Voyage of the Dead - Book One Sovereign Spirit Saga Page 12
“Si, jeffe!” Hector called back. “But we have five new passengers. They seem healthy, but I don’t know if they should be trusted. They say they were hiding on a friend’s boat, but didn’t have the keys to the engine. What should I do with them?”
“Bring them up to the flying bridge on top of the boat,” answered George. “I’ll talk to them when I have time. We need to get all of these other boats organized. And the helicopter has landed on Lovers’ Beach. I have to see if they need help too.” George was already moving up the stairs to the flying bridge and sun deck. From there he had a 360 degree view and would be better able to get a grasp of the situation. He decided to begin with a quick check on Scott and the others on the beach.
“Hello on the beach!” George called out using the megaphone. “Do you need assistance?” He could see Mark wave back, but he looked as casual as always. No sign of immediate distress there. Then he heard Scott’s voice on the helicopter’s PA speaker which happened to be pointed towards the yacht.
“Turn on the radio, George!” he heard Scott say. “You know the frequency to use.”
Shit, thought George. He’d forgotten all about Scott’s instructions to use the yacht’s radio! Not surprising considering the pressure of recent events. Luckily there was a radio installed in the helm console of the flying bridge. He turned it on and changed the channel to the one Scott had told him to use. “Scott?” George said into the microphone. “Are you there?”
“This is Eagle,” replied Scott’s voice, clear as day. “We read you, Expiscator. Our condition is currently secure, but we are waiting for the Spirit to get closer before taking off again, due to some minor damage from trigger happy locals. Suggest you remain here too and try to organize the other boats that are following you. Use that megaphone to let them know some of our plan. At least tell them we’re going north. If they can’t keep up, they’re welcome to follow us. Don’t promise anything else yet. Do you copy?”
“Yes, Scott… I mean Eagle. I copy. We have a few extra passengers already and I’m afraid the skipper of your yacht had turned into a, ah, a zombie before we got here. He’s been taken care of now. But I guess I’ll have to drive this boat. Over.”
“You can do it, George,” said Scott. “Don’t mess with anything you don’t understand. Almost everything is automatic anyway. Stick to the throttles, helm, GPS, and radio, especially the radio. We can talk you through most other things and help you navigate using our radar. But, for right now, just focus on getting the rest of those boats behind you organized. And be sure to keep clear of the rocks and the other boats. Repel boarders if you have to. Got it?”
“Got it,” confirmed George. “And thank you again. My daughter and grandsons would have died back there, if you hadn’t arranged this rescue. I owe you big time.”
“Just keep them alive and bring my yacht along with the rest of us and we can call it even, okay? Eagle out, for now.”
“Expiscator is standing by in case you need assistance,” replied George before returning the microphone to its cradle on the console. Then he motioned Hector over and explained what he had in mind. “I’m going to make a little announcement on this megaphone to the people on all the boats following us. Then I want you to repeat it in Spanish. Okay?”
Hector nodded and George lifted the megaphone to his mouth. “Ahoy out there. This is George Hammer aboard the Expiscator. If you folks want to come with us, you should know that we are heading north. Our next stop will probably be San Diego. If your boat can make it that far, you are welcome to follow us, but we can’t promise to give you fuel or food. I suggest that you all try to organize yourselves and share the larger boats with longer range. The smaller boats won’t make the trip. They will need to be abandoned or towed. If you can’t or don’t want to come with us, or follow us if you are slower, then I can only suggest that you try to find a small town along the coast that has not been overrun by these monsters, or sail over into the Sea of Cortez where there are small villages and deserted islands that might be safe. Do not attempt to come aboard this yacht. I have orders to repel boarders and we are armed.” George lowered the megaphone and handed it to Hector. “Repeat as much of that as you can remember in Spanish.” Hector took the megaphone and did just that.
The reaction from people on the other boats was mixed, and it was clear that some of them had not been able to hear or understand the whole message. Among those who did, ones on the larger boats – mostly sport fishing cruisers and small pleasure yachts, as well as the big sail boat – looked to be agreeable. But the people on smaller boats that had no chance of making it a thousand miles to San Diego were visibly upset. One little speed boat with five men who looked like locals aboard it turned towards the Expiscator and accelerated fast. George knew he would have to set an example. He could not let those men come aboard and risk them taking control of the yacht.
George pulled his pistol and inserted a fresh clip. When the boat was about 100 feet away he fired four rapid shots into it. One bullet hit a man in the arm, but the boat kept coming. George was getting nervous until he saw the boat’s driver fly back from a large caliber bullet wound to his chest. The sound of the shot came a moment later. Glancing left he saw Mark kneeling in a shooters stance on the beach and sighting in for another shot with the hunting rifle. It wouldn’t be necessary. One of the other men wisely grabbed the steering wheel and the boat veered off towards the south-east. Apparently they would rather take their chances in the Sea of Cortez. Two of the other small open deck fishing boats, also manned by locals, decided to follow them. They probably would have had trouble convincing one of the Gringo yachtsmen to take them along anyway. But all of the larger boats and a few smaller cabin cruisers flying American flags stayed and maintained a respectful distance from the Expiscator.
*****
Scott stared at the patch covering the damaged hydraulic line as Mick started the twin CT-7 turbine engines which produced a combined 3,250 horsepower. The hydraulic pumps kicked in and Scott could see the patched line flex under pressure. No obvious leak. Good. He waved at Mick to shut the engines back down and replaced the access panel, securing it with his multi-tool. They could probably take off now and make it back to the Sovereign Spirit without incident, but Scott felt secure on Lovers’ Beach and preferred to stay and keep an eye on George and his impromptu fleet until the mother ship arrived.
“Okay, Mickey,” called Scott. “I think that did it. No more leaks. Shut her down and stay here with Clint. I’ll go back down the beach to Mark. I’m taking the handheld radio to help Gorge organize his ducklings.”
“Go for it,” replied Mick Williams. “I’ll keep the bird ready for immediate dust off.”
“You have the lingo down pat, except that ‘dust-off’ is normally used to describe a medical evacuation,” said Scott. “I’m hoping we don’t have to do any of that. Just keep your eyes open and your pistol locked and loaded.” He smiled as he walked down to the beach, taking a moment to reflect on the transformation that was transpiring among his friends. They were all slipping smoothly into military jargon. It was probably a good thing, considering the new type of world they were facing. Zombies and desperate survivors would have to be considered as hostile, unless proven otherwise. A military approach to the situation was certainly justified. Scott could only hope that all of his friends and crew were stable enough to understand that some of the people they ran into were not zombies, or desperados, and have enough good sense to hold their fire in those situations. With all the boats following the Expiscator out of the harbor, this was rapidly becoming one of those situations.
There were now over a dozen boats and larger yachts between the harbor and the seemingly deserted cruise ship off the beach resorts of Cabo. Scott could hear George’s amplified voice speaking to them, but couldn’t make out the words because he was facing the other direction. A moment later Scott caught his breath as he heard several rapid gun shots coming from the Expiscator and then saw Mark kneel and fire his ri
fle. Scott realized that this time he was probably not shooting at a zombie. His target must be someone on one of those boats. Damn it. For the umpteenth time that day Scott reflected on how the rules of the world had changed.
*****
With the threat of confrontation with the rest of the boats seemingly resolved, George turned to deal with the five refugees who had jumped aboard when they left the dock. They looked like college kids on Spring Break. The two young men were clean cut and athletic looking. The three young ladies looked like cheerleaders, or swimsuit models. They were all wearing bathing suits and looked a bit spooked, but were otherwise healthy and obviously relieved to be aboard. George, still holding the pistol, nodded and said, “So, what’s your story?”
“I’m Craig Burns and this is Tom Hillsdale. The girls here are Mindy, Susan and Paula. We’re on vacation from UC Santa Barbara and everyone down here went crazy yesterday. Paula’s boyfriend, Jim, had rented a boat in the marina and she had a key to the gate. So we ran down there from a bar to get away from those zombies – they are zombies aren’t they? But Jim didn’t make it and we didn’t have a key to start the boat. So we’ve been hiding there since yesterday. Thanks for taking us with you!”
“Okay,” said George agreeably. He was getting good vibes from these kids. At least they weren’t pirates or crack heads. But he continued with a tone of authority. “You guys and girls are lucky. No doubt about it. But I need to be sure you are not infected. Did any of those zombies, yes we call them zombies too, did any of them get their hands or teeth on any of you?” They all shook their heads vigorously and wearing those swim suits the denial was convincing. George gave them a quick walk-around inspection and would have seen any scratches or bite marks. “Okay then, you can stay aboard. But you’ll earn your keep.” The boys nodded hesitantly and the girls looked slightly more apprehensive. George chuckled, “You’ll be helping me run this damned boat, if you want to make it home.”
“Yes sir!” “Thank you, sir!” was the chorus of grateful replies.
“Good. Now you can start by going down and checking out the rest of the boat with Hector. Stay off the bridge for now. I had to shoot a zombie in there. Don’t touch any of the blood. Just make sure there aren’t any more of those things hiding down below. I want to be sure it’s safe for my daughter and grandsons to go inside and get comfortable. Got it?”
“Yes sir!” and they turned to follow his instructions. George thought he could get used to this skipper business. Then he went back to watching the other boats milling around outside the harbor. The large sailing yacht had begun to maneuver closer. It was not a threatening move. Their skipper probably just wanted to open communications. As it came to a stop about a hundred yards away George noticed that it was flying a flag he recognized, but couldn’t quite identify, with stars and bars. Then a man stood up near the helm and waved before using a loud hailer.
“Ahoy and g’day, Expiscator! This is the Australian yacht Doyle’s Southern Comfort,” said an Aussie accented voice. “I’m Jimmy Doyle and we are interested in your proposal, but we need more information, mate. Do you know of a safe destination? Are you going to an uninfected port? Or somewhere safe to re-provision? We agree there’s likely to be more safety in numbers right about now. But if the USA is as bad as this, we might as well sail south for home, aye mate?” George nodded his agreement and thought for a moment before replying.
“G’day to you too, Mr. Doyle and your Southern Comfort,” he said through the megaphone. “I understand your concerns. My name is George Hammer and I suggest you wait here for a few hours to make your decision. Our friends are coming in a much bigger ship that still has global communications capabilities. They are the ones who will be setting our course and they should have information that will help you decide what to do too. You are free to come or go as you please, but we are happy to help if we can.”
“Thank you, mate,” the Aussie replied. “Much obliged. We’ll continue to prepare for setting sail and consult you again before we set off. But even if we decide to follow you, we’ll be going under sail to conserve fuel, so we’ll be slower and would need to know where to meet you.”
“Understood. We’ll have more information for you before you leave,” George confirmed. Then he turned back to the control console on the flying bridge and flipped on the radar. It showed the outline of the coast, the other boats around him, and another blip that was approaching from the southwest. It was still more than ten miles away, but it was closing fast. George found a pair of binoculars and tried to spot the speeding craft. After a minute, when it was more than a mile closer, he was able to see a streaking rooster tail of water and a low profile speed boat skipping from swell to swell at over 80 miles per hour. That must be the Cigarette racing boat from the Sovereign Spirit. The radar also showed a larger blip about thirty miles off the coast moving closer at over 20 knots. George radioed the helicopter to tell them the speed boat would arrive in about five minutes and the ship was about an hour away. He also conveyed the questions from the Australian motorsailer to Scott.
*****
Scott called Mark and Clint back to the helicopter as soon as the Cigarette boat arrived off Land’s End. It could have landed on the harbor side of Lover’s Beach, but Scott waved it off. Over the radio he instructed the men in the boat to escort the Expiscator and make sure none of the other boats tried to interfere again. He could see that at least two of the three crewmen manning the Cigarette were armed with rifles or shotguns. Scott told them to leave the guns and whatever ammo they had with George when they returned to the ship.
Then Scott radioed Captain Fisher aboard the Sovereign Spirit and asked if he had any more information about conditions up north so he could pass it on to the Australians and anyone else trying to decide if it was a good idea to follow them up to California. Captain Fisher replied, “Still lots of military radio traffic, but it’s mostly encrypted. Sounds like a lot of activity around San Diego though. So there is still some form of civilization there. We’re too far away to pick up any civilian news on radio or broadcast TV, if there still are any. GNN is still putting out their satellite feed from Los Angeles, but their local news is limited. All they can confirm is that West LA is overrun with zombies. And they have equally bad news from their satellite feeds across America and around the world. Your son and his friends are picking up a lot of information on the internet and it sounds like a lot of people outside of major cities are holding their own, but the zombies seem to be showing up almost everywhere now. In fact, they just passed along a report that zombies have overrun Sydney, Perth and Canberra in Australia. Hobart and Darwin seem to be holding them off pretty well for now.”
“Thanks, Captain, I’ll pass along the news. Then we’ll be flying back. We stopped the hydraulic leak, so everything should be fine. But thanks for sending the Cigarette boat. I told them to escort the Expiscator out to meet you and it looks like a lot of smaller yachts will be tagging along too. It’s becoming an impressive little flotilla. We might have to promote you to Commodore.”
“No, that’s your job title now, Scott,” replied Captain Fisher with only a touch of humor in his voice. “You’re the boss, remember?” Scott chuckled as he signed off. Commodore Scott Allen, huh? Not a bad promotion for a wealthy yachtsman. Scott changed frequencies to contact George, as well as the Australians aboard Doyle’s Southern Comfort, and the rest of the boats that had followed them out of the harbor.
“Attention all vessels interested in following us north. This is Commodore Scott Allen. I’ll be leading this voyage of survival and repatriation. My flag ship, the Sovereign Spirit, will be arriving soon. It’s a large passenger and vehicle transport that has been converted into an expedition mega-yacht. It carries things such as the helicopter we arrived in and the speed boat that just got here. We have been at sea for more than three weeks and, so far, we are all free of infection. In order to keep it that way, I can’t let any of you come aboard my ship until we are sure that you are all
free of infection too. However, you are welcome to follow us up to San Diego, or beyond. We can probably spare enough fuel to make sure you can all make it at least as far as San Diego. We can spare some canned and dry food too, if you need it, as well as drinking water. But none of you will be allowed aboard my ship, or in direct contact with my crew, until we are sure that you are not infected.”
Scott paused to collect his thoughts for a moment. Many of these people might not have had any news of the disaster that was enveloping the world. Some might think that it was an isolated event in Cabo. How should he break the news of the end of the world?
“For those of you who don’t know, the zombie attacks that happened here, in Cabo, are happening all around the world too. If you have active satellite TV or internet access on your boats, you should be able to confirm this. If not, just trust me. This might not be the end of the world, but it is the end of the world as we knew it. Things have changed in a big way.” Scott paused again and thought about what he needed these people to understand.