CHAPTER 2
“This is the voice of Free Texas, broadcasting from Hamlin. Primary assembly area is the silos on the southeast part of town. Bring all your guns and ammo, come peaceable and be prepared to work. We got a big job ahead of us, freeing our great state from the zombies. Stay away from the center of town, it’s still crawlin’ . . .”
From: Collected Radio Transmissions of The Fall
University of the South Press 2053
“This is a sad profession,” Olga said, shutting the door to the cabin. From the looks of things, they were months too late for the occupant.
“If you pick up a weapon, you are embarking on a career of great sadness mixed with rare touches of glory,” Walker said, stacking rolls of toilet paper in a cloth grocery bag. “It is one of the reasons not to pick up a weapon.”
“Are you saying I shouldn’t do this job?” Olga said. “That a woman’s not good enough?”
The Ferretti 68 was well stocked. The owners had prepared for a long voyage away from resupply. Unfortunately, one of the things they had stocked without realizing it was the Plague.
“Far from it,” Walker said. “You are good at it. You are a woman. Good, however, is a variable term in the profession of arms. There are those who are very good with weapons, but not so good at killing. They are expert marksmen, but could not shoot so much as a rabbit. There are those who are good at killing, but not so good with tragedy. I knew a very good, experienced, combat NCO who retired after Rwanda because he was broken by the senselessness of it all. And this world is a mass of tragedy. Doing your job, you see that more than most. Being good at killing is not all that you must be good at to do your job.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” Olga said, pulling out a pile of sheets that were in a closet. “Faith really tries to avoid going in cabins that don’t respond to a knock. She got that way after clearing the Voyage.”
“The lieutenant is young,” Walker said. “She may harden to the point she can withstand the sadness or someday simply walk away. In the meantime she is certainly good at killing infected and she acts as a strong motivator to her Marines. That is enough in a young officer.”
“You seem to know a lot about the military for an English as a Second Language instructor,” Olga said.
“As I told the ensign, I am a man of many parts,” Walker said, grinning. “Celementina, let me help you with that,” he added, picking up a case of oil jugs.
“Salamat, Tomas,” the woman said. “I let you. Every time I squat and lift I’m afraid I will simply pop the bambina out. And then every time I hope I pop the bambina out! I am ready to have this child out of me!”
The engineer had already declared the engine a loss. The boat had been under power when an infected broke an oil line. Both engines had eventually seized. While the Grace could probably repair them, there was no real need for the boat and so they were stripping it rather than calling for a prize crew.
“We’re going to have to do a supply drop pretty soon,” Sophia said as Tom Walker tossed the case of oil onto the aft deck of the Bella. The two boats were lashed together in the light seas, the fenders keeping them from damaging their hulls.
“At least we’re finding supplies,” Tom said.
“Some more survivors would be nice,” Sophia said. “And preferably nearly sane ones.”
“Bella Señorita, Alexandria, over.”
“Alex, Bella, over,” Sophia said, picking up the radio.
“Prosecuting a sierra at this time. Lifeboat. Survivors. Over.”
“Ask and ye shall receive,” Tom said, grinning.
“Coordinates, over?” Sophia said. She looked at the coordinates and shrugged. “Risky Business, Risky Business, Bella Señorita, over.”
“Bella, this is the Business, over.”
“Did you copy those coordinates from the Alex, over?”
“No, over.”
“Stand by for coordinates. Your pick up, over.”
“Roger, Bella. Alex, you got those coordinates, over?”
“We’re not getting it?” Olga asked, heaving a case of cans onto the aft deck.
“We’re salvaging and it’s not a clearance issue,” Sophia said, shrugging. “Let them have it.”
* * *
“Sir, we have a very light radar return at two-two-three,” the tactical officer of the USS Alexandria said. “Could be a ghost but it’s hanging in there. Probable sierra.”
“Roger,” Lieutenant Commander Vancel said. “Conn, come to two-two-three turns for one third to close contact.”
“Come to two-two-three, aye. Turns for one third, aye.”
* * *
Vancel looked at the periscope repeater and blew out.
“What happens in the compartment, huh?” he muttered. “COB.”
“Sir?”
“These images do not get circulated. Not even to the nukes and tell them I’m serious.”
“Not circulated, aye. May the chief of boat ask why, sir?”
* * *
“Oh, dear,” Sophia said, looking through the binos. “What happens in the compartment, stays in the compartment. What happens in the . . . Oh, screw that!”
* * *
“It’s not his fault!”
Lee Ann McGregor was just turned twelve and an orphan. Also extremely pregnant. She was shivering under a blanket in the relative cool of the saloon, drinking tomato soup as if it was nectar and arguing to spare the life of the young man sitting next to her.
The hangdog young man in question, Kevin White, was seventeen. And currently surrounded by women who were looking at him like a zombie that was in their targeting reticle. Wisely, he was keeping his mouth shut.
“Miss McGregor,” Sophia said calmly. “You’re a little young to have this explained but it looks like the explanation is late . . .”
“We never did anything!” Lee Ann said. “And, when, you know, I started to show, Kevin sort of explained it. But we can’t figure it out. We never did anything. Not anything!”
“If the only other male present could ask some questions without getting his head ripped off?” Walker asked.
“Go ahead,” Sophia said.
“Kevin,” Walker said. “It is nearly impossible for a man below a certain age to do ‘nothing.’ Pressures build, especially around a beautiful young lady. Pain occurs and, in fact, if ‘nothing’ is done actual damage can occur.”
“Seriously?” Sophia said. “Hold it a second, you mean actual damage.”
“Yes,” Walker said. “Knew a guy who was very faithful to his wife, very disciplined and very religious. Also on a very long deployment. He eventually went to the medics because he was, well, leaking. The doctor explained to him that, no, whatever the Bible says, the system is designed to be used and is one way exit only. And if you don’t occasionally let it out, it breaks. Pressure builds, valves become damaged and eventually if nothing is done you become, essentially, sterile. Also it is, long term, very bad for the prostate. Some yogis have managed to do that to themselves, intentionally, as a form of asceticism. However, I strongly doubt that young Mr. White was that disciplined. Mr. White? Nothing?”
“I couldn’t do nothing!” Kevin finally snapped. “We had to pee, we had to poop! We’d turn our backs and, you know, do it. And sometimes I’d ask Lee Ann if she could maybe turn her back. But I was going that way,” he said, pointing out to sea. “I wasn’t . . . I didn’t . . . I mean, if I was getting in trouble for what I did, that’d be one thing! But I’m getting in trouble and I didn’t even get to . . . I didn’t do anything!”
“Likely story,” Olga said, her arms crossed.
“No, unlikely story,” Walker said. “But that doesn’t mean it’s necessarily a lie. I mean, it’s about as bad a lie as you could come up with. I’d have said there was another person in the raft when they first abandoned ship and that he knocked her up.”
Kevin looked at him with his jaw down.
“Why didn’t we think of that!” Lee Ann said. “Damn! But we still didn’t do anything. Honest. Really, we didn’t. I wanted to and . . .” She shut her mouth quickly.
“Okay, now, that is discipline,” Tom said. “You, young man, are a credit to your parents. God bless them and keep them.”
“I still don’t buy it,” Olga said, frowning. “This has only happened once in history and there was a donkey, not a lifeboat, in the story. And I don’t see three wise men.”
“Ah, but there is a rubber lifeboat in this one,” Tom said. “And the romantic tropical currents. How much discipline, children? It is common, we have found, for people in lifeboats in southerly climes to remove much or all of their clothing from time to time. Especially during the daytime. Frequently all.”
Both of them were intently studying the floor.
“Did you or did you not occasionally get naked?” Sophia asked. When there wasn’t an answer she sighed. “Show of hands who has sunbathed nude while on this trip?” she said, raising her hand. Eventually the whole crew had their hands up.
“Seriously?” Lee Ann said, raising her hand tentatively.
“They tell me I have to wear clothes now that I’m an officer,” Sophia said. “It’s a pain.”
“Okay, now I really don’t believe ‘nothing,’” Olga said. “You two could not have been nude in the life raft and him do ‘nothing.’”
“He’d go over the side and I’d sort of turn my back,” Lee Ann said. “All the time at first, then . . . I got curious. But he had his back turned. I’m still not sure what he was doing. Except it was a lot.”
“Any storms?” Walker asked. “Rain and spray get into the raft?”
“Yes, sir,” Kevin said.
“No way in hell,” Olga said. “You’re serious.”
“Last extremely embarrassing question, Kevin,” Walker asked. “You were in a boat with a beautiful, nubile, young lady you were trying very hard to be a gentleman with. No nocturnal, or rather sleeping, emissions?”
“Uh . . . once,” Kevin said.
“The white stuff?” Lee Ann said. “That was kinda gross. And it was three times.”
“Tada!” Walker said, holding up his hands.
“I’m not buying it,” Olga said. “Were you spooning her?”
“You mean,” Kevin said, leaning over and holding out his hands. “Nooo . . . Not . . . me to her. No way. That would . . . I couldn’t have . . . Uh, uh. She’d curl up to my back. If I’d . . . No.”
“Mr. Walker?” Sophia said.
“There was a previous case of noncontact conception,” Walker said. “Potentially. A young woman near a Civil War battlefield, Shiloh if I recall correctly, was hit by a minié ball in the stomach. In the uterus to be precise. She survived. A few months later she was clearly pregnant. There was a bit of a scandal since ladies were not supposed to get pregnant unless married. She insisted she was a virgin and a doctor confirmed it.”
“Seriously?” Olga said. “You’re making this up.”
“In the battle a young man had been hit in the right testicle by rifle fire,” Walker continued. “Eventually the two were united and ever after people swore the child looked exactly like him. This was, admittedly, based upon the crude medical knowledge of the time and hoary folklore but she did give birth nine months to the day after the battle. And, yes, it was Shiloh—it was what they named the child. They later married and it turned out that one was sufficient as she had four more children by him. All of them looked much the same. Of course, I suppose she could have been banging the same neighbor the whole time.
“Sperm is funny stuff. Some men have sperm that can’t swim straight. Others have, if you will, super sperm. Kryptonite won’t stop the little tadpoles. Oh, here’s another question. Lee Ann, do you like Kevin? Do you, occasionally, get sort of butterflies in your stomach?”
“I love him,” Lee Ann said. “I know this is his baby and I want to have it. I love him. I know you’re going to take him away but I’ll keep looking for him forever. I’ll cross the world and fight zombies to be with him.”
“It should be noted that Romeo and Juliet were fourteen and thirteen respectively,” Walker said. “Ah, true love. Which, among other things, causes the labia to open.”
“The what?” Kevin asked.
“The lips of the vagina,” Walker said. “I’m sure you’ve looked from time to time, you little pervert you. The labia is sort of the last line of defense. Salt water has the same chemical content as blood, semen or, for that matter, vaginal secretions. Which is why they taste salty. A little water in the bottom, a little nocturnal, or diurnal if napping during the day, emission, some sexual desire on the part of the young lady causing the labia to open and, voilà, one blessed event with noncontact conception. Or, if the baby has a white beard and a halo upon birth, I’m wrong.”
“Or they did it like rabbits and are lying,” Olga said.
“There speaks the true cynic,” Walker said. “I’m promoting the vision of a medical miracle, something to be written up in studies if we ever are able to do something like that again, and you’re being a cynic.”
“I’m Ukrainian,” Olga said. “It’s genetic.”
“There’s a way to find out,” Walker said. “However, despite some rather extensive medical background, under the circumstances, the only male in the crew declines to do the check.”
“Extensive medical background?” Sophia asked. “More you have declined to mention?”
“I once took a course that included advanced midwifery, if you will,” Walker said. “More advanced nursing. But I don’t have a license. That’s currently beside the point. Any of you ladies up for doing a little peering? Lee Ann, did you ever go to the private parts doctor before the Plague?”
“Yes,” Lee Ann said. “Once. I sort of started early, and Mom . . .” She bit her lip, clearly trying not to cry.
“Okay, dear,” Walker said, leaning forward and taking her hand. “The thing is, when you ‘do it’ as the young people say, there’s a piece of tissue that tears. It’s why the first time sort of hurts.”
“Kevin told me that,” Lee Ann said.
“I only know ’cause, you know, you know,” Kevin said, incoherently. “I’ve never done it with, you know. I mean, I’ve never even done it, okay? There, I admitted it. I’ve never done it, okay?”
“You seriously think these two could lie about this?” Walker said to Olga.
“Getting to the point of saying no,” Olga said. “That spastic series of sentences could only come from a virgin.”
“The point is, there are other ways it could tear,” Walker said. “Did you use tampons or pads?”
“That’s pretty private, don’t you think?” Lee Ann said.
“I think we’re way past that point of privacy about your twat, Lee Ann,” Walker said. “Tampons or pads?”
“Pads,” Lee Ann said, pouting.
“Okay, now, Miss Olga is going to go with you into the cabin and she’s going to ask you to get like with the private parts doctor. And she’s going to have to fiddle about in your private area.”
“Why me?” Olga said.
“Because if there’s a woman on this boat more familiar with that view than you, I’d be much surprised,” Walker said.
“Is that a problem?” Olga said.
“No,” Walker said. “But if it comes up again, I’d like to watch.”
“Okay, you two, time out,” Sophia said. “So you want Olga to do an inspection? Down there?”
“Yes,” Walker said. “If she is virgo intacta there’s no way that he intentionally knocked her up. No seventeen-year-old heterosexual male can stop at ‘I’ll just put in the tip.’ Cannot. We don’t have a speculum but for something this simple you can use your fingers. Use gloves.”
“Miss McGregor,” Sophia said. “Are you okay with this? I’m saying, as the captain, that if everything is . . . there, then it’s not Kevin’s fault. . . .”
“And I’ll get the spare room ready for three wise men,” Olga said.
“Hell, I’m calling the CDC,” Walker said.
* * *
“Ahem,” Olga said, coming out the lower decks. She was drying her hands off.
“Well?” Sophia asked.
“Well . . .” Olga said, frowning furiously. “Ahem . . . The smarmy bastard appears to be right.”
“Smarmy?” Walker said.
“Seriously?” Sophia said.
“Seriously,” Olga said. “It’s there. Fully intact. Shouldn’t it have stopped them?”
“Super sperm,” Walker said, shrugging. “And, Ensign, we really should call the CDC on this one. It’s not their field but it’s truly fascinating, medically.”
“I really didn’t do anything!” Kevin said. “Honest.”
“Except, you know, go all over a lifeboat,” Olga said.
“That is really not something that can be prevented,” Walker said.
“I know,” Olga said. “It’s just . . . Jesus she’s young, Tom!”
“Mary was thirteen,” Walker said, shrugging. “She’s not even the youngest in the squadron. Although the rest were pretty straightforward ‘what happens in the compartment’ and, no, we don’t want your help, thank you. We’re going to be looking for a desert island . . .”
“So what happens now?” Kevin asked.
“What happens now is that when Lee Ann gets her composure again, I get to piss all the women off again.”
* * *
“You’re serious?” Olga said, furiously. “You want them to do it? What is it with you men?”
“You want the full lecture?” Walker asked, seriously. “Or just the medical one? Here’s the medical one. Lee Ann is small. Very small. She’s not fully developed as a woman. She needed about a year to be really ready to be a prima gravitura . . .”
“What?” Sophia asked.
“First-time mother,” Walker snapped. “She is going to need all the help she can get with the delivery if it’s not going to be a C-section. Rate of survival on nonanesthetized, no antilabor drugs C-sections is essentially zero. C-section is out. Theoretically, somebody, not me, could perform a late-term abortion.”
“No,” Lee Ann said, clutching her stomach. “This is my baby.”
“I said theoretically,” Walker said. “We don’t really have the tools. Back at the squadron with some help from the CDC and the shop on the Grace, maybe. Maybe Lieutenant Fallon could do it without botching it. But Lee Ann says no, anyway. So the only functional alternative is natural delivery.”
“Get to the part where Kevin has to boff his twelve-year-old girlfriend,” Olga said.
“Could be any male at this point but Kevin is the best choice,” Walker said. “Vaginal sex during late pregnancy thins the cervical walls and makes for an easier delivery. No matter what, Lee Ann’s delivery is unlikely to be anything like easy. But it makes for an easier delivery. It’s the difference between likely to be deadly and maybe possible. With some actual medical assistance and something resembling an infirmary, which means she needs to be back on the Boadicea. ASAP. But, yes, Kevin needs to begin having sex with Lee Ann. Soon. And frequently. At least once a day.”
“I’m in favor,” Lee Ann said, raising her hand. But she looked a little frightened.
“We need to call this in to Squadron, anyway,” Sophia said. “And we’ll get a medical read on it from CDC. If they know anything about pregnancy.”
“There are books,” Walker said. “I’m sure they’ve got more than epidemiology on their servers.”
“You know what?” Sophia said, rubbing her face. “I know the whole thing about not jumping the chain of command. But this isn’t really military. And I really need to talk to my da right now . . .”
* * *
“So he’s right?” Sophia said.
“From what I’ve read, yes. That was known back when you were . . . Never mind . . . Just . . . Technically he is right. Over.”
“Ick,” Sophia said. “I just . . . Maybe calling you wasn’t the best choice, Da. Over.”
“I’m glad you did. We never get to talk. But, I’ve got to get this straight. This Walker guy thinks she got pregnant from involuntary emissions on the damp bottom of a lifeboat? Over.”
“Yes,” Sophia said. “She’s . . . virgo intacta. And they’re both . . . Like Olga said, only virgins could be that incoherent about it. Over.”
“You’re not particularly incoherent about it, over.”
“You’ve been talking to us about it since we were kids in one way or another,” Sophia said. “And let’s just say this cruise has been a real eye-opener.”
“I’d say sorry but I didn’t start the Plague. Okay, Walker. What’s his medical background, over?”
“I’m not sure,” Sophia said. “He said he took a course once that included advanced midwifery. I’m not even sure what that means except it has to do with delivering babies.”
“God knows we’re going to need it. Okay, I’m going to get the CDC to call you and see if they can confirm what you’ve said. I’m also going to pass this around in the official news bulletin. Over.”
“Uh, isn’t this a little private, Da?” Sophia asked.
“Well, it’s that or every little old lady on the Boadicea will be beating him with their canes. Squadron, out.”
* * *
“Permission to speak, sir?” the chief of boat of the Alexandria said.
“When do you ask, COB?” Vancel replied. “Sure.”
“Hate the situation that we’re in, sir,” the COB said. “Really getting to hate fish. Don’t want to think about what’s happened ashore, sir. But this Wolf Squadron thing is like the best soap opera ever.”
* * *
“And turns out she got knocked up by sitting where the guy had spewed in his sleep!”
“No fuckin’ way!”
“That has got to be the lamest excuse ever! ‘No, seriously, Mom, I got pregnant from a life raft deck!’”
* * *
“Can you describe these involuntary emissions in more detail?” Dr. Chang said, leaning into the screen. Arnold Chang was an internist as well as an epidemiologist at the CDC whom Dodson had brought in for the consult. “What were the conditions on the interior of the life raft?”
Sophia had seen boiled lobsters less red than Kevin. Lee Ann was just looking pissed. But in a second she’d start crying.
“Doctors . . .” Sophia said.
“Doctors,” Walker said. “Any of us could describe common conditions in life rafts. The interiors are frequently wet from salt spray. When there is rain, it is usually admixed with spray. The salt content is always high, generally higher than salt water. The clothes also tend to develop high salt content, one of the reasons persons tend to disrobe in the tropics besides heat. It would be useful to keep in mind that you are dealing with two victims of extreme trauma. They are still suffering from dehydration, exposure and malnutrition. They are, in addition, quite young. A degree of care needs to be used in your approach, with all due respect.”
“Preliminarily, I concur with your hypothesis, Mr. Walker,” Dr. Dobson said. “As I concur with your sentiment. Among other things, well, one of the reasons to get into research is we don’t tend to have much in the way of bedside manner. Having reviewed what we have on pregnancy, not enough given your conditions, I also, reluctantly, concur with your advice to begin and maintain sexual congress. That would probably get me de-licensed, given the young lady’s age, were there still a Medical Licensing Board. However, it is the correct medical advice and given that the two are . . . already in the current condition . . . I concur. And, yes, this is one for the record books. . . .”
“One last,” Dr. Chang said. He’d been leafing through a book as they were speaking and now looked up. “Found a coincidental item. Medical report on an accidental pregnancy in Miami, 2007. Persons were in a group that was engaging in sexual activity. They were, in their minds, protected by condoms. However, they did not understand how to properly use them and were sharing. When one male would get done, the other would flip it inside out. Three young ladies became pregnant due to incidental contact. The young ladies were monogamous to single partners but were all pregnant by partners who had shared the condom rather than their primary partners. So something similar has been documented, although a condom being passed around is not the bottom of a rubber lifeboat.”
“Close enough,” Dobson said. “I would say that is a fair confirmation. Tell the young lady and gentlemen we’re sorry for the indelicacy of the questioning. But we’re researchers who have nothing to research. We’re sort of starved for something new. CDC out.”
* * *
Dobson looked across the lab at Barry Martin, his lab assistant.
“You know,” he said, leaning back and interlacing his fingers on his shrinking belly. “When you get into this profession, you think about what you’re going to be doing in the event of a really bad plague. I always saw myself, out there, in the ruins of civilization, wearing a moon suit and searching for survivors. Never in my wildest dreams did I picture being on Skype with a yacht in the middle of the Atlantic trying to figure out how a twelve-year-old girl got pregnant. Just was not on my bucket list . . .”
* * *
“Hey, I just figured something out,” Olga said.
“What?” Sophia asked wearily. She felt like she’d just fought her way through a typhoon.
“Walker, Dobson and Chang,” Olga said.
“Your point?” Sophia asked. “Other than it sounds like a law firm?”
“Three Wise Men! Okay, two wise men and a wise guy . . .”
* * *
Zero Three Hundred local. The definition of Oh Dark Thirty. Everyone should be asleep. And the Hole should be up.
Walker opened up the cabinet that contained one of the Navy hand-helds. They were generally kept off unless there was an away team. None of the boats in the division had away teams operating at the moment.
He turned it to a random frequency and keyed it.
“Alexandria, Alexandria, Marigold, over.”
He waited.
* * *
“Calling station unidentified. Identify for verification, over.”
“Verification is call sign. Following eyes only, FDOSAC. Code is Marigold, repeat, Marigold. Verification: Four-One-Three-Six. Will contact same time, same frequency, tomorrow. End message. Repeat: Eyes only, FDO. Do not, repeat, not contact Squadron. Over.”
“If you are screwing around on this frequency, we will find you and have your ass.”
“Contact only the FDO,” Walker said. “Or I shall have yours. Marigold, out.”
* * *
“Skipper, sorry,” the duty officer said. “We just got a weird, really weird, call. Voice only.”
“Go ahead,” Commander Vancel said, rubbing his eyes. He wasn’t getting out of the rack unless it was important.
“Where’d it come from?” Vancel asked, replaying the recording on the handheld.
“Somewhere in Division Seven,” the OOD said. “I can’t tell if this guy is fucking around or . . . Well . . .”
“It’s for General Brice,” Vancel said, rolling out of his rack. “She was the flag duty officer at SAC when it went down. I’ll send it on as a personal e-mail attachment. Log it, though.”
* * *
“Marigold?” Brice said, looking at the e-mail. She really wasn’t terribly busy most of the time and today was one of those days. She was good at her job, which involved getting other people to do theirs and then just keeping that going. Unfortunately, since most of the people she had working for her were über-competent, that meant she had lots of time on her hands. In the middle of an apocalypse. Not a good thing.
So her curiosity was piqued.
She typed in the word as a search in the intelligence database. It wasn’t by any means a complete database. The “complete” database had been the whole of SIPRNET, the DoD’s secure version of the internet. But The Hole was designed as a backup in the event of, well, an apocalypse, and it had at least extracts of a lot of stuff.
There were various references. Several operations had included “Marigold” in their operations name. Most of them were black ops but not all.
However, there was also a flag officer code name listed.
Upon retirement, all flag officers as well as “select” others were given a code name and a contact method. The reason was that flag officers held a lot of secrets in their heads. Even after retirement, they were potential targets for espionage or terrorist assassination. If they happened to be travelling in a country where a revolution kicked off, they could call a number and response would materialize. Even if the USA had to send Rangers in quietly—as it had on numerous occasions.
She clicked the link and blanched.
“Oh . . .” she said, panting. She felt slightly faint. “Ooof-dah. Oh, it can’t be . . .”
She listened to the voice recording again and compared the information. The four digit code was the last four of the Social. The voice even sounded the same.
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 Señorita, 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 Señorita 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 Østed “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.