No turning back, p.24
No Turning Back, page 24
“Atmospheric is up one point,” Corrie said. “But it’s the below-surface reading which is rising fast. It’s probably due to radioactive run-off from shore. We’re safe, but somewhere inland isn’t, and around here, there’s one obvious target.”
“Naval Station Norfolk,” Pete said.
The door opened. Mayor Jak entered. “Mind if I sate my curiosity?” he asked. “People are getting restless. I thought I might take them some tidings, one way or the other.”
Corrie waved her hand at the screens. “There’s not much to see, not yet,” she said.
“Is that movement?” the mayor asked, pointing at the monitor showing the bridge.
“Zom,” Corrie said. “I think it’s following the ship. Wait, no, that looks like a new one. Must be, unless a zom learned how to put on a hat.”
There were vehicles stopped on the low bridge. Mostly cars. Mostly abandoned. Mostly at odd angles, and covered with silt and grit. Between them trekked the undead, heading southward, as had the cars until the drivers had abandoned them.
“I saw a documentary about aircraft carriers,” Pete said. “It was mostly about life on board, but they’re way too big for that bridge.”
“Now there’s an understatement worthy of a Hoosier,” Mayor Jak said. “I served aboard the Truman. Five years with a spatula in hand.”
“I didn’t know you were a sailor,” Corrie said.
“I was little more than a fry cook with a very expensive uniform,” the mayor said. “But to allay your fears, the crossing is about eighteen miles long, and is mostly bridge, but there are two mile-long tunnels. Look for the towers. And there it is. That’s the artificial island where the tunnel begins.”
“Is that a hand-painted sign?” Corrie asked. “Hang on, let me zoom in.”
A tangled plastic sheet dangled over the side of the bridge, hanging from one rope, at a point where a bus and a truck had been parked against the bridge-barrier in a near V.
“I can’t see movement,” Pete said. “Wait, no, I can. Zom.”
One solitary zombie remained from this last desperate redoubt where stranded survivors had hung a sign, hoping for a rescue which hadn’t come until much too late.
The ship’s foghorn sounded.
Pete’s eyes skipped from screen to screen, hoping to catch sight of a flag, flare, or any other hint of a survivor. But there was nothing, and so the ship sailed on.
“First the radiation, now that,” Pete said. “I don’t like our odds of finding survivors on the peninsula.”
“I wouldn’t rule it out yet,” the mayor said. “The peninsula was traditionally a gardener’s paradise, growing produce that could survive a slow ferry crossing to the markets of Washington, Philadelphia, or Richmond. With a canal in the north, I would describe it now as an island.”
“So it’s the kind of place people might head to?” Pete asked. “People from Washington, Richmond, and Philadelphia? People, bringing the infection.”
“And how many brought Geiger counters?” Corrie asked. “I’d be seriously worried about the ground water around here. And the rain. And the sea. The northern shores were flooded. Hang on, let me bring up the footage. There. Look for the rooftop.”
On the screen, water brushed the shingles and swirled around a satellite dish. In what was probably the front yard, the drooping branches of a dying beech rose and fell with this new tide. “Why haven’t the waters receded?” Pete asked.
“Elsewhere, they have,” Corrie said. “That’s just the most striking image. I’m collating them for distribution when we get back to Oz. Still images with a voice-over will be lower data, and more easily adapted to print. Tess wanted a package we could distribute on USB and DVD, but is that really the best use of discs? Every old house might have multiple TVs, but do they still have electricity? Power probably won’t be an issue where population is densest, but for rural areas, and the new towns, I thought we could make the news a travelling show aboard a van with a projector.”
“And then show them a comedy afterwards,” the mayor said. “It reminds me of the mobile theatres they had during the Great War.”
“Oh, so you served in the trenches before you went to sea?” Pete asked.
The mayor laughed. “Mockery might be the preserve of the young, but age finds us all, sooner than we expect. People will want to see this footage. People like us. Refugees who need to be shown that there is no alternative to hard labour beneath an Australian sun.”
The ship’s address system crackled. “Radiation levels are still rising. We think Norfolk was hit. We are continuing north to the naval academy at Annapolis. Remain inside.”
“So Norfolk is gone, too,” the mayor said. “Do we have images?”
“We didn’t get close enough,” Corrie said, quickly cycling through the footage. “They must be making the decision based on the radiation data.”
Pete had picked up the map. Annapolis was on the Washington D.C. side of the Chesapeake Bay, some two hundred miles north of Norfolk by ship. Between Annapolis and the Delmarva Peninsula was about three miles of water and Kent Island. Further north of Annapolis was Baltimore. But almost due east, on the peninsula, was the town of Centreville, near where Kempton had built a mansion.
“Annapolis is only thirty miles from D.C.,” Pete said. “If Norfolk was hit, surely D.C. was.”
“It wasn’t nuked,” the mayor said. “A couple of ladies who’d worked in D.C. reached us in Savannah. Gail was a lobbyist. Ruby was a cleaner. They’d been part of a much larger group who’d banded together after the city collapsed.”
“Did they mention anything about the peninsula?” Pete asked.
“Only that they considered going east until they found themselves on a clear road heading west. Initially, they were aiming for the mountains, but too many roads were blocked, and they ended up coming south. By all accounts, theirs was a fraught journey, a hard road along which they left most of their friends. By the time they reached Savannah, only those two remained.”
“The rest were killed by zoms?” Pete asked.
“Some were, yes,” the mayor said. “For the rest, it was radiation, and those two ladies died soon after they arrived. They never saw a crater, and stayed away from towns and cities. I’d speculate they drank contaminated water. But not in D.C., and they never went to Norfolk.”
“It must have been the result of some random bomb,” Pete said. “Like in Brazil. Like in South Africa.”
“Why should this nation be any different?” the mayor said. “I should go spread the word, such as it is.”
“I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not your fault,” Pete said after the mayor had gone. “You didn’t push the button.”
“I could have done more,” Corrie said.
“I can’t think what,” Pete said. “If you’d told the world, no one would have believed you. If they had, they’d have rebooted the satellites or something. If the bombs had gone off in the cities, the death toll would have been worse.”
“The deaths would have been quicker,” Corrie said. “Leo’s already mapping the spread of oceanic dead zones. He’s predicting complete ecological collapse.”
“Predictions can be wrong,” Pete said. “As long as we’re alive, there’s still hope, and we’re only alive because of you.”
She said nothing, and returned to her screen.
“Where is everyone?” Tess asked, when she came in from the bridge.
“Still at action stations,” Pete said.
“Didn’t you hear the all-clear?” Tess asked. “There must be something wrong with the wiring.”
“I can take a look,” Corrie said.
“Leave it until we get back from shore,” Tess said. “We’re making good speed, but there’s no way we’ll get back to the open sea before nightfall. The radiation level has fallen away. We think a bomb was dropped somewhere inland of Norfolk, but so far, Leo thinks that was the only one in this area. We’ll drop your team off in a boat, and you’ll go ashore on the peninsula. Meanwhile, we’ll continue on to Annapolis. If we go ashore, it’ll only be for an hour. We’ll be back to pick you up around dusk. We’ll wait in the channel until dawn, and make our final decision about Long Island tonight.”
“Are you still undecided?” Pete asked.
“I’m hoping for a miracle,” Tess said. “Short of that, we’ve no choice but to leave the New Yorkers to their fate.”
Chapter 30 - The Withered Garden
The Delmarva Peninsula
Pete was still swallowing half his lunch when he boarded the boat. The other half had been eaten by Rufus as a consolation for being left behind. Olivia had wanted Rufus to join them, and so had Lisa, vocally extolling the benefits of a watchful companion. The issue, however, was radiation. More specifically, the logistical difficulties in decontaminating a dog.
With Zach confined to the ship, and Tess needing most hands for Annapolis, there were only six on their team. Lisa Kempton was their guide, while Dr Avalon was there to collect samples. Of what, and why, Pete hadn’t asked because he suspected the reason, like with this mission, could be summed up as desperation. Clyde was in command while he, Corrie, and Olivia filled the ranks, and nearly filled the small launch as it slowly buzzed up the Wye River towards Queenstown, where they would hopefully find wheels. It wasn’t how he’d have planned the mission, but though his opinion had been sought, his advice had not.
The peninsula’s shoreline was nothing at all like New York’s, so he found himself comparing it to Savannah. Here the greens were deeper, though less vibrant. The trees were more dispersed, with more land cleared for farming, though much of that was now semi-submerged. Old metal poles jutted from the languid river marking where land had once been, while beached rowing boats and raised jetties showed where the original riverbanks had burst.
The zombies, trapped beneath drifts of brush and silt, explained why no survivors had come to claim the boats. Slipways, houses, farms, occasionally a road; but always the undead. Not as many as Savannah, not yet, but the day was still young.
“Do you see that? Slow down!” Lisa said.
“What is it?” Clyde asked, as he cut their speed. The boat rocked as everyone turned to look ashore. Parked on a swathe of lawn wide enough to be a field was a helicopter.
“Take us to that jetty,” Lisa said, slipping back into her familiar role of command.
“Why?” Clyde said. “We’re still ten klicks from Queenstown, so about thirty from your mansion.”
“Which is nothing when flying,” Lisa said. “The helicopter arrived after the flood, and so it must work.”
“Must it?” Clyde asked, scanning the opposite shore, and then the swollen river ahead. He returned his gaze to the helicopter. “Corrie, radio the ship. Tell them we’re detouring to inspect a helicopter.”
As they approached, Pete realised the jetty belonged to the house, as did the field-sized lawn on which the helicopter had landed. Except it wasn’t just a house. The waterfront building was a brick boathouse, twice the size of Corrie’s cabin. Behind it was a mansion. But even that was a dollar-bill description for a bullion-priced building. Four stories tall, counting the narrow windows in the eaves. Built of a pale yellow brick that must have been imported, though they’d saved on mortar by making the windows massive. Ten on each floor, in neatly regimented lines. Each window had ornamental shutters, half of which were closed, and a quarter of which hung loose or had been ripped clear.
“Weapons hot, barrels down,” Clyde said as the boat bumped against the jetty. The waters here were high, or the ground had sunk, making it an easy step down to the nearly flooded walkway.
Corrie climbed off first, but Clyde quickly overtook her. “Kempton, Doc Flo, with me,” the old soldier said. “Guinns, see if there’s a car in the drive or in the garage.”
“I guess the garage would be at the front of the house,” Corrie said. “There’s a path over there.”
Pete, once again, carried one of Clyde’s ship-made axes, though this had been modified with a spike next to the head. “Anyone know much about helicopters?” he asked.
“Not how to fly one,” Corrie said. “But Lisa does, doesn’t she?”
“It didn’t look big enough for all of us,” Pete said.
“That’s good, because I’d be happy never flying again,” Olivia said.
The path meandered through a screen of wilting bushes, and to a swimming pool. The water was black with patches of green on the surface.
“Fancy a swim?” Pete asked.
“Look at the pool house,” Olivia said.
“I never understood those,” Pete said. “You’ve got a real house just over there, why not change clothes inside?”
“If you want to get on your soapbox, ask why you’d need a swimming pool when there’s a perfectly good river at the end of your yard,” Olivia said. “But I was talking about the roof. Those are solar panels.”
“One set of panels, one solar water heater,” Corrie said. “Mind the path, it gets slimy.”
“This would be the perfect refuge,” Olivia said. “But it’s clearly deserted, so where did the helicopter’s pilot go?”
There were fewer windows at the side of the house, but they were as dark as the building’s river-facing rear. Beyond another dying shrubbery, they reached the front of the house, and a circular drive with a fountain in the centre and a cavernous garage in the north.
“I knew there’d be a fountain!” Olivia said. “Pete, if Lisa ever gives you your back pay, we’re buying a house like this.”
“I think I’ll need a few more zeroes in my paycheck,” he said. “Main gate’s open. Can’t see any tyre marks, for all that tells us.”
He rested the axe on his shoulder as they strolled over to the garage. The main doors were electronic and locked. But the small door at the side of the garage was open.
Pete turned on the small light pinned to his vest before pushing the door. “Hello!” he called. A paint can rattled. A falling broom clattered. Pete stepped back. “Hey,” he said. “Are you alive?”
“Gator,” Olivia whispered, aiming her shotgun low.
“Maybe a dog,” Corrie said.
A desiccated palm slapped into metal as a figure in yellow-trimmed blue overalls padded heavily towards them.
“Just a zom,” Pete said.
Olivia raised her shotgun, and her light, shining it on the zombie’s face. Pete lunged forwards, spearing the axe’s sharpened point into its eye.
“Careful!” Olivia said. “You nearly signed off on a shotgun-divorce.”
“Sorry,” Pete said, pulling the axe-point clear as the zombie fell. “Just one, I think. And there’s a car inside. Big car, too.”
“Okay, but let’s be careful,” Olivia said, “because someone infected that mechanic.”
“I don’t think he was a mechanic,” Corrie said. “That uniform looks familiar.”
“Check the doors,” Pete said, shining his light beneath the one vehicle still in the garage. There was room for four, though the monstrous SUV took up nearly as much space as two.
“Keys are in the ignition,” Olivia said. “There’s a handgun on the seat, and a bag in the footwell. A couple more bags in the back.” She opened the trunk, and then a bag. “Food, clothes, soap, and toilet paper. Maybe looted from the mansion. It’s like he was ready to go.”
From outside came a mechanical burr, there and then gone as the helicopter’s engine was shut down again. Pete opened the driver’s door. When he turned the keys, he got a mechanical roar of his own. “Battery is fine, and the tank’s full. We better tell Clyde.”
“You found a car?” Clyde said. “Show me.”
“We could fly,” Lisa said.
“I’m not convinced you can,” Clyde said.
“Ask Rufus, he will attest to my skill,” Lisa said.
“There’s a limited amount of fuel,” Clyde said. “We won’t waste it when we might need it to survey the harbours down in South America. A car will get us to your mansion quick enough.”
“There’s a zombie, too,” Pete said, as he led them down to the garage. “Or there was.”
“Capital. I’ll gather a sample,” Avalon said.
“Later,” Clyde said. “We’ll have a wait while we load that helicopter onto the ship. Big garage, isn’t it?” he added as they neared.
“Big house,” Pete said.
Lisa broke into a run, overtaking them, and coming to a halt by the corpse. “Jorge LeMarck,” she said.
“You know him?” Clyde asked.
“He was an employee of a sort,” Lisa said. “About twelve years ago, Tamika and I were having a row about whether I was squandering my wealth, how I was wasting it on this battle with the cartel, and their politicians. How I should be doing more. Out of spite, really, I picked up a newspaper, and picked the first medical condition I found a mention of. It was multiple sclerosis. I donated a hundred million to various research projects. Jorge’s brother was part of the first trial on the first treatment the money funded. The patient’s quality of life improved, but not the outcome. Yet Jorge was grateful. He was also a pilot for a news station in D.C.”
“That’s his helicopter?” Clyde asked.
“Of his former employer,” Lisa said. “He insisted he owed me a favour. So I said, one day, I might ask him to fly me out of the capital, no questions asked. He agreed. I never had a need to take him up on the offer until the outbreak. That Mr LeMarck is wearing one of my uniforms is proof he fell in with some of my people. But the only one who knew of him, and who might have called upon him and his helicopter, is Loretta.”
“That’s your FBI agent sister-in-law, right?” Clyde asked.
“I never dared get institutional sanction for our relationship,” Lisa said. “But yes, Loretta is family.”
“She must be at the mansion,” Clyde said.
“Must she?” Lisa said. “The helicopter didn’t land there, and the pilot was infected.”
“They took the boat,” Pete said.
“What boat?” Lisa asked.
“The boat that’s not here,” Pete said. “Why else leave a helicopter behind?”
