02 Flotilla of the Dead (15 page)

“I think the arm was quite enough, thank you,” said Clint with something approaching a smile.  He tried to lift what remained of his left arm for emphasis and winced in pain.   That was a very good sign, since zombies didn’t feel pain, but Scott still felt a tinge of irrational guilt for having been the one who performed the amputation.  It was only a passing thought that was immediately replaced by joy that Clint was still human.  Scott reached over and grasped Clint’s remaining hand firmly.

“You’ve still got another one,” Scott said with an effort at humor. 

 “Thanks to you, bro,” replied Clint soberly.  “I would have blown my own head off, if I had any bullets left.  You saved my life, man.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Scott dismissively.  “You’d have done the same for me.”

“Nah,” said Clint with a pained grin.  “I wouldn’t have thought of cutting off the arm.  I would have just blown your head off.”

“Well, now you know, in case it ever happens again,” said Scott matter-of-factly.  “So what do you think Doc?  Is he okay now?”

Grace Greenburg was standing back with a neutral expression on her face, taking notes on a clipboard.  She looked up and smiled, but Scott saw something deeper in her eyes.  Nevertheless, she nodded and looked down at her patient saying, “Your chances look good, Clint.  All the reports indicate that the transformation is total within twelve to twenty-four hours with even a minor infection, such as a small bite or a drop of contaminated blood in the eye or mouth.   You are past the eighteen hour mark now, with no sign of conversion.  But I need to keep you here, under restraints, for at least another day.  It’s not only to make certain that you are free of infection, but also to treat your elbow and make sure you don’t get any normal, but equally deadly, infections in your arm.  So you can plan on being in sickbay for at least a few days.”

“Okay, Doc,” said Clint reasonably.  “I don’t feel like doing much anyway at the moment.  I’ll be happy enough to sit here and count my lucky stars for a while.  I do feel a little hungry though.  Is there anything to eat?”

“Sure,” said Scott.  “I’ll have something sent right down.  What would you like?”

“Well,” said Clint.  “I have this craving for raw meat.”  Both Scott and Grace looked at him sharply.  “Just kidding,” said Clint with a laugh that turned into a cough.  Scott was glad to see he hadn’t lost his sense of humor.  Clint continued, “I think my mom would have prescribed some chicken soup with a side of macaroni and cheese.  Is that okay, Doc?”

“Your mother was a wise woman,” confirmed Grace with a smile. “I’ll send for it.”

“And is there anything to watch on that TV?” Clint pointed to the flat screen on the wall of the treatment room that was currently turned off.

“More than you might think,” said Grace with a genuine smile.  “A lot happened while you were sleeping.  Scott is famous now.  He did an interview on GNN and is scheduled to do another one tonight.”

“No shit?” Clint said with obvious interest.  “I’ve gotta see this!”

“I’m out of here,” said Scott quickly.  “Take care of him, Doc, and don’t fill his head with any crazy ideas about getting rich and famous.  It’s not what it’s cracked up to be.”

*****

The rest of the morning went smoothly as more containers of food were identified and loaded aboard the
Traveling Trader
.  A scouting mission from the
Stratton
also found five commercial fishing boats docked next to a cannery.  Plans were made to provide crews for the fishing boats and load up as much canned or preserved seafood from the cannery as possible. The Marines also made a quick sweep across Terminal Island in the two AAVs, killing over a hundred wandering zombies in the process, and positioned empty cargo containers as barricades on the bridges connecting the island to the cities of San Pedro and Wilmington.  The barriers would need to be improved eventually, but they would be enough to halt any major influx of zombies onto Terminal Island. 

Shortly after noon Scott met Captain Fisher, Sergeant Major O’Hara and George Hammer on the helicopter pad.  Mick and Sam were already there, doing their pre-flight inspections.  The six of them would fly to the
Cape Inscription
in the Super Huey.  Captain McCloud would fly there in one his Dolphins, along with an armed escort of four Coast Guardsmen.  O’Hara, with his M-4 carbine, would be the only armed Marine in their delegation.  Scott and the others would only wear side arms, but Scott brought his M-203 and web gear full of ammo to the helicopter in case they ran into any unexpected trouble.

Since they were ready to go ahead of schedule, Scott decided to take-off early and make a scouting flight around the area.  They all strapped in and Mick lifted off in a low level flight path over Long Beach.  There were still a lot of boats in the marinas, including many tied up on docks that remained secure from zombie incursions.  Some of the boats were probably occupied by survivors, but others were sitting there empty and unused.  Scott decided he would have a talk with George about gathering unused boats for future use by survivors who would undoubtedly find their way to this safe haven, especially after his interviews on GNN.  That thought reminded him that there were also several RV and trailer sales centers within a few miles of Long Beach.  Maybe they could organize a convoy to liberate dozens of motor homes and bring them back to parking lots inside the port.  The RVs had their own generators and everything.  With some of those he could set up a much better refugee camp than the Navy was providing on Coronado.  These thoughts were interrupted when Mick Williams began talking on the intercom. 

“Look down there, Scott,” said Mick.  “You see all the bleachers along the road down there?  As I recall, the Long Beach Grand Prix races were supposed to be held this week.  See how they had already blocked off a lot of the roads?”

“Yes,” agreed Scott.  “I think you’re right.  So what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that if we ever clear out enough zombies, it might be fun to take some of your sports cars over there and have our own race!” explained Mick.  Scott laughed, but he knew that Mick was totally serious.  Scott even took a moment to agree silently that it was something he would like to do, but it wasn’t realistic, so he changed the subject.

“Nice idea, Mick,” Scott said.  “But let’s stick to useful things for now.  Take us down the coast a couple of miles.  There’s a navy base there where they store bunkers full of weapons.  Don’t fly over it.  I don’t want to get shot down.  But let’s see if there’s any sign of life along the shoreline.”

“Okay,” replied Mick.  “You got it.”  He banked back out over the ocean and they flew past the manmade oil islands, named after the Apollo 1 astronauts who died in a fire during training; Island Grissom, Island White and Island Chaffey.  Now those islands were surrounded by hundreds of boats full of refugees and Scott could see people waving from the islands too.   Those islands had been the only zombie-free land in the area until the Flotilla arrived.  People from the smaller boats had set up camp on their rocky shores.  A mile or two past Island Chaffey they saw another small port surrounded by mostly undeveloped marsh land and dozens of earthen bunkers farther inland.

“That’s the Seal Beach Naval Weapons Center,” said Sergeant Major O’Hara.  “I’ve been aboard ships that stopped there to pick up ammunition before deploying overseas.  It’s a secure base, so it’s probably still manned and operational.”

“That’s what I thought too,” said Scott.  “I don’t want to bother them now.  Maybe it would be best if the Coast Guard were the ones to approach them, or you Sergeant Major.  But I want to make sure that we get on friendly terms with them, since they look like the closest organized neighbors to our new safe haven.”

“Good thinking, Commodore,” replied O’Hara.  “They also have enough naval weapons stockpiled there to arm a fleet, not to mention bunkers full of small arms and ammunition for SEALS and Marines.  Of course they won’t be eager to hand it out, and the Navy in San Diego might be coming to requisition a lot of it soon.  But you’re right to become friendly with them, if they let us.” 

“Okay,” Scott responded.  “Let’s keep that in mind.  Now we should head back to rendezvous with Captain McCloud for our visit to the Navy Mole.”

*****

 Scott’s Super Huey and the
Stratton’s
Dolphin flew in loose formation for the two minute flight around Terminal Island to the Navy Mole.  Everyone on the Huey was anxious to see it and the ships that Captain McCloud had described.  The Dolphin took the lead as they approached the tip of the Mole and slowed to about fifty miles per hour.  Still at an altitude of 500, the helicopters flew single file down the offshore side of the Mole. 

Scott was impressed by his first look at the Mole and the three ships docked there.  The strip of land looked to be almost 500 feet wide and it was over a mile in length to the narrowest point, where it was perhaps a football field in width. That was where Captain McCloud had suggested building a zombie barrier.  The Dolphin circled that spot to make sure Scott and his companions saw it, and headed back up along the inside of the Mole.   The water in the manmade harbor looked deep and Scott saw several empty piers, including the long fueling dock.  He also noticed that four sets of train tracks ran down the length of the Mole.  There was even a freight train parked on it now, with close to a hundred empty flat beds ready to be loaded with shipping containers.  That was something else to keep in mind. 

Of course it was the view of the ships docked near the end of the Mole that captured everyone’s attention.  First was a pier with a single ship tied up to it.  That had to be the
Cape Inscription
.  Painted Navy gray, it was over 600 feet long and had a smooth deck forward with a large superstructure near the stern.  She had a pair of cranes mounted near her bow that could load cargo containers or vehicles onto the deck.  What really made her different from most cargo ships was the big ramp that lowered at an angle from the starboard side of her stern.  That was the roll-on-roll-off ramp used to load and unload hundreds of military vehicles when they were deployed overseas.  It could be used on any typical cargo pier, but currently the ramp was raised partially to prevent zombies from boarding her. 

The other two ships were even more unique.  They were docked at the last pier on the Mole.  The one closest to the
Cape Inscription
looked like an oil platform and that is exactly what she had been, before she was almost destroyed in a fiery explosion and subsequently converted into a floating launch pad for rocket ships.  She was a giant catamaran, over 400 feet long and 200 feet wide with a big flat deck that served as the launch pad for rockets carrying communications satellites.  Her name was
L/P Odyssey
and she had put dozens of satellites into geosynchronous orbit since 1999.  The ship was a semi-submersible design, meaning that her two hulls could be partially flooded to bring the launch pad closer the water and provide excellent stability in the roughest seas.  In fact, she was rated to withstand winds of over 100 miles per hour and waves up to 100 feet.  The Navy Mole was her home base. 

The last ship in line, tied up next to the
Odyssey
, was the
Sea Launch Commander
, a purpose built mobile command and control center for the Sea Launch program that also served as the assembly facility for the rockets.  The ship was over 650 feet long with a superstructure crowned by numerous satellite dishes and domes.  She was home to an international crew of technicians and scientists who ran the Sea Launch program and her hull was packed full of technology and technologists that could be extremely valuable to the Flotilla, if they chose to join it. 

Mick followed the Dolphin as it descended to land on the open deck of the
Cape Inscription.
  There were helicopter pads on both the
Odyssey
and the
Sea Launch Commander
, but the meeting was scheduled to take place on the
Cape Inscription
.   Luckily there was plenty of room for both the Huey and the Dolphin to land on her deck.  Captain McCloud led their delegation across the deck to meet a group of five men and two women who were waiting to greet them near the superstructure.  Two of the armed Coast Guardsmen stood guard at the helicopters, while the other two served as escorts for the delegation from the Flotilla.

“Welcome back aboard, Captain McCloud,” said Captain Crenshaw with a smile, then turned his attention to Scott and the rest of the delegation to make introductions.  “I’m Captain Crenshaw and these are First Officer Flowers and Chief Petty Officer Brown of the
Cape Inscription. 
With us are representatives from our neighbors on the Sea Launch ships.”

One of the women, the younger and cuter one with blonde hair, nodded and picked it up from there.  “Hello, I’m Nancy Epstein with Sea Launch Corporate Relations and Chief Translator aboard the
Sea Launch Commander
.  This is Captain Boris Volstock, master of the
Sea Launch Commander
,” she indicated a heavy set man with graying hair and Baltic features.  “And Captain Philip Knight of the
Launch Platform Odyssey,
” referring to a tall, thin man with black hair and hawkish features.
 
“This is Dr. Ivanna Ivanovitch from the mission control team,” gesturing to a short middle aged woman with a round face and graying hair.  “And Mr. Larry Shields who’s in charge of the Sea Launch Base here on the Mole.  It’s great to see the Coast Guard back in port.  We have been completely isolated here and there is no sign of infection among Sea Launch personnel.  However, there have been many sightings of infected maniacs and we have sealed off our ships to keep them out.”

 “It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” said Captain McCloud, “although I’m sure we all wish it were under better circumstances.” He went on to make the introductions for his delegation.  When he got to Scott, who he had saved for last, Captain Volstock interrupted in a deep and thickly accented voice.