02 Flotilla of the Dead (16 page)

“Da, vee know dis Commodore Allen from ze TV.   It izz goot to meet a man of vision and action.”  He paused and continued in what sounded like Russian, to the obvious relief of Dr. Ivanovitch who had appeared hard pressed to follow the introductions.  Nancy Epstein picked up the translation smoothly.

“Captain Volstock says he is in full agreement with your evaluation of the crisis and your decision to secure the vital supplies in this port.  He likes the idea of making a safe zone here and was happy to learn that you have organized your survival flotilla for all the survivors who have sought refuge on boats.  He says that we are boat people too, and we should all stick together,” Nancy completed her translation within seconds of Captain Volstock’s final word.

“That’s music to my ears,” replied Scott with a smile and watched Nancy translate his words simultaneously into Russian.  “I think we can all play important roles in the creation of the Terminal Island Safe Haven and that by working together we can make a much more functional survival community here than any of us could achieve on our own.”  Captain Volstock nodded agreement.  But Larry Shields cleared his throat to make a comment.

“That all sounds fine and dandy, Mr. Allen,” interjected Shields while Nancy continued translating.  “But what will you want from us and what can you really offer us?  I mean this is our base here.  We have good fences around our compound and I’ve already made plans to improve our security here.  So why should we want to join your flotilla?  Wouldn’t that mean placing our ships under your command?”

“Not exactly,” said Scott as he evaluated the motivations of the man confronting him.  “Let’s start with what we can offer you.  One of the first things we will do is secure the narrowest part of the Navy Mole, almost a mile north of here.  No zombies should ever get closer to you than that.  Secondly, we’ll deliver containers full of food and other supplies for stockpiling on the Mole and you will have access to as much of it as you need.  Thirdly, we are already preparing some commercial fishing boats that should soon start delivering fresh fish on a regular basis.  And perhaps most importantly, we will provide an armed and armored defense force to protect you from any threat, and I don’t just mean zombies.  This port will be a target for looters and even pirates, especially now that it’s being featured on the news.  And unless I’m mistaken, you don’t have a lot of firepower to defend yourselves, do you?”  Shield’s grimace had deepened while Scott spoke, but he was forced to shake his head in agreement. 

“As to what we will ask in return,” Scott continued.  “It will be whatever you can contribute to our common survival, but nothing that you can’t afford to spare.  For example, I assume that your crew includes some electrical engineers and mechanical engineers?” Several nods confirmed his assumption, so Scott continued, “They could be of great assistance in getting the old Terminal Island Power Plant running again.  Just one of the generators there could provide more than enough power for all of us here on Terminal Island and the Port of Long Beach.  That would remove a lot of pressure from the shipboard power sources that we have to rely on now and give us a lot of options when it’s time to re-start industries like canneries or refineries. 

“Your ships are also full of global communications gear and control centers that could help augment our organizational capabilities.  I don’t see how your space launch systems would come into play in the short term, but you might have the only operational launch system left in the world.  That could be extremely valuable in the long run – which is another reason for us to protect you.  But for now, I think that the scientific and technical brain trust in your organization would be the most valuable contribution you could make to our collective efforts.  We’re going to face a lot of challenges as we try to restore a pocket of modern civilization here.  So the long and short of it is that your scientists and technicians can be assigned truly meaningful projects, if they choose to help us.”

“Your sales pitch is excellent,” said Captain Knight of the
Odyssey.
  “But what about deployment of our ships?  Will you want to decide where we go?”

“That’s a very perceptive question,” Scott replied.  “Especially in respect to your vessel, Captain Knight.  I must admit that I can envision a scenario where the
Odyssey
could become the mother ship of another safe haven of boat people.   It has the potential to become a mobile island with the infrastructure required to support hundreds of people.  Of course I would never try to make you do that without your consent, but that’s the use that comes to mind.” 

“It does make sense,” agreed Captain Knight. “And, if we aren’t going to be launching any rockets for a while, I’d prefer to make myself and the
Odyssey
useful instead of just hiding out here on the Mole.”

“And what about the
Cape Inscription
?” asked Captain Crenshaw.  “What use do you envision for us, Commodore?”

“Your ship is quite versatile and could be put to many uses,” replied Scott.  “The most obvious would be transporting supplies to other safe havens.  Unlike most modern container ships, the
Cape Inscription
has her own cargo cranes.  So you could unload entire containers onto piers, wharfs, barges, or other ships.  Her ro-ro ramp will also allow us to drive big-rigs with cargo containers on and off in appropriate harbors, although there aren’t many of those around here, aside from San Diego.  And that poses another potential problem.” Scott paused to consider his next words carefully.  “Your ship is technically subordinate to the Navy, not the Coast Guard or this Flotilla.  We’re more than happy to give you some productive work helping us save lives and establishing safe havens, but I’m afraid that once the Navy remembers you’re up here they might have their own ideas about what to do with your ship.  And they will probably remember sooner than later, now that GNN is interested in us.”

“That’s a good assumption,” Captain Crenshaw agreed.  “What do you suggest we do?”

“Actually,” said Scott.  “I think we should preempt such a move by making you more valuable to them here than if they took you away from us.”

“How’s that?” Crenshaw asked skeptically. 

“I suggest we load the
Cape Inscription
with food and send it to Coronado to supply the military and refugees there,” said Scott.  “We can promise to make regular supply runs, every week or so, to keep them from starving – at least as long the stockpiles here last.  I’d like to share it with people around Los Angeles too, but I don’t know how to get it to them yet.  However, I do know there are tens of thousands of people who need it down in San Diego and there are good piers on Coronado where you can unload it.  If we play our hand right, we might even get the Navy and Marines to send some stuff back this way to help us too.  For example, we can offer to take some skilled people from the refugee camps, if they agree to work on Terminal Island.  Perhaps they would even send some combat engineers to improve the defenses and zombie barriers here, as soon as they are confident that Coronado itself is secure.”

 “That’s a great idea, Commodore,” said Captain Crenshaw. “Let’s do it!”

“How soon can your ship be ready to sail?” asked Scott.

“We were on ROS-5 status when Z-Day came,” explained Crenshaw.  “That means we were supposed to be ready to sail with five days notice.  We made most of the preparations over the past week, so we can sail as soon as you get the cargo to us.  We’ll be sailing shorthanded though.  Our stand-by crew strength is only nine men.  Ordinarily we have thirty when we go active, but nine will be plenty for quick runs to San Diego and back, or to any local destinations along the coast of Southern California.”

 “Excellent,” said Scott.  “Now, if there are no objections, I’m planning to move the
Sovereign Spirit
over to the Navy Mole later today.”  He paused to give the Sea Launch people a chance to speak, but only heard Nancy translating, so he continued.  “We’ll start to build the zombie barrier right away and the Marines will take care of any zombies that are already out here.  That will be our first contribution to your security here, with no strings attached.  So, when we are done here, you can all go back to your ships and discuss your options.  I hope you’ll want to work with us, but the decision is yours.  And let me reintroduce Mr. George Hammer.  I have appointed him Acting Harbor Master of the areas secured by the Flotilla on Terminal Island and the Port of Long Beach.  He will remain here with his family on my Yacht, the
Expiscator
, which he will be moving around the port as necessary to supervise recovery operations.  But I expect him to establish a headquarters here on the Mole as a secure stronghold.” Everyone looked over to George and gave approving nods.  They understood that George would be the voice of the Flotilla when Scott was away.

There was a brief discussion in Russian before Nancy turned to Scott and said, “Your plans are interesting and you seem to have noble goals.  We may need to discuss some of the details, but in general, you can count on the assistance of the Sea Launch organization.  I will see about getting together some electrical specialists to have a look at that power plant, if you can provide them with an armed escort.”

“Absolutely,” agreed Scott without hesitation and Sergeant Major O’Hara nodded agreement.  “We’ll provide Marines in armored vehicles to pick up your people at about seven o’clock tomorrow morning, if that suits you?  And you are all invited to visit us on the
Sovereign Spirit
any time you like after we reposition her on the Mole and secure the area.” 

“Thank you, Commodore Allen,” said Nancy and the others echoed her sentiments in various languages.   

“On the contrary, thank you, and please call me Scott.  It looks like we’re going to be neighbors.”  There were smiles and handshakes all around before Scott and his delegation returned to their helicopters.

*****

Scott went to his suite on the
Sovereign Spirit
to change clothes and prepare for his interview on GNN.  He wasn’t the nervous type, but Scott was beginning to feel a few butterflies as he contemplated the enormity of what he was doing and how he would explain himself to the world.  And it would be the world watching him, or as much of it as still had access to satellite television.  What he had to say was not going to be popular with everyone, especially those who were responsible for telling people to wait calmly for the authorities to come and rescue them.  Nevertheless, Scott refused to be part of any plot to deceive the public.  He would speak his mind and let the chips fall where they may.

While he was getting ready to leave Captain Fisher organized the
Sovereign Spirit’s
move from the Cruise Ship Terminal next to the
Queen Mary
to the Navy Mole on Terminal Island.  The whole process took less than an hour.  They left two HUMVEEs and a LAV-25 with one squad of Marines to defend the
Queen Mary
and the
Reliable Burden
.  Then they cruised slowly around the port and entered the old Navy Basin.  Scott watched the scenery as his ship passed the Sea Launch facilities and ships and turned to back into the berth next to the
Cape Inscription
.  Once the ship was secured there Scott went back to his preparations for being a talking head on television.  It was all rather intimidating.

At 4:00 pm he kissed Michelle goodbye and went up to meet Mick Williams, Mark Argus and six Marines on the helicopter pad.   The Marines would be his armed escort, ostensibly in case the helicopter had to land in hostile territory, but also because Scott was afraid that the GNN studios might be hostile territory of a different sort.  When they took-off from the ship Mick flew a course that cut across the Palos Verdes Peninsula and followed the 405 freeway north towards West LA. 

“Look at all those cars,” Mick commented and pointed down at the solid bumper-to-bumper traffic jam, interspersed with multi-car pile-ups, that had brought normal transportation to an abrupt and permanent halt on Z-Day.  “What a fucking mess.”

“Yeah,” agreed Scott.  “That’s the real
Carmageddon
down there.”  He didn’t smile, but he was thinking about the unfounded fears of total gridlock when the 405 had been closed for a weekend last summer.  As it turned out, the city did such a good job of convincing everyone how bad it would be that most people decided to stay home and the traffic was lighter than at any time in recent memory.   Z-Day had been entirely different.  Apparently everyone had needed to get somewhere when people started turning into zombies.   Scott wondered how many of them had actually become zombies while driving a car.  That would certainly explain the numerous accidents and why cars had been abandoned in the middle of the road, causing even worse traffic jams.   It must have been Hellish for those stuck behind cars from which hungry zombies emerged.  He swiftly put those thoughts away and turned his focus to the rapidly approaching skyline of West LA. 

The GNN studios were a few blocks east of the 405 on Wilshire Boulevard.  Scott was easily able to identify the building, not only from the GNN signage on the side, but also from the two helicopters that circled it, waiting for their turn to land on the single helipad.  Scott and Mick exchanged glances as the GNN news helicopter lifted off and flew past them on a course that would take it towards Long Beach.  A black Hughes 500D quickly took its place and unloaded two passengers.  Then the little helicopter lifted off and flew a few short blocks to land on top of the Federal Building at Wilshire and the 405.  The other helicopter had already swooped in to land on the GNN building.  It looked like an LAPD Astro Division ghetto-bird.  Mick put the Super Huey into a wide circle pattern and they watched as several figures exited that helicopter too.  It took off again and flew off towards downtown LA. 

Scott nodded to Mick and they swooped in to land on the same helipad.  Scott looked down at the street and almost flinched.  Wilshire Boulevard and the side streets were teeming with thousands and thousands of zombies.  The regular helicopter flights from the roof of the GNN studios must be attracting them like ants to honey.  It was wall to wall Zombieland down there.   Scott suppressed a shudder as he hoped that the ground floor entrances were secure.