03 Deluge of the Dead (2 page)

The zombie apocalypse was a liberating experience for Scag and his followers.  Those first two days of rampage on the streets of Long Beach had been horribly fun and exciting.  Nothing and nobody could stand against them, nor tell them what to do, or not to do.  They dealt death and destruction at will, and when a few Surf Nazis were pulled from their bikes and devoured by zombies, shit, that was just part of the game.  It hadn’t been until the night of April 2
^nd
that Scag realized their days of roaming the streets were numbered.  They were all getting burned out on the drugs and violence.  More and more zombies filled the streets and even Scag was starting to get spooked by the total collapse of civilization.  They needed to find a safe place to make camp and crash out, but every place they tried was soon swarming with zombies.  After a terror filled night of fighting off the undead, Scag was convinced that they needed to take over a secure location.  He led his gang down towards the waterfront where there was more open space and large buildings, places they might be able to defend against the growing horde of zombies.       

The aquarium was one of the first buildings they decided to try and it turned out to be one of the best possible choices.  The survivors already barricaded inside had been foolish enough to look upon the Surf Nazis as saviors at first, opening the doors as soon as the skinheads had dispatched the crowd of zombies laying siege to the building.  By the time they realized their error it was too late: Scag and his gang had taken control of the aquarium. Some of the gang complained that they should have taken over a hotel where they could have kicked back in style, with plush furniture and real beds.  Scag shared their desires, but it didn’t take long to recognize the one resource that the aquarium offered above most other buildings in town: food.  It was swimming all around them.  Tens of thousands of fish and other sea creatures were just waiting to be scooped out of the display tanks and cooked up for supper.  The other survivors in the aquarium also formed a convenient pool of servants to clean, cook and wait on the Surf Nazis. The younger women and children served another purpose as well.

Over the next week the skinheads developed a routine that consisted of eating (mostly fish), drinking booze from their pile of loot, doing drugs that Scag doled out, and raping the women.  It had been fun, but Scag knew it couldn’t last.  Something would come along to spoil it eventually.  That something turned out to be a fleet of ships that sailed into Long Beach harbor in the second week of the apocalypse.  Led by what looked like a cruise ship that somehow disgorged soldiers and armored vehicles across the bay in front of the Queen Mary, they were soon joined by hundreds of other boats full of people who seemed determined to restore civilization to the port.  Within days they had set up the Queen Mary as a fortress and built barricades of shipping containers on the bridges and roads leading to the port.  They had even started up the old power plant and restored electricity on Terminal Island.  Some of the skinheads and all of the other survivors in the aquarium wanted to go join the newcomers in the safe haven across the bay, but Scag knew that wouldn’t work.

The people from the boats would never accept the skinheads into their ranks, especially if the other survivors from the aquarium told their tales of rape and abuse at the hands of the Surf Nazis. If Scag ever decided that his gang should leave the aquarium, he wouldn’t be able to leave any of the other survivors alive.  It reminded him of the old saying by pirates that dead men tell no tales.  The thought was almost enough to make him laugh, but he was too angry at the moment because his men had jumped the gun by raping this girl and killing her father.

“I told you assholes not to mess with this one,” growled Scag as he moved to mount the terrified girl.  “I was saving her for a special occasion and her father was useful too.  He knew how to keep the damned filters running in the fish tanks.  But no, you idiots killed him when he tried to defend his daughter, didn’t you?” He glanced down at the battered girl. “And now you bring me damaged goods?”  He shook his head and growled as the other men cringed almost as convincingly as the girl he was about to rape. 

*****

Chapter 1:

To: Sovereign Spirit (@sovereignspirit.net)

From: Doyle’s Southern Comfort

Jimmy Doyle here with a status report for Mr. Hammer and Commodore Allen. We were turned away from US waters by the Navy south of San Diego, but Jimmy Doyle doesn’t give up that easy. We sailed due west for two days before sailing north again for another two days. No sign of the Navy this far offshore. We watched the Commodore on GNN via satellite, including his speech from Catalina. Good show, mate. We have turned east again, towards the Santa Barbara Channel, hoping to bypass the Navy’s quarantine and exclusion zone picket ships. We plan to rejoin your Flotilla soon. Be advised that we have encountered a storm approaching your coastline with heavy rain, moderate winds, and two meter swells.

To: Doyle’s Southern Comfort

From: BillyAllen (@sovereignspirit.net)

CC: ScottAllen (@sovereignspirit.net), CptFisher (@sovereignspirit.net)

Thanks for the status report, Mr. Doyle. Glad to hear you made it around the Navy. You will be welcome here. Forwarding your message to my Dad & the ship’s Captain. We appreciate the weather report too. Keep us posted.

Scott Allen and Carl Stiller spent the evening aboard the
Sovereign Spirit
getting to know each other and discussing their strategy for incorporating the newly arrived convoy from the refinery into the Flotilla’s safe haven on Terminal Island.  There were only about a hundred people in the convoy, including the families who arrived in their own RVs and the bus full of people they rescued from the Target store.  However, the thirty refinery workers would be extremely valuable in the process of transferring fuel from the giant tank farms in the port to the ships of the Flotilla.  They also discussed sending a few of the oil men back to the refinery in El Segundo by helicopter to keep the compound safe from zombie incursions.  

“If that refinery remains secure, it could become a major safe haven in its own right,” commented Scott.  “It’s right next to a major power plant too.  If we could get that started the same way we did with the smaller one here on Terminal Island, it could supply power for many other safe havens around Los Angeles.”

“I suppose it could,” Carl agreed. “We didn’t worry about that because we had our own generators and an almost endless supply of fuel at the refinery, but that power plant really would be a valuable asset for the rest of the city.  To tell you the truth, we were a little worried that the mayor would consider us squatters and looters for doing what we needed to do to survive at the refinery.  That was one reason we formed the convoy to come down here and join your safe haven.”

Scott laughed briefly before replying, “Yeah, the mayor has a strange way of looking at some things, but I think he’s coming to grips with reality.  He’s been asking us to help set up safe havens for the people of LA, so he should be delighted to learn about your refinery.”

“What did he say when you told him about using sprinklers as a defense system?” Carl asked Scott.  He had not been present when Scott called Mayor Del Fuego that afternoon to spread the news that sprinklers and water hoses could be used as a defense against zombies. 

“He was skeptical, to say the least,” Scott said with a smile.  “I can’t really blame him either.  I found it hard to believe myself, until I saw it in action.  Luckily the Fire Chief and Chief of Police were on the speaker phone at the Emergency Operations Center and they seemed to grasp the importance pretty fast.  The head FBI agent was also on the conference call and he seems to have a good head on his shoulders.  I suspect they have already started experimenting with fire hoses and sprinklers, but their biggest challenge will be getting enough water to operate a full-time defense.”

“Yes,” Carl agreed.  “The water pressure in El Segundo dropped off to almost nothing after a few days.  We were lucky to have pumps with access to seawater at the refinery.  Otherwise we never could have kept up a full-time sprinkler defense of the perimeter fence.”

“Without people running the waterworks it won’t be long until all of Los Angeles runs out of fresh water,” Scott confirmed.  “We can pump seawater to defend this safe haven against zombies and use water makers on the ships to provide drinking water for the people here, but I’m afraid most of the safe zones that city officials were planning won’t have that option.”

“What can we do to help them?” Carl asked.  Thinking beyond his own immediate survival needs and those of his companions from the refinery was a paradigm shift of sorts, but one that an engineer could quickly adapt to.

“We can start by offering them your refinery in El Segundo as a stronghold,” suggested Scott.  “Then we can look for other potential strongholds near reliable sources of water.  Lakes and reservoirs might work, especially if most of the sprinkler water ran back into the water source.  Otherwise the defense system would drain them before long.  Other than that, we need to identify coastal zones that can be secured using barricades and sprinkler systems using seawater.  I was already planning something like that for Malibu, where the mountains come right down to the coast, but we should also consider places like Marina Del Rey and even down here in Long Beach.  I’m not sure how many survivors are left, or how they can be gathered and moved to someplace safe.  You have any bright ideas, Carl?”

“Maybe,” Carl said through a frown of concentration.  “What is the forecast on that storm the Coast Guard predicted?” 

“We’re expecting rain by tomorrow afternoon,” Scott replied.  “They think it will continue through the night and the next day.  What are you thinking?”

“Well,” Carl responded carefully. “If our experience with the sprinkler defense is anything to judge by, I think the zombies will seek cover from the rain.  They won’t want to walk around in it, or even chase people through it.  So this might be the window of opportunity the survivors need to move to safe havens.”

“I think you’re right, Carl,” agreed Scott.  “I had the same thought when I heard the forecast, but what if we’re wrong?  What if we tell people it’s safe to leave their current hiding spots and they get slaughtered?  Are we confident enough to suggest it?”

Carl took a long moment to weigh his words before answering the Commodore.  Even though they had only met that afternoon, Carl liked Scott already and could tell that he tried to keep the best interests of everyone in mind, but was uncomfortable being placed on the spot like this and needed as much confirmation as he could get.  Carl was the only person who had practical experience using water as a defensive weapon against zombies.  His opinions were valuable, but he dreaded the adverse consequences Scott suggested, if the zombies didn’t react as expected.  On the other hand, countless lives could be lost if people missed this chance to seek safety. 

“I think we have to recommend it,” Carl replied finally.  Scott could tell that he had done some soul searching before confirming that decision.  This increased Scott’s already high opinion of Carl too. 

“Agreed,” Scott said definitively.  “I’ll call the EOC again and ask them to call GNN and any remaining radio stations too.  They’ll need to spread the word on TV and radio constantly if this is going to do any good.”  Scott was reaching for the telephone on his desk when it rang. 

            *****    

Professor Bernhard had spent hours reviewing the blood test results from Clint Murdock.  Clint was the only known case of someone surviving a zombie bite.  An immediate amputation of his injured left arm above the bite appeared to have arrested the virus before it spread throughout his body, but the professor had discovered some disturbing signs that Clint might still be carrying the infection.  When the professor finished reviewing all of the evidence he decided that he had to inform Commodore Allen of his findings.

“Commodore?” asked the professor when Scott answered the phone.  “This is Professor Bernhard.”

“Yes, professor,” Scott replied.  “I’m a little pressed for time at the moment.  Can I call you back later?  Or is this call urgent?”  

“I’m afraid it might be urgent, sir,” said the professor in a worried tone of voice.  “It concerns your friend, Clint Murdock.”

“Oh?” Scott said with a slight feeling of dread.  “What about Clint?  He’s okay, isn’t he?”

“Outwardly, yes,” responded the professor slowly.  “The amputation you performed seems to have prevented the virus from transforming him into what you call a zombie.  However,” the professor paused and Scott waited for the other shoe to drop.  “I’ve been reviewing all of the blood tests taken while he was in your sickbay.  I can find no sign of the actual virus itself, but he does seem to have developed some strange antibodies.”

“Antibodies?” asked Scott uncertainly.  “What kind of antibodies?”

“That’s just it,” said the professor.  “I can’t identify them, but I suspect they are related to the super rabies virus.  It is possible that his antibodies could be used to help find a cure or vaccine, but it is also possible that they are simply suppressing the virus.  If so, then your friend Clint could be a carrier.”

“A carrier?” Scott asked in shock.  “You mean he might be able to infect others with the virus?”

“It’s a distinct possibility,” replied Professor Bernhard.  “That’s why I decided to call you tonight and why I think this might be too important for any delay in action.”