03 Deluge of the Dead (11 page)

“Scott?” called Michelle. “I was down in the bowling alley getting a lesson on shooting handguns from Mrs. O’Hara with some of the other Marine wives. I got most of the women aboard to join us too. Now, what’s so urgent? Hey! Is that a cigarette you’re smoking? What the hell is going on here?”

Scott took one more drag and gathered his strength before flicking the butt overboard and turning to face his wife. The tremble in his lips and redness in his eyes were enough to freeze Michelle in place. “Honey, I have some very bad news,” Scott said. His voice cracked and his gaze fell, refusing to look his wife in the eye. “Someone aboard got infected and they bit…” He couldn’t bring himself to say “me.”

“Who did they bite? Not Billy, please God, not Billy!” she shrieked, unable to think of anything else that would have this effect on Scott.

“No, honey,” Scott replied in a steadier tone of voice. He realized suddenly that he would be much more grief stricken if it had been Billy with the zombie bite, or God forbid Michelle. This epiphany even helped him to smile slightly as he said, “Not Billy... No, baby, it’s me… A zombie bitch bit me in the ass.”  

“What does that mean?” she asked incredulously. When he hesitated again she said, “Did you see the doctor? What can we do?”

“It means I’m fucked,” replied Scott. “And yes, baby, I saw the doctor. Barring a miracle, I’ll be dead by tomorrow. But you and Billy will be just fine. I promise you that.”  

After a moment of stunned silence Michelle threw herself into Scott’s arms, wide eyed and sobbing. “Don’t you dare die and leave us alone, Scott Allen!”  

“It’s not my choice, honey,” Scott mumbled into her ear as the tears started to flow down his own face. He held her close, smelling her hair, and feeling her body shudder and shake in emotional turmoil. “You know I love you and I’ll make sure that you and Billy are safe and protected when I’m gone. But you need to be strong. I
need
you to be strong right now. And I need you to remember that you are the love of my life.”

They might have stayed there holding each other for the rest of the hour, if the door to the suite hadn’t banged open and Billy called out, “What’s up Dad? I came as soon as I could. Hey, where are you guys?”

Scott grasped Michelle by her shoulders and whispered, “Be strong baby,” Then he wiped the tears from his eyes, took a deep breath and raised an only slightly broken voice to say, “We’re out here son.”

*****

Coast Guard Captain Shawn McCloud found himself as busy as everyone else that day as he organized and deployed his assets in support of the evacuation plan. Sitting in the Combat Information Center aboard the USCGC
Stratton
he contemplated likely scenarios and outcomes. He had a total of six helicopters at his disposal, composed of the two Dolphins aboard the
Stratton
, as well as two more Dolphins and two slightly larger Seahawks that would be flying back from Catalina Island. He was also in command of a respectable flotilla of Coast Guard Cutters and patrol boats, after relieving the former commander of the Los Angeles District for dereliction of duty. All of these assets would be employed in Operation Dunkirk to rescue survivors along the coast during the imminent storm.

The helicopters would come into play first, flying over coastal communities and using loud speakers to spread news of the evacuation plan among survivors without access to radio, television, or internet announcements. Coast Guard cutters would soon be deployed to major marinas and piers along the coast. Over a dozen patrol boats would assist boats from the civilian Survival Flotilla in rescuing survivors from the beaches. Captain McCloud would sail the
Stratton
herself up to Marina Del Ray where her crew would attempt to secure as many docks and boats as possible in hope of creating another safe haven for survivors. Then he would bring the ship back to the Coast Guard Station on Terminal Island to provide security and crowd control for refugees who would be assigned housing in the former prison there.

Everything had to be done quickly to take advantage of the brief window of opportunity created by the impending storm. It was hectic, bordering on frantic, but Captain McCloud thought that he had his part under control until he received an urgent request to attend a meeting with Commodore Allen. “This had better be important,” he muttered.

*****

Carl followed the helicopter to the bus depot where a pair of Marine guards opened the gate for the Suburban to enter the compound. He was pleased to see the rest of the vehicles he had led from the port arranged in a defensive circle amidst dozens of public buses. Sergeant Major O’Hara waved as Carl pulled up next to him.

“That was quite a stunt, lad,” said the weathered Marine with a smile. “Not only did you lead that mob of Zs away from the highway, you even managed to fry their bacon. Good show!”

“Thanks Sarge,” replied Carl. “And you seem to have found a good place to set up camp too.”

“Yes, sir,” O’Hara agreed. “Not many zombies around this industrial district and these buses should come in handy during the evacuation. There’s another yard down the street full of school buses too. I’ve radioed the mayor and asked him to bring bus drivers by helicopter. I just hope we can collect enough survivors during the storm to fill all the seats.”

“Me too,” Carl said before the sound of the helicopter landing made further conversation impossible. Gus was the first one out the door and he jogged over to the Suburban with Carl’s axe in hand. As the helicopter’s engine wound down Carl said, “Good to see you, buddy. We were worried about you. Sorry we left you in a jam.”

“No problem, boss.” Gus replied. “I always wanted to ride in a helicopter anyway. Here’s your axe back.”

Carl reached out to take the axe and couldn’t help noticing blood on the blade. “Thanks, Gus. I’m sort of surprised you carried it up the ladder. I hear it got kind of hairy.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t think of leaving your axe behind. ‘Course I did leave the shotgun after I ran out of shells for it.” Gus looked sad about that.

“You can have mine,” said Carl and he handed his 12 gauge pump to Gus along with a pouch full of shells.  

“Thanks!” said Gus, then paused and said, “But you might need it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Carl replied. “I’ve got my pistol and axe. Besides, you and Karen are the ones riding shotgun. Right?”  Their exchange was interrupted when Mick Williams jogged over to them.

“Hey, Carl? Sergeant Major? I just got a radio message to bring both of you back to the ship with me for some kind of big meeting with the Commodore.”

Carl and O’Hara exchanged glances. Both of them realized it must be important for Scott to pull them off of their current mission. “Okay,” Carl told Mick, then turned to Gus and Karen. “You two stay here to help the Marines guard these buses. This is actually a good place to wait for the road crews from the city to link up. I’ll try to get back by then. In the meantime you can see how many of these buses will be ready for use during the evacuation. I’ll follow up on getting drivers for them too.”

O’Hara went to speak briefly with his men before joining Carl and Mick at the helicopter. “Any idea what this meeting is about?” he asked.

“Not a clue,” replied Mick. “But I heard the ship calling most of the other major players too, so it must be something big. They specifically asked for the two of you, as well as Mark and me.”

“Well, I suppose it’s too much to hope it will be another brunch buffet. I missed the last one.” commented O’Hara, producing a smile from Mick and Mark, but only a questioning look from Carl. 

A minute later they were airborne and flying back down the Harbor Freeway. It was the first time Carl had seen the aftermath of Z-Day from the air and it was a sobering sight indeed. The apocalyptic look of a city overrun by the undead was even more apparent from above than when he was driving through it. The enormity of the experience was intensified by the raging flames and billowing smoke rising from the Exxon Mobile refinery where he had just incinerated so many lost souls.

Within a couple of minutes they were flying over the harbor where a totally different scene awaited. The water was filled with boats and yachts in motion. Cars, trucks and even trains moved around inside the safe haven. It was all in total contrast to the devastated and lifeless streets of the surrounding city. The sight of so much organized activity was enough to raise Carl’s spirits slightly, but his unease returned as they banked over San Pedro to approach the
Sovereign Spirit
and Carl glimpsed the horde of zombies they had trapped on the docks the previous day. Something about the sight of them, penned in by fountains of pumped seawater, sent a chill up his spine. There was no time to dwell on it, though, as the helicopter descended to settle onto the landing pad atop the ship.

*****

Special-Agent-in-Charge Ralph Corrigan had been in the middle of a waking nightmare all morning. Why he had decided to ride along in the FBI’s Bearcat armored car was beyond him. It had seemed like a good idea at the time – leading from the front and all – but flying over a million zombies was a lot different than driving through them.

Soon after dawn the FBI helicopter had located a bulldozer with an enclosed operator’s cab at a construction site for the 405 freeway expansion project and dropped off a volunteer to operate it. The big machine had no trouble plowing a path through the traffic jam from the Sepulveda Pass to Wilshire Boulevard. By the time it arrived in front of the Federal Building the bulldozer had attracted a following of hundreds of zombies, but they were unable to get at the driver. In fact, as long as the bulldozer kept moving, any zombies who tried to mount it were carried forward on the big metal tractor treads to be unceremoniously dumped in front of them and squashed like insects.

Ralph was so impressed with the bulldozer that he decided to accompany the Hostage Rescue Team that would follow it in an FBI armored car.  Their plan was simple. They would bust a path down the 405 to the 110 freeway and link up with the other crews coming from the port and downtown, opening up an escape route from West LA to the port. But first they drove a mile up Wilshire to open a path to the GNN studios. In retrospect that had probably been a mistake.

 The bulldozer and armored FBI Bearcat had no difficulty clearing a path through the traffic jams in Westwood. Nor did they fear driving through the mobs of zombies that flocked towards them. But Ralph and his team failed to think through the consequences of attracting the attention of so many of the undead. The streets surrounding the GNN building were packed with a horde of zombies and, once the bulldozer arrived, all of them turned to attack it.

This still didn’t pose much of a problem. The bulldozer even spent a few minutes crushing hundreds of the undead, painting its treads read, as rivers of blood flowed down the gutters. It was when they turned to head back to the freeway that their error became clear. Thousands of zombies followed them down Wilshire and onto the 405.  Even though they had cleared a path on the way up they couldn’t go fast enough to lose the horde on the way back. The bulldozer simply couldn’t go any faster than fifteen miles per hour at maximum speed, which was the same speed as a fast zombie.

If they had gone straight to the freeway from the Federal Building, Ralph realized, their only followers would have been several hundred from the FBI parking lot – a manageable number. There wouldn’t have been many zombies roaming the freeway either, having long ago moved into the surrounding communities in search of the living. And there weren’t many places that a zombie could get up onto the freeway, aside from the onramps and exits. Now, however, the bulldozer and Bearcat had led thousands of them there, away from the GNN studios, but towards the safe haven and other evacuation routes. That could be the makings of a disaster.

The bulldozer also had to slow and even stop and turn occasionally to clear the wreckage of abandoned vehicles from their path. Each time it paused the throng of zombies would swarm it and the armored car, scraping and moaning and begging to reach the tasty morsels inside. It was enough to drive one mad. By the time they passed the Santa Monica Freeway interchange Ralph was convinced that something needed to be done to change the situation, but it took another five miles of nerve wracking progress for anyone to think of a solution.

After breaking through a particularly nasty multi-car accident scene, near the exit for Century Boulevard and LAX, the freeway ahead opened up for about half a mile. Ralph heard the HRT leader order the driver of the armored car to turn around and park blocking the path created by the bulldozer through the pile up behind them.

“What’s your plan?” asked Ralph.

Special Agent Helen Slidell smiled at him before answering. She was an HRT sniper, a petite brunette who had proven she possessed bigger balls and a steadier trigger finger than Chuck Norris on more than one occasion. She was also the only female FBI agent to command an HRT unit. Ralph respected her opinion and was glad to see that she didn’t seem fazed by their current predicament.

“We’ll try to stem the tide of zombies here for a while and let the bulldozer get out of sight,” she said. Then, still smiling, she explained, “After that I think we should turn around and pave the road with crushed zombie juice all the way back to the barn!”

Ralph smiled and nodded agreeably. Then he asked, “What about Carlos in the bulldozer?”

“He’ll be safer alone than he would be surrounded by thousands of zombies,” Helen replied. “Not much we could do to help him under the circumstances anyway. But I’ll radio for the helicopter to shadow him and one of the other road crews to meet up with him as soon as possible.”

“Sounds good,” Ralph agreed.  Helen turned back to her team and filled them in on the plan. The Bearcat was now parked perpendicular to the highway, blocking the gap in traffic created by the bulldozer. Zombies were swarming around them. Some of the undead had already passed through the gap, but most remained fixated on the armored car as the bulldozer receded.  Most but not all: Fifty or a hundred of the fiends were still attracted to the sound of the big earthmover and started to follow it. Helen decided to get their attention.