02 Flotilla of the Dead (19 page)

            “Then send them by train,” suggested Scott.  “They can clear and adjust the tracks as they go.  Union Station is practically next door to your police helicopter base.”

            “They can’t get two feet out the door of Astro Division!  There are thousands of zombies waiting outside!  Helicopters coming and going attract them like flies!  And Union Station is crawling with the bastards too.  Your plan is a non-starter,” said Del Fuego in a hopeless voice.

            “But you haven’t even tried it,” Scott persisted.  “You’re all hiding out in your bunkers, or flying between secure buildings, while the zombies rule the streets.  And, worse, you’re telling the public to hide out too.  Your constituents will run out of food and water long before you do, but by then they will be too weak to fight their way out!  They need to be told what they can to do to save themselves now.”

            “That’s it!  I’ve heard enough of this craziness!” yelled the mayor.  “I said arrest him and I meant it!”  Several policemen began to move towards Scott from the wings of the studio.  Mark tensed and raised his crossed hands to his shoulder holsters.

            “Hold it!” said Special Agent in Charge Corrigan.  “We are
not
going to start a war among ourselves tonight.  I’m convinced that Commodore Allen has good intentions, even if we don’t agree with all of his methods.  So, calm down Mayor Del Fuego.  You need to take a chill pill.  Mr. Allen, you should probably return to your ship now.  I’d like to fly my helicopter down and visit you tomorrow, if you are agreeable.  Maybe we can figure out a way to help some people around here after all.  But it won’t do anyone any good for us to fight among ourselves.”

            “I agree wholeheartedly,” Scott concurred.  “I’ll look forward to your visit Agent Corrigan.  Thanks for inviting me here tonight, Mr. Rusher.  And I’m sorry if my views upset you, Mr. Mayor.  But I think the people deserve to be told the truth and have their options explained to them.”

*****

            Scott and Mark walked back up the stairs to the rooftop helipad, as there wasn’t enough emergency power in the building to use the elevators regularly.  Special Agent Corrigan walked up with them, while the Mayor stayed to commiserate with Fox Rusher and his gang of ass kissers.  “So, Commodore, I’d say you just kicked a hornet’s nest,” said Corrigan.

            “That’s something I’m getting good at,” said Scott with a smile.  “Of course it usually seems to be a nest full of zombies these days, but handling them is more straight forward than politicians.” 

            Corrigan laughed and said, “That’s probably true.  The Mayor isn’t a bad man, or even a coward.  But he has some well established ideas about how things should be done and he’s having trouble realizing that those ways won’t work anymore.”

            “I’ll keep that in mind, Agent Corrigan,” Scott responded.  “But someone needs to get him to adapt to the new reality, or get him to step down and find someone else to take charge that can.  This is a Darwinian event.  It’s survival of the fittest, but that really means survival of those most able to adapt to the sudden changes forced upon us.  If he’s not that kind of man, you need to find someone who is”

            “Me?” Corrigan sounded startled.  “I have nothing to do with local governance.”

            “Then you need to adapt quickly too,” replied Scott.  “You may have been a Fed last week, but you’re an Angelino now.  The people here need a leader; someone who will recruit street gangs as militia if necessary.  God knows they will do a better job of killing zombies than office workers would.  But that means they also need a strong leader with the power to keep the troops in line, because there is a very fine line between salvage and pillage.”

            “I can’t quite tell if you are brilliant, or insane, Commodore” said Corrigan with a grin.  “But I look forward to trying to figure it out.  I’ll fly down there at about nine tomorrow morning, if that suits you.”

            “Absolutely, Special Agent in Charge, Corrigan,” replied Scott with a smile.  “Don’t bother to eat breakfast first.  I’ll have the chef prepare a big brunch for us on the
Sovereign Spirit
.  And don’t worry; none of the food will have been looted from the Mayor’s port.”  They both laughed at that and Scott shook the FBI agent’s hand before walking out onto the helipad where the Marines were holding everyone else at gunpoint.  “Stand down,” yelled Scott. “And mount up.   We’re going home now.”  Sergeant Washington snapped off a crisp salute and the rest of the Marines raised their rifles and back peddled to the Super Huey.   Scott glanced back at Corrigan as he climbed into the copilot’s seat and noticed him nodding with the hint of a smile on his face.  Scott hoped that was a good sign.

*****

Interlude in Hell

Chevron Refinery, El Segundo: 6:18 PM, April 10, 2012

            Carl cursed under his breath as the GNN Evening News was cut off without warning.  He had been watching it on satellite TV inside of one of the motor homes.  Karen, Chuck and Gus, as well as Max and his wife and two daughters who lived in the RV, were there with him.  All of them were speechless for a few moments.  Carl thought some of them were in shocked disbelief, but Carl was simply too angry to trust himself to speak yet.  “
So it
was
the fucking terrorists!”   
That was exactly what he had thought when he saw the first TSA agents go down in LAX.  Someone had killed them, killed his wife Pricilla, and killed millions, if not billions, of others around the world.  Some asshole had done this on purpose!  The thought made his blood boil and run cold simultaneously.

            “What happened to the broadcast?” asked Karen when it became clear that the show was not coming back on the air and a canned FEMA disaster preparedness video filled the screen instead.

            “They want to shut him up,” replied Carl coldly.

            “Who wants to shut who up?” asked Gus with a stymied expression.

            “The network, or the Feds, or both.  They cut off the commodore as soon as he tried to tell us that the outbreak was caused by terrorists, or an act of war,” explained Carl.  “They’re hiding the truth from us, damn it.  I thought from the beginning that this was some sort of terrorist attack.  I’ve just been too busy staying alive to dwell on it, but now I’m sure of it.” 

“That commodore made a lot more sense than the mayor or Fox Rusher did,” Chuck commented.  “He seems to be only one around here with any kind of plan for helping the rest of us survive, but they kept trying to make him look like a fool, or a criminal.  Why would they do that?”

“It’s all politics,” said Carl.  “It’s the same sort of crap that got all of us into this mess.  The mayor, the Feds, and the media all think that they know what’s best for us.  None of them were prepared for this type of catastrophe and they have no idea what to do now that it’s happened.  So they just keep smiling, telling people to remain calm and wait for help to arrive, while the damned zombies go from house to house eating everyone alive!”

“That’s horrible,” commented Karen Slade.  “It’s almost like they want most of the people to be killed.”  Her comment triggered a deeper suspicion in Carl’s mind.  Could she be right?

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Carl muttered.  “I hope you’re wrong, but now that you mention it that might explain some things that have been bothering me.”

“Like what?” Karen asked with a perplexed expression.

“Like why the whole country has fallen apart so fast,” he mused.  “What if there is some sort of conspiracy or plot to only protect a select group of people and let the rest of us get consumed by zombies?”

“What are you saying?” asked Gus.

“I’m not saying anything for sure, yet,” Carl clarified.  “But something smells wrong.”

“How so?” inquired Karen.

 “Regardless of how this all happened, whether it was terrorists or an act of God, the government and media should be telling people where to go to be protected by now,” Carl explained.  “But they haven’t done that.  Hell, you heard the mayor.  He won’t even tell us where the safe havens are because they wouldn’t be able to handle an influx of refugees.  We’re on our own, but the authorities won’t even admit that much!  It’s almost as if they want most of us to get exterminated so they won’t have to worry about taking care of us.”

“That’s crazy,” muttered Chuck.

“What isn’t crazy these days?” replied Carl in an exasperated tone.  “I’m not saying they actually want everyone to die, but that looks like the net effect of their policies right now.  What really makes me sick is the idea that someone did this to the world on purpose.”  Feeling discouraged and angry, Carl stood up and left the rest of them sitting in the RV as he walked out into the failing light of evening. 

The glow of sunset was fading it the west.  The only sounds came from waves crashing on the shore half a mile away and the dull chunk, chunk, chunk, of the sprinklers along the fence line. 
Water
, thought Carl.  That was the answer to fighting these monsters.  It was so simple.  Why wasn’t anyone on TV, aside from this commodore fellow, talking about that?  He was pondering that thought as a new sound rose on wind.  The steadily growing thump of helicopter blades cut through the dusk and Carl turned to watch a large helicopter flying south over the 405.  That would be the commodore and his Marines heading back to their ship.

“Godspeed,” whispered Carl as the helicopter disappeared into the night.  His thoughts were still troubled as he went to the Suburban and inflated the air mattress in the cargo area where he slept.  He realized that the commodore’s ships were only about ten or fifteen miles away.   They seemed to be the only organized group in the area and it sounded like they were establishing a large safe haven. 

Carl finally felt secure in the refinery, now that the sprinklers were proven to repel zombies from the fence, but was this really the place where he wanted to make a stand?  After listening to the ranting mayor on TV he began to wonder what would happen if, no
when
, the remaining authorities learned that Carl and his fellow survivors had set up a safe haven at the refinery and were looting shopping centers to survive?  These questions kept him up for several hours as he lay in the dark SUV.  Tomorrow he would need to discuss his fears and ideas with the others.  They had some major decisions to make.

Chapter 5: Supply and Demand

 “In any ethical situation, the thing you want least to do is probably the right action.” – Jerry Pournelle

            When Scott returned to the
Sovereign Spirit
from his tumultuous interview at the GNN studios he received a hero’s welcome.  Even on the helicopter he had been deluged with praise for standing up to the Mayor of LA, with the Marines assuring him that they would have come to liberate him if the mayor had actually arrested him.   That was nothing compared to the welcome he received when they landed on the ship.

            Michelle was waiting next to the helipad and immediately dissuaded Scott from retreating to their master suite.  She explained that everyone was waiting downstairs to hear what happened after the interview was cut off.  Scott reluctantly agreed to make a brief appearance and statement.  They descended to the Grand Salon and, as the elevator door opened, Scott was almost deafened by the thunderous cheers and applause that erupted when he came into sight.  The atmosphere of celebration took Scott by surprise, as he was just getting over the tension that has gripped him during the interview and confrontation with the mayor.  Nevertheless, he smiled and waved as he moved through the crowd, shaking hands and getting slapped on the back.  When he reached the front of the room Scott held up his hand in a request for silence and the crowd calmed down a notch.

            “Thank you,” said Scott.  “I’m glad you enjoyed the show!”  This brought more cheers that took a few moments to subside.  “I can assure you that I didn’t plan on butting heads with the mayor of LA, or being threatened with arrest, but I thought it was worth it to have the chance to tell people about our Survival Flotilla and let them know that some people are determined to do what it takes to survive, with or without any help from the government.”  More cheers and applause forced Scott to pause for at least ten seconds.

            “I’m not quite sure when they cut me off, but I hope that I was also able to get out my message about the outbreak being an act of terrorism,” Scott continued, only to be halted again by a chorus of affirmative replies.  “Good.  I think it’s important for people everywhere to know that this is all happening because of the actions of evil men, not an angry God.”  More affirmation came from the crowd.

            “Now I’ll tell you what was decided after we went off the air,” Scott said and the crowd gave him their full attention.  “The mayor really did want to arrest me, but the FBI agent stopped him from going too far.  We discussed possibilities of getting food and vital supplies to distribution points around Los Angeles.  I suggested using freight trains to bring containers from the port.  There are some details to work out still.  FBI Special Agent Corrigan will be flying here by helicopter tomorrow morning for further discussions and a tour of our Safe Haven.  Since we’re having guests, I’ll have a nice brunch buffet set up in the dining room from ten o’clock to noon tomorrow and everyone is invited.”  This announcement generated the loudest cheers yet.  “And now, if you will all excuse me, I still have some work to do before I can get to bed.  Thank you all for your loyalty and support.  We have a long road ahead of us, but I’m glad that we can also feel pride in what we have accomplished so far.”   Scott left the salon to renewed and sustained applause, joining Michelle who was holding open the elevator door with a beaming smile and a sly twinkle in her beautiful green eyes.   

*****

            Scott rose with the sun the following morning and walked out on deck without waking Michelle.  He felt refreshed and invigorated in the crisp air of dawn.  The Sovereign Spirit was docked on the other side of the same pier as the Cape Inscription.  Both ships had their vehicle ramps lowered, now that the Navy Mole had been isolated and swept clean of zombies.  Gazing west, Scott could see a HUMVEE with several Marines on guard at the zombie barrier that had been established almost a mile up the Mole.  The
Stratton
was half that distance away, tied up to the refueling pier where she also covered the approach to the Mole, with good visual and radar coverage of the entrance to the ports of Los Angeles and Long Beach too.   She was an impressive sight with her white hull and red striped bow facing the Mole and the ocean beyond.