Convoy 19: A Zombie Novel (23 page)

Chapter 37

The U.S.S. Ronald Reagan was filled to capacity with military personnel and civilian refugees. While sailors went about the business of crewing an aircraft carrier, soldiers collected in groups for mission briefings. Civilians meandered through gray corridors and in makeshift refugee camps. The atmosphere was eerily reminiscent of the U.S.S. Boxer.

To Miguel and Pam, their new home felt cold and empty.

After finding their quarters, they had wasted no time in locating one another. They then took to exploring the Reagan with vigilance. They had made the mistake of letting their guard down once, and they would not make that mistake a second time. Being familiar with the interior of this floating city would be essential in a crisis. The Reagan was the heart of the fleet, and it seemed unassailable…but so had the Boxer.

Few words passed between Pam and Miguel while they explored the bowels of the ship. They had little to say, and nothing they could do could fill the absence left by Carl. They could only attempt to appease the nagging sense at the back of their minds that danger lurked just out of sight…and distract themselves from the sorrow that weighed upon their shoulders.

When they were confronted by a door labeled “Chapel,” they had felt compelled to enter. Pam turned the handle to the hatch, opened the door, and she and Miguel stepped inside.

“What the…” Miguel took in the image of a small wood-paneled space covered with black graffiti. It appeared that every inch of the room – walls, floor, ceiling, and even pews – was defaced with black marker. Ornamental insets designed to resemble stained glass windows were scrawled with ink.

“Who would do such a thing?” Pam was not particularly spiritual, but the disrespect to a place of worship felt wrong. She could understand people’s anger, but it took intense dedication and a great deal of time to deface the chapel so thoroughly.

“It will take days to clean this.” Miguel had not practiced Catholicism in quite some time, but he too was disturbed by the state of the chapel.

“It’s not what you think.” A familiar voice interrupted Pam and Miguel.

The two soldiers turned to Captain Sheridan who stood in the chapel doorway.

“Yes, sir.” Pam and Miguel snapped to salute their commander.

Sheridan saluted back, and then he resumed a relaxed posture. “Look at the writing.”

Miguel crouched to get a closer look at some of the writing on the floor.

Pam walked over to a nearby wall and began mouthing what she read. “Audrey Laurent – wife, sister, mother. Private David Read. Karen Monaghan – saved my ass a hundred times. Officer Simon Futato – beloved father… names?”

“Just names,” Miguel confirmed.

Captain Sheridan stepped into the chapel and closed the door behind him. “Just names, and some words to remember.”

“The dead.” Pam came to the conclusion. “These are the names of the dead.”

Sheridan nodded. “Soldiers, civilians… I’ve come to understand that people have been coming here since the beginning of the apocalypse and memorializing their loved ones. The candles have run out. The flowers are all gone. Now, people just find a spot and write a name down.”

Miguel was filled with a newfound reverence for the chapel around him. “There must be thousands…”

“Tens of thousands,” Sheridan interrupted. “When the chapel runs out of space, the names will overflow into the hallway outside. When I found this place, I considered what it would take to record every name in here and have a plaque made. I realized quickly that the notion was absurd.”

“It would take years.” Pam ran her fingers over the names as she read them.

“Cap…” Miguel snapped out of his daze first. “It was my suggestion that we break quarantine and rescue civilians from the Boxer. Specialist Grace was just following my orders.”

“No, sir!” Pam whirled around to face Miguel and Captain Sheridan. “I assume full responsibility for my insubordination. I felt that we were acting in the accordance with the wishes of Officer Harvey and accept all consequences of
my
actions.”

Captain Sheridan sighed. “I’m not here to punish you or lecture you on insubordination, soldiers.”

Pam and Miguel exchanged a glance before Miguel spoke. “What’s next, sir?”

“I’m not sure.” Sheridan reached inside his breast pocket and retrieved a pen and a wrinkled piece of paper. “It will take a few days to reassign everyone from the mainland to new duties. Enjoy the time off while you have it.”

Pam and Miguel did not know how to respond. Being left with no responsibilities, all they could do was endure their grief. Being reassigned immediately was almost preferable.

Captain Sheridan unfolded the paper he had taken from his pocket and examined it with a sorrowful look. He laid the paper down on a pew and began writing.

“What’s that, sir?” Pam asked. She and Miguel moved closer to their commander.

“A list,” Sheridan replied.

The two soldiers read over Sheridan’s shoulder. It was an extensive list of names… names they recognized. At the very bottom of the list was the name, “Carl Harvey.”

“A list of our dead,” Miguel confirmed.

Sheridan finished writing, stood, and turned to the last surviving members of the final convoy mission into San Diego. “A list that is far, far too long.”

Pam and Miguel nodded in agreement.

Sheridan walked over to a corner of the room that had not yet been completely covered by black writing. He held his list up and Pam and Miguel could see that the Captain had already begun transcribing much of his list onto the chapel wall. He added the names of the soldiers that had been lost on this last mission, and he paused before adding the final name. Instead, he handed the pen to Miguel.

Miguel took the pen. He found a space on the wall and wrote the rank, “Sergeant First Class.” He then handed the pen to Pam.

Pam finished the name, “Carl Harvey.”

“Sergeant First Class Carl Harvey.” Captain Sheridan nodded at the words in approval.

“A great friend.” Pam placed her hand on the wall as if channeling the spirit of Carl.

“A great commander.” Miguel placed his hand next to Pam’s.

“You will be missed.” Captain Sheridan joined Pam and Miguel in a long moment of silence.

Epilogue

Dr. Henry Damico stood behind his wife Kelly with his arms wrapped around her waist. They stood on the deck of the U.S.S. Ronald Reagan. The blue ocean was slicked brown with garbage that floated in all directions. The subtle stench of refuse and rot carried on the gentle breeze, and the warm sun gradually cooked the pool of human waste that collected in tangles throughout the fleet. Here and there, a ghoul splashed and floundered about…rising and falling helplessly with the waves.

“So, this is the fleet.” Kelly looked out toward a tightly packed group of nearly a hundred small civilian boats, many slung together with rope. A large cruise ship passed near the floating slum, sending a series of waves through the makeshift settlement like a rolling earthquake.

“This is the fleet,” Henry answered.

A moment of silence passed between them, and then Kelly responded. “I’ll take this over a DDC any day.”

Henry hugged Kelly tightly as he reached up to wipe a tear from her eye.

“There are a lot of problems.” Henry answered after a few more minutes of silence. “We’re running out of food. There isn’t enough skilled labor. The military is deserting. We have a long journey ahead of us, and not everyone is going to make it.”

Kelly nodded. “But some will.”

“I hope.” Henry replied.

“You don’t have to be out here.” A familiar voice called out from behind Henry. The Admiral stepped into view next to Henry and Kelly, and he looked out over the ocean with a sigh. “When we get moving, it won’t stink so much.”

“I didn’t feel it was right to not watch.” Henry answered.

The Admiral didn’t reply, but he clasped his hands behind his back and gazed out over the fleet.

“I’m sorry about the situation on the Boxer, Ed. Don’t punish Sergeant Ramos or Specialist Grace. I tied their hands.” Henry had been dwelling on what had happened on the Boxer. His hypocrisy had been eating at him since his return to the Reagan, and a part of him felt like he did not deserve to be breathing. So many people had died aboard ships that had been quarantined and abandoned under his policies.

Admiral Edward McMillan chuckled. “What am I going to do, Henry? Demote the last two veterans of a unit that has saved probably half the civilian lives in this fleet? Should I court-martial them? Throw them in the brig and guard them with soldiers? Soldiers that are just itching to desert to the Horizon Pacific, so they can booze and whore away the rest of their lives? I don’t have many good soldiers left, Henry. Their punishment will fit their crime.”

“What’s that?” Kelly asked, hopeful that Miguel and Pam would not face a penalty too serious. She had seen the burden on their souls at San Onofre. Carl’s burden had been too heavy for him, and when he had died…that burden had passed to Pam and Miguel.

“I will pin a medal on their chests and give them a few days off, but after that, they’re going right back to the same job they’ve been doing for the last year,” McMillan replied, “and Henry… he gets the same, only no medal… and no vacation.”

Henry nodded silently.

The Admiral stepped close to Henry and spoke softly. “It’s
really
easy to get drunk on power, Henry. Be mindful of when you’re using your power for others…and when you’re using that power for yourself. It’s one thing to lose good people, it’s another thing for good people to stop being good because it’s easier than making the hard choices.”

Henry nodded. He had seen the line of corruption blur, and he understood how people—particularly people in power—could cross that line.

Kelly squeezed her husband’s arms around her, and the three of them stood quietly observing the calm ocean around them.

“Have you seen this?” The Admiral produced a full-color flier from his pocket and handed it to Henry.

Henry held the flier out so his wife could read it.

“There is a solution!” Kelly read out loud. A caption in large red letters hung over an image of a mushroom cloud. Below that was additional text; “We’ve lost too much. Let the Mexicans know you’ve had enough. Write your representative and tell them to support the nuke!” The last three words were in bold, glowing text.

“What the hell is this?” Henry crumpled up the flier and threw it into the ocean. “This isn’t political.”

“I found that in a loaf of bread that came from the Horizon Pacific.” The Admiral frowned. “Someone’s playing a public image game…”

“Allan Nostrum,” Henry sighed. “Sick.”

“He’s smart, Henry.” The Admiral replied. “Sick and smart.”

An enormous black object emerged from the ocean depths, its smooth steel hull breaking the surface of the green-blue water. Two circular cracks emerged in the submarine’s hull as missile hatches prepared to launch their deadly contents.

“I didn’t feel it was right not to watch, either.” McMillan said.

The warship floated in the water silently for a few moments, and Henry felt almost as if it was hesitating. Then, with a high-pitched thunderous boom, two missiles streaked vertically out of the launch tubes into the air…leaving a smoke trail as they went. In less than a minute, they vanished into tiny specks. They were headed southeast to deliver a deadly payload.

“We’re supposed to be at war with the undead… not each other.” Kelly broke the silence. “It’s sad that this was the only solution we could come to.” Her tone was not one of regret or moral reproach, but one of sad acceptance that the world they now lived in was such a dark and horrible place. Their survival might require the world to grow darker, so that it might eventually grow bright.

“Sometimes things get so fucked up there aren’t any good solutions.” Admiral McMillan stated absently.

The End

Read on for a free sample of The Dark Times: A Zombie Novel

Prologue

The year 2018

Life can turn on a dime, and sometimes the turn has already come and gone before we even see it coming.

“Ron, I think I found a movie for us to watch. Hurry up. It looks like it’s already started.”

Leah put the remote control for the television down on the couch and took a sip of her Bloody Mary. The shaft of celery periscoped from the top and jabbed her cheek. The cocktail was the perfect complement to the bag of popcorn she had pulled from the microwave only minutes before. The saltiness of the popcorn brought out the richness of the spicy tomato blend that cracked the ice in her cup.

“Yeah? What is it?” Ron poked his head from the kitchen’s entrance into the living room.

She put her feet on the coffee table and gazed above her blue toenail polish. “It’s a zombie movie. I don’t know the name of this one. I don’t think we’ve seen it. You’re missing it.”

“I’m making a sandwich—be there in a minute.” Ron hurried back to finish up before the guts started to fly. He tightened the lid on the mayo, gathered the provolone and ham, and stuck them in the fridge. Before he closed the door, he plucked out a bottle of Yellow Jacket Porter from the top shelf, but needed something to open it with. “What’s happening?” He opened a drawer, fumbled through measuring spoons, and carefully parted knives until spotting the onyx handle of the bottle opener.

“The zombies are wandering out of a cemetery and are walking the streets.”

“Zombies don’t walk, honey. Zombies shamble, or lurch, or something.” Ron opened the pantry door and scanned the choice of chips to go with his sandwich. After sampling a bag of corn chips and deciding they were stale, he opened a new bag of sour cream and green onion potato chips. “Are the zombies eating anybody yet?”

“No—hey, this looks like it was filmed downtown.”

“Downtown, here in Killeen? Why would they come to this town to film a zombie movie? This is small town Texas. Zombies on the beach would’ve had more appeal. It can’t be our downtown. Must be some other place. Downtowns in most cities look alike.”

He opened the bag of chips and crunched one down, then popped open the beer and chased the chip with a gulp. He folded the top of the chip bag and clamped on a clothespin to keep it fresh before placing it back in the pantry.

“I can’t hear you. I’m trying to listen. I don’t think it’s a movie.”

Ron stepped into the living room with beer and plate in hand. He stopped next to Leah and took another chug of beer. “That’s Channel Ten News. See, that’s Meg Gallo. Did you change the station?”

“No. Those zombies are coming out of Memory Gardens Cemetery. You know, by that big Baptist church. There was some audio in the beginning but now it’s out. Meg looks scared.”

Ron sat on the couch next to Leah and set his beer on the coffee table.

So much for watching a good horror movie, he thought. 

The camera panned away from Meg, the reporter. 

“Hey look, some homeless guy just walked out of the alley and those zombies over there are about to get him.” He took a bite from the sandwich. With his mouth half full, he said, “Wow, look at that. They’re on him like a swarm of locusts.”

The video feed abruptly stopped. The screen stared back with obsidian emptiness.

“Oh, my God. What’s happening? Ron, what should we do?”

“Uh, find another channel to watch?” Ron drank more beer and belched.

Leah shoved his shoulder. “I’m serious. You just saw what happened. What’s going on? What are we going to do?”

“You bought that? You thought that was real?” Ron chuckled.

“What else am I supposed to think? It was on the news.”

“I’ll give you a hint. What’s today?”

“Tuesday.”

“No, the date?”

“The first.”

“And, what month is it?”

“April.”

“Annnnnd, what is April first famous for?”

The tension gripping Leah’s face relaxed. “Oh, April Fool’s Day.”

“That’s right. The dead return to life—April Fool’s.” Ron made a victorious smirk.

“But that didn’t look like a joke. It looked so real.”

“Do you remember one year when the news did the fake story that the Liberty Bell was getting a sponsor and was going to be renamed the Taco Bell Liberty Bell? What we just watched was the same type of thing. That news story looked like a prank gone south. They were having audio problems and probably pulled the plug from the live feed and the station wasn’t prepared for it. The zombies looked real enough, but when that guy conveniently stepped out of the alley to become dinner, it looked like a set up to me. They needed a better script.” Ron picked up the remote and changed the channel. “Pulp Fiction. I love this movie. Let’s watch it.”

Leah mindlessly reached in the bag and picked out some popcorn. She mechanically chewed the kernels, seemingly oblivious to what was on the television screen.