World of Ashes II (14 page)

“Who owns that boat?” Daniel pointed at small trout fishing boat tied to the dock.

“No idea.” The deputy shrugged.

“Well then we’ll bring it back. Arrest us if you want.” Daniel and Jose started walking toward the boat, only to find the deputy had joined them.

“You’re bringing it back. That’s borrowing, not stealing.” He smiled, something that seemed practiced rather than natural. The man had purple rings around his eyes and hadn’t shaved in a week. He chain smoked, which made Daniel want to start smoking again. He’d quit during Basic, a place where you are allowed neither caffeine nor nicotine.

“Mind if I bum a smoke? I’ve never boarded a Russian destroyer before.” Daniel tried reciprocating the fake smile, letting the cop know they were both just as exhausted as he was, despite one good night and a hot meal.

“Keep the pack. A truck full of ‘em was abandoned in town.” The cop handed Daniel a pack with more than five cigs still inside. “Did you guys hear the news last night? That smooth talkin’ jackoff president declared martial law in the entire Continental United States. Ten minutes later Texas seceded from the Union and took possession of every military asset inside their borders.”

Jose had been hotwiring the boat when he stopped and looked at the cop. “I’m gonna need a smoke too.” The wires sizzled and their boat started in a cloud of carbon from the seldom used motor. “I heard he was going to try something like that. Juan Carlos said he’d join Texas if martial law was implemented.”

“What about Alex?”

Jose wanted to say he’d join Texas too, but there was a chance Alex was too in love with the America he’d been lied to about, to potentially turn on her. This was literally the definition of what makes a war a
civil
war. “I dunno, man.”

Deputy Gifford, as his nametag read, shrugged. “It’s not like it affects us much. We’re behind what GNN calls the Red Line, but most folks on the internet are calling it the ‘Dead Line’.” He puffed his cigarette. “So is that Colt the only gun you boys have?”

“Hardly. Seems a lot of them are just laying around these days.” Daniel said. “If there’s no one aboard, you’ll have to look the other way while I get myself a genuine Kolashnikov, though. If my old man is still alive, he’ll love it.”

“Stand in line.” Gifford said, sitting down while Jose put the boat in reverse. Slowly they turned toward the distant ship, which seemed to be larger than they’d previously thought. That, or the water level was receding during the rise and fall of the tide, exposing more of the vessel. There were no other boats on the water, at least none that were crewed and floating properly. Several luxury boats had been smashed on the docks of the affluent houses that arguably ruined the King’s Bay’s shoreline. Someone now had a cigar boat where their living room had been, an improvement on the gaudy mansion if you’d have asked Daniel. Bodies bobbed in the water too, but none were making the effort to attack the boat. Perhaps zombies didn’t float, an idea that was almost more terrifying than if they were to float like turds in a toilet bowl. Another very apt analogy.

At a few hundred meters off the ship’s port bow, Deputy Carl Gifford got on his bullhorn and aimed it toward the Russian boat. Her red flag tattered and hanging from only one hook looked pitiful. If the ship were crewed it was doubtful such a prideful people would let their ensign hang like that. The US wasn’t at war with Russia, as least as far as they knew, it would only be respectful to take the flag down carefully for them if no one had survived. A large chain where there had once been an anchor dangled from the port side where she was listing. Like most modern warships it wasn’t dotted with gun emplacements the way one might picture a ship during World War II. A few radar directed anti-aircraft guns were on the forecastle and a single barrel cannon was locked forward on the main deck. Other than that it wasn’t too dissimilar from any large fishing trawler.

“Attention. Attention. This is the Crystal River, Florida Sheriff’s Department. If anyone is aboard, make yourselves known.” He repeated himself several times, but none of them spoke Russian so it wasn’t like they were expecting to have any meaningful conversations in the first place. When, after ten minutes no one showed themselves, and no undead attacked them, they climbed aboard. The ship’s stern was just inches below the waterline by now, but the demented idea that perhaps the boat could still be salvaged had already dawned on Daniel, who was looking forward to getting to the ship’s bridge. Jose had the Colt, Daniel a semi-threatening stick, and Gifford his standard issue.

Searching the available deck they found all the hatches had been battened down for the storm. The only open door was on the second deck of the forecastle, a large metal hatch that was propped open by an ammo box. There was no ladder, but they were able to use the ropes already in the fishing boat to climb up after half an hour of fumbling with the damned thing. None of them would have made good cowboys, they couldn’t lasso for shit.

“So who’s first?”

“I’m the cop.” Carl said.

“Exactly why you’re not going first.” Jose jumped in. “We’ve already encountered more than our fair share of panicked assholes with a badge. These people need you and every other cop like you alive. Daniel will go first.” Jose volunteered his friend with a twisted smile.

“You’re such a dick.” Daniel sighed, grabbing onto the rope and pulling himself skyward without much effort, something he could never have done a month ago. He’d lost some weight, what with all the running for his life and shit.

Reaching the top level Daniel crawled over the railing and breathed for a moment in silence, ready to roll back off the deck if a zombie lurched from the hatch. He didn’t want to admit it, but along with the irrational fear of bridges, Daniel wasn’t overly fond of anything lurking just under the water, which was half the ship. He’d had nightmares about ghost ships as a child, perhaps too young to see the campy horror flick
Ghost Ship
when it had come to video. The hatch on the other side was wide open too, giving him a clear view of the room beyond in the tropical light. He stood and went to clear the bridge before his friends climbed up. Daniel was no expert, but this looked like a radar control room, as there was no standard helm. Large glass panels with dry erase markings and Cyrillic lettering covered a map of the southern Atlantic Ocean and a course charted along the coast of South America toward Cuba. Ominously, the final destination was smeared under someone’s bloody handprint.

Next up was Deputy Gifford, Jose staying on the main deck just as backup. Daniel and Carl finished clearing the deck they had easy access to before going below. The corridors were lit with red emergency lighting and it smelled like an open pit latrine in summer. They didn’t find any blood trails on their way down, which was encouraging, or maybe even more disturbing if you believe in ghosts and other mystical bullshit. If they’d been outside with Jose they might have heard him comment largely to himself that if the lifeboats were still aboard, where did the crew go? That unheard question might have given them pause before exploring further without backup. Hell, they may have just scuttled her and called it a day.

The hatch to the main deck in the structure below swung open with a groaning sound, the hinges not well oiled. Jose was waiting for them in the bright sunlight with a stupid grin on his face. “I was betting myself you guys would get eaten.”

“You need help.” Gifford said. The two friends followed the cop back up to the radar room they’d been in. Jose found a schematic of the ship, though written in Russian the visual part of the blueprints was easy enough to figure out. From the radar room they worked their way up to bridge, the control deck with the steering wheel. “Can either of you read Russian?”

“That’s kind of a dumb question, man.” Daniel sighed. “But looks like there’s flooding in the stern just before the engine room, assuming these two squares here represent the engines. It’s the only compartment that could hold enough water to tilt us, and yet not sink the ship.”

Gifford and Jose shrugged, figuring it was as good a place to start as any. “Look at you, a regular Squid with all that Navy talk.” Jose teased.

“My dad taught me how to sail. He’s from England. Thought it was a ‘
right and proper thing for a young man to learn
.’” Daniel imitated his father’s accent perfectly. He’d have had no trouble convincing anyone who wasn’t from England that he was.

“You two are the cutest couple.” Gifford teased, “Now seriously, can we get back to searching for the crew? We can send someone who knows more about ships to look at her later. All I care about is finding survivors, or bodies.”

“That’s delightfully morbid.” Daniel said.

“
C’est la vie
.”

The rest of the ship’s castle was empty. Food stores were left in unlocked cabinets, inner hatches were unsecured and the farther down they went the more evidence presented itself that the crew may never have made it off the ship in the first place. Lots and lots of 7.62mm brass on the floor below the gun deck, and below that the blood spatter started in the ship’s cramped sickbay and leading into the ship’s mess told a clear story. Their mission had gone from search and rescue to a crime scene investigation in moments, not that you can charge a zombie with a crime, they’d eat their lawyers first. (
Oh what a tragedy that would be
…)

“We need to find the armory.” Daniel whispered, feeling quite naked with only a riot baton. Jose agreed and pointed down a corridor they hadn’t checked yet. Spare magazines and stripper clips for loading them were scattered everywhere, a good sign an arms room was close by. When they found it, it wasn’t an armory as someone in the US Military might understand the concept. There weren’t any cordoned off cages with restricted access, most of the small arms were in personal lockers or kept on an unlocked rifle rack. It reminded them of the weapons caches found in video games like
Half Life,
or
Wolfenstein
for the older folks.

Daniel put on a blue beret with a conspicuously enormous Russian Navy Crest weighing down one side, feeling it was more or less
his
war trophy now. He wasn’t going to wear it every day, but Kaylee might enjoy seeing him wear the funny looking hat back to the house. He took a heavy uniform jacket too, since he didn’t have one and one day he might be someplace cold, not to mention it might offer some level of protection if attacked by a zombie. The rifle Daniel took for himself was probably some Red’s favorite, an old style Kolashnikov Ak-47. He figured it was special because it was the only one with a polished stock and brand new sling. It might have been for ceremonies, but was fully functional.

With lots of ammunition to go around, Jose and Gifford armed themselves with more modern, compact weapons like the AN-94. There would be time to retrieve more weapons later, but for now they were better able to clear the ship. The task took hours, by the time they found the compartment with and internationally known skull and crossbones spray painted across the hatch, they were tired and thirsty and more than ready to be off this fucking wreck. Jose put his ear to the hatch, something even Daniel would never have considered. The brawny Latin boy jumped back, “Yeah, they’re in there.”

“So who was left to shut the hatch?”

“Maybe the ship was abandoned. They could have ditched close to shore or even been transferred off by another crew. For some reason it looks like they won, then maybe abandoned her before the storm?” Daniel took a swag* at it. (Scientific Wild Ass Guess)

“But the question remains, how did the infection get onboard in the first place?” Gifford’s analytical mind was working like a cop now.

“They were probably part of the UN task force that was coming in the beginning… Before this went global.” Jose guessed. “Let’s get back and report. I’m seriously getting the creeps here.”

“There are walking corpses around every corner… and a rusty old boat gives you the willies?” Gifford eyeballed Jose with
mock suspicion.

“Screw you.” Jose was the first to turn and leave.

By the time they found their way back to daylight there were six other boats and more police and fire rescue than were really needed. Gifford found his Sheriff, a gray haired man who was more than elated his deputy and son-in-law hadn’t been eaten. He slapped Gifford in the back of the head, shouting obscenities about putting himself in unnecessary danger with a wife and two of
his
grandchildren at home to think about.

“Don’t open the hatch with the skull on it. There’s dead inside.” Jose warned the men preparing the search the ship after they’d sat to eat some MRE’s. The rescuers had brought all kinds of food and water in preparation for survivors. For whatever reason Jose and Daniel stayed onboard, making themselves comfortable with the EMT’s who’d set up shop on the bow. Daniel couldn’t help himself and posed on the crest of the minesweeper in his best interpretation of the infamous scene from
Titanic
with Kate Winslet and Leonardo De Caprio. Jose caught on and came up behind Daniel to hold him for the pose and an EMT on a skiff below snapped a picture, promising to post it to Facebook when the internet came back on. You had to enjoy the little things when the world was ending.

Just before dark shots rang out below deck, everyone jumped and raised their weapons, radios crackled with reports and curses. Someone had forgotten to tell folks above deck that they were going to open the marked hatch and shoot the infected. A recently retired Navy captain they’d brought onboard, a rather plump woman who wore ridiculous Hawaiian shirts with her Captain’s ball cap embroidered with the outline of a ship and the name
U.S.S. ABRAHAM LINCOLN CVN-72
, called the
all clear
and reminded the men below deck to maintain radio contact. If there was a question about who was in charge, there wasn’t anymore.