is over. It is time to raise my offspring. It is time to train a son.
He will be strong.
He will be a winner.
He will be the next in line and become the best.
He will be of my blood.
He will never give up.
Because, I am Shrek.
I am the ghost that kills in the night.
I always win.
It is just who I am.
o — o — o
End of Book 3
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Acknowledgements
There are many reasons that a writer puts ink to paper. One may look for fame while another seeks fortune. Regardless of the motivation, good authors pour their souls into the story. What you read should reflect the author’s best effort.
But the one thing that surprises me is that writing is not a one-man-sport.
“Team effort” is such a cliché, but it is absolutely true. The story you just read was created by a group of people that have taken the time and love to help shape it. With this in mind, I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge the following people.
My wife, Donna. Living with me when I sometimes grow dark and distant for no apparent reason, shows a patience that is beyond expectation. Many times, when a writer is not at the keyboard, their brains are still in the story. When a dark plotline is being created, it doesn’t just leave you when you walk away from the desk. It lingers, like a bad odor in the background of your thoughts. She tolerates that. I have to eternally thank her for staying married to me and understanding my multi-leveled brain. She is one of the rare few that can. I love you, Donna.
My editor, Sara. She adapts to my disjointed schedule and never complains. My windows of opportunity to write are sporadic and inconsistent, while deadlines for completion are not. She accommodates me. She backchecks my work and evens out the inconsistencies that occur when you continue a storyline after having left it for weeks. She smooths out the sharp edges of my prose and makes the story flow. Thank you, Sara.
My inspiration, Nicholas Smith. Without him, there is nothing. A good writer steps on the shoulders of past great authors. Exceptional writers blaze their own trail. Nick is a blazer. There are plenty of zombie books out there, all with the same basic story to tell. Nick twisted the genre. He created living zombies using real science. Then, he created a world of characters that brought humanity into that chaos. He is a rare author. I am honored to be chosen to join that world. Thank you, Nick.
Extinction Survival Series (Book 3): Cost of Survival Page 34