Voyage of the Dead - Book One Sovereign Spirit Saga (28 page)

A few minutes later they were all parked in front of the entrance to Big 5.  Carl noticed a fire hydrant and suggested that the Panther hook up a hose to it.  If there was good water pressure, it would be able to maintain a constant supply for its water canon to hold off any zombies that showed up while the rest of the refinery crew went shopping.  Then Carl drew his pistol and slipped the ice axe into his belt as he turned to enter the sporting goods store.

           
Chapter 9:  America’s Finest City

“Unlike its human counterparts, an army of zombies is completely independent of support.  It will not require food, ammunition, or medical attention.  It will not suffer from low morale, battle fatigue, or poor leadership.  It will not succumb to panic, desertion, or out-and-out mutiny.” 
                                 
The Zombie Survival Guide
(page 155) 2003

              San Diego was a war zone.  Smoke and flames billowed from numerous buildings.  Several of the high rises were already charred skeletons along the skyline.  The view from the Dolphin helicopter was breathtaking in more ways than one, but the zombie apocalypse was truly depressing.  Scott had spent more than ten years in San Diego, starting with his freshman year in university, until he met Michelle while celebrating completion of graduate school and moved north again.  The view should have brought back fond memories, but it didn’t.  This was not the city he remembered.   This was a living Hell.

            Captain McCloud had come through with flying colors, literally.  After confirming the authenticity of the letter of safe passage for the
Sovereign Spirit
, Captain McCloud offered the use of both of his Coast Guard helicopters for the rescue mission Scott had planned.  They were faster and much better armed than Scott’s helicopter, and they also had the advantage of IFF (identification friend or foe) transponders and official Coast Guard paint.  Captain McCloud had even ordered the pilots to tell anyone who asked that they were performing a high priority extraction mission at the direction of the Department of Homeland Security. 

            Scott was looking between the pilots, ready to point out the building they were going to.  He knew that their GPS would give them even better direction, but there was still nothing more certain than a pointed finger in his book.  That twenty story apartment building near East Village had been converted into a high density student housing complex last year.  Scott’s friend, Blain Ford, the entrepreneur behind the project, had kept the penthouse for himself, his wife Mandy and toddler son.  Scott’s single email exchange with Blain three days ago indicated that they were all safe, but trapped in the penthouse of the Swell Digs apartment building, which was crawling with coed zombies.  Scott had promised to do his best to rescue him and his family and told them to expect a helicopter extraction from the roof. 

            Captain McCloud had helped him keep that promise.  Barely an hour after McCloud left the
Sovereign Spirit
a message was received from the
Stratton
confirming the safe passage letter and asking Scott to come over with his rescue team to conduct the mission aboard armed USCG Dolphins.  Scott accepted immediately and asked Mark and Clint to gear up.  Then he placed a satellite phone call to the
Expiscator
and explained the situation to George Hammer.  He summed up the call by saying, “George, I’m sending the
Sovereign Spirit
north at full speed with the Coast Guard cutter.  You could keep up in the
Expiscator
, but I want you to stay back and follow with the slower boats.  Head for Long Beach Harbor.  We’ll go north towards Malibu to make some rescues and then come back to meet you.  I’ll try to get you a Coast Guard escort too.  If Long Beach isn’t safe, go to Catalina Island.  We’ll find you.” 

That had been three hours ago.  Now the two Coast Guard helicopters were sweeping over Balboa Park and descending towards the Swell Digs student apartments.  They had made their approach to San Diego over Mission Bay, instead of San Diego Bay, to avoid overflying the Navy and Marine fortifications on Coronado and Point Loma.  The view of Ocean Beach, Mission Beach and Pacific Beach hadn’t changed too much, at least not from a thousand feet up and a mile or two away, but Scott knew that these were no longer the fun hang outs for surfers and college students that he remembered from his youth.  The moving bodies that he could see on the streets were all turning and reaching towards the helicopters, just like the zombies in Cabo. 

Seaworld seemed to be full of refugees and surrounded by zombies.  Not a good place to take the kids today.  Scott caught a glimpse of people and tents inside the San Diego Zoo as they overflew Balboa Park.  The people in the zoo were probably still normal.  The walls and fences built to keep wild animals in would do equally well for keeping zombies out.  Scott wondered briefly how giraffe and panda bears tasted.  He had a feeling the people trapped in the zoo would find out soon enough, if the zombies trying to get in didn’t find out how the people tasted first.

The Dolphin helicopters had a distinctive whir to their engines and rotors.  They literally whined as they swooped down on their destination.  The Swell Digs building had a relatively flat and unobstructed roof.  It might not be built to hold the weight of a big helicopter, but Scott planned to deploy and recover from a hover.  He made a final check of his web gear and weapons.  This morning he was packing an M-203 combination assault rifle and grenade launcher.  His ammo pouches were full of thirty round magazines and the web straps across his chest held twelve grenades for the launcher stuffed into ammo loops with another six rounds in a pouch on his belt, along with his reserve .357 magnum Desert Eagle and three spare magazines for the handgun.  It was about forty-five pounds of firepower that he was glad to have, but hoped he wouldn’t need to use.  

They leveled out at less than 500 feet over the city and Scott could see crowds of infected zombies swarming along the streets below.  He instructed the pilots to circle the Swell Digs building once at the penthouse level.  That should be enough of a signal to get Blain and his family moving towards the roof.  As they circled the building Scott saw movement on the top floor balcony.  It might have been Blain, but he couldn’t be sure because the figure had darted inside immediately.  Hopefully that meant he was headed for the roof.  Scott gave Mark and Clint the go sign with his thumb and they all rose and prepared to hop down onto the roof of the building. 

The roof was clear of obvious threats.  No zombies or armed people awaited their arrival.  The lead Dolphin pulled into a hover three feet above the roof as the escort chopper continued to circle.  Scott, followed closely by Mark and Clint, hopped down onto the roof and knelt until the helicopter rose again.  They moved cautiously but swiftly towards the door to the roof access stairwell.  It was probably locked on the inside, but it could always be opened from the roof.  Scott slung the M-203 over his shoulder and drew the Desert Eagle, chambering a round and holding it at the ready.  The stairwell would be too confined for accurate use of the assault rifle and the attached grenade launcher was far too indiscriminate, especially with possible friendlies coming up the stairs.  So Scott held his pistol ready as he reached towards the door knob.  Mark and Clint stood far enough back that they could use their rifles effectively.  The door opened towards the roof and as soon as Scott turned the handle it flew outwards into his shoulder, forced open by an unstoppable press of bodies.

A solid mass of zombies spilled out of the stairwell onto the roof.  This was his first close encounter with the fiends and it was even more terrifying and repulsive than Scott had expected.  The smell alone could have knocked him flat, if it hadn’t been for the adrenaline that rushed through his bloodstream.  He staggered sideways to clear the doorway and heard Mark and Clint open up with rapid semi automatic fire as the heads of the first zombies began to burst.  Scott recovered quickly and added his own pistol fire to the carnage.    Bodies began to pile up in front of the door as the zombies behind pushed the dead ones out en mass. 

 It was obvious that Blain and his family were not in the stairwell, at least not if they hadn’t become zombies already, so Scott stepped further away from the door and pulled the M-203 off his shoulder.  “Stand clear!” he yelled as he cocked the grenade launcher.  It was loaded with a 40mm shotgun round.  When he pulled the trigger the weapon kicked hard and sent over 40 ball bearing sized pieces of buckshot into the doorway full of zombies with a spread that took them from waist to head height.  Heads and limbs were literally torn away from the bodies and the entire mass of meat was forcibly thrown back down the stairwell.  Clint had pulled out a regular fragmentation grenade that he tossed down the stairwell after them.  It detonated with a deafening thud and Mark ran forward to close the door before any more zombies could make it up the stairs. He had to drag zombie carcasses out of the way so it would close.  Clint stepped up to help him as Scott loaded another buckshot grenade into the M-203.  “Clear!” he yelled again and sent another massive blast down the stairs.  Nothing could advance against that kind of firepower!  A moment later the bodies were out of the way and the door slammed shut.  They all paused to catch their breath. 

“Holy shit!” exclaimed Clint with a breathless and slightly hysterical pitch to his voice.  “Did you see that shit, man?  That was fucking crazy!”  Mark tried to laugh it off, but Scott could tell that he was a bit shaken too. 

“We won’t be going down those stairs,” said Scott unnecessarily.  “Let’s break out some rope.”

“Look over there,” Mark pointed.  “Isn’t that a window washing platform?”

“It sure is,” agreed Scott.  “Good idea, but I think that all the power is out in the building.”

“We should be able to at least lower it manually,” Mark suggested. “And we’re only going down one floor, right?”

“That’s where the penthouse is,” confirmed Scott.

“Then we can use the window washing platform to get them outside and pull them up from there with the rope,” Mark reasoned.

“Let’s do it,” Scott agreed, then paused to look at his friends.  “But you two better get all of the blood from the bodies you moved off your hands first.  Don’t even think about eating, smoking, or putting your fingers anywhere near your mouth until we get you disinfected back on the ship.  Use your canteens to wash your hands and then throw away the rags.”

“Good idea,” said Clint.  “I was almost nervous enough to bite my fingernails.  You think this blood would turn us into zombies?”

“Probably,” Scott said seriously.  “Remember, don’t let it get anywhere near your mouth, eyes, or any open wounds.  Neither of you got any cuts, did you?”  They both shook their heads and continued to wash the blood off their hands.  “Good,” Scott continued.  “I’ll take a look at the platform and see if it will work for us.”  As he walked towards the edge of the roof he heard a buzz from the handheld radio that the Coast Guard had provided them.

“Mr. Allen?  Are you all okay down there?”

“Yes,” replied Scott.  “It got a little hairy for a moment there, but we have the situation under control with no injuries to our team, over.”

“Glad to hear it.  But I have to remind you that we will not extract anyone who is injured by any of the infected.”

“That is understood,” confirmed Scott.  He was glad he had told Mark and Clint to wash off all the blood.  That alone might have resulted in their being left behind here.

The window washing platform did have a manual lever to lower it in case of power failure.  As soon as Clint and Mark got there Scott explained that he would go down on the platform while the others waited to pull him back up.  Scott removed the safety pin from the decent lever and slowly pulled the handle.  The platform squeaked and started down slowly.   As soon as a foot or so of the windows were visible Scott arrested the descent.  He knelt down and squinted through the tinted glass.  He wanted to keep the platform higher than any zombie could reach if it came charging at him through the glass.  But there was no sign of any zombies inside.

At first he couldn’t see much at all, but then there was movement across the room.  He tapped on the window and a figure approached cautiously.   As it got closer Scott began to recognize the face.  It was Blain, but he didn’t look too good.  His eyes looked glazed and sunken.  Was he a zombie?  No, his look changed as he caught sight of Scott’s face and he gave a half-hearted grin and slight wave of his hand.  He looked a bit burnt out, but he was not a zombie, yet.  Scott banged harder on the window with the butt of his pistol, but the glass was tempered and didn’t break.  He motioned Blain to stand back and fired a .357 hollow point into the glass.  It shattered and fell away from the building towards the street below.  Blain came forward again and asked, “What the heck are you doing, Scott?  You blew out my window!”