03 Deluge of the Dead (7 page)

“So, where were you last night anyway?” asked Scott as they descended.

“Oh shit,” Clint mumbled. “I got lucky.”

“You what?” Scott asked as his jaw dropped.

“I picked up a woman in the bar, the same woman that George rescued in Cabo. Her name is Carla. We went back to her room for some extracurricular activity, if you know what I mean.”

“Jesus, Clint,” said a flabbergasted Scott. “That could pose some real problems. Let’s just hope she got as lucky as you did.  I’ll go check on her and have her brought down here for observation and testing too.”

“Shit, she’s gonna love that, man! She’ll never speak to me again,” moaned Clint as he got out of the elevator and walked into the sickbay.  Scott shook his head as he stayed in the elevator and pushed the button to return to the Promenade Deck where most of the staterooms were located.  As the elevator ascended he pulled out his cell phone and asked Captain Fisher which room Carla had been assigned and to send a crewman to meet him there.

*****

Mick Williams and Sam Waters flew the Bell 214ST Super Huey up the Harbor Freeway in response to Carl’s request for aerial scouting. They had been returning from dropping off five oil workers at the Chevron refinery and were pleased to see that Carl’s team had been able to make so much progress already in their mission to clear a path towards the city.  It looked like they had almost made it to the 405 freeway.  Then they got a troubling radio transmission from the ground.

“This is Carl Stiller calling the helicopter. We have a little problem down here.  A very large group of zombies at a hospital just noticed us and are heading our way.  I’m not sure if the Marines and fire trucks will be enough to hold them off for long, over.”

“Roger that, Carl,” replied Mick. “We’re almost on top of you now.  What do you want us to do?”

“Whatever you can,” Carl replied. “The Commodore said something last night about using helicopters to lead zombies away from people. That might help, but we are already engaging the fast movers. See if you can help us lure them away from the freeway.”

“Copy that,” Mick replied. “We’ll see what we can do.”  The helicopter flew over the little convoy of vehicles stopped on the freeway and Mick whistled as he saw the immense mob of undead running towards the intersection at the overpass where the Suburban was parked.  With the overpass obviously damaged and in danger of collapsing completely, there was no place for the SUV to escape, except to turn around and go back down the onramp. However, Mick was shocked to see Carl turn towards the zombies and accelerate straight for them instead. 

The Suburban reached close to 30 miles per hour before it hit the first zombie. Blades welded onto the front end sliced the thing in half and the Suburban continued to pick up speed as it tore into the mob. Mick was speechless but Sam said, “Holy shit! Look at that crazy bastard! Is that what he calls engaging them?”     

Mark Argus and his son Jake were riding in the back of the chopper along with two Marines serving as door gunners. They had mounted M-240 machine guns in slings stretched across the open sliding doors on either side of the cabin. Everyone was leaning out to watch as Mick circled above the Suburban.  They were all incredulous, disbelieving what their eyes showed them, as Carl drove the SUV straight through the mob of zombies, leaving a bloody trail of slashed and mangled bodies in its wake.  

Mick brought the helicopter down to less than 50 feet above and behind the Suburban and instructed the gunners to open fire on the horde.  Hundreds of 7.62 millimeter bullets, many of them tracers, lashed out into the teaming throng of zombies. Some of them were headshots, but only because of the law of averages. In such a target rich environment it was virtually impossible not hit a zombie with almost every shot, especially on the side facing the hospital, but most of the bullets maimed more than killed their recipients. The Suburban charged ahead, making its own path through the horde and Mick marveled at Carl’s luck and skill as he kept control while driving over so many body parts.   

*****

“Hang on,” Carl said for the umpteenth time as he plowed through another cluster of zombies. Heads and torsos repeatedly struck the chain link armor covering the windshield.  Carl was really putting his handiwork to the test and it showed.  Already there was a long crack in the windshield and Carl knew that it would spider web the safety glass if this kept up much longer.  He was swerving to avoid the abandoned and wrecked vehicles on Carson Street and to avoid the densest clusters of zombies, but it wasn’t always possible to do both and the former took priority.  He was pretty sure that if he could get past the hospital he could lure most of the zombies away from the freeway.

Carl’s plan faltered halfway down the long block between Vermont and Normandy.  Busting through another crowd of zombies he was confronted by a tangle of cars that blocked the entire width of Carson Street.  He slammed on the brakes and tried to come up with another plan.

“There’s a street on the right,” yelled Karen. She had been strangely silent during the previous 30 seconds of carnage.  Perhaps she simply knew better than to distract him, unlike Gus who was alternating between calls of encouragement and terror.  “Turn right!” Karen demanded.  Carl did, knocking half a dozen zombies down in the process.  The little street took them into a small residential development.  “Turn right again!” Karen shouted and Carl obeyed, glancing in the rear view mirror to confirm that a solid mass of zombies was hot on their tail.

This road quickly wrapped to the left and Carl was burning rubber as he took both turns.  Nonetheless, he had time to notice that they were driving past nice little single family homes with well kept yards, picket fences, and quite a few cars still parked in the driveways.  Only a few zombies appeared ahead of them and Carl felt a moment of compassion and regret as he wondered if there were still any survivors holed up in the homes lining this street.  If so, he was leading an army of the undead onto their block.  Thankfully, it was a short block and the road turn left again.  A moment later he was at the intersection with the road he had just turned off of.  His only choices were to turn back towards the hospital or continue towards Normandy Ave, since it was a T intersection, but up ahead he could see that the road ended in a cul-de-sac.  “You’re taking us in circles, Blade,” Carl complained.  She shot him a scathing glare and appeared about to give an even more scathing rebuttal, but was interrupted by the radio.

“Great move, Carl” said Mick Williams. “I thought you were a gonner for a minute there, but you really threw those zombies for a loop!  Just keep going straight ahead. There’s a left turn before you reach the dead end.  It wraps around and will bring you out on Normandy. The road looks pretty clear from there.”

Carl shook his head, gave Karen his best ‘oops’ smile, and hit the gas. Glancing left before leaving the intersection he noticed that most of the zombies were following the others down the loop that he had taken, while only a few had noticed the SUV was right in front of them a short block away.  This was one of the best examples he had seen of their herd mentality at work. He let his foot off the gas and paused, contemplating the seemingly endless stream of zombies that poured down the road from the hospital and turned to follow the path the SUV had taken around the loop.  A quick glance in the rearview mirror revealed the leaders of the pack approaching at a jog from the other end of the loop.

“Why are you stopping?” asked Gus. “Let’s jam out of here!”

“Not so fast,” replied Carl, but he did release the brake and let the Suburban start moving slowly forward again. “I think we need to play this the same way we did at Big 5 and yesterday at the bridge. If we move just fast enough to stay in front of the leaders, I think that most of the horde from the hospital will follow us.”

“And you think that’s a good thing?” asked Gus skeptically.

“It is if we want to keep those zombies off the freeway and clear them out enough to use those access ramps as an escape route for refugees,” Carl said with conviction. “We should lead as many of them as far away as possible and then lose them before returning to link up with the rest of our group.” Carl was slowly accelerating to about 15 miles per hour now to keep his distance from the zombies chasing them.

“What if we run into a traffic jam? Or another dead end?” asked Karen, playing Devil’s advocate.

“The helicopter can scout for us and even help to herd the zombies where we want them to go,” replied Carl simply.  It made enough sense that Gus and Karen nodded in agreement and the plan was set. “And I’m glad you insisted on coming along, Blade,” he added with a smile. “How are your vocal cords feeling? I think we can put your zombie lure to good use now.”  

*****

Scott approached Carla’s stateroom with only a hint of apprehension. Clint had looked fine to him and Scott found it difficult to believe that his friend could be spreading the Super Rabies virus aboard the ship.  In fact, he was more concerned about venereal diseases based on Clint’s promiscuous behavior in ports of call over the past year. He was also more than a little embarrassed to have to tell Carla that she needed to join Clint’s quarantine in the sickbay.  He had only met Carla briefly on several occasions since she transferred from the
Expiscator
to the
Sovereign Spirit
, but he had gotten the distinct impression that she was a willful and prideful woman who was determined to make the best of her situation during the zombie apocalypse. Quarantine would not be part of her plan.

Scott paused outside Carla’s door and glanced up and down the companionway. He was happy to see Craig Felling, an engineering mate, hurrying to join him.  Craig was a big man with a steady temperament and was a good choice to escort Carla down to sickbay. However, it was Scott’s responsibility to break the news and do his best to convince her to go willingly. With that in mind he gently knocked on the door. 

There was no immediate response, so Scott rapped a little harder and called out, “Carla? It’s Scott Allen, can you come to the door please?” He waited a few moments, but didn’t hear any response, except for what sounded like a dull thump. “Are you okay in there?” he asked. Still no answer, but Scott thought he heard some sounds of movement within the room.  He reached into his pocket, withdrew his master keycard and motioned Craig to stand aside as he swiped the card in the lock slot. “Carla?” Scott asked again as he slowly opened the door.

   The bed was unmade and there was a terrible stench in the confined space of the cabin. It was bad enough that Craig took an unconscious step back into the hallway as Scott raised his hand to cover his nose and mouth. He was trying to make sense of the scene and smell when Carla launched herself out of the bathroom, the entrance to which had been hidden by the open door.  She clawed at Scott as he backpedaled into the hall.  Then he tripped over Craig’s foot and fell back on his ass, throwing Carla off and inadvertently into Craig who yelled in fear and pushed her back towards Scott.  It was a major cluster fuck. Scott rolled over and tried to crawl away far enough to regain his feet. Craig, realizing that he had thrown Carla back on top of Scott, reached down to pull her off again: he was almost in time.

Scott knew the meaning of true terror when Carla bit through the seat of his pants. As Craig pulled Carla in the other direction Scott tore away from her bite, leaving part of his pants and a little flesh in her teeth. This maneuver was unfortunate for Craig because the newly turned zombie was then able to take a bite out of his upper thigh before he threw her down the hallway. Scott and Craig exchanged horrified glances for an instant before both of them turned to face the zombie named Carla. 

Scott cursed himself for not wearing his pistol aboard the ship this morning, but he was wearing his safari vest. As Carla gathered herself to attack them again, Scott withdrew a telescoping baton from a vest pocket and snapped it open to full length with a flip of his wrist. Before he could use it however, Craig let out a blood curdling battle cry and charged Carla with murder in his eyes. He grabbed her head in both of his large hands and twisted, oblivious to her fingernails raking his face, until there was an audible crack and Carla’s head rotated unnaturally. She stopped struggling as her spinal cord snapped, but her jaw kept gnashing, trying to take another bite out of Craig. He threw her body down in disgust and proceeded to stomp on her head repeatedly with his size fourteen boots.  He didn’t stop until Carla’s jaw was completely torn from her cracked skull. Then he looked ready to cry as he came to grips with the implications of his own wounds.

Scott didn’t blame him at all. He felt the same way as blood soaked into the seat of his pants and trickled down his leg. The physical pain was minor compared to the mental anguish of knowing that his life was now measured in hours and minutes, instead of years and decades. All the money in the world, along with the ship and all of his toys, became meaningless in that instant. It was a crushing blow to his psyche and he wanted to reject the hopelessness of his plight, but it only took a moment to realize that it would be impossible to amputate his buttocks.  The infection was probably making its way into his torso already. There was no brilliant solution, no hope and no cure.  This was it.

He realized suddenly that he wanted nothing more than to spend his final hours with Michelle and Billy. There was so much he needed to tell them, so many things that had been left unsaid. He needed them to know how much he loved them, but more than that, he needed to spend the remainder of his time ensuring that they would survive and that the plans he had set in motion would continue without him. It was only that sense of purpose that kept him from being overcome by total despair.

“Come on, Craig,” he said gently but firmly. “Let’s get down to sickbay. Someone else will have to clean up this mess.”  He was referring to Carla’s body, but realized that his statement went far beyond such minor details. Craig just stared at him with tear filled eyes. Scott thought the big man might lose it and lash out for a moment, but then his eyes fell, he nodded and they both turned towards the elevator.