02 Flotilla of the Dead (23 page)

            “Pirates?” asked the mayor dubiously.  “Are you serious?”

            “After the coverage we got on GNN, anything is possible,” replied Scott seriously.   “Anybody with satellite television anywhere along the Pacific Rim now knows that we are sitting on a gold mine of treasure.  Zombies won’t be the only threat we face in this new world order.  Or should I say disorder?  There’s no law or order anymore, unless we can enforce it ourselves.”

            “That’s an extremely drastic description of the situation,” said the mayor.  “I think you’re making some unwarranted assumptions of the threat level.  What makes you think we need to worry about pirates or anything like that?”

            “Anything like what?” responded Scott.  “Like a ship full of heavily armed people taking over your ports?  What if you had been correct last night and we really were pirates and looters?  What could you really do about it?  Seriously; do you actually think your SWAT teams could take us out?  You should be damned glad that it was us who showed up here first and that we want to help you.  But make no mistake, Mr. Mayor, the next ships that come here might not be so friendly.  So this safe haven will always be prepared for that possibility, as well as zombie incursions, or even attacks from the LAPD for that matter.”

            “That’s a boastful claim,” said Commander Austin of the LAPD SWAT unit.  “I still have over a hundred elite SWAT operators to throw into any make or break mission.  Do you really think that the force you leave on Terminal Island could stop us after you sail away tomorrow?”

            Scott actually laughed before replying, “Damned right I do.  I’m leaving part of my own elite group of Force Recon Marines with fully armed and armored fighting vehicles, including automatic grenade launchers and anti-aircraft cannon.    There will also be hundreds of armed members of the Flotilla and Coast Guardsmen on duty here.  They will all have orders to repel
any
form of armed invasion of this safe haven.  So yes, Commander Austin, I am fully confident of our ability to repel or destroy any assault that you could mount against Terminal Island or the Port of Long Beach, even in my absence.  After we complete our tour of the safe haven today, I think you’ll agree with me.”

            The visitors seemed a little taken aback by Scott’s blunt claims, but Scott didn’t give them much time to dwell on it.  He saw movement coming around the point from the Main Channel in the Port of Los Angeles.  It was what he had been waiting and expecting to see, so he pointed to draw attention to it and said, “And now I’ll show you the newest addition to the Flotilla.  The ship coming around the point down there is the
SS Lane Victory.
  She’s an old World War Two Victory ship that was restored as a merchant marine museum, but she’s fully functional.  She’s been taking people on trips to Catalina Island a few times every summer, but now we’ll be using her for regular supply runs to Catalina.  Her advantage over newer and bigger container ships is that she’s small enough to get into Avalon’s ferry terminal and has her own cranes to unload cargo.”

            “You stole a museum!” complained the mayor.

            “Actually,” interjected Captain McCloud.  “The Coast Guard just commandeered her, Mr. Mayor.  Nobody was aboard her when we found her and she will be a valuable asset in helping the people waiting for us on Catalina.  I might add that Catalina Island is part of Los Angeles County and the people out there are your constituents too.”

            “Yes, I suppose that’s true,” the mayor admitted.  “By all means, then, make use of the ship, if it will help save lives.

            “We’ll be loading her with supplies today and she will sail to Catalina with the
Sovereign Spirit
tomorrow,” Scott explained.  “Now we better go take that tour of the safe haven and discuss the rest of our plans for the future.”

*****

Interlude in Hell

Chevron Refinery,  10:30 AM, April 11, 2012

            Carl had called everyone together for a meeting at the motor pool.  Most of the workers and new residents of the refinery were there already, working on completing alterations to make the RVs zombie-proof.  Carl paused to evaluate their progress and was pleased by what he saw.  Almost every RV was now protected by chain link and sheet metal armor.  Some people had gotten even more creative.  One big diesel pusher had what looked like a snow plow welded onto the front end.  It was poised about a foot above the ground and angled to shove anything it hit off to the right side of the road.  It looked heavy, but the RV still appeared to be riding pretty high on its shock absorbers.  The man who owned that particular land yacht was busy showing off his handiwork to several curious onlookers.  Carl had to admit that it probably would do a good job of clearing a path through a crowd of zombies.

            “Okay, Carl, I think everyone is here now.  So what’s the meeting for?” asked Gus as he appeared at Carl’s side.

            “Just some options that we need to consider,” replied Carl as he stepped over to the Suburban, set the PA to low volume and tested it by blowing into the hand held microphone.  Satisfied, he said, “Thanks for coming everybody.  This shouldn’t take too long, but I wanted to talk to all of you about some recent developments and the options that they offer us.”  He paused and was pleased to see that he had everyone’s attention.

            “Most of you watched the interview with Commodore Allen on GNN last night.  The rest of you have probably heard about it by now.  What we learned for sure is that this Commodore is setting up a secure safe haven not far from here in the ports of Los Angeles and Long Beach.  He says they found enough supplies to support a lot of refugees and it sounds like he’s willing to accept people into his safe haven, if they can get there.  He doesn’t think that people
can
get there safely on the roads, but he doesn’t know about our zombie-proof convoy.”  He gestured at the trucks and RVs parked around him. 

            “Another thing that nobody seems to know, or if they do they aren’t telling anyone, is how to use water to deter zombie attacks.  I’m sure some other people have figured it out somewhere, but it hasn’t made it on the news yet.  I have thought about using a fire department radio to try to spread that news and hope that someone will hear me and understand how important it is.  However, that might also attract some unwanted attention to what we are doing here.  After hearing the mayor’s position last night, I’m not sure what the reaction will be when they find out we’ve taken over this refinery, not to mention our recent shopping trips.”  Carl paused to let that sink in.

            “That’s right,” he continued.  “He would probably consider us to be squatters and looters.  I know it sounds insane, considering the situation, but insanity seems to be all too common these days.  So we need to be prepared for an unfriendly reaction if the remaining authorities discover us.

            “I know that we’ve accomplished a lot here.  As long as the sprinklers keep working, we seem to be safe from the zombies, and we have every reason to believe that we can hold them off indefinitely.  We also have an almost infinite supply of fuel.  However, we do not have a lot of food and other supplies.  The stuff we got from the supermarket will keep us comfortable for a few weeks to a month at the most.  That means we will eventually have to go back out there to do some more looting and risk losing more good people in the process.”  He saw the sadness in the faces of many oil workers as they were reminded of the loss of Frank.

            “We can follow that course, at least for the short term, but we will need to drive a little farther on each shopping trip to find new supplies and each trip will probably attract more zombies to our perimeter.  It’s simply not a good long term plan.”  Again he paused to give them all time to digest his words.  It had taken him hours of thought the night before to reach this conclusion and he knew it was a bitter pill to swallow.  He wouldn’t have even mentioned it, if he hadn’t also come up with another idea.

            “That’s why I want you all to consider another option.  We do have a zombie-proof convoy and heavy equipment to clear the roads for it.  And we now know of a new safe haven that we could reach within an hour or two, even if we have to clear some of the roads, block by block.  We don’t have to stay here.  We can drive down and join the Survival Flotilla at the port. I think that Commodore Allan will welcome us, especially if we bring him our discovery of using water cannon and sprinklers to keep the zombies at bay.  He may also be the best person to spread that news to other survivors around the world.”

A murmur rose from the crowd as they grasped what Carl was suggesting.  Carl noticed that Karen Slade was smiling at him, while Chuck and Gus were nodding.  Others took longer to see the wisdom of Carl’s suggestion and more than a few seemed terrified by the thought of driving through zombie infested streets all the way to the port.  Nevertheless, the seed had been planted.  Carl would spend the rest of the day talking to small groups and individuals, addressing their questions and concerns, while convincing them of the wisdom of his new plan.

Chapter 6:  Tour Guide

"We are destined to be a barrier against the returns of ignorance and barbarism…What a colossus shall we be…”
–
Thomas Jefferson in a letter to John Adams, August 1, 1816

            When Scott led his visitors down the vehicle ramp to the Mole they seemed surprised to see the big Hydra Terra excursion vehicle waiting for them.  It had been lowered from the lifeboat davits onto the dock and driven around to the stern.  The sides of the amphibious tour vehicle stood a good 10 feet off the ground and a ladder was extended from the door half way down its right side.  Scott led the way up and into the vehicle as he said, “We’ll be taking the tour in this amphibious vehicle because it is high enough to be safe from attack by zombies and, if we run into real trouble, we can always drive into the water where zombies won’t follow.  There’s plenty of seating for everyone too.  Please keep your heads and hands inside of the vehicle at all times.”

            “I’ll be bringing my SWAT team along to protect the mayor,” said Commander Austin as a statement rather than a request.  

            Scott nodded his permission and said, “That’s fine Commander.  My men and I will be armed too.  And, for extra security, we’ll be escorted by Marines in a LAV-25.”  As if to accentuate his statement, the LAV rolled out of the
Sovereign Spirit
and pulled up in front of the Hydra Terra.   The black armored vehicle with the letters “DHS” on the turret and “Department of Homeland Security” stenciled along the hull was an impressive piece of hardware indeed.

            “Where did you get those tanks?” asked the mayor suspiciously.

            “They’re not exactly tanks,” replied Scott.  “But in many ways they are better than tanks for the type of missions we have in mind.  That’s a light amphibious vehicle with a 25mm cannon, known as a LAV-25 for short.  It and two others like it were part of an anti-terrorist unit named Linebacker Two Zulu that the Department of Homeland Security had stationed in the old Marine Corps Reserve Armory here on Terminal Island.  They’re almost identical to the LAV-25s used by the US Marines, so I have trained crews to man them.  I also have a letter of authorization from the Assistant Secretary of DHS for Counterterrorism, which means that we are fully justified in requisitioning these vehicles for use by the Flotilla.” 

            “That is more than debatable,” objected Commander Austin. “It seems to me that they were intended for the defense of Los Angeles.” He was obviously thinking that his SWAT teams would like to requisition them too.             

            “Feel free to file a claim in federal court,” said Scott with a smile.  “But until such a court is in session again, the old adage that
possession is nine tenths of the law
will take precedence in the Flotilla’s code book.”  Commander Austin was obviously not pleased with that answer but Scott felt the need to make his point.  “And I strongly suggest that you adopt the same philosophy.  In a post apocalyptic world it makes no sense at all to try enforcing pre-apocalypse property rights, unless something is actually stolen from
someone
.”   

“What are you getting at?” asked Police Chief Harris.

“Let me offer an example to illustrate my point,” Scott replied.  “You’ve got lots of people out there who’ve fled their homes to escape zombies, right?”  The Chief and the Mayor both nodded, as did Special Agent Corrigan, but Commander Austin was stone faced.  Scott continued, “And you’ve got thousands, perhaps millions, of houses that are sitting empty because the inhabitants have either turned into zombies, or been killed, or simply fled.  So what do you do if one of the displaced people, perhaps a group or family on the run, moves into an empty house and eats the food that was left by the previous owners?  Do you arrest them for trespassing and looting?”  Scott paused for a response, but none was forthcoming.

“I sure hope not!” he continued.  “They’re just trying to survive, right?”  More nods, but a little more tentatively now. “On the other hand, if one of those displaced groups of people came upon a house that was still occupied by the owners, or filled with other refugees, and decided to take it away from the people living there, or take their food, or other property, then they are indeed committing a crime that should be punished harshly, perhaps even by death, because they are placing their survival needs above those of others with equal rights and prior possession of the property.  You see the point now?”

“Yes, that makes sense,” commented Special Agent Corrigan, if only to break the silence.  “There needs to be a victim for it to be considered a real crime.”

 “Correct.  That’s the point I was trying to make last night in the interview when Mayor Del Fuego was talking about arresting me for being a looter,” said Scott with a grin.  “Now let’s take a little drive to see what this
looter
wants to share with you.”  By this time all of the VIPs were aboard and taking seats in the front half of the Hydra Terra.  Mark’s son Jake handed up a pair of M-203s and web gear for his father and Scott, then he climbed up with the Tommy gun and machete strapped to his back.   Billy followed with an AR-15 and a shotgun, then helped Jake retract the boarding ladder and close the door.   Scott signaled the driver and they pulled away from the
Sovereign Spirit.