*****

  Nicky Martin was crying. She had hardly stopped crying since the bad men had killed her father and done unspeakable things to her. Her life had become a nightmare and there was no escape from it. The worst part was that she knew she was going to die very soon. Scag, the leader of the bad guys hadn’t thought twice about discussing his plans with his followers while Nickie was tied to the bed behind them. She heard most of what was said and realized that they would kill her before she had a chance to warn the others.

  Nicky was only thirteen, but she was no dummy. She had watched many “R” rated movies and even liked zombie flicks. She knew what to expect from bad men and monsters too. Part of her would prefer to be eaten by zombies than be taken again by Scag, or the rest of his gang. Another part of her wanted to live so badly that her wrists and ankles were bleeding from her efforts to escape the restraints. It had almost worked too. The blood on her right wrist was making the rope slick. It still dug into her skin, but it seemed to move a little more freely now. If she could just get it to slide past her thumb, she would be free to untie the rest of her limbs.

  Blood didn’t scare her, not anymore. There was plenty of it drying on the sheets between her legs. At first it had come from the loss of her virginity, but that had soon stopped. The rest came from the cruel abuse dealt out by her captors and it flowed from more than one source. Those men were monsters! No better than the zombies outside. Worse, in her opinion, because they knew exactly what they were doing and seemed to enjoy it. If she were free, she would have a difficult choice between running and hiding or grabbing the nearest weapon to kill them all. But she wasn’t free. She was tied to a makeshift bed on the upper floor of the Aquarium of the Pacific. Zombies surrounded the building. Sadistic outlaws ruled within it and they planned to kill her and the other unlucky survivors. Her position was hopeless, but it didn’t stop her from twisting her wrist back and forth, ignoring the pain, in a desperate bid at freedom.

  *****

  The Surf Nazis were getting ready to leave the aquarium. All of their food, ammo, and drugs were packed. Scag came down from the roof, passing the girl tied to his bed without notice, and told everyone that it had started to rain. They would wait another hour for it to build up and have some affect. Then they would put their plans into action.

  Scag picked up the public address microphone from the information desk in the lobby and said, “Okay everybody. Listen up! This is what you’ve all been waiting for. It’s starting to rain out there. We’ll all be leaving soon and I want to apologize for any mistreatment you think you suffered from me or my friends. You won’t have to worry about any of that anymore and I hope you can forgive and forget any grudges. I just need everyone to get your stuff together and meet up in the main lobby. We’ll form groups and discuss our plan to reach the bridge. We won’t be able leave through the front doors because of all the zombies gathered there, but I want everyone up by the doors to attract them until it’s time for us to go out the back. Just do as you’re told and everything will be fine. You have my word on it.”

  Scag did his best to make his smirk look like a smile as he ushered the other survivors into the lobby. They gave him furtive, fearful, yet hopeful glances. It stoked his ego to have such power and control over others. “Go on in,” he intoned to the crowd. “Try to attract as many zombies to the windows as you can. Don’t worry. They can’t break that glass. If they could, we’d already be like them. We just need to draw them all over to this side of the building before we run out the back door.” It even sounded like a good plan to Scag, although it was total bullshit, as far as the people he was talking to were concerned. Now he knew how Hitler’s Nazis must have felt as they sent all those Jews into the showers that were really gas chambers. The thought gave Scag an erection, which in turn reminded him of the little piece of ass waiting for him upstairs.

  “Hey, Butch!” Scag called out. “Take over here for a few minutes. I forgot something upstairs.” He hoped that the gleam in his eye and the bulge in his pants didn’t give away his motives as he left the lobby. He was looking forward to his last encounter with little Nicky. He might even be gentle with her at first, since he would have to kill her when he was done.

  His anticipation turned to anger when he got upstairs and saw the empty bed. She was gone. Either she had freed herself from the ropes and electrical cords, or someone had snuck in and taken her. A trail of little bloody footprints led out the other door, but they faded the further he followed them. She was loose in the building and he didn’t have much time left to search for her. “Damn it!” he yelled. “Get your skinny ass back here, you little bitch!” He ran down the halls in a haphazard search, failing to notice a small smear of blood on the handle of the door to the women’s restroom.

  Chapter 5

  To: Sovereign Spirit

  Anyone out there? I am trapped in a house I was showing on Knox Cove Dr. in McKinleyville, CA. After noticing people getting attacked I secured the house and am hiding in the attic. I just stocked up the fridge for showings so I have water and food for a bit. I also filled up the tub and all other containers with water.

  The back of the house is clear and after reading how the zombies are afraid of water I know why. There is a small strait outside the back patio between a stream and the ocean but I have no boat. If they break in I have an emergency pack set up and will go there. If anyone can get to me please help. Laptop battery is running low so I will check each evening. Please can someone help me???!!!!! ---- Wanda

  It was raining by the time the FBI helicopter made the short flight to GNN. Ralph Corrigan instructed the pilot to circle the building before landing. He looked down at the streets intently. Due to frequent flights of the news helicopter, the GNN building had become a magnet for the undead. For the last two weeks it had attracted a growing horde of zombies that surrounded it. That mob of thousands had been thinned earlier in the day when the FBI convoy led many of them away to the freeway, but a large number had remained, filling the streets around the building.

  It had become normal to see the undead swarm in the street. Now, however, Ralph watched as the zombies went into frenzied flight. It was like pouring water onto a colony of ants. The rain sent them into panicked motion. Ralph watched as most of them vanished from the streets. He saw many rushing into underground parking garage entrances. Others fought for shelter under storefront canopies, marquees, and recessed entries. Even the sound and sight of the circling helicopter didn’t distract them. They seemed totally focused on escaping the water falling from the sky.

  “Thank God,” Corrigan said over the intercom. “It’s working. Take us down.” Turning to the two armed HRT agents, he continued, “Find Fox Rusher. Tell him the evacuation plans are working, but the commodore has been bitten. Then make sure he understands that he can’t report the commodore’s condition until after the rescue operation is completed. Your job is to enforce a news blackout. Make sure Mr. Rusher knows that you will use force to stop him and arrest him, or shoot him, if he fails to follow those instructions.”

  “Yes, sir,” one of the agents replied. “We know what to do.”

  *****

  Carl stared intently out the open door of the helicopter as Mick flew back up the Harbor Freeway. The rain was picking up, a constant patter against the windshield, and Carl was anxious to see the reaction of the zombies below. There didn’t seem to be as many on the streets now and those that were out in the rain were behaving erratically. Some of the zombies were running in circles, others flopped on the ground. Carl saw one crawling under an abandoned truck and made a mental note to warn everyone about the possibility of zombies hiding under vehicles. He also spotted groups of zombies gathering below overpasses on the freeway, as expected.

  “It looks like you were right, Carl,” said Mick. “They’re clearing off the streets, seeking shelter from the rain. Hell, they aren’t even turning to reach towards the helicopter the way they usually do.”

  “I think you’re right,” Carl agreed. “This plan just might work.” His confidence grew as they approached the bus depot. A convoy from the city was approaching from the north and Carl had expected it to be followed by a horde of the undead, but it wasn’t. “Mick, can you fly a bit further? I want to see what happened to the mob that should be tailing that convoy.”

  “Sure thing,” said Mick as he overflew the bulldozers, armored cars, buses and fire trucks sent from the city. It didn’t take long to find the missing horde. They were huddled together in a writhing mass of bodies under the 405 freeway interchange, filling every lane with those on the outside fighting to get further under the sheltering overpass. “Holy crap!” exclaimed Mick. “Look at ‘em all. There’s almost as many as down on the docks.”

  “Yep, but the only thing keeping them here is the rain,” Carl observed. “Let’s get back to the depot and get this show on the road.” A minute later they were touching down next to Carl’s Suburban. Carl noticed a couple dozen bodies outside the gate to the depot, but the crowd of zombies that had been forming there earlier had dispersed. He was also pleased to see Gus and Karen jogging towards the chopper.

  Carl leapt out and motioned for them to join him in the Suburban to get out of the rain and muffle the noise of the helicopter. Once they were all inside he said, “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

  “Good news first,” said Karen.

  “Okay,” he said. “The good news is that the rain is clearing the roads of zombies, just as we expected. I saw thousands of them huddled below overpasses and the rest are seeking any shelter they can find. Some of them are crawling under cars though, so we need to spread the word for everyone to be extra careful around abandoned vehicles. The rest of the good news is that the plans appear to be right on schedule. The Flotilla has already sent out hundreds of boats to collect survivors along the coast and a convoy from downtown will be here any minute.”

  “That’s great,” said Karen. “There was also a bulldozer that arrived from West LA while you were gone. An FBI guy was driving it. He says he cleared a path down the 405 from the Sepulveda Pass. He headed back to the FBI building with half a dozen buses following him as soon as it started raining. It sounds like everything’s going fine, so what’s the bad news?”

  Carl took a deep breath and said, “Aside from the fact that all the zombies we trapped on the dock yesterday might get away during the storm, Commodore Allen has been infected by a zombie bite.”

  *****

  The situation was almost out of control on the dock in San Pedro: almost but not quite. The rain had driven the horde into a true frenzy. They clawed, crawled, groveled and ran in circles, like chickens with their heads cut off. A few of them had even started charging through the sprinklers, just as Carl had predicted, but O’Hara had set up his machine gunner just in time.

  Using short and controlled bursts, Private Wilson cut down any zombie that entered the water barrier. It wasn’t possible to take them all out with head shots, but it wasn’t necessary either. Wilson literally cut many of them down, blowing off legs with a stream of 7.62mm bullets, and once they fell down inside the spray of the sprinklers, they simply twisted and flailed in the puddles without purpose. Sergeant Major O’Hara added to the carnage with well aimed semi-automatic head shots from his M-4 carbine.

  George was making good progress on building a wall of cargo containers. Close to half of the 200 yard wide choke point was already completed. Trucks arrived in an almost constant stream, waiting briefly for the one in front to dump it’s container in place, then returning to the port to pick up another one. They built the wall from both ends, converging towards the center where the Marines had set up their firing positions. George himself had returned to the Expiscator where he was sheltered from the rain, but could see and direct the construction of the barrier while resuming command of operations across the rest of the safe haven by radio.

  Just when hundreds more of the Zs became agitated enough to charge through the sprinklers, something that O’Hara and Wilson would not have been able to stop alone, one of the black LAV-25s showed up. O’Hara directed it straight to the firing line and jumped inside to take control of its guns. Moments later all hell broke loose as the 25mm canon opened up. Fearing just this type of encounter, O’Hara had already ordered all of the high explosive cannon rounds set to explode at minimum range which was just over 200 yards. The solid depleted uranium sabot rounds kept going through anything in their path, but the interspersed explosive rounds detonated two football fields downrange – sooner if they hit anything solid. Their effect on the horde was instantaneous and devastating. The torrent of canon fire was joined by the coaxial machine gun and by another M-240 machine gun fired by a Marine standing in the open hatch of the turret. It was an absolute slaughter. A few minutes into the one-sided firefight the remaining AAV-7 arrived on scene and opened up with its 40mm automatic grenade launcher. Very soon the mound of bodies beyond the sprinklers was obstructing their aim and becoming yet another barrier for the zombies to cross. It was impossible to make an accurate body count, but O’Hara was certain that his men and machines had wiped out thousands of the enemy.

  A little less than an hour after the rain began to fall the barricade of containers was completed. O’Hara pulled the armored vehicles back as the final two containers were set in place. It was perfect timing because both the AAV and LAV were almost out of ammunition. The sergeant major deployed a squad of six Marines atop the cargo containers to defend against any breach. After O’Hara dispatched the armored vehicles back to the rescue convoys they were assigned to lead he went to join George Hammer aboard the Expiscator.

  “That was fantastic,” said George as O’Hara joined him on the bridge of the yacht. “Good timing too. I just got a call from Captain Fisher. He says the Cape Inscription is coming into port and he asked if we could come back to the Mole for her arrival. He was a bit cryptic on the radio, but I think he has some concerns.”

  “What kind of concerns?” asked O’Hara.

  “I’m not sure,” said George. “But he did mention that the Cape Inscription is being escorted by a couple of Navy warships.”

  “In that case we better get over there,” said O’Hara. His expression was unreadable, but his gut gave a twist that even zombies didn’t trigger. O’Hara had spent over twenty years in the Marines, many of them aboard US Navy ships. He had always respected both branches of service, but the first week of the zombie apocalypse had shaken some of his faith in the military establishment. The source of his doubts came from Admiral Winchester and his biblical approach to the apocalypse. If he had sent warships to this safe haven, there was cause for concern.

  *****

  Scott returned to the bridge when Captain Fisher informed him that the Cape Inscription was about to enter the harbor. It seemed important for the Commodore to be on hand to welcome the Navy to the new safe haven, even if it was one of the last things he would ever do. He watched the big transport ship maneuver to back into her berth next to the Sovereign Spirit, but was really more interested in the warships that escorted her. Captain Fisher identified the smaller of the two vessels as an aging Oliver Hazard Perry class frigate. Calling her “smaller” was only a matter of comparison though, as she was larger than the Stratton and almost as long as the Sovereign Spirit. The frigate followed the transport into port but did not approach the docks on the Mole. The larger ship, a guided missile cruiser, took up station outside the mouth of the port. Through the binoculars Scott could see that her name was Port Royal and she was easily over 500 feet long.

  “What do you think they’re up to?” Scott asked Captain Fisher.

  “They’re obviously acting as escorts. Maybe they came to help with the evacuation too. We’ve been broadcasting our plans since last night, so they must be aware of them,” Fisher replied.

  “I hope you’re right, Jordy,” said Scott. “But they might be performing a bit of gunboat diplomacy too. Remember that Admiral I told you about? I wouldn’t be surprised if he wants to stake a claim here.” Captain Fisher grunted in surprise as he considered that possibility.

  The rest of the Flotilla had no such worries. Everyone seemed overjoyed to see the US Navy arrive. The cruise ships all sounded their horns in welcome and passengers lined the decks, even in the rain, to wave in welcome. Those aboard smaller boats and yachts joined in as well, although much of the Flotilla was deployed for the rescue missions that were just beginning.

  The Stratton had already left for Marina Del Ray and the Odyssey had remained at Catalina Island, so only the Sea Launch Commander and the Sovereign Spirit remained at the Mole to greet the Navy and the returning Cape Inscription. Scott was relieved, however, when the Expiscator came around the point and he spotted Sergeant Major O’Hara on her upper deck. The old Marine might be the perfect ambassador to their unexpected visitors.

  As he contemplated his options Scott noticed that the Cape Inscription was lowering her vehicle ramp onto the dock next to the Sovereign Spirit. This was a bit surprising, since the ship was not yet secured to the dock, but the real surprise came when vehicles began to roll down the ramp. They weren’t just any vehicles either. A Marine combat unit was deploying in front of his eyes.

  Half a dozen LAV-25s were first to emerge from the transport’s cargo space. They were followed immediately by four M-1 Abrams main battle tanks and eight AAV-7 Amtracs. Then a stream of Hummers and at least a dozen supply trucks appeared behind the armored vehicles. Scott was no military expert, but it looked like a full battalion of Marines had just invaded his safe haven. His first impression seemed to be confirmed when they deployed to basically surround his ship.

  “Well, Jordy,” Scott said to the dumbstruck captain. “It looks like my command might be terminated even sooner than we expected.”

 

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