Omega Days (Book 2): Ship of the Dead (9 page)

“It’s an island,” said Xavier, “a fortress with high walls and the biggest moat you could imagine.”

They were all gathered in the bar, filling every seat, standing at the edges or sitting on the floor in front. Xavier stood at the head of the gathering, and behind him, assembled like supporters at a press conference, were Evan, Angie, Rosa, and Vladimir while Carney stood slightly to one side. Those from the firehouse—Margaret, Jerry, Elson, and Sophia—were seated apart from the big hippie family across the room. Between the groups sat Darius and the pregnant couple from the patrol boat, Peter Dunleavy, the elderly couple with the husband suffering from MS, and a mob of kids. Other folks kept to the edges. In the back, TC nursed a hangover, aided by some of Rosa’s aspirin. Calvin sat at a table with all five of his children. He looked aged.

It didn’t escape Xavier’s notice that the different groups sat among their own. Despite their smiles and courtesy, actual trust wasn’t on the table just yet. If they were to survive, if they went along with his plan, they would have to work together. His job was to make that happen.

“We can’t stay here,” the priest continued. “It isn’t safe, and there’s no food. We can’t live on pretzels and canned chili, and we’re running out of water. That thing will have everything we need.”

Mercy, a woman from Calvin’s Family, asked, “Won’t the food be spoiled, like everyplace else?”

“Not if it still has power,” said Evan. He had immediately seen the brilliance of Xavier’s idea and was already all in. “The Discovery Channel did a series on aircraft carriers, I watched it. There’s enough food on board to feed thousands of men for months.” He looked at their numbers. “It could last us years, if necessary.”

Xavier nodded. “Food, high walls surrounded by water so nothing can get on board. There have to be military units out there somewhere, and the carrier will have communications.”

“Which we don’t know how to operate,” said a man named Tommy, another of Calvin’s Family.

Standing with his arms folded, Vladimir said, “It will have JP-5.” When he got blank looks, he said, “Fuel for the Black Hawk.”

Brother Peter, looking miles more presentable than when he arrived, stood and said, “If the government is still standing, they’ll want that thing back. If we’re on it, we’ll be rescued.” There was some murmured agreement, and the minister quickly sat back down. Subtle seeding, nothing more just yet. Of course he didn’t actually believe a word of what he’d said, but that wasn’t the point, and in his career as a televangelist, it never had been.

“We should just stay here,” a woman named Lilly said, “keep scavenging like we always have.”

Angie shook her head. “It’s not safe here. You’ve seen the dead, there’s more every hour.” She glanced at Calvin, who looked ashen. “The fence line is compromised in dozens of places.”

“And fences,” said the Russian, “are no assurance of safety. I have seen this.”

“We’ve essentially trapped ourselves on a peninsula,” said Angie.

“What we really need to talk about is the dead,” said Jerry, his mass perched on a bar stool. “That ship is going to be infested. Let’s talk about that.”

That started multiple, heated conversations as people considered a ship packed with walking corpses.

“Why can’t we just get back on the road?” said a hippie named Tuck. “Most of us survived that way for weeks, didn’t we?”

A big man with the unlikely name of Little Bear shook his head. “We’d never get off Alameda.”

“What about Alcatraz?” offered Eve, a woman seated next to a seventeen-year-old named Stone. “It’s an island; there could only be a handful of drifters there.”

Stone shot a response back immediately. “No food, no power.”

Darius, the sociologist, addressed his comment to the leaders at the front of the room. “You said the aircraft carrier is just sitting out there, and leaning a little, as if it’s damaged. What if the reactors are damaged too, and it’s leaking radiation?”

A voice like a bowl of dust spoke from the side: Skye, sitting in a chair with a bottle of water clenched in both hands. She looked at the gathering with one eye brown and the other glazed. “Do you think that’s more dangerous than staying here and being eaten?”

There was silence then, as her words sank in.

“There can only be so many on board,” she said, “with no way for fresh ones to follow. Each one we kill lowers their numbers and brings the odds more in our favor.”

“Unless we’re the fresh ones!” Darius laughed nervously and looked around. “You don’t all think we can do this without some of us dying?”

Skye’s voice was a rasp, and she looked right at the professor. “We’ll take care of the fresh ones too.”

Angie looked at the young woman and wondered what hell she had been through, out there alone.

“Why not go back to the firehouse?” Larraine, the old woman who required oxygen, offered. “There will be fewer of them, and Angie stocked it up nicely for us.”

Angie shook her head sharply. “The firehouse is out; it’s completely overrun, and the supplies there would last a group this size a week. There’re more dead in the street than ever before. We saw it when we were coming in.” No one had asked any questions about her hunting trip.

“Angie’s right,” Brother Peter offered. “We probably couldn’t even get to that firehouse now. But I’m worried about how much longer we can afford to stay
here
. The question should really be about
when
we go, not if.” Angie threw the minister a supportive nod, and he smiled back in humble thanks. The images in his head, however, were dark and featured Angie being left for the hungry dead.

More questions followed, most of the debates directed at one another instead of the leaders.
Good,
Xavier thought,
we’ve got them thinking.

A man named Dakota asked, “How do we get on board? Won’t it be dark?”

This question unnerved Eve, and she asked, “How will we find our way once we’re in?”

“We’re not soldiers,” said a skinny hippie called Juju. “We don’t know how to
attack
anything. We stay alive by running, and we only kill drifters when we have to.” There were nods at this.

“What happens if we fail?” a man named Freeman asked quietly. He was seated near Calvin and was about the same age as his leader. “Who goes, who stays, and who decides?”

“And what do we do with the kids?” Sophia wanted to know, the little orphan Ben seated on her lap.

Elson, the lawyer from the firehouse, stood and cleared his throat. “For what it’s worth, I think it makes sense, because I can’t think of a better option. It scares me, make no mistake. I’ll go, I’ll volunteer right now, but I’m afraid.” He looked around at them. “If we do this, people are going to die. We shouldn’t fool ourselves. The alternative is doing nothing, and I think in that option we
all
die.”

This sparked another half hour of debate as people assessed the pros and cons. Xavier looked at them, at their rising enthusiasm, and wondered if he was talking them into their own destruction. Evan seemed to sense this and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Finally, Big Jerry raised his voice so it would be heard above the others. “Let’s talk about what we’d be up against. How many do you think there would be?”

Xavier looked at Rosa, who stood. “I’m Navy,” she said. “But I’ve only been on a carrier once, and only for a few days. It’s tight, a maze of passageways and doors, and it’s easy to get lost. Aircraft carriers have about six thousand personnel on board. It’s a floating city.”

There were gasps and frightened looks, people shaking their heads.

“If the air wing left the ship like they do when they’re heading home,” she continued, “the numbers drop to about forty-five hundred. We would have to clear it to be sure we’re safe, and that means every corridor, every room, root the dead out of every possible space, and that’s going to be dangerous.” She glanced at Xavier. “He’s right about the supplies; it will have everything you could ever need. I wouldn’t worry about the reactors; there’s plenty of safety measures for them, and if one was damaged they’d shut down automatically. The carrier will have fuel for the helicopter, comm gear, weapons, and if the system is still working, it can make its own fresh water. Most importantly it has power, and a state-of-the-art medical unit and pharmacy. That also means the freezers should still be running, and that equals meat, frozen vegetables, food that’s far better for us than what we’ve been eating.”

Calvin stood slowly at his table, hands resting on the shoulders of the two boys sitting on either side of him. “I’ve heard enough. I need a home for my kids. This place isn’t safe, the road’s not safe. I’m in.” Every one of his extended family looked at him with trusting eyes, and with that, more than half the people in the room signed on.

“Like I said before, we’re going to need a solid plan,” said Carney. “And it has to happen sooner rather than later. The dead aren’t going to leave us alone.”

Rosa nodded. “The carrier I was on had a swimmer’s platform at the stern. We can get aboard there, and if not, we can climb up through the aircraft elevators. The platform would be better. I’m thinking the barge stays behind to evacuate anyone who doesn’t go, in the event the dead show up in force, and we’d need one more boat for the assault.”

Carney snorted. “Doc, if boats were that easy to find, me and TC would be in Mexico by now.”

Plenty of nodding from the room, but then Xavier told them what he had seen at the boatyard in Mission Bay where Rosa had found him: at least one boat sitting up on a storage rack, shrink-wrapped in white plastic as owners did when they put a boat away for the season. He suggested that the boatyard would surely have the equipment needed to get it into the water.

Rosa nodded. “We’ll make a trip over and find out.”

Tuck, one of Calvin’s men, stood. “All those vehicles we left on that Oakland pier are full of supplies we could use, and weapons too. We’ll need the firepower.” He volunteered to go get it, and a few others stood up with him.

“Another boat trip,” said Rosa, nodding.

“Excuse me,” Sophia said, moving to sit with the kids on the floor in front. “Couldn’t he just fly people in on the helicopter?” She looked at Vladimir. “It must have some fuel left in it, right? You all said it’s a short distance.”

The Russian smiled. “I do not know if I could even get it off the ground. And if I could, the fuel would probably run out halfway there, and
whoosh
!” He waved his arms. “One helicopter and one pilot on the bottom of the sea. You would not wish to be on such a dangerous aircraft, would you, young lady?”

She blushed and shook her head.

He grinned. It didn’t make his homely features any more handsome. “But when we have fuel, I will take you on the first ride.” He winked, and she added a smile to her blush.

Xavier smiled too.
We’re still okay if we can flirt with one another,
he thought to himself.

“How do we figure out who goes and who stays?” asked Elson.

“It would have to be voluntary,” Xavier said. He looked at Vladimir. “You would stay. You’re the only one who knows how to fly, and we can’t risk the loss.”

“Or the medic!” a woman shouted. “I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”

Rosa shook her head. “I would have to go. I’m the only one with even a little experience on a ship like that, I’ll be driving one of the boats, and I’d need to be there if someone got hurt. I’ve been in combat before; I’ll be okay.”

Voices rose at that. “No!” said Lilly. “You’re the closest thing to a doctor we’ve seen since this started. We can’t risk you getting hurt.” Others were shouting their support.

“You should be close to the kids,” Juju added.

Rosa held up her hands. “Listen to me, please. There are dangers inside that ship other than the dead. Live munitions, plenty of places to trip and fall or crack your head open. And there’s no telling what condition the ship is in, but it’s clearly been damaged.” She looked at the gathered faces. “People in combat get hurt in lots of ways, and I can be there to help them. Maybe keep them from dying and turning.” Now she looked only at the women and softened her voice. “If your men are in there, wouldn’t you want that?”

The statement appeared to hit home, and argument on the issue died off.

There were many other details to work out, they knew it, but by now they were all in. Xavier listened to their many conversations and saw that they were happy to have a common goal, feeling like they were in charge of their lives for the first time in a long time. He also knew, having been in combat himself, that they were like any other green recruits heading to war: excited about a great adventure, with absolutely no idea of the nightmare that was waiting to meet them. Those who had spoken had been right; people would die, perhaps all of them. He had no question about where the responsibility for those deaths would fall.

Xavier didn’t dare utter a prayer yet, but risked a question.
Lord, am I doing the right thing for these people?

God had no reply.

The harbor patrol boat bounced across the bay, Rosa at the helm. Although there was no power for the pumps at the yacht dock, they found the access port for the buried tanks and found it still held fuel. Using a hand pump, they topped off the boat before heading out.

On board with Rosa were Xavier, Angie West, the inmates, Darius, and two of Calvin’s hippies. Everyone was armed. Angie wore twin shoulder holsters, one side carrying her uncle’s automatic, recovered from Maxie. She’d had no interest in taking the .32 hideout that had been used to murder Bud. She also carried her Galil, a combat shotgun, and a harness of ammo pouches for both. Carney had distributed what riot gear he had, and most of them now wore black body armor and helmets. Only he and TC had biteproof gloves.

During the ride across the bay, TC sat close beside Darius, moving closer every time the man edged away. Eventually the professor rose and moved to the other side of the boat. TC lifted his helmet visor and blew the man a kiss. Darius looked away quickly, his hands clenched into shaking fists.

If Xavier was right and there were usable boats in a storage rack in Mission Bay, they knew the fuel tanks would have been drained. It was almost certain the boatyard tanks would hold nothing but vapor, considering the waterborne exodus Rosa had witnessed. For those reasons they had filled a pair of red plastic jerry cans with gas and strapped them down on the deck of the patrol boat. A heavy tow rope was on the deck in case the fuel wasn’t enough.

There was little conversation during the crossing, only the rush of wind, the growl of the motor, and the rough hush of water on fiberglass. It was overcast, the sky a flat, even shale, a muted sun lurking somewhere behind it. All eyes were fixed on the dead city looming in the west.

Fires had taken their toll, and now many of the once impressive towers were blackened and riddled with great patches of broken glass, looking at a distance like trunks of worm-eaten trees. A few had collapsed from the intensity of the fires and leaned against one another at angles, while others stood without any glass at all, only gutted shells. No traffic or trolleys crawled the famous hills and boulevards, no bustling throngs of tourists and locals packed the sidewalks or rode along in tour buses. It was a city of shattered lives and shadows, heartbreaking in its emptiness, and yet impossible not to look upon.

They all knew San Francisco was by no means unoccupied. It now crawled with something else.

“Coming in,” called Rosa, slowing the patrol boat as it neared the docks and commercial boatyards where she had rescued Xavier only yesterday. Pairs of binoculars went up, and eyes scanned the shore.

Xavier looked at the dock where he had been prepared to make his stand. It was empty. Then he checked the water, expecting bobbing, snapping heads, until he remembered Rosa’s lecture on corpses. They would have sunk, and without gases inside them, they would not be coming up. Were they down there still? Trudging through the silt and slime among the pilings, moving slowly through the murky water? Or had the tide carried them away?

“Drifter,” said a hippie.

They looked to where the man was pointing at a lone figure wandering along the wharf, moving toward a large restaurant on the right. “I’ve got another one,” said Carney. A thing in the orange coveralls of a city trash handler stood near a small icehouse where fish were unloaded, staring out at them and swaying side to side. The coveralls reminded Carney of his former life, and he clenched his jaws without realizing.

They watched for another ten minutes, the engine idling as the boat rocked gently. Nothing else moved on the waterfront or among the trees beyond, the green area separating the high-rise condos of Mission Bay from the shore. If anything haunted the boatyard, it was out of sight. Rosa brought the boat in and they tied up at a dock.

“Like we discussed,” said Xavier, and everyone nodded. Rosa would stay with the boat and cast off. The rest would go ashore, splitting into smaller groups if necessary. Angie carried her walkie-talkie, and the other one sat on a map ledge over the patrol boat’s wheel. The shore party set off, moving in single file across the planking, the only sound the sloshing of water against the pilings and the distant call of gulls.

The thing in the orange coveralls moved toward them immediately, and they slowed to let it come, watching it stagger out onto the dock. The bearded hippie named Little Bear, a huge man in a Grateful Dead T-shirt, cargo shorts, and hiking boots, advanced in front of the group to meet it. He carried one of the long-handled limb-cutting tools they had scavenged, but the saw had been replaced with a sharpened blade from a pair of hedge clippers. Little Bear waited until the thing stumbled into range, and then he lunged forward like a castle pikeman. His impromptu polearm caught the thing in the mouth, and he thrust, the blade exploding out the back of the creature’s head. It went instantly limp, and Little Bear let it sag to the side, slipping off his weapon and dropping into the water.

Carney nodded. “You look like you’ve done that before.”

Little Bear shook his head. “First zombie. But I worked a summer on a farm when I was a kid. It’s kind of like forking a hay bale.”

Angie gave him a pat on his broad back as she moved past, her Galil up and ready. TC brought up the rear, the visor of his helmet up as he frequently turned to watch behind them. Xavier told Angie where he had come from and ended up, telling her about the mob of corpses that had emerged from the boatyard, and where he thought he had seen the boat racks.

There were corrugated metal sheds used for workshops, small warehouses, fenced-off service yards, frozen storage buildings for fresh seafood—the spoiled reek had thankfully passed by this point—charter and sales buildings: lots of places for the dead to hide. Darius let out a shriek and almost triggered his shotgun when a mottled gray-and-tan cat burst from between two buildings and streaked across their path, but TC jerked the weapon away from him in time.

“Let me hold that for you, sweetheart,” he said softly, winking. Darius took a deep breath as if about to say something, saw the smile that didn’t match the menace in TC’s eyes, and turned away.

They quickly found the place Xavier had spoken of near the back of the boatyard, a warehouse-style construction of heavy metal racks. As the priest had seen, there was not only one vessel resting on the top level, wrapped in white plastic, but another one beside it.

They were canoes.

Everyone looked at the priest, and he felt the heat in his face. He didn’t bother trying to rationalize that he had been on the run, pursued by the dead, and had only caught a glimpse in the twilight. He felt like a fool.

“Let’s attack an aircraft carrier with a canoe,” TC said, laughing. “What a fucking waste of time.”

“Let it go, TC,” said Carney.

The younger inmate sneered at the priest. “Good job.”

“Uh, before we rush to judgment, folks,” Little Bear said, pointing. Beyond an empty, fenced yard where boats would have been stored on their trailers was a row of trees with a service road just on the other side. Sitting on that road was a flatbed eighteen-wheeler tractor-trailer. Perched upon that, strapped down for transport, was a thirty-two-foot black-and-white Bayliner boat. It too had its deck shrink-wrapped in white plastic.

Xavier glanced skyward and shook his head.

“You got lucky,” muttered TC, as they all walked toward the prize.

“There must be something wrong with it,” said Darius. “Why would it still be here?”

Angie shrugged. “People were in a hurry to get out. They probably didn’t see it back there.”

Carney shook his head. “It would have been hard to miss. They probably couldn’t figure out how to get it off the truck and into the water, which is going to be our problem too.”

“It probably doesn’t have an engine,” said Darius.

“Hey, Mary Sunshine,” said TC, putting an arm around the professor’s shoulder, which the man immediately shrugged off. The inmate put a gloved finger to his lips. “Sweetie, shhh . . .” he whispered.

Xavier hadn’t missed the tension between the two men, or the younger inmate’s suggestive behavior. “They have to do this all the time,” the priest said. “There must be a big forklift around here.” He stepped between Darius and TC and looked at the professor. “Can you go with Little Bear and see if you can find it?” The professor nodded and headed toward a warehouse with Little Bear and a hippie named Lou at his side.

“I’ll give them cover,” said TC, winking at the priest and turning to follow.

Xavier caught hold of the inmate’s arm. “How about you stay and cover us while we inspect the boat?”

TC gave him a crooked, knowing grin, then jerked his arm away and trotted after the three jogging figures. Xavier felt a simmering anger as he watched the man leave, and yet short of shooting TC in the back, he realized there was nothing he could do. Angie and Carney were headed toward the tractor-trailer to see if the professor’s predictions of doom and gloom were correct, and after a moment the priest followed. They made sure to check among the trees and in the shadows beneath the trailer for lurking zombies.

Climbing the tail of the trailer gave access to the molded Plexiglas stairs at the stern of the boat, and a quick slit with a blade created a flap in the plastic through which they could enter. It was warm inside the shrink wrap and a little claustrophobic for everyone but Carney. He was long past having any issues with tight spaces. The inmate pulled out a small flashlight.

The Bayliner smelled new. Its large deck offered white upholstered seating, and a fiberglass radar arch curved overhead. The flooring was polished teak, rich with its own aroma. Below, the Bayliner featured spacious forward and midships berths, a good-sized head, and a modern galley with stainless steel fixtures, a fridge, microwave, and stove. It was all trimmed in teak as well. An entertainment cabinet in the main compartment was packed with high-end audio equipment and an LCD flat screen.

“What the hell does something like this cost?” said Carney, running his fingers over the polished wood.

“New?” said Angie. “Probably a hundred thousand. I’m not sure.”

The inmate shook his head.
For a boat,
he thought.

They went topside again and began cutting away the plastic, letting in the day’s gray light. For a moment, each of them expected to find the eighteen-wheeler surrounded by the hammering dead, but they were alone other than a few birds chirping within the nearby trees.

“These things drive like a car, right?” said Carney.

Angie nodded. “Sort of.”

“So it’s going to need a key,” the inmate said, and the other two stopped and stared at him, then each other.

“Shit,” said Angie.

They began searching the cockpit area, spreading out across the deck, opening compartments and looking inside elastic pockets on the backs of the seats. Carney jumped down to check the cab of the truck, just as the crack of gunfire broke the silence, and the biggest forklift any of them had ever seen raced toward them across the boatyard.