02 Flotilla of the Dead (36 page)

            “Isn’t this fun, baby?” asked Scott as he leveled off the plane at an altitude even with the island’s mountain tops. 

            “Maybe it’s fun for you,” Michelle replied through the headset intercom.  “For me it’s terrifying, but it’s exhilarating too.  So where are we going?”

            “That’s still a surprise,” replied Scott.  “But I can point out a few points of interest along the way.  First we’re about to fly over Catalina’s airport in the sky and you’ll see it’s overflowing with a couple hundred airplanes that escaped here on Z-Day.”  Scott pointed out the window and Michelle gave a surprised exclamation when they flew over the crowded airfield.  Scott wagged his plane’s wings in greeting to those below and banked out over the ocean again as he aimed the nose north-east towards Malibu.

A few minutes later Scott said, “We’ll be flying over our house in Malibu soon, honey.”

“I know,” she replied with a note of apprehension.  “Is that where we’re going?”

“Not today,” Scott answered.  “It’s not safe to go there alone, but that could be our next stop when the
Sovereign Spirit
leaves Catalina.  I’ve got a plan to set up a safe haven along the coast of Malibu.  Then we’ll be able to reclaim our house and make that part of the coast secure and zombie free.  Today we’ll just fly over it.”

“Okay,” said Michelle as Scott began a shallow descent towards the familiar coast of Malibu.  When they arrived over their beachfront compound Scott circled several times and they both looked down at the apparently deserted estate in silence.   There was no sign of damage or looting that they could see from the air and no sign of any zombies on the property.  However, the Pacific Coast Highway was jammed with abandoned cars and corpses scattered among them.  They also spotted a dozen or more zombies surrounding an RV in the middle of the traffic jam on PCH.  The group was easy to identify as zombies because they turned and reached towards the plane as it flew by.

“Do you think there are normal people trapped in that motor home?” Michelle asked in a hesitant and clearly horrified voice. 

“Yes, that’s about the only thing that would attract so many zombies.” replied Scott.  “If those people can survive another day or two we might be able to rescue them.  But there’s nothing that we can do for them right now.”  Michelle nodded in mute understanding as Scott made one more pass along the Malibu coast before climbing out over the ocean again. 

            The Seawind climbed smoothly to an altitude of 5,500 feet as Scott flew north-west, taking them several miles off-shore of Point Mugu Naval Air Station.   “The Navy is probably still in control of Point Mugu and Port Hueneme,” said Scott.  “But we’ll stay well of clear of them today.  I’d rather have the Coast Guard make our introductions there when elements of the Flotilla arrive.”  Michelle didn’t say anything, but she was watching the coast as they flew north.  A few minutes later they were passing Ventura and Scott angled out further into the Santa Barbara channel towards a string of off-shore oil drilling platforms.  He turned the plane into a banking descent as he circled them.

            “Are we going to those oil rigs?” asked Michelle nervously.

            “Not today,” replied Scott with a grin.  “I’m just looking for signs of life.  There,” he pointed down.  “See the helicopters on the landing pads of those platforms?  And all of those boats anchored near the rigs?  That’s another group of boat people that we should make contact with soon.  But not today, honey.  I just wanted to take a quick look.  Those oil rigs might become strongholds for a safe haven that could include all those beach houses between Ventura and Rincon.”  Scott gestured towards the coast where houses were nestled along a narrow strip of flat land between the ocean and coastal mountains.  Those communities could be secured in the same way that he planned for Malibu.   But his destination on this flight was farther north, so he set those thoughts aside and climbed the plane back up to 5,500 feet over the Santa Barbara Channel.

            Five minutes later the Seawind crossed over the shore above downtown Santa Barbara and Michelle turned to Scott with questions in her eyes.  “Is this where you’re taking you’re taking me?”

            “Not exactly,” replied Scott mysteriously.  He continued to climb as he looked out the window at his home town.  It was difficult to tell from this altitude, but Scott was sure it was overrun with zombies, although there were probably lots of survivors too.  For the moment Scott was happy to be too high to see any grizzly details below.  It was far preferable to look at the familiar and breathtaking landscape from a distance where it still looked to him like the most beautiful place in the world.  If he wiped all thoughts of zombies from his mind it looked almost exactly as it had when he had flown the same route as a student pilot thirty years ago. 

            When the plane climbed up and over the mountains behind the city of Santa Barbara he noticed that the road up San Marcos Pass was jammed with abandoned vehicles.  A multi-car accident had blocked traffic halfway up the twisting road.   Since the accident probably happened on Z-Day, it would have closed one of the only escape routes for survivors from Santa Barbara.  As the Seawind crested the Coastal Range the Santa Ynez Valley spread out in front of them.   “We’re almost there, honey.  Can you guess where we’re going now?” Scott asked. 

            “The Indian casino and wine tasting?” asked Michelle skeptically. 

            “Close,” said Scott with a smile as he began a gradual descent into the valley.  “But I think it will be safer if stay on the water.”   He pointed at a large lake that ran for several miles down the valley.

            “Lake Cachuma?” asked Michelle with a note of pleasure and anticipation in her voice.

            “You got it, honey,” confirmed Scott.  “It’s where we had our first real date.  I wanted to take you someplace meaningful, but also somewhere safe.  We should be able to land on the lake and beach the plane on an island or inaccessible cove where no zombie can get to us.  Then we can celebrate your birthday in peace.”

            “That does sound romantic,” said Michelle coyly.  

            Scott smiled as he continued to descend into the valley towards the lake.  Like any good pilot of a single engine aircraft, Scott had made sure that he always had enough speed and altitude to glide to a safe landing in the event of engine failure.  In a world full of zombies the safest place to land his amphibious plane was a large body of water.  Until crossing the mountains he had made sure to keep enough altitude to glide back to the ocean.   Now he made sure that he had enough height to glide to the lake, if necessary.  Not that he expected an engine failure, but if recent events had taught him anything, it was to expect the unexpected. 

            The Seawind flew over the clear blue water of the lake at an altitude of 1,000 feet, speeding down its five mile length at 180 mph.  Scott was surprised to see that the camp grounds on the western peninsula that jutted into the lake seemed to be full of campers.  He pulled into a sharp turn over the dam at the far end of the lake and flew back over the camp sites.  Sure enough, the sites were full of tents, trailers and RVs.  There was also activity around the marina and boat launch ramps.  And there were people down there waving at the plane.  Not reaching like zombies, but actually waving.

            “Look at that, honey!”  Scott said.  “There are survivors down there.”

            “That’s a good thing,” said Michelle.  “Isn’t it?”

            “Yeah,” replied Scott hesitantly.  “It’s a great thing for them and probably for everyone in the long run.  Of course it might put a damper on your surprise birthday picnic, but maybe not,” Scott temporized.  “I think I’ll go ahead with our plan and land by Arrowhead Island at the other end of the lake.  If any of those survivors wants to meet us today, they’ll have to come there by boat.  I don’t think it would be wise for us to just pull up to the marina or campgrounds without knowing more about who all those people are.”

            Scott circled the Seawind over the campgrounds several more times while he hit speed dial on the satellite phone to inform the
Sovereign Spirit
of their destination and the fact that they had spotted survivors in the campground.  During the final pass he identified at least a dozen police and fire vehicles parked near the entrance to the campgrounds and forming what looked like a security perimeter along the highway.  Then he straightened onto an approach to set down on the south-eastern end of the lake and reduced power has he extended the flaps.  The Seawind touched down smoothly and decelerated rapidly. 

Scott had judged his approach well and the aircraft settled down about five hundred feet from the uninhabited shore of Arrowhead Island.   He added a little power to bring the Seawind back up to step taxi speed and cruised around the small island looking for a good place to beach or tie up to the shore.  The water level in the lake was quite high from the spring rains and Scott spotted a grass covered sloping beach where he could run the plane up on the shore at the southern tip of the island.  From there they would be able to see any boats coming from the Marina.

Scott disengaged the lock and raised the cockpit canopy with the flip of a switch.  Then he released his seat belt and climbed over the nose with a rope in hand.  “Wait while I secure the bow line,” he said to Michelle.  “Then I’ll help you get off and set up our picnic.”  Michelle just smiled and watched as Scott jumped across the mud to the high grass beyond and tied the rope to a small tree.  He pulled the plane up onto the sore and returned to help Michelle ashore before going back again for the picnic basket and his weapons.  Five minutes later they were happily ensconced on a picnic blanket with an array of appetizers and a bottle of Merlot wine in front of them.   The sun was bright, but the day was not overly hot.  A cool breeze swept across the lake, fanning the green grass and reeds around them. 

“You weren’t kidding about a romantic getaway,” said Michelle as she raised her wine glass for a toast.  “This reminds me of the picnics we used to have at Tapia Park in Malibu Canyon.”  Scott smiled as their glasses clinked together and then he tasted the wine.  Moments later they were sharing a passionate kiss.  But the moment of bliss was spoiled when Scott heard a speedboat approaching.

“Hold that thought, honey,” he said as he broke the embrace and turned to pick up his M-203.  “We have visitors.”  Scott stood up and saw three boats moving rapidly across the lake towards Arrowhead Island.  He pulled a pair of binoculars from his gear bag and focused on the approaching boats.  They were full of men and he could see that some wore uniforms and most of them held rifles.  There were any number of reasons why they would be armed – many of them innocent enough – but Scott did not feel like taking any chances.  He quickly replaced the buckshot grenade in the launcher with a parachute flare and fired it over the lake in front of the speed boats. 

 As the phosphorus flare bloomed a few hundred feet high in front of the boats they swerved and slowed.   One of the boats was a park ranger patrol boat.  It’s flashing red and blue lights lit up and a voice spoke from a PA speaker.  “Hold your fire!  We are friendly and uninfected.  We just want to talk to you!”

“Okay!” Scott yelled back.  “One boat can come closer!  But don’t come ashore.  We’re having a private picnic here!”  Scott had already reloaded the grenade launcher with a tear gas canister and he made sure that the rifle portion of the weapon was locked and loaded too.  He didn’t want to get into a gun fight, but he wanted the approaching men to know that he was prepared to defend himself.

The little patrol boat approached the island slowly while the other two boats remained well offshore.  When it got within easy hailing distance Scott signaled for the boat to stop and said, “That’s close enough.  What do you want to talk about?”

“Let’s start with who you are and where you came from,” called a big man in a Park Ranger uniform. 

“I’m Scott Allen.  My wife and I just flew up from Catalina Island for a little picnic.  We won’t be staying long and we don’t intend to cause any trouble.”

“You flew here for a picnic?!” came the incredulous reply.  “Are you crazy, or what?  Don’t you know about the man-eating zombies running around all over the place?”

“Yes,” replied Scott calmly.  “But I don’t expect them to bother us here on this island.  Do you?”

“Uh, no,” replied the ranger grudgingly.  “I guess not.  But what kind of fool would go for a picnic in a world full of zombies?”

Before Scott could come up with a witty answer the man standing next to the ranger said, “Hey, aren’t you the guy that’s been on the news this week?  The commodore leading a flotilla of boats?” 

“Yes, that would be me,” replied Scott, somewhat surprised that his reputation had preceded him.           But of course anyone with a satellite TV would have seen him on GNN.

             “So you just flew up here for a picnic?” the ranger persisted with suspicion in his voice.

            “Yes,” Scott repeated.  “It’s my wife’s birthday and I wanted to take her somewhere romantic, but safe.  We used to camp at this lake and I knew about this island.  It seemed like one of the safest places to go, since zombies don’t swim.  But I didn’t realize that there would be so many people at the lake, or that you would still be patrolling it.  I suppose you’re going to give me a ticket for landing my plane in your lake, huh?”  Scott smiled as he said that, but the ranger didn’t seem to find it funny.

            “We don’t give out tickets anymore, sir, since there’s no court to collect the fines.  But we do make arrests,” the ranger said with the hint of a threat in his voice.  He was clearly trying to affirm his authority here.

            “I hope you won’t try to arrest us, officer,” said Scott, still smiling.  He was still holding the M-203 with the barrels pointed up unthreateningly at the sky.  “As I said, we’re just here for a picnic and don’t want to cause you any trouble.  In fact, now that we know you’re here, we might be able to offer you some assistance too.  How many survivors are here at the lake?”