03 Deluge of the Dead (27 page)

“What the hell?” Billy exclaimed as saw the men were carrying weapons. A moment later they heard a shout in Spanish and saw Miguel run out onto the deck holding his trusty machete. A single gunshot rang out and Miguel dropped like a rock. “Get back, Mom,” Billy said as he pushed her away from the window and reached to draw the pistol that Scott had insisted he carry at all times after the zombie attack on the ship that morning.

“No, Billy,” Michelle screamed. “Don’t do it!” He paused and looked at her questioningly. She continued, “There’s too many of them. Quickly, hide the gun. We might have a chance to use it later. Just do what they say until we know who they are and what they want.”

Billy hesitated another second, then pulled the clip holster off his belt, slipped the .357 magnum revolver back into it, and leaned down to clip it under the leather office chair in front of the computer. They heard screams coming from the main saloon and cabins below, along with another gunshot. Billy just had time to stand up next to his mother as feet pounded up the stairs and two men burst into the Sky Lounge with guns drawn and evil grins on their faces.

One of them raised a shotgun to aim at Billy, but Michelle jumped in front of him and yelled, “No! Don’t shoot! Please! We’re not armed.”

“Get down on the floor, bitch! You too, kid.” the man replied coldly, but he held his fire. A third man entered the room and two of them moved on towards the bridge and captain’s cabin while the third covered Billy and Michelle with the shotgun.

They heard a startled shout, followed by three more gunshots and heard George Hammer yell in pain and rage. One more shot was followed by chilling silence. Billy and Michelle exchanged looks of fear and terror. They couldn’t quite grasp what was happening. Scott had sent them here to keep them safe, but that plan seemed to be backfiring in the worst way.

Another armed thug entered the lounge, accompanied by a Black man that Billy recognized as one of the refugees from Oceanside. The stranger was quite scary looking, with a massive scar on his face and eyes that seemed to absorb all of the light in the room.  He swept those emotionless orbs over Billy, fixed his gaze on Michelle, and said, “Well, well, well, what do we have here? That looks like a nice piece of ass.”

The Black man seemed to flinch as he said, “That’s the commodore’s wife and son. The Flotilla will hunt us down like dogs, if anything happens to them.”

Scarface, as Billy thought of him, showed a wicked grin as he said, “That’s good to know. It will make our time together all the more enjoyable. So I guess that means this was your yacht, lady?” His tone was anything but respectful.

“Yes, this is my husband’s fishing boat,” Michelle answered quietly.

“Not any more, bitch,” the man said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Now it’s my pirate ship.” He chuckled and moved towards the bridge saying, “Keep them here,” to the man with the shotgun.

“Wait,” Michelle spoke up. “What about Mr. Hammer, the harbor master? We heard him yell, then gunshots from the bridge. Please let us help him.”

Scarface raised an eyebrow, stretching his scar, and said, “He’s probably dead already. If not, I should probably finish him off. What’s he to you, anyway?”

“He’s our friend,” Billy spoke up. “And he’s a good man. His wife and daughter are down below.”

“All the more reason for me to kill him,” Scarface said with a wink. “Don’t move. I’ll let you know what I decide after I see him.”

“He can run this boat and knows all my Dad’s plans,” Billy pressed. “He could be a valuable hostage too.”

The scarfaced man seemed to ponder that for a moment. Then he turned to the one with the shotgun and said, “Bring them both. We’ll let them watch this.”

The scene on the bridge of the
Expiscator
brought the reality of their plight into sharp focus. One of the
pirates
was sprawled in the doorway with the back of his head blown off. George had obviously gotten better at head shots. That body was disgusting, but what hit Billy and Michelle the hardest was the sight of George Hammer slumped over the helm and bleeding heavily from several gunshot wounds.

“Fish bait,” Scarface said evenly. “Toss them both overboard.”

“You’re a monster,” Michelle said bitterly.

Scag laughed and said, “Sister, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

*****

Everything had seemed to be under control. Despite the tragedy of Scott being bitten, as well as the disruption caused by the arrival of the Navy and Marines, the rescue operations were still progressing as planned. George Hammer had felt great pride in the accomplishments of the Flotilla on this fateful day. As the rain fell and the survivors emerged to rejoin the living, the boats that followed George north from Mexico were joined by many others in a lifesaving mission that deserved a place in history books, if any more ever written. Hundreds of boats reported contact with refugees. Thousands of lives were being saved. George monitored their progress and dispatched additional vessels as needed. 

Zombies no longer gathered at the seashore. They had dispersed, seeking shelter from the rain. Now the people streaming down to the beaches, piers and marinas were all survivors, seeking rescue. The radio was full of reports from boats picking up refugees. Some people were indeed swimming out into the ocean, or paddling out on surfboards. The Flotilla was there to pick them up. George was ecstatic. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of lives were being saved by the Flotilla and George had been instrumental in creating. All he knew for sure was that Commodore Allen’s plan was working.

George had been scanning the radio frequencies, searching for more survivors, when he stumbled upon another voice in the dark. The signal was weak, but it sounded like a child, so George grabbed a pair of headphones and tried to dial it in on the receiver.

"Hello? Hello out there? My name's Amy Travers. I'm on a sailboat with my Dad. He wrote directions down for me before he...he...left. I'm 7 years old. Dad said there were more ships in the ocean. He told me to repeat this message on the radio and you would hear me. Dad tried to get us to safety, but he got sick. He got sick after my Mom bit him and went crazy. She’s gone now, but Dad wrote down instructions for me to do this and then...and then he jumped off our boat, so he wouldn't hurt me too. He's still there. I can hear him. He's tangled in the ropes. He makes noises like a dog and sometimes it sounds like he's crying. I'm scared to look but I could see his hand over the side last night. Tonight I got scared and I dropped the flashlight in the water. I'm out of food. I'm thirsty. Sometimes I think Dad is saying my name... It’s raining and the waves are getting bigger. Please help me. Hello? Hello out there? This is Amy Travers. I'm on a sailboat with my Dad..."

George’s heart went out to the girl as he fiddled with the radio direction finder. The transmission was coming from the northwest and by the lack of signal strength it must originate far over the horizon. He would need to get another ship to trace the signal, possibly one out by Catalina, to be able to triangulate the exact position of the sailboat carrying Amy. George was so engrossed in trying to locate the little girl that he failed to notice the big ferry approach the anchored yacht.

When George did notice the
Catalina Jet Cat
pulling alongside he made the same assumption Billy had – that Stan had returned to pick something up from the
Expiscator.
He didn’t let it distract him from trying to locate the little sailboat in distress. He quickly changed frequencies and sent out a radio message.

“
Expiscator
to
Doyle’s Southern Comfort
, do you read me Mr. Doyle? Over.”

The response came immediately. “Doyle here, is that you, Mr. Hammer?”

“Yes, Jimmy. I’m getting a radio message on marine channel thirty-two from a little girl who’s alone on a sailboat. Her father was infected and it sounds like he jumped overboard before he turned, but is caught in the mooring lines. I think her location is north of you. Can you try to locate her and render assistance?”

“Absolutely, mate,” replied the Australian yachtsman. “I’ll switch channels and try to home in on the signal now, George.  I’ll let you know what we find.”

“Thanks Jimmy,” George replied. Then he was distracted by a loud noise from somewhere below. Removing the headphones he heard what sounded like gunfire and turned away from the radio in confusion. Was it possible that zombies were on the yacht? Could someone aboard have been infected? Instinct compelled him to draw the Desert Eagle and chamber a round at the same time that he heard loud voices emanating from the Sky Lounge.

George was moving towards the door when it burst open and two armed strangers rushed onto the bridge. The first one saw George raise the handgun and ducked towards the navigation station, moving too smoothly and intentionally to be a zombie. The second man had just enough time to widen his eyes before George put a .357 magnum semi-jacketed hollow point bullet between them. Turning to fire at the other man, George felt something hit his side with the force of a sledge hammer. Spinning from the impact, he yelled out in pain and anger as he fired two wild shots. Then he was hit again in the stomach, and once again in the back as he turned and crumpled over the helm. The pain was so intense that George passed out almost immediately, dropping the Desert Eagle on the deck and bleeding all over the yacht’s steering wheel and control panel.

Through the fog of pain George was dimly aware of voices. One of them seemed to be yelling at Billy Allen about driving the boat. “North!” yelled the voice. “We’re going north to set up our own pirate base and you’re going to drive this boat, if care what happens to your momma.” This stuck in his mind because it was immediately followed by the agony of his body being moved, a minute of rough handling, a moment of freefall, and a headfirst plunge into the ocean. George regained most of his senses underwater, struggling feebly to reach the surface before drowning. He made it just in time to see the
Expiscator
sailing away with his family, as well as Scott’s. The pouring rain soon hid the yacht from view as it washed the tears of pain and anguish from his face. That did nothing to stop the blood flowing out of the deep wounds in his body. He knew he was bleeding out and could barely keep his head above water. He would certainly drown within a few minutes, if the sharks didn’t arrive first. Nevertheless, George tried to float face up and thrash his arms and legs in a very poor imitation of swimming. Despite the hopelessness of his position, he would go down fighting. He simply didn’t know any other way.

*****

Chapter 9

To: Sovereign Spirit

“I don’t know if this is going to make it to anyone and truth be told I’m not too sure that it matters. I’m fucked. We’re all fucked. I just watched four of these bastards dismantle a little girl like she was Thanksgiving dinner. They wish-boned her and spilled her guts like a piñata. I’m somewhere near San Diego. This is the closest I’ve come to talking to someone in a couple days that didn’t immediately look at me like I was lunch. I’ve been running and hiding and hiding and running so much that I just realized that I can run and urinate at the same time. I never would have imagined that a person could even do that. I’m scared…I’m scared of everything. I’m even scared to hit send on this message, because what if no one ever sees it? I think I know what direction the beach is and I’m going to make a run for it. I think I’d rather drown than get mauled by these things. If you’re near…please try to find me and, if not…good luck. Oh and one last thing…if somehow you find my wife, Heather, please don’t tell her that I pissed myself. It’s pretty embarrassing. Ash”

Scott was pleasantly surprised to still be alive after more than three hours of having Clint’s blood flowing through his veins. It looked like Professor Bernhard was indeed a miracle worker, but Scott was getting restless and couldn’t stop thinking about all the things he should be doing as the rescue missions unfolded. “How much longer are you going to keep pumping our blood back and forth, doc?”

“Not too much longer,” the professor replied as he glanced at his watch. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel fine,” Clint said.

“Me too,” Scott agreed. “I’m just worried about what is happening out there. There are so many things I should be doing.”

“You won’t be doing anything but dying if you don’t complete this treatment,” the professor reminded him.

“I know,” Scott admitted. “And I can’t thank you enough for coming up with this idea. It’s like a miracle. I just need to get back to work and see my family as soon as possible.”

Well, yes, about that,” the professor hesitated. “You know things will be different now.”

“What do you mean?” Scott asked.

“Well, the good news is that it looks like you will survive,” Bernhard said. “However, will also be a carrier of the Super Rabies virus.”

“And exactly what does that mean?” Scott asked slowly. 

“It means that you can no longer have direct physical contact with other people, including your wife and son. In fact, until we know how contagious the two of you are, I really shouldn’t let you out of this lab at all.”

“Oh, fuck me!” Scott exclaimed.

“Definitely not,” the professor said, as if Scott had been making a suggestion. “No kissing, or hugging, and definitely no sex.”

The ramifications of his new condition hit Scott hard and left him speechless for a moment. He wondered absently if he would be better off dead. Then Scott realized that even if he could never touch his family again, he could still protect them, even from himself. He steeled his resolve and decided to take things one step at a time. “I guess I’ll have to come to grips with that,” Scott said sadly. “But I can’t just stay cooped up here. Can’t we figure out some way that I can go about my business without infecting other people?”

“Probably,” Bernhard said. “We can try having you wear a surgical mask and avoid direct contact with others. That should prevent transfer of the infection, but I have no way to properly test that theory.”