03 Deluge of the Dead (23 page)

“We have refugees arriving by foot at the 710 Freeway barricade. We need some boats to pick them up at the Long Beach Sport Fishing docks. We have more than fifty survivors waiting for pick-up now.”

George responded to that message by directing two lifeboats from one of the cruise ships to pick up the refugees where the sport fishing boats used to dock on the east corner of the port. He instructed the boats to take the newcomers across the port to the reception and screening center set up on Pier 400. “Remember,” George said over the radio. “Don’t let any survivors aboard any other vessels in the port until they have been through a full physical screening. Anyone displaying any sign of bites or infection must be isolated and all refugees must stay in the quarantine zone until after the storm.”  It was dangerous enough to bring refugees to the screening center aboard the rescue boats. None of them could be allowed aboard the big cruise ships, or any other boats of the Flotilla, let alone to roam free in the safe haven, until they were cleared by medical teams at the reception centers.  

Pier 400 had been the largest container facility in the world. It was a 200 acre manmade island connected to Terminal Island by a single highway and rail line that were barricaded and heavily guarded.  As such, it was the perfect place to quarantine the refugees who arrived by boat. Hundreds of empty cargo containers had been laid out in rows with their doors open. The shipping containers would provide refugees with shelter from the rain until the storm passed and the new arrivals could then be transferred to more appropriate housing. George was mentally reviewing the plan when another radio transmission came in.  

“Tugboat Harbor Queen calling Harbor Master. We have secured a large high speed passenger ferry in Rainbow Harbor and located the keys. She can carry hundreds of passengers and should be useful in the evacuation operation. But we need an experienced skipper to operate her. Over.”

George looked at Stan and said, “What do you think, skipper? You’re not doing much good here, now that we’re anchored. And I drove the
Expiscator
a thousand miles from Cabo to Oceanside. So, if we need to move, I should be able to handle this boat. Do you want to use your ship handling skills on a high speed ferry?”
    
 

“Absolutely,” Stan agreed. “I’m sure I can con a ferry and it might save a lot of lives.”

George nodded and replied to the radio call, “
Harbor Queen
, this is the Harbor Master. We have a skipper for you aboard the
Expiscator
, the big Hatteras yacht moored near the
Queen Mary.
He’ll be waiting when you come alongside. Over.”

“Copy, Harbor Master. I have your yacht in sight. ETA is two minutes.”    

“Ready and waiting,” George replied.

Stan stepped away from the helm and said, “Okay then, if you need to move the yacht, you know how to start her. Then you just use this switch here to raise the anchor and you’re good to go. Scott said to wait here until cleared to return to the ship, or head for Catalina if you don’t get an all clear by morning. I’ll take the ferry south. If she’s as fast as I think she is, and has enough fuel aboard, I might go all the way to Newport Beach. Then I’ll work my way back up the coast, stopping at every pier and marina to look for survivors. I should be back here by midnight.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” George concurred. “I’ll continue to coordinate activities in the port. If everything continues to go as planned, we should have thousands of new residents in the Safe Haven by tomorrow. Scott would be proud.” They exchanged solemn nods and handshakes before Stan left the bridge to board the tug boat that would take him to his new command.

*****

Terrance and Floyd were carrying the last of the bodies out of the
Jet Cat Express
when Floyd said, “This is the biggest boat we’ve found, man. Maybe they’ll let us keep it to live on after the evacuation.”

“Why would you want to do that, Floyd? This is a damned ferry. It looks cool and I bet it’s fast, but it’s full of seats for passengers. There isn’t even a single bedroom that I could see. Naw, we need a yacht, something like that sucker out there.” Terrance pointed across the bay at the
Expiscator
where the tug boat was pulling up next to her.

 “Shit, man, that’s the Commodore’s yacht, isn’t it? He gave it to the Harbor Master. They ain’t never gonna give us that one!” Floyd barked.

“I know that,” Terrance replied loudly. “I said something
like
that boat, man. There’s plenty of empty yachts. Shit, we’ve helped them gather up dozens of them today. We gotta stake a claim to one of them. Something nice and big enough so we can have our own rooms. Then we can pick out some babes among the refugees and invite them to live aboard it with us. We’ll live like kings, Floyd. No more shit details for the Commodore and his crew. I’m telling you, man, we need to grab our own yacht and ride out the zombie apocalypse in style.”

They were so engaged in their daydream, staring over the water at the
Expiscator
, that they didn’t notice the large group of people approaching on the dock until a loud voice behind them said, “That’s an excellent plan, gentlemen. I think I can help you out with it too.  Thanks for clearing the bodies off this ferry. You mind if we come aboard? It’s a little wet out here.”

*****

Scag had led his gang down to the waterfront and turned right, towards Rainbow Harbor. There were no zombies out in the open, but he spotted hundreds of them lurking in the covered parking structure at the Catalina Ferry Terminal. Warning his followers to stay well clear of the building, they moved past it through the rain on the waterfront sidewalk. There were plenty of pleasure boats still tied up in their slips at the big Long Beach Marina, but Scag had his eye on bigger game.

They rounded the corner and Scag saw a big modern ferry docked in front of the terminal at Rainbow Harbor.  Bingo. He was only slightly surprised when a tug boat approached and two men jumped off to enter the ferry. Scag motioned his gang to stop and keep silent. He wanted to see what these people were going to do before rushing into the middle of something. It came as no surprise when the sound and flashes of gunfire erupted inside the ship. He smiled as the two big men backed out the door and continued to shoot the zombies that filled the doorway, but refrained from pursuing into the rain.

The shooting was over in a few minutes and the men cautiously returned inside the ferry. Scag and his followers waited patiently for the others to clear the vessel and return to the dock. He was afraid the tug boat would hook up to the ferry and pull it away. If so, he would have to turn back towards the marina and search for other boats. He knew better than to attack the tug boat, which was probably in radio contact with the other boats and ships in the port. No, this part of his plan relied on stealth and surprise. There would be plenty of time for violence later.

Scag was pleased when the tug boat left the two men on the dock and went back into the channel. He didn’t know exactly what it meant, but decided it was time to move in and find out. Whispering for his gang to follow quietly, he led them down to the dock.  He watched as the two men carried the bodies of what he assumed had been zombies out of the ferry, then approached them as they discussed their own dreams and dissatisfaction. It was a perfect set up for Scag to draw them into his plan. In fact, it was almost too easy.

“I’m Luther Bishop,” Scag told them as they boarded the ferry. He thought it better to use his real name than his nickname. He was also glad that the plastic poncho kept most of his tattoos concealed. First impressions were always important. “Who are you guys? And what are you doing here?”

“I’m Terrance and this is Floyd,” the big black man replied. “We just secured this boat for the Flotilla and we’re waiting for them to send over a captain to drive it. I guess you people want a ride into the safe haven, huh?”

“Well, yes and no,” Scag said with a practiced friendly smile. “We do want a ride, but we aren’t really interested in joining the Commodore’s Flotilla.  I don’t think we’d like being cooped up in any safe haven, or refugee camp either.”

“What do you mean?” Floyd asked nervously as more and more poncho clad figures filed aboard. He held his shotgun tightly, but was smart enough not to point it at anyone. Within moments they were surrounded.

“We’re thinking of going somewhere else and forming our own flotilla,” Scag answered smoothly. “Everyone who joins our crew will get their own yacht eventually. They’ll all get food and booze and women too. It’s all out there for the taking now. You just need the balls to go get it.” He paused to see how these men would react to that idea.

 Terrance was the first to respond. “Yeah, these Flotilla people picked us up, so I guess they saved our lives, but they haven’t given us much more than that to be thankful for. We’ve been stuck in crew bunks on a ship that still has plenty of empty staterooms. Now they send us out here to gather abandoned boats and yachts that we would love to live on, but they plan to give them to new refugees. Nobody even thought that we might want one for ourselves? It’s total bullshit. So what’s your plan? And how could we fit into it?”

Scag’s smile was sincere and slightly feral as he laid out his scheme. He began by saying, “Well, I couldn’t help overhearing you say that you wished you had that yacht anchored over there for yourselves…”

Chapter 8:

To: Sovereign Spirit

When the shit hit the fan, no one was ready; we were all looking for someone to blame, rather than how to survive this mess. For all our post-9/11 bluster, there was no plan for a chemical or biological attack, particularly one like this. Hell, it still sounds like bad science fiction, yet it's playing out all over the world and we've all got ringside seats. What shocked me was how quickly things fell apart, though I was far from surprised. The insanity, the divisiveness that has dominated this century had all of humanity looking for a reason, any reason, to tear itself apart. All it needed was a trigger, a flashpoint, and that's exactly what Z-Day provided.
As an astronomer, I'm conditioned to look at the big picture. From my perch here at Griffith Observatory, I've watched the City of Angels rip itself to pieces, even when the infected were a mere fraction of the population. When the news broke, all those angry, hopeless, desperate people, young and old, rich and poor, waded into the ring, hungry for their chance to finally, irrevocably, do some damage and that, more than anything, helped spread this plague like wildfire. We may well be at the twilight of our species; our anger and fear paved the way for us.
Eventually, the machines will fail, and we will have to fall back on ancient skills to survive, and I have such skills. So long as the stars shine above, I can navigate.
Rayo-X

Scott wasn’t feeling well. He couldn’t tell if it was the virus in his blood or the fact that blood was flowing in through a tube in his left arm and out through one in his right that made him feel queasy.  He hated needles and giving blood. This was the first time he had ever received a blood transfusion and he wasn’t enjoying it much either. The feeling was made worse by the knowledge that he only had a 50-50 chance of living through this. It was quite possible that he would turn into a zombie at any moment. For that reason, as well as to facilitate the transfusion, his arms were both strapped to a gurney in the Z Lab. On the other side of a laboratory table Clint was in a similar position.

To pass the time and distract himself from the transfusion, Scott decided to ask Professor Bernhard about his progress with deciphering the mysteries of the Super Rabies virus. “So, Professor, can you tell me more about why the CDC is so interested in your work and what you’ve discovered about the virus?”

The professor seemed preoccupied with whatever was on his computer monitor as he answered, “I’ve made some progress in tracking the source of the virus, but not much progress towards a cure, unless this experiment works. Clint’s antibodies are the only thing we’ve found that seems to fight off the virus enough to survive the infection.”

“What have you learned about the source?” Scott pressed.

“I’m still not comfortable discussing it,” the professor answered evasively. “There isn’t enough proof to justify any accusations yet.”

“Come on, Professor!” Scott protested. “I might die any minute here! You had no problem sharing your opinion on that. So why not level with me now? What’s your best guess on the source of the virus? Call it a last request and, if I survive, I’ll keep your opinion confidential.”

Professor Bernhard seemed taken aback for a moment, but then he nodded slowly and said, “I’m afraid it’s more than a guess. Using your ship’s communications systems I was able to share my research with scientists at the CDC and they have confirmed my suspicions.” He paused before saying, “We created it.”

“What do you mean? Who created it?” Scott asked in confusion.

“We did. The United States government funded the project under the guise of biological warfare defense. The virus was created by the Army during the Cold War. They studied it in the USAMRID facility at Fort Detrick. They were also working on a vaccine, but I don’t think they ever found one. The virus was supposed to have been destroyed years ago. It was deemed too dangerous to keep any samples, even in containment labs, but obviously someone did and it didn’t stay contained,” the professor said in disgust.

“How do you know all of this?” Scott asked.

“My first test subject at the lab in Malibu, my colleague Milton, explained it all before he fell victim to the virus. I told you about him the night you rescued us. He studied this virus when he was a doctor in the Army more than twenty years ago. He told me all about it after he was bitten on April 1
^st
. He recognized the symptoms in the woman who bit him and knew he was doomed. He spent his last lucid hours telling me everything he could remember about the virus and how it might have been released. And I’ve spent the last two weeks confirming most of what he suspected.”