03 Deluge of the Dead (21 page)

Floyd spun around and said, “What the fuck, man?”

“If they’re in here, let’s get them to come to us, bro,” Terrance replied. Then he shouted, “Hey! Come and get us, you dead fucks!” His loud voice echoed through the ferry and produced immediate results. Moans and thumps preceded the appearance of at least a dozen zombies. Some rose from between the rows of seats, others came down the stairs from the upper deck, or around the partition that shielded the snack bar from the main cabin. Floyd and Terrance fired as they slowly backed out the door onto the boarding ramp.  They would have been overrun, if their attackers hadn’t stopped inside the door, afraid to come out of the boat into the rain. This gave the two former bouncers time to reload their guns and finish off the remaining zombies.

“Shit, man,” Floyd said shakily as the last of the undead fell. “If they swarmed us in there, we would have been toast. Thanks for thinking of drawing them out.”

“Just ‘cause I dropped out of school don’t mean I’m dumb,” Terrance said. After that the two of them searched the rest of the ferry. Aside from the pile of bodies by the door it proved empty.  They completed the search with the high tech bridge control room. They were about to go back to the dock and hook the ferry up to the tug boat when Terrance spotted a set of keys inserted into the ignition. “Hey,” he said. “I think we can drive this thing instead of towing it.”

“What? Who’s gonna drive it?” Floyd asked.

“Well, let’s go tell the tug boat captain. Maybe he can do it, or send for someone who can,” Terrance suggested.  They proceeded to do just that. The tug boat skipper agreed that the ferry would be a valuable addition to the rescue operation. It was decided that Terrance and Floyd would remain to clear bodies off the ferry while the tug boat went to pick another skipper.

*****    

Scag led his gang away from the aquarium on foot. Most of their vehicles had been parked in an adjacent covered parking structure that was now full of zombies. The creatures apparently wouldn’t come out to attack in the rain, but it would be suicide for anyone to enter places where they were hiding from it. Some of the Surf Nazis complained about leaving their hogs behind. What was a motorcycle gang without motorcycles? “Alive,” was Scag’s answer. He had other plans for them. He explained that it wasn’t safe to ride the streets anymore and doubted the guards at the bridges to the safe haven would welcome a hundred outlaw bikers either.

“You’ll be trading in your hogs for jet skis soon,” he told them. “The only action on land now involves walking dead pukes. That commodore has the right idea about going to sea. No fucking zombies out there, but plenty of boats full of babes, booze and comfy beds. We’re the Surf Nazis, right? We’ll be the perfect pirates.”

So Scag led them through the rain, across the park, towards Rainbow Harbor where he had seen preparations for the evacuation earlier in the day. The Surf Nazis were all wearing ponchos they had found at the Aquarium, intended for use in the splash zone of dolphin display. The ponchos were perfect for this occasion, not only as protection from the rain, but to mask their tattoos, bald heads and biker garb, not to mention the weapons they were packing. To any casual observer they were just an indistinct group of refugees moving towards sanctuary.

*****

Nicky huddled in a corner of the roof, naked and shivering in the rain. At least the water was washing off the blood and the stink of her abuse. She had outrun the zombies to the roof access door and burst out into the rain. Her pursuers didn’t follow her outside. It seemed true that they feared the rain. She was safe from them for now, but she was cold, wet, miserable and terrified.  

She didn’t see any way to secure the door to the roof, but knew she should try to find one. When the rain stopped the zombies would come out looking for her, unless they lost interest before then. She had heard that they didn’t like to climb hills or stairs unless they were chasing someone. Maybe there was some way to block the door though. She got up to look around.

First she glanced out over the parapet lining the edge of the roof. The light was dim, but she could see a large group of people moving towards the marina. She was almost positive that they were the evil gang who had abused her and killed her family, along with the other people who had been slaughtered in the lobby. Nicky thought about screaming at them, shouting out her rage and anger, challenging them to come back and fight their way up to the roof through a building full of zombies, but she thought better of it. She felt sorry for anyone who they ran into next, but was thankful to see them walking away. She wasn’t sure if she dreaded them or the zombies more. Both were equally monstrous in her opinion, aside from the fact that she had seemingly survived being ravished by Scag and his skinheads. The zombies would want even more, if they ever got their hands on her.

Nicky decided to search the roof for some kind of shelter. The roof was mostly barren, but there were several large air conditioning units mounted up there. She approached the largest one. It was the size of a delivery van, perched on a concrete equipment pad. Circling the massive machine, Nicky spotted an access door secured by large toggle latches. She climbed up and opened the door to reveal a compartment five feet long and two feet wide. On one side were massive fans, thankfully still and silent without power. The other side of the compartment was lined with felt covered racks. She didn’t know it, but those were filters and the compartment was used to clean and change them. All she knew was that it was dry and marginally warmer in there than sitting in the rain. She climbed in, closed the door behind her, and huddled in the darkness. It was only then that she broke down and cried until she ran out of tears.  

Chapter 7

To: Sovereign Spirit

Subject: Damn You!!!!
Damn you to hell with your stupid satellite interviews about your fuckin’ boat. Who the fuck wants to hear about you bastards safe on your fucking ocean liner and flotilla thingies! You can’t help anyone with this shit! Stop sending this fake “make yourself safe” bullshit. It ain’t helpin’ to keep the idiots alive.
Stop sending these fuckin’ messages!

“What the hell is this all about?” demanded Scott as Dr. Greenburg ushered him into the Marine Biology Lab that had been turned over to Professor Bernhard and was now referred to as the “Z Lab” by the crew.

“Ah, good, come in Commodore. We’re all already for you,” said the professor, motioning Scott towards a gurney set up next to a table full of instruments and equipment that Scott didn’t recognize. He did recognize Clint, however, who was laying on another gurney on the other side of the table.

“Hey, buddy,” said Clint. “They’re gonna shoot you up with the good stuff.”

“What are you talking about?” Scott retorted. “I don’t have time for this.”

“”You don’t have time for anything else,” Professor Bernhard rejoined. “Just lie down and I’ll explain during the treatment, sir.”

 “Treatment?” Scott wasn’t computing this. “What treatment?”

“The transfusion,” said Bernhard. “We will try to save your life using Mr. Murdock’s blood. Now sit down and let’s get started.”

Scott was stunned. He allowed Dr. Greenburg to seat him on the gurney and prepare an IV. She secured his left arm to the gurney and proceeded to insert the needle into a vein on his forearm.

“Somebody, please, tell me what’s going on,” Scott pleaded. He hated needles.

“Certainly, Commodore,” said the professor, while fiddling with some instruments. “You might be a very lucky man. I began studying blood samples as soon as you brought Clint in here this morning. Of course I studied your samples after you were bitten too.”

The professor paused to activate a machine before continuing, “As I told you last night, Clint’s blood shows signs of an antibody to the Super Rabies virus. And we now know that his body fluids also carry the virus. The infected woman that bit you is proof of that. Yet Clint is alive and seemingly well. Why?” He paused as red fluid began to flow through tubes.

“The answer is obvious,” he continued in a professorial tone of voice. “The anti-bodies in Mr. Murdock’s blood are capable of suppressing the virus. So what we will do now is give you a transfusion of his blood. If this works the way I hope it will, your blood will also produce the same antibodies.”

“But my blood type isn’t common,” Scott protested.

“Ah, that’s one of your lucky breaks,” said Bernhard with a crafty smile. “I see that you are type O-Negative. That’s very special. We call it the universal donor. You can donate blood to virtually anyone. But you can only receive blood from another O-Negative donor. And it looks like you won the lottery again, Commodore. Your friend Clint is also O-Negative.”

Scott was dumbstruck as he watched the hanging IV bag fill with Clint’s blood and start to flow down the tube to the needle in his arm. Almost choking with emotion he was finally able to ask, “Are you saying that I’m going to survive this bite?”

“That remains to be seen,” said the professor. “I hope my theory is correct and I hope we started this soon enough, but I can’t give an untried procedure like this more than a fifty-fifty chance of success. To be fully honest with you, we tried something similar on the other man who was bitten when you were. It failed, but he had a different blood type and his condition was much worse than yours. His bites were deeper and he was already showing signs of turning by the time I figured this out. His reaction to treatment was less than optimal. The experiment had to be terminated.”

“You mean Craig is dead already?” Scott asked.

“It was quick,” interjected Dr. Greenburg. “We waited too long and only gave him one unit of Clint’s blood. But we’re pulling out the stops for you, Scott.”

“Yes,” the professor agreed. “Your friend Clint has agreed to a full blood exchange. Once we get a pint of his blood into you, we will start taking blood from your other arm and returning it to Clint. Like Siamese twins, you will share the same blood system for the next few hours. We hope that Clint’s antibodies will protect both of you.”

“You’re good with this, Clint?” Scott asked skeptically.

“Fuck’n-A, buddy,” Clint responded. “I’d be dead already, if not for you. And then I find out that something inside me turns people into zombies and is killing you? Hell, if something else in me can save you, of course I want to do this. And if it doesn’t work, well, I don’t want to be around to feel the guilt. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah. Thanks,” said Scott, but something wasn’t adding up in his mind. “Professor?” he said as Clint’s blood flowed into his arm. “If Clint is spreading the disease, how can his blood save me?”

“It’s a bit complicated,” said Professor Bernhard. “You see, it’s not Clint’s blood that spreads the disease per se. The virus might be in his saliva, or his semen. It’s probably masked in his blood too. Exposure to small amounts of his blood might spread the infection without offering the benefits of his antibodies. I’ll need to do more tests to understand it better. I’m hoping that both of you will survive this. Clint’s immune blood should stop the virus from spreading in your system and also fight off the infected blood we will pump into him. If so, I’ll be able to study two subjects. If I’m wrong, I will still harvest your blood and study it. One way or another, we learn something from this experiment.”  

“Thanks for turning me into a lab rat,” Scott mumbled. “But let me get this straight, if this
experiment
succeeds, I will be cured?”

“Not exactly,” said Dr. Greenburg as she prepared a second transfusion line. “If you live through this, you will probably be just like Clint – a survivor, but a carrier too.”

*****

Carl led the convoy of buses and RVs straight to the Chevron refinery. It was hard to believe he had only left here yesterday, so much had happened so quickly. The remote control on the visor of the Suburban opened the gate on Sepulveda Boulevard, proving that the generators were still operating. The sprinkler defense system was also still blasting seawater through the fence line. Of course there was no horde of zombies lining the perimeter. Any that had been there earlier in the day would have run for shelter when the rain started, so the first group of refugees arrived without incident.

Carl stationed the Panther at the gate with instructions to keep it open for more refugees and use the water canon to clear any zombies away, if the rain stopped and they showed up.  Then he led the convoy down to the motor pool and administration building where he had lived for the past two weeks.  Carl took a few minutes to show the newcomers were to set up their camp. Then he prepared to leave the refinery in search of more survivors. He had decided to make the next sweep through the residential streets of El Segundo. He would bring the CAT, the second fire truck, and two city buses.

Carl pulled Gus aside and said, “I want you to stay here with these people, Gus. This is your refinery and with Chuck gone, you’re the boss here now. There could be a lot more survivors coming here and they’ll need someone who knows this facility inside and out to get them organized. You need to keep the generators running, along with the pumps for the sprinkler defense. You also need to move refugees into buildings during the storm and think about setting up tents for them to live in after the storm passes. You think you can handle that?”

Gus looked like the prospect of being in charge didn’t appeal to him, but he said, “Sure, Carl. If that’s what you need me to do, I can handle it. I guess you’re right about needing someone here who knows how things work. We wouldn’t want one of these people to flip the wrong switch and blow the place up or anything.”

 “You can say that again,” Carl agreed. “I feel a lot better about leaving these people here with you in charge.” They shook hands and Carl got back into the Suburban with Karen.