02 Flotilla of the Dead (17 page)

Before they touched down Scott said, “Mick, you stay here with the Marines and don’t take off without me, no matter what anyone tells you.”  Then Scott turned to the six armed Marines and asked, “Do you understand?  Your orders now are to defend this chopper and wait for me to return.  If anyone gives you any shit, just tell them that deadly force has been authorized to hold and defend the LZ.  And I’m serious about that.  I don’t care what anyone else tells you.  Unless they are in your direct chain of command, you will follow my orders and hold this LZ.  Got it?”

“Yes sir!” responded Sergeant Washington with a wide smile.  “Nobody comes or goes from this LZ until you say otherwise, Commodore.  We got your back, sir, just like you had ours when you rescued our families.”

“Thank you, men,” Scott said as he opened the left side cockpit door.  “Come on Mark, let’s face the music.  Just bring your side arms and don’t let them disarm you.  I’ll handle the shit they are bound to throw at us about that.”

“Charlie Mike,” Mark answered with a grin.  “Lead on, fearless leader.”

“Shit,” muttered Scott as they walked towards the door to the stairwell, where several men were waiting to meet them.  “Let me do the talking, at least until I totally fuck things up.  Then your sense of humor might actually save us.”  They both smiled as they approached the hard faced men who were guarding the stairs.

“Are you Mr. Allen?” asked the big man who seemed to be in charge of this welcoming party. 

“Yes, I’m Commodore Allen,” replied Scott.  “We’re here to appear on the evening news with Fox Rusher.”

“Yes, sir,” said the big guy smugly.  “But not wearing those guns you aren’t.” 

“In that case, we’ll be leaving now,” said Scott smoothly. He turned back towards the helicopter and said, “Let’s go Mark, we’ll let these idiots learn the facts of life for themselves, or interview me on the radio again.”  He knew that GNN had invested a lot of airtime into promoting the interview tonight.

“Now hold on just a second Mr. Allen…uh… I mean Commodore,” said the big guy who had probably been a UCLA football player or a bar bouncer in Westwood last week – possibly both. “You can’t just leave!  Everyone is waiting for you downstairs.”

“Okay then, let us pass,” replied Scott as he turned back towards the welcoming committee.  “And let me give you a little advice, boys.  Don’t go anywhere unarmed anymore.  Don’t trust anyone to protect you.  Don’t make trouble, but don’t take shit.  That’s my new motto.  Words to live by, or die by if you don’t take them seriously.  Are we clear here?”

“Yes, sir, uh, Commodore,” replied the obviously confused giant who was not accustomed to being unable to intimidate people.  “Please wait just a moment while I clear this with the studio producers downstairs.”  He went into the stairwell and picked up a house phone mounted on the wall.  He turned away from Scott and spoke softly but urgently, then listened to a lengthy reply.  After several more whispered exchanges he hung up and turned back to face Scott and Mark.  “Okay then, you can bring your handguns, but no machine guns, or explosives.  And they are going to deploy police marksmen down there who will shoot you dead if you draw your weapons inside this building.  That’s the deal.  Still want to be on TV, Commodore?” He finished with a sneer.

“I
never
wanted to be on TV, young man,” replied Scott.  “I’m too busy killing zombies and saving survivors, thousands of each I might add, to be interested in TV interviews.  But this network and some people in the government are making my job harder.  So I’m here to set the record straight.  Now show us where we’re supposed to go for this interview.  Oh, and another word to the wise, don’t fuck with my helicopter or its crew.  They have orders to use deadly force to hold this LZ until I return and those are US Marines with a lot more firepower than you are packing.  They’d blow the top off this building before they let you take my chopper or force them to leave.  Is that clear?”

“Yes, Commodore Allen,” replied the bouncer with more than a hint of respect, mixed with fear and what sounded like guilt in his voice.  His reaction triggered a warning in Scott’s subconscious. 

“And there’s another thing you should tell whoever you were speaking with on the phone, son,” Scott said softly.  “I left orders to flatten this building if we don’t make it home tonight.  My flotilla has the weaponry to do it too.  So tell them not to fuck with us.”  That was a total bluff, but Scott felt it was the right move.

“Just follow me, Commodore,” said the bouncer in a suddenly shaky voice.  They descended two flights of stairs and exited onto the studio floor.  A studio handler approached them immediately, full of profuse expressions of gratitude for coming, and tried to get Scott to come to the makeup room.  Scott declined and explained that the makeup artist on the
Sovereign Spirit
had already handled that.  It was true.  Michelle had applied some makeup that she thought would give the best impression.  Scott had agreed to it only because he had a sneaking suspicion that GNN would want to make him up to look like a bad guy.  The handler seemed abashed, but Scott remained adamant.  Mark just stood there and looked intimidating enough to shut the idiot handler up.

They were escorted to the Green Room, which was actually brown in this studio, and waited for the appointed time for Scott to appear on the set.  Mark had a troubled look on his face when they sat down and he said, “Listen bro, I’ve got some bad vibes.  These people don’t seem very friendly.  Are you sure you want to go through with this interview?”

“I have to, Mark” Scott answered.  “I know they won’t be very friendly to me, but I’m here to reach all the people around the world who need to hear our message.  I know these candy asses will try to make me sound like a lunatic, but I have to keep my calm and tell it like it is.  Charlie Mike.  You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, buddy,” answered Mark.  “Do what you have to do.  Even if it’s calling in an airstrike on your own location – copy PBR Street Gang?”

“Copy, Almighty” said Scott with a semi-genuine smile.  “But I want you to keep your eyes open for our escape route, in case this so-called interview turns into a witch hunt.”  Clint nodded solemnly and they returned to the waiting game.

*****

Almost everyone aboard the
Sovereign Spirit
had gathered in the Grand Salon to watch the GNN evening News.  Similar gatherings took place on the
Queen Mary
, and every ship and boat in the Flotilla that had access to satellite TV.  Others listened to it on XM radio.  When the program started there was an air of excitement and tension throughout the Flotilla. Their interest was shared by millions of other viewers around the world.

“Welcome to the GNN Evening News, this is Fox Rusher bringing you continuing Breaking News of the Zombie Apocalypse.  Tonight we have some extraordinary guests gathered here to discuss the ongoing crisis and what you should do to protect yourselves.  Many of you watched the amazing mid-air interview yesterday with a man who calls himself Commodore Scott Allen.  He offered some advice that is contrary to most of the survival directives issued by the government.  Tonight he will defend his positions against those expressed by federal officials and the Mayor of Los Angeles, live on GNN.

“Let’s begin by introducing you to Scott Allen.  Welcome to the GNN studios Mr. Allen.  Can you start by telling our audience how you came to be known as a commodore?  You’re not really a commodore, or military officer, or government official of any kind are you?”

Scott had expected this type of attack and was happy to be able to field it in his first response.

“No more than you are, Fox.  I’m a product of the American Dream and I was blessed to have the resources to help save people when this crisis began.  As we sailed up the coast of Baja my ship was joined by many smaller boats in need of supplies and leadership.  One thing led to another until it became known as the Survival Flotilla.  A flotilla is traditionally led by a commodore, just as a fleet is led by an admiral, but the title of commodore is a term that is used in civilian yacht clubs as well as the navy.  In any case, my position as Commodore of the Survival Flotilla has been recognized by the US Coast Guard, the US Marines, the Navy, FEMA, the CDC, and the Department of Homeland Security, along with all the members of the Flotilla who follow me.”

Fox nodded and smiled, but didn’t seem to like Scott’s answer to his question.

“That sounds impressive, but what have you done to deserve the title of commodore?”

“Good question, Fox.  Aside from sailing the Sovereign Spirit around the world over the past year, I guess it really started when I created the Flotilla in Cabo San Lucas last week.  We showed up in a resort town overrun by zombies and discovered that there were quite a few survivors hiding out on their boats in the marina where the zombies couldn’t get to them.  It was then that I realized that the zombies don’t swim and are afraid of water.  I communicated that information to the Center for Disease Control on Z-Day plus one, along with our observations that zombies prefer to walk downhill, unless attracted to someone uphill.  Then we formed the Flotilla and sailed north to San Diego.  When we were challenged by the Coast Guard we contacted the CDC and they joined with FEMA and the Department of Homeland Security to issue a mandate that names me as a commodore.”

“So what have you done with this so-called mandate and your new title of commodore?”

“Since you ask, Fox, I’ll be happy to outline our accomplishments since Z-Day.  As I said, my ship escorted dozens of boats full of stranded Americans up here from Mexico.  I enlisted the assistance of the Coast Guard who received confirmation from DHS.  I rescued some of my friends who were trapped in an apartment building in downtown San Diego.  I went aboard a nuclear powered aircraft carrier to convince the military not to commandeer my ship and got them to detach a unit of elite Marines to operate under my command.  Then we organized a rescue of the families of those Marines in Oceanside, where over a hundred more boats joined the Flotilla.  After that we came up to Long Beach and killed hundreds of zombies that were surrounding the Queen Mary.  As a result of that action the people aboard the Queen Mary decided to join the Flotilla and she has become one of our first strongholds.  Then we erected barriers on the highways and bridges leading into the port to limit the level of zombie infestation.  Since then we have eliminated more than a thousand zombies that were already inside our perimeter.  I also led a rescue mission to Malibu a few days ago to rescue friends, as well as a scientist who is working with the CDC to find a cure or vaccine for the Super Rabies Virus. 

“We now have close to a thousand boats with over ten thousand people in the Survival Flotilla and we are beginning the process of establishing safe havens along the California coast.  The first one is at the Port of Long Beach.   It is expected that the number of boats and people in the Flotilla will grow by a factor of ten by the time we make contact with all of the boast people in Southern California.  Yesterday your GNN helicopter spotted us and I agreed to do this interview.  Does that answer your question, Mr. Rusher?”

“Yes, Mr. Allen, I suppose it does.  But one of the reasons we wanted to interview you again is that you made some statements yesterday that were highly controversial.  In particular, you encouraged people to form survivalist groups, or militias, and create secure areas by fighting off zombies.  That idea is contrary to the emergency directives issued by local, state and federal government officials who are advising survivors to remain in their homes, or other secure buildings, and wait for assistance to arrive.  So this evening we will be joined by the Mayor of Los Angeles and the Special Agent in Charge of the FBI Field Office in Los Angeles.”

The camera panned and pulled back to reveal two men sitting on the other side of Fox Rusher from where Scott was positioned.

“Thank you, Fox.  I’m Mayor Antonio Del Fuego, Mr. Allen, and I have to take issue not only with your views on how people should respond to this crisis, but also with your own actions.  In particular, I understand that you are raiding stockpiles of food and other supplies in the Port of Long Beach and the Port of Los Angeles.  Those things do not belong to you, sir, and I consider what you are doing to be looting.  As you should know, looting is a crime punishable by death during this state of emergency!  Only the proper authorities have the right to requisition supplies like that, and we do not recognize you as such.”

“Are you serious, Mr. Mayor?”
asked Scott with a slight smile on his face.
  “Are you really saying that you want the refugees in my care to starve?  That you want the refugees on the islands of Catalina and Coronado to starve?  That you want to deny supplies to the brave Marines and Sailors who are fighting for their lives, as well as ours, to clear San Diego of zombie infestation?”

“No, of course I’m not!  But I am accusing you of stealing those supplies!” 
The Mayor was getting
red in the face and starting to breathe hard. 

“We are gathering
salvage
, in accordance with international law and under the supervision of the Coast Guard.  Much of it is being loaded onto a ship that will take it to San Diego where it will be turned over to the US military for use in the refugee camps down there.  I’m sure they will be happy to sign an IOU for the proper owners, if they ever make a claim.”