Islands of Rage and Hope (eARC) (5 page)

Then she pulled up the manifest for the squadron and started hunting, checking names against the file. The basic name wasn't anywhere on there but she knew it wouldn't be. But the handle...

"Thomas Walker," she said, putting her hand over her mouth and trying not to cry. "Son of a bitch.
Night Walker
. He's alive. There
is
a God in heaven."

"
Bella Senorita
,
Alexandria
, over."

"
Bella
here," Sophia said, wondering if she should put up the bimini top. The tan was getting pretty deep.

The guys on Columbus's ships had probably been about ready to mutiny at this point. But that was because they didn't know where they were going, where they were or when they were going to get there. If you did, the South Atlantic Equatorial Current cruise was a real beauty. Not much to see but ocean, but in winter it was just lovely rolling combers heading in your general direction, clear skies, seabirds, whales, flying fish and the occasional bit of debris from the death of human civilization.

"
Bella
,
Alex
. Prosecuting sierra. Geared freighter. Approx six hundred feet length. Approx twenty-eight kay gross tons. Containerized and noncontainerized deck cargo. Visible infected. Zulu count five visible. Over."

"Roger,
Alex
. Send coordinates, over."

She thought about it for a second, then picked up the other radio.

"Flotilla, Division Seven, over."

"Division Seven, Flotilla, over."

"Got a geared handysize with some infected," Sophia said. "What's the status on Marines, over?"

"Sort of tapped out working a liner, Division. Recommend give it a pass, over."

"Flotilla, be advised. Geared and has noncontainerized deck cargo, break. Looks like really nice salvage. Break. Without getting off the boat myself I am confident my people can handle this without Marine assistance. We're talking walk in the park here. Over."

"Is she really that laid-back about taking on a freighter with zombies on it?" Petty Officer Third Class Kevin Drum said. "I mean, she sounds
bored
."

"The last time Seawolf took a walk in a park it was Washington Square when the zombies overran the last concert in New York," Lieutenant Gregory Spears said. The flotilla commander was a former stock broker and weekend yachtsman. He hadn't realized the difference between telling people how to do their jobs and potentially sending them to their deaths until he'd taken the job. He wasn't enjoying that part of it. "Her definition of walk in the park is not a normal definition." He thought about it and keyed the radio.

"Washington Square walk in the park or a walk in the park walk in the park, over."

Sophia giggled and keyed the radio.

"The 'we've got this' kind, Flotilla. Take your pick."

"Do not endanger your vessel. Minimize risk to your personnel. Do not go directly alongside."

"Do not endanger vessel, aye," Sophia said. "Minimize personnel risk, aye. Do not go directly alongside, aye."

"Seriously, don't get yourselves in a scrum. That's what Marines are for."

"Will not get in a scrum, Flotilla. Over."

"Approved. Flotilla out."

"Hoist the black flag," Sophia said over the intercom. "Man the grapnels. We have a ship to take me hearties! Arrrh!"

"So, Thomas," Sophia said. "As an English as a Second Language teacher with 'some civilian shooting experience,' how good a shot are you?"

The freighter was pretty big compared to the
Bella Senorita
but ships like the
Iwo Jima
and liners like the
Voyage
had given Sophia a new appreciation for the word "big." And if any of the gear was running, it was a real catch. The noncontainerized deck cargo wasn't much--some boat hulls, mostly--but one of the containers had been opened and apparently contained food, based on the well-fed zombies on the deck and the seabirds flying in and out. Probably fresh water as well. Zombies could occasionally figure out how to tear into cases of bottled water.

"I would say fair to good," Walker said. "But that is on my scale of judging such things. I will also say that catenary is going to be a bitch."

The freighter was not rocking much in the relatively smooth seas. The
Bella
, on the other hand, was bouncing quite a bit. And they were not rocking in time.

"Always is," Sophia said. "Okay, shooting challenge. You, me and Olga. As skipper I'm going to have the edge on both experience and weapon so I'll spot myself one zombie."

"Are you sure about that, Skipper?" Walker said. "My definition of good would be most people's definition of excellent."

"Choose your weapon, Mr. Walker," Sophia said.

"Is this a duel?" Olga asked. "Don't you need seconds?"

"A pistol?" Sophia said. "Okay..."

She'd turned out with her personalized M4 with Leupold scope. Olga had her M4. Walker had a 1911.

"I am capable enough with a rifle, ma'am, but pistol or submachine gun are usually my preference," Walker said turning his right shoulder towards the zombies clustered by the rail. "Whenever you're ready, ma'am."

"I think I'll spot," Olga said, setting her weapon down and getting on her stomach.

"Works for me," Sophia said, getting in the prone and wrapping the sling around her arm. "The one item I will note on this is always miss high if you're going to miss. The one thing you don't want is rounds coming back at the ship."

"Understood, ma'am," Walker said. "Thank you for that tip."

"Why do I think you knew it already?" Sophia said, lining up a target.

"I did not, actually," Walker said. "Makes sense. But this is, in fact, a new experience for me, ma'am."

"I'll work forward to aft, you work aft to forward. Engage at will."

Walker missed his first shot, high, and was less angered than pleased. He knew that he would not be doing any better with a rifle at this range. And he had missed because of the catenary. Which meant he had something new to learn about shooting and that was becoming increasingly rare in his experience.

Sophia missed her first two shots but she was used to that. Catenary was, as Walker had noted, a bitch. The U.S. Navy SEALs had managed to shoot three pirates in similar if reversed conditions, each with one shot apiece, at night, without hitting a hostage. How, she was still wanting to learn. But so far although the Marines were somewhat trained in catenary shooting, no real "expert" had turned up.

Her third shot scored, high and center, on one of the infected and he dropped out of sight.

"Excellent shot, Ensign," Walker said.

"Thanks," Sophia said, keeping her eye in the scope.

Walker was firing one-handed, arm extended, his left hand on his hip. It was not a normal firing position but it gave the added advantage of being very flexible. That flexibility had him, at first, chasing the targets. When he realized that wasn't the best choice, he waited until they came into his target zone, then adjusted minutely.

Head shot.

Now he was getting in the groove....

There were originally seven infected on deck. Sophia and Walker fired nearly simultaneously and the last target dropped.

"Okay," Olga said. "That was definitely a head shot. But I can't tell which of you got him. And you were neck and neck up to that point."

"Walker," Sophia said.

"Skipper's," Walker said.

"From the way the head came apart I think it was both," Olga said.

"Since the Hole is so interested in 'Marigold,' whoever he is, upload this to General Brice's attention," Lieutenant Commander Vancel said, watching the screen. "And let's go find some more prospects."

"That's gotta be a both," Olga said. "Yuck."

"It was," Walker said, chuckling. "This is the forty-five going in here on the cheek. The skipper's five-five-six went into the right eye. I'd say either one was a kill shot. The interesting question is what is in the container."

The answer was fruit juice in cardboard containers. The infected had managed to rip their way into the pallets and get both liquid and some nourishment. The bodies of a few crew as well as feathers of seabirds indicated there had been other sources of protein.

"I'm glad I've got a respirator on," Walker said. He'd armed up with a 1911 and a pump shotgun and changed into his blue coveralls. But other than that he was just wearing a respirator. Olga was in full combat gear with a balaclava against bites to the neck. "Let's check out the rest. You lead."

"You're such a gentleman," Olga said.

"I'm a firm believer in female equality," Thomas said. "After you."

"I really don't like this," Olga said. Belowdecks was dark as a tomb. Also silent as one except for a rattling and banging of metal as the freighter slowly rocked in the swells. Each bang, though, was startling. They were too irregular to predict.

"Does get the blood pumping, don't it?" Thomas said as they swept through the crew quarters. The area was a mess and the reason was apparent in a naked body, past bloat and long dead. "Don't think we're waking him up, no matter how much noise we make. But the body hasn't been mauled. That would tend to indicate this area is clear."

"So we can go back, right?" Olga said.

"Mechanical spaces still to go I would think. But you're in charge."

"I think the engine room was closed up," Olga said, sweeping around one of the massive generators. "No crap, no dried blood."

"And no body," Walker said. "I would say this is legal salvage and in decent condition."

"Flotilla, Division Seven," Sophia said, then looked down to the aft deck at the clearance crew. "You two, get out of your gear and grab a drink. I know how nerve-wracking that can be. Flotilla, Division Seven."

"Division Seven, Flotilla."

"Ship is clear. Seven live infected now KIA. One previous KIA in the interior. Mechanical and working spaces in good shape. Diesel engines and onboard fuel. Recommend this one for a salvage team. Geared and loaded with cargo."

"Will pass that on to Squadron, Division. Any problems?"

"Walk in the park, Flotilla."

"Okay, let me make this
real clear
," the salvage crew boss said. "This one had better actually be
cleared
."

Adam David Saddler had been a master mariner, driving ships like this one, for thirty-five years before the Plague. What he had not been, had no desire to be, was a cop, a soldier or, for that matter, a zombie hunter. He thought anyone who did it for kicks or for pay was an idiot. He'd had to kill one of his crewmates when the poor guy turned on their lifeboat. He was not interested in meeting more.

"Had that problem before?" Sophia asked.

Two off-shore inflatables were filled with a crew from the
Grace Tan
, ready to, if possible, get the ship underway to join the squadron.

"Yes, we have had that problem before," the captain said. "And we don't find it funny. Did you clear the engineering spaces?"

"Yes, we cleared the engineering spaces," Olga said. "They were closed. We only found one infected belowdecks. It was dead and it hadn't been chewed on."

"Don't suppose you cleared out the bodies," one of the crew asked.

"No, we didn't," Olga said. "That's what you big...strong...men are for. We just killed them."

"Need your clearance people to accompany," the salvage boss said.

"That's why they've got their guns."

"What are you going to do with the container?" Walker asked.

"If we can get everything running, probably hose it out and close it." Suzanne Grazier had been a full rate deck hand on a freighter that had been infected. She'd jumped ship with three of her shipmates. One other had survived and they had both been quite happy to see a boat like Sophia's come along. Especially given the pregnancy. She'd liked both of the guys who had turned but the upside was, she knew who her baby's daddy was. "It's not worth trying to undog it and winch it over the side. And I don't think the stuff's going to be good anymore."

There was a slight rumble under their feet and Suzanne grinned.

"Well, that's one thing working," he said.

"And we're away," Sophia said. The salvage boss had grumpily declared the clearance of the M/V
Paul Osted
"good enough" and taken over the ship. "Now we just have to catch back up to my division. Full power, helmsman!"

"Full power, aye," Olga said, pushing the throttles forward.

"But that way," Sophia said, pointing to starboard. "You're headed for, well, Antarctica right now."

"Details, details..." Olga said.

"...KING OF MIAMI AND THE KINGDOM OF FLORCUBATAMP! ALL SHALL BOW BEFORE MY MAGNIFICENCE...!"

From:
Collected Radio Transmissions of The Fall

University of the South Press 2053

"
Bella
,
Bella
,
Bella
, this is the
Finally Friday
, over."

"
Friday, Bella,
over," Olga said in a bored tone.

"Fuel state, three hundred fifty gallons. Water, twenty gallons. Our ROWPU is acting up and the oiler can't get it fixed so far. Lots of food, lots of booze, not so much on the water and fuel thing. Captain McCartney asked me to add that this is an official 'we need fuel' call. Over."

"Roger," Olga said. "Will pass that on to the division commander.
Bella
, out."

"Anything new?" Sophia said, coming up on the fly bridge.

Azure and silver. She'd been reading quite a bit and on Walker's suggestion had dug into Hornblower. Part of her gift from Mr. Lawton had been a slew of e-books and they included all of the Horatio Hornblower series. She now knew what a "cutting out expedition" was supposed to be like. And the description of southern seas was accurate as all hell. Perfect blue, perfect silver, perfect days of peace and quiet and not a damned problem in the world except an almost complete lack of people to save and Olga going slowly stir crazy.

Next up: Aubrey and Maturin. Which Walker said was more historically accurate. That should be interesting.

"
Friday
is low on fuel," Olga said. "They're
officially
declaring they need fuel."

"How low?" Sophia asked.

"Three hundred and fifty gallons," Olga said. "I figured it out. That's about a day's worth the way we're going. Assuming they don't have to make a speed run."

"LeEllen should have called that in sooner," Sophia said, frowning. "Okay, I'll call it in to Flotilla. If needs be we'll cross=load; we're nearly topped up."

When Olga had gone below, Sophia picked up the radio.

"Flotilla, Division Seven, over."

"Seven, Flotilla, over."

"One of our boats is nearly out of fuel. The other two are in good state but it's been luck of the draw on finding boats with fuel and
Friday
drew the short straw. We can cross-load but we also are about topped up on supplies and have some passengers. Request permission to do a drop-off and tank run. Over."

"Roger, Seven, I'll pass that to the flotilla commander. Anything else, over?"

"Be advised,
Friday
is one day from dry and also low on water," Sophia said. "Can cross-load to keep her running, but would like a reply as soon as possible. That's it. Division out."

"Division Seven, Flotilla Commander. Need to speak to your division commander, over."

"Division Actual, aye," Sophia replied.

"Cross-load fuel, then return main squadron for supply and passenger drop and tanking. Do you copy, over?"

"Return main squadron, aye. Cross-load for run, aye."

"Take crew rest aboard larger vessels, then return to sweep. Flotilla out."

"Woot," Sophia said. "Back to civilization, such as it is."

The first thing that was evident was the cruise ship M/V
Boadicea
on the horizon. In a sea of darkness it was the sole bright spot. As they closed with the squadron center, more ships became apparent. The
Grace Tan
. The diesel tanker
Ho Yun
. The
Paul Osted.
Other, smaller, support ships. Motor yachts in a ragged formation following along like attention deficit baby ducks. Zodiacs zipping between the ships even at this late hour. A Zodiac filled with a Marine clearance team passed a few miles to port, headed out for some heavy clearance.

"Squadron, Division Seven, over," Sophia radioed when they were about five miles from the formation.

"Division Seven, Squadron. Switch to Forty-Six for Squadron Traffic Control, copy?"

"Switch Four-Six for Traffic Control, aye," Sophia said, switching frequencies. "Squadron Traffic Control, Division Seven, three motor yachts, requesting orders. Be advised, one of us needs to tank, over."

"Division Seven, TrafCon. Unrep not authorized at night absent emergency. Are you declaring an emergency, over?"

"Negative, Squadron. They can probably hang in there till morning. Request early tanking, over."

"Roger, I'll make a note. Come to One-one-four. Move to rear of formation. Join motor yacht contingent to the rear. Do not approach within one hundred yards of other motor yachts. Do not approach within two hundred yards of ships. Copy?"

"One one four, aye," Sophia said. "Rear of formation, aye. Motor yacht contingent rear, aye. Do not approach within one hundred yards other yachts, do not approach within two hundred yards ships, aye."

"We'll try to get you tanked after dawn. I've made a note to unrep ops. Keep somebody on radio watch that's actually on the radio. TraffCon, out."

"
Friday, Business, Bella
, over."

"
Finally Friday
, over."

"
Risky Business
."

"Follow me," Sophia said, slowing down. "We're to get behind the rest of the motor yachts. I've put in a request for tanking at dawn. No unrep at night.
Friday
, can you hang in there?"

"Should be fine,
Bella
, over."

"They also don't want us to be closer than a hundred yards to other yachts and two hundred from ships," Sophia radioed. "Let's try to actually look like we know what we're doing. I'm going to come to One-one-four. Try to turn on the same spot I do and get right in line. Copy that, over?"

"
Friday
. We can do that, over."

"
Business
. Let's make a show even though nobody's probably up at this time of night."

"Try to maintain a line with regular interval even after we join the formation," Sophia said. "Turning to one-one-four now."

"Holy crap," Ryan Reppe said, looking through binos at the approaching division. The master mariner was the midwatch officer of the deck of the
Grace Tan
and monitored TraffCon since it was where most mistakes started to show up first. He'd wondered when the division was going to turn but as they tracked like beads on a string, instead of heading to the rear like a gaggle of idiots, he was mildly impressed. "That division may know what it's doing. Will wonders never cease?"

"Seawolf's division," Katie Phillips said. Phillips had been a deckhand before the Plague with some experience as a watch stander on large vessels. Ships like the
Grace Tan
and modern freighters were largely self-driving when at sea. They followed preprogrammed courses that only needed a human staying awake to watch for emergencies. She'd been with the squadron for two months, unlike Reppe and was now studying for her master's ticket.

"Seawolf," Reppe said. "Oh, the admiral's daughter?"

"Commodore, sort of, but, yeah. She's pretty good."

"Hopefully they can figure out how to unrep without sinking their boat," Reppe said.

"Seawolf could unrep at night," Phillips said, shrugging. "And her captains could probably do the same..."

"Glad we're not unrepping at night," Sophia said, yawning. "Your conn, Mr. Walker. Try not to hit anybody."

"Will do, ma'am," Walker said. "Little breezy this morning. Mind if I take the mid-deck helm?"

"Not at all," Sophia said. "I think I'm going to just hang out for a bit before I head below. It's nice to see signs of civilization for a change. It's going to annoy the hell out of everybody, but I want you to do radio checks on the thirty and hour with both the other boats. Nobody is going to go to sleep on this watch. And keep a check on
Friday
's fuel. We should have cross-loaded more. If there's an emergency, wake me up."

"Yes, ma'am," Walker said.

Walker did three checks on the other boats, then set the autopilot and made a quick trip to the galley for a cup of coffee. He checked their position and it was still tracking to the
Grace Tan.
Knowing what he'd find, he went up to the flying bridge.

The fifteen-year-old ensign was curled up at the helm of the boat, shivering slightly, sound asleep. He pulled a blanket out of a drybox and tucked it around her before heading below.

"Ma'am," Walker said, shaking the ensign's shoulder.

"Left, left, left!" Sophia said, sitting up. She rubbed her eyes and shook her head. "Fuck, I hate those..."

"Yes, ma'am," Walker said, handing her a cup of coffee. "They are a bitch and a half."

"Know any tricks to handling them?" Sophia said, sipping the coffee. She was gray in the predawn light.

"A few," Walker said. "They don't make them go away, just make them less horrible. If they work at all for you."

"Later, maybe," Sophia said. "What's up?"

"Starting unrep ops in thirty minutes," Walker said. "Most of the boats waiting are dry. We're actually not scheduled until eleven hundred if, as they said, we get in then. The
Friday
thinks it has enough to make it to this afternoon. They asked if we had inventories, I said yes. They didn't seem to believe me. Our first operation is passenger drop-off but we're to use the offshores and take them to the
Boadicea
. Boat is working fine, Batari is making breakfast."

"I swear to God, Walker, I can get Da to make you an instant chief petty officer, at the least," Sophia said.

"Oh, I'm not qualified to be a chief, ma'am," Walker said, grinning. "I don't have a coffee cup welded to my hand."

"Okay," Sophia said, looking around. "I'll get everybody to get their paks ready. Since we've got time until unrep, we'll get them fed first. That will take some of the strain off the rest of the squadron."

"Yes, ma'am," Walker said.

"Get some sleep, Tom," Sophia said. "You've earned it."

"I can keep going for quite a while, ma'am," Walker said. "And you're probably going to need help today."

"
Sunk Investment
,
Sunk Investment
...What is it about 'come up to our port side' you don't understand? We have guns and we will use them. Over."

"Dry" turned out to be an understatement of the state of most of the boats in the ragged formation. During the night four had fallen out of formation when they had to shut their engines down and go to generator only to make it to morning. A smaller resupply ship, designed to support megayachts, had been running around behind the formation since dawn tracking them down and getting them fueled back up.

Two more were under tow having had "mechanicals" overnight. They were awaiting engineering survey crews from the
Grace
to determine if they could be repaired or would have to be abandoned.

And the resupply was not going quickly. The skippers and crews of the boats were rarely experienced and the little experience they did have was tooling around the ocean looking for survivors. Coming alongside a large ship for underway replenishment, not so much.

One thing that was holding things up was that there were some supplies to come off and some supplies to come on. Everyone was supposed to have an inventory of what was to come off and what was a critical resupply item. So far, few of the boats had had that. So as each came alongside there was an argument with the resupply crews about what needed to be onloaded and offloaded. The crews were particularly protective of their gathered liquor stores and virtually all of them wanted toilet paper and parts.

"Uh,
Grace
, our starboard side hull is sort of weak. We really need to come up to your starboard, over."

"Define 'weak,'
Investment
, over."

"We sort of have a leak there. The hull cracked when we were clearing another boat. We've got it glued with Aquaseal but it's still leaking. Bilge pump is handling it but I'd rather not come up to port if that's okay. Over."

"You're floating around on a cracked
hull
?"
TraffCon screamed.
"Stand by for lifting operations. We'll take you aboard and check your hull. And you had better be serious or you're not going to be a skipper anymore. Switch to fifteen for lifting instructions. Jesus, people. Tell us stuff like this
first
, okay?
Finally Friday
,
Finally Friday
, over."

"
Finally Friday
, over."

"Come alongside the
Grace
, our port, our
port
, do you copy, over?"

"Come alongside,
Grace
port, aye."

"No cracked hull,
Friday
, over?"

"No, TraffCon, over."

"Mr. Walker," Sophia said. "Take the conn. I'm going to change into uniform, then get over to the
Friday
for their unrep."

"Roger, ma'am," Walker said, taking the helm.

"I'll try to get back aboard before we come alongside," Sophia said.

After a quick change and washing her face she jumped in the Zodiac and zipped up to the
Friday
as it was cautiously maneuvering up to the much larger ship.

She tossed the mooring line to one of the crew assembled on deck and boarded without asking permission. She was pleased to see that there were stores piled on the boat's aft deck, ready for offload. Including liquor. If it wasn't
all
the liquor, that was beside the point. They'd included liquor. No toilet paper, though.

"You taking over?" LeEllen asked as Sophia came up on the bridge. She was creeping up to the larger boat.

"Your boat," Sophia said. "I'm here to smooth out any problems. That's all."

The crew already had every fender on the boat tied off on the starboard side of the motor yacht and there were more tied off on the
Grace Tan
. Port was the lee side, the downwind side, of the massive supply ship. If they were in a harbor, they could just have tied up to the bigger ship. The problem being at sea there were waves. The two ships could not actually tie up to each other. Unrep required that the smaller boat first tie off at a slight distance from the larger ship, then hold that position as the two ships moved along, side by side. The fenders were there to keep the smaller ship from being cracked like an egg if they did touch.