02 Flotilla of the Dead (2 page)

The two policemen who had made it aboard on the afternoon of the first day, right before Conrad ordered the final cargo door into the old ship sealed, had brought news of wholesale slaughter in Long Beach.  The TV news, while it lasted, had been equally abysmal.  They hadn’t received any news for days now – ever since the power went out.  More and more zombies wandered down to the docks.  Less and less food and water remained for those trapped aboard the ship.  Soon, Conrad feared, there would be more ghosts to join the legacy of spirits already reported board the once grand ocean liner. 

Maybe he should have tried to leave when the news broke on the morning of the first day.  Perhaps he could have made it out of the city, through the traffic, and off into the desert.  No zombies there, but probably the same problems with food and water.  No, there might not be anywhere safe anymore.  At least here he was still in charge, still had a purpose, and if he should die here, at least he would go in a place that he had loved.  The old ship still had a character and charm that even the end of the world couldn’t tarnish completely.  It was his destiny to defend her from the indignity of being invaded and corrupted by the living dead.   

Conrad turned away from the rail overlooking the zombie filled parking lot and started to return inside the ship.  Then he caught sight of something unusual off the old ship’s stern.  It was another ship!  A rather small cruise ship, less than half the size of the
Queen
from the look of it, but a working ship nonetheless.  Conrad ran as fast as he could to the
Queen Mary’s
old signal deck and quickly raised the flags he had prepared a few days ago with the help of the ship’s aging engineer who had once been a real sailor.  He could only hope that someone on that other ship could read the old signal flags and would still give a damn.

*****

Captain Fisher stood with Commodore Allen on the port bridge wing of the
Sovereign Spirit
as the ship moved slowly past the Port of Los Angeles and into the Long Beach Harbor.  This was going to be their first major shore operation to secure provisions for the flotilla.  Long Beach was an obvious choice due to the shipping docks that were perfect for deploying and recovering their ground vehicles, not to mention the amount of supplies that should be sitting right there in the harbor and surrounding warehouses, waiting to be scooped up.  The downside, but a necessary one, was that Long Beach was totally overrun with zombies.  As far as they could tell, there were no organized survivors around to complain about the Flotilla taking anything they needed.

“Look at all the
boat people
over there,” said Scott, pointing to several hundred sailboats, motorboats and yachts tied together alongside the manmade islands for oil wells and transfer stations in the outer harbor.  “They must have all left the marina and joined up at the oil islands.”

“Yes, sir,” responded Captain Fisher.  “I suppose they’ll be safe there until they run out of food and water.”

“There sure are a lot of them,” Scott said.  “We might have to offer them membership in the Flotilla.  Let’s wait until we see how much provisions we can collect here.” 

“Yes, Commodore,” answered Captain Fisher in a respectful tone that Scott wasn’t sure he could ever get used to.   “I agree that we need to find more provisions before we consider taking responsibility of any more mouths to feed.”

“Okay, Jordie,” Scott agreed with a smile.  “But what are those flags going up over the old
Queen Mary
?”  Scott pointed towards the famous ship that he had visited many years ago. 

“What? Huh…” Captain Fisher hesitated. “Those are signal flags.  The one on top signals distress.  The rest are spelling out something… Let’s see.  If I remember correctly, it says,‘300 souls aboard, no plague, please render assistance.’  It’s just your typical distress signal.”

“But not your typical place is it?” Scott mused.  “Look at that ship.  If it’s free of infection and isolated, it could become a safe haven for thousands of people.  What was the capacity of the
Queen Mary
when she was in service?”

“About two thousand passengers, plus at least a thousand crew, as I recall,” Fisher replied.  “And I seem to remember that she carried ten or twenty thousand troops at a time across the Atlantic during World War Two.  Of course she’s never going anywhere again and most of those passenger cabins have been removed to make room for museums, restaurants, and conference rooms.  They did upgrade a few hundred of the First Class cabins to become a nice hotel, but they also removed her engines and built that breakwater around her too, so this is her final resting place.” 

“Not a bad spot for it,” Scott mused.  “She’s only a stone’s throw from the cruise ship terminal with that nice big concrete pier where we could roll vehicles and supplies on and off of the
Sovereign Spirit
.  And that big cruise ship terminal, the dome where they used to keep the old
Spruce Goose
, well, it would make a great community center and marketplace for the rest of the Flotilla.  Wouldn’t it?”

“Good points,” agreed Captain Fisher.  “And look at all of the warehouses and container ships on the other side of the island there.  That’s Terminal Island.  There has to be a lot of stuff we could use there, including shipments of food and cargo handling equipment.”

Scott nodded and asked, “Are those bridges over there the only routes on and off of the island?”

“Yes, I believe so, except for a strip of highways and train tracks alongside the river channel,” Fisher said, light dawning in his eyes.  “You think we can secure all of Terminal Island as a safe haven?”

“Possibly,” Scott confirmed.  “If we had enough people and a permanent base of operations to keep it secure.”   

“Something like the Queen Mary?” Captain Fisher suggested.

“Exactly,” Scott confirmed.  “Look at it, surrounded by a moat of water that zombies won’t cross, with steel walls more than 50 feet high – it’s a readymade fortress in a perfect location for us to conduct provisioning operations.  And it’s already set up with hundreds of hotel rooms and dining facilities.”

“You want to take it over from those people?” Fisher asked suspiciously.

“Hell no!” Scott replied sharply.  “I’ve got enough to handle with this ship and the growing Flotilla.  However, I’m thinking that if we help the people already aboard – three hundred you said – they should be willing to work with us.  And maybe some of the people in the flotilla will want to join them too.  We can even provide some weapons so they can defend themselves.  Then we’ll have allies and a secure base for our provisioning expeditions here.”

“That’s an excellent idea, Commodore,” said Captain Fisher with an approving smile.  “Shall I prepare the ship for docking and shore action?”

“Yes, Captain, I believe you should,” confirmed Scott.  “Please send for Sergeant Major O’Hara too.  It looks like it’s time to use those Amtracs of his.  We’ll want to clear the pier and parking lot of zombies before we go knocking on the door of the
Queen Mary.
”

*****

Conrad Kroeker fought not to lose hope as the strange ship began to turn its bow away from him. 
Are they leaving?  They could be our last hope!
  Making a split second decision, he spun around and entered the old bridge of the
Queen Mary.
  Pulling out his master keys, he unlocked a cabinet on the wall and reached in to pull a handle there.  High on the signal mast the ship’s single remaining air-driven
Tyfon
whistle blasted out a low bass “A” note at 55 Hz, trumpeting with a deep resonating sound that could be heard from up to ten miles away.  Conrad pulled three short blasts, followed by three long blasts, then three more short blasts.  That was SOS, the universal signal for distress.  Nobody for miles in any direction, living or dead, could fail to know where it came from.  It was bound to attract more zombies, just as it had the first and only other time he had blown the powerful horn last week.  But Conrad had to do everything he could to get help for the people trapped with him in the floating hotel. 

Returning to the deck he realized that his action might have been premature and unnecessary.  The unfamiliar ship’s turn had put it perpendicular to the cruise ship pier.  Now the strange ship was backing towards the dock and Conrad could see that it had a large door that was folding down into a ramp from its stern.   Then the ship let off a blast of its own horn, obviously in response to the signal from the
Queen Mary.
  The strange ship’s signal was one long blast followed by two short toots of its smaller and slightly higher pitched horn.  DA-DIT-DIT!  That was Morse code for the letter D, which signified “Docking” for a ship coming into port.    

Conrad was both elated and terrified as he ran back towards the stern of the
Queen Mary
and across to look at the zombies in the parking lot.  Sure enough, they were swarming around the ship and more were approaching from every direction.  The powerful horns had driven them into frenzied activity and attracted more of them towards the ships.  Most of the zombies were fixated on the
Queen Mary
, as they had been for the past week, but
dozens of others were turning towards the cruise ship pier where the newcomers had just announced their presence.  To the zombies a ship’s horn must sound like the dinner bell.

What have I done?
Conrad asked himself with horror.  He was certain that the new ship would either leave as soon as it saw the zombies running towards it, or that the zombies would run right across the ramp and devour everyone aboard as soon as it reached the dock. 
This will be a disaster!
  Conrad thought.  He couldn’t have been more wrong. 

  As the
Sovereign Spirit’s
stern ramp lowered to rest on the concrete pier in front of the empty cruise ship terminal, a dozen Marines walked out to greet about fifty zombies running towards them.  The men leapt onto the pier and took positions on either side of the ramp, kneeling into well trained firing postures.  Their rapid semi-automatic weapons fire shredded the foremost ranks of the zombies and quickly dispatched the rest of those headed their way.  Then, as Conrad’s eyes widened, a big armored personnel carrier drove out of the ship with more Marines riding atop it.  Unbelievably, another of the giant war machines followed the first moments later.   The second one paused just long enough to lower its own rear ramp and let the dozen Marines on the dock scramble inside, then it raised its ramp and followed the first armored vehicle that was already moving towards the
Queen Mary
at close to thirty miles an hour.    The ship then raised its vehicle ramp high enough to prevent any zombies from jumping aboard.   

The lead Amtrac had a bulldozer blade on its front end, poised at knee level, as it bore down on the swarming zombies in the parking lot.  It slashed through them like a hot knife through butter.  Scores of zombies were cut down, many turned to slime under the grinding treads, as the massive machine tore through the mob.  Then it turned on blood slick tracks and repeated the process.  The second Amtrac barreled into the crowd of zombies slightly inland of where the first one had passed, producing equally satisfying results.  Then each vehicle turned again and made pass after pass through the horde of undead.  Conrad thought it was similar to watching choreographed lawn mowers in action. 

Within a minute or two the parking lot was covered in pools of blood and mangled flesh, with only a few stray zombies still standing.  At that point the Amtracs stopped and each of them disgorged a dozen Marines from their rear ramps.  They proceeded to calmly shoot every remaining zombie with disciplined fire of single shots to the head.  By then Conrad was ecstatic, jumping up and down and yelling encouragement.  He had been joined by at least two hundred other people who had come up on the
Queen Mary’s
deck to investigate the commotion.  Everyone cheered as the last of the zombies in the parking lot fell to a single rifle shot from a hundred yards away.  They were saved!

At that point Conrad noticed that the ramp on the ship had been lowered again and another vehicle was driving out of it.  This looked like a normal SUV, a Suburban or Escalade, and it sped quickly to the remaining pedestrian ramp leading into the
Queen Mary
.  Meanwhile the Marines took up defensive positions around their armored vehicles and watched for more zombies. 

The SUV arrived carrying four men who got out and waved up to the onlookers above.  Conrad waved back with a wide smile.  One of the men below, dressed somewhat like a man on a safari with a mean looking weapon slung from his shoulder, yelled up at him, “Hello
Queen Mary!
  I’m Commodore Scott Allen, requesting permission to come aboard!”

“Yes!  Yes, sir!” Conrad yelled back.  “Of course!  Just give me a few minutes to get the door open.”  He spun away from the rail and ran back into the ship, as the rest of the people lining the rails of the Promenade Deck resumed their cheers.   A few minutes ago Conrad had feared that this day would turn out to be the beginning of the end for everyone on the
Queen Mary
, but now he was faced with a whole new beginning.  Whatever the future held in store, this was a moment of intense triumph and relief. 

*****

Scott and Captain Fisher looked around at the carnage of zombies while they waited for someone to open the door to the
Queen Mary.
  Clint returned to the driver’s seat of the Escalade.  Mark was busy looking around under the ramp to make sure none of the zombies were hiding there.  The parking lot was covered with crumpled bodies, some of which were still moving, but none of which were walking.  A squad of Marines was moving slowly and carefully among the mangled zombies, delivering single shots to the heads of any that still showed signs of activity.  Sergeant Major O’Hara was directing the operation, but seemed confident that the situation was well in hand because he walked over to join Scott’s group before the door opened.