Under a Graveyard Sky

CHAPTER 14

Sophia spun around and saw Faith fire at one of the fast approaching infecteds. The fiftyish woman was thrown back with her chest opened up by the twelve gauge round. But she wasn’t the only one inbound for the concert goers.

Sophia didn’t even hesitate. Her father had run her through too many tactical ranges and her actions were muscle memory. She’d been standing towards the back of the group and now stepped forward, covering their rear, and ripped her 1911 from its holster. Taking a two handed grip she targeted the closest zombie, putting two.45 rounds into his chest. She was using polymer-tipped expanding hollowpoints, which on impact spread out to make not a.45 inch hole but a nearly inch wide one. The “lab tech” had recently been getting an eclectic masters level course in biology including mammalian anatomy and physiology. She could practically recite the blood vessels her rounds took out without doing the autopsy. The infected took two more steps and dropped.

She’d been carrying a round in the chamber and a full magazine for the 1911. If she’d been in the earlier argument with her sister she would have pointed out, didactically, that that way a 1911 can carry eight rounds. Which did for four infecteds.

But there were more.

* * *

“This job fucking sucks.”

Specialist Cameron “Gunner” Randall, New York Army National Guard, was tired, aggravated and frustrated. He was a fricking 13Foxtrot: a fire support specialist. He was supposed to be calling for artillery fire. Not roaming the streets of New York “enforcing the curfew.” Among other things, they weren’t “enforcing the curfew.” There was a fucking concert going on right there in Washington Square Park. And he and his guys had to just “maintain presence.” What the fuck did “maintain presence” mean?

What they really were were roaming zombie collectors. They carried their issue M4s but so far all they’d used were Tasers. Taser the zombie, inject, call for pickup. Tell people there was a curfew. Tell people. Not order them back to their flipping homes. “Remind them.” And the ROE for shooting a zombie with your M4 went to ten pages. “And don’t bother the concert.”

It really, really sucked. He never thought that a deployment in the states would suck more than the Stan. But this sucked.

“Well, at least it’s a slow night.”

SGT James R. “Worf” Copley thought their current job was idiotic on so many levels it wasn’t funny. Among other things, since “zombieitis” whatever they were calling it this week was incurable, the “care facilities” were not only getting overrun with infected they’d started as nightmares and just gotten worse. Killing them, sad as it was, would have been a mercy. And if they were going to have a curfew it should be enforced. But this was New York City. The city that never slept. And even with occasional power outages, food shortages and zombies it was going to go right on being “The City That Never Sleeps” until things blew over or it all went to shit.

“Maybe all the zombies are at the concert,” Private Patricia Astroga said, wistfully. “I don’t suppose we could stop by just for a bit to…ensure security?”

“I’m not really into alternative…” Sergeant Copley said. “Besides…” He paused as he heard the distinctive boom of a shotgun from the direction of the concert followed by a series of shotgun and pistol blasts. What amazed him was that whoever was caterwauling keep right on singing over what was working up to a full-fledged firefight.

“On the other hand,” Randall said.

“Let’s roll,” Copley replied. “Fours, not Tasers…”

* * *

Sophia was reloading, visually tracking another inbound target, when her arm was grabbed from behind.

“What are you doing?” Christine asked. “You can’t shoot those zombies!”

“‘Can’t,’ ‘may not’ and ‘shouldn’t’ are three different things,” Sophia said, seating the magazine and letting the slide go forward. “And what I’m doing is protecting you. Why the hell are you still here?” She looked over her shoulder and was amazed that the concert was still going on. Thinking about it, Voltaire hadn’t even missed a beat.

“They come every night,” Todd said. “It’s their concert.”

“What?” Sophia asked, her eyes wide. “Don’t they…? Don’t you get attacked?”

“They bite some people,” Christine said. “Sometimes they eat. I’ve been waiting to get bitten. But they haven’t taken me, yet.”

“WHAT?” Sophia screamed. The infected was inside fifteen meters so she put two rounds in her chest and turned back, keeping her weapon pointed downrange and looking over her shoulder. “WHAT? Are you flipping nuts? You WANT to be a zombie?”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of if you’re a zombie,” Christine said, starting to cry. “You just are. You just exist. It’s like…”

“It’s like zen, you know?” Todd said, swaying back and forth. “You just exist in the moment, man. There’s no stress. No school, no work, just eat or be eaten. It’s like Rousseau’s noble savage, the beast inside every man.”

“You are absolutely batshit fucking nuts,” Sophia said, looking back to the target zone. Another inbound. “I am not going to be turned into a zombie. My sister got infected but she pulled through and we are not going to be zombies. We are not.”

“You just don’t get it,” Todd said. “Myrmidon.”

“Idiot,” Sophia said, double tapping the next inbound. She looked around and had time so she quickly reloaded her magazines.

“And now you’ve brought the fucking soldiers here,” Christine said, disgustedly. “They’re going to just blow us all away! Babykillers!”

“You want to be a zombie?” Sophia asked. She grabbed Todd by the arm and walked him over to the nearest fresh corpse. Then she pulled out a clasp knife. “Cut your arm. Wipe some of the blood on it. Instant zombie.”

“I…” Todd said. “Let go of me…”

“You’re not going to because you’re afraid,” Sophia said, holding the knife up to his eye-level. “You’re afraid because you’re not willing to fight back. You’re the poet. What’s the thing about the raging and darkness?”

“You mean Dylan Thomas?” Todd said, disdainfully. “‘Rage, rage against the dying of the light’?”

“Do not go gentle into this good night,” Sophia snarled, waving at the darkness all around. “Old age should burn and rave at close of day;/Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

“That is what you should be doing!” she finished. “Raging against the dying of the light. You’re not even in old age!”

“You knew the poem,” Todd said, wonderingly.

“I got an A plus in a really tough AP English class,” Sophia said. “And AP Physics. And Calculus. And I know how to kill zombies. What the fuck have you been doing with your life?”

“You want to tell us what’s been going on here, miss?” the sergeant of the three man team asked. They weren’t up and pointed but you could tell they were here for a fire-fight.

“We’re having a poetry and philosophy discussion,” Sophia said, holstering her pistol. “I’m glad you could join us…”

* * *

“Contractors,” Copley said, disgustedly. “Never thought I’d have to deal with you guys in New York City. I had enough of you in the Stan.”

“Hey,” Durante said, shrugging his shoulders. “Be glad we were here. Otherwise half this crowd would be going zombie.”

“From what I got from Sophia, that’s happened before,” Steve Smith, “President of Blue Water Security, LLC” said. He hadn’t even known he was a “president” until Tom handed him the certifications. “When’s NYPD getting here?”

“They’re not,” Copley said, shaking his head. “We’re not even getting coroner’s office. I’m told to take down the information, then await graves registration.”

“It’s gotten that bad, huh?” Tom said. “And your ROE probably still says ‘do not fire until fired upon.’”

“It’s better than that,” Copley said. “But not much.”

* * *

“So… You guys get to shoot ’em?” Randall asked.

“Not usually,” Faith said. “Usually we have to taser ’em. There were too many this time. You guys gotta wear that rig all the time?”

The National Guardsmen were in masks, hoods and ponchoes.

“Keeps the blood off,” Randall said.

“Makes sense,” Faith said. “I got in a scuffle with one the other day and it bled all over me. Ended up very nearly going zombie myself. You do not want to get it even if you don’t zomb. Sickest I’ve ever been in my life.”

“Damn,” Randall said. “So… You’re not going to zombie, right?”

“Certified immune,” Faith said. “My immune system got it. Low dosage of the virus I guess. Don’t even have any antibodies anymore, which is medicalese for ‘you’re not going to be a zombie.’ Shook it off completely. Not that it was much fun. Horrible sick.”

“I’ll keep my poncho on, then,” Randall said. “Let me tell you, this shit is hot, though.”

“Better or worse than the Sandbox?” Faith asked.

“Oh, better,” Randall said. “But not much.”

“Nice rig,” Astroga said. “What is that rifle?”

“Shotgun,” Faith said. “Saiga. It’s an AK variant that fires twelve gauge.” She dropped the magazine and cleared and handed it over to the private. “Ten round magazine. Which beats a pump all to hell.”

“Is it reliable?” Randall asked. “May I?”

“Sure,” Faith said. “As long as I get it back. Especially if we get any more visitors.”

“Nice,” Randall said.

“Love the kukri,” Faith said, gesturing at the combat knife on his belt.

“Carried it in Iraq and the Stan,” Randall said. He hesitated for a second, then handed it over. “Thought it might come in handy.”

“Sweet,” Faith said, examining it. It had the word “Boosh” carved on the handle. “I’ve got one on the boat. They said it was overkill for tonight. Famous last words.”

“There is no overkill,” Randall intoned. “There is only open fire and reload.”

“Schlock fan, huh?” Faith said. “I knew the world was coming to an end when Schlock didn’t update.”

“It’s heavy,” Astroga said. “The Saiga.”

“I’ll take the firepower any day,” Faith said, gesturing with her chin at the M4. “The U.S. started to go downhill when it changed from a round designed to kill our enemies to one designed to piss them off.”

“Nice quote,” Randall said. “That one I don’t recognize.”

“Read it on some blog,” she said, then looked up. The entire skyline had gone black as had all the lights in the park. “Oh, that is not good. Getting home is going to be a bitch and a half.”

“I wonder if the subways are out, too,” Astroga said nervously. “I’d hate to be in a subway in the dark in this.”

“We’ve got…” Faith then paused. She reached for her Saiga. “Wasn’t what I was going to say but what we’ve got is movement.”

A woman was running through the park pursued by a zombie. Before she could get to the relative safety of the group of concert-goers, another came at her from the side and knocked her down. She started screaming.

“Move it!” Copley said, waving.

The threesome ran to the woman, stopping just short to fire tasers into the zombies attacking her. One of them seemed to be trying to sexually assault her.

“Okay,” Faith said. “That’s just gross.”

She looked away and then turned back at another scream. Astroga had been attacked from behind by another infected. She was struggling to throw it off. Randall tasered it but there were more. Suddenly, the threesome was surrounded by zombies and there were now screams from the concert goers.

Looking around, Faith realized that there were more and more of the zombies closing on the concert.

“The lights!” Tom shouted. “They’re zeroing in on the lights!”

Suddenly, an M4 went to full auto and Faith heard rounds zipping by her head. Copley pushed his way through the crowd of zombies, dragging Astroga by the harness. She could see Randall, clearly out of rounds and with no time to reload, wielding his kukri and chopping zombies left and right.

“Rock and roll!” Copley screamed. “Just shoot! We’re in armor!”

“Authorized,” Tom said, taking a two handed stance. “Try not to hit the good guys.”

“Uncle Tom!” Faith said, backing towards her group and firing to the side. “We’ve got more coming!”

“This way, too,” Stacey called. “They’re in the concert.”

Faith glanced over her shoulder and saw something she never expected to see. Ever. With the defenses around the actual stage, where the lights were, the zombies couldn’t climb up. Zombies coming down Fifth Avenue had bent around the stage until they hit the dancers in the mosh pit. A naked, writhing zombie was being crowd-surfed over the group. So far, the moshers seemed to consider the zombies to be a feature not a bug. Just more people to hit.

When it dropped into the regular concert-goers, the screams started. and there were more being crowd-surfed back.

“Remind me to pick up some mosh gear,” Faith shouted.

“On you,” Sophia called.

“Cover me while I reload,” Faith said. There was a tidal wave of zombies coming for them and she made if not the fastest reload in her life than close. She had to make sure to keep the magazine since she foresaw a time in the not too distant future when getting more would be a bit of a pain.

“And we’re back,” Faith said, taking three quick blasts to clear their side. “Where the fuck are they all coming from?”

“Thanks,” Copley said as the three soldiers reached the perimeter of the contractor group. “Thanks, thanks…”

“Reload and start laying down,” Tom said. “We’re not out of this yet. And call for back-up.”

“Roger, sir,” Copley said.

“You, specialist,” Tom said, pointing to Randall. “East side. Durante, South. Faith, West. You, private,” he said, pointing at Astroga. “North towards the concert. We’re going to start moving south. Myself and Steve will back Durante.”

“That’s right into most of them, boss,” Durante pointed out. He was keeping up a slow-aimed fire with his Saiga. “Reloading.”

“Covering,” Steve said.

“Questions later,” Tom said, taking down two zombies with two shots. “Sergeant, stay on the horn.”

“Roger, sir,” Copley said. “The NYPD liaison net is down. Ditto cell. I’m down to military radio.”

“Keep at it,” Tom said. “Durante, start moving forward as soon as we’re reloaded.”

The concert crowd had started to scatter as more and more of the infected swarmed the only light in a mile. Faith could hear screams over the music as they were picked off one by one in the surrounding darkness. She keyed on her tactical light as they moved down the road into the woods.

“No lights,” Tom said.

“Boss,” Durante said, firing.

“They’re attracted to the lights,” Tom snapped. “The reason we’re going south. No lights.”

“Lasers?” Faith asked.

“Authorized,” Tom said, firing carefully.

“Oh, my God,” Astroga said.

Faith glanced to the side and blanched. It was just possible to tell who was a zombie and who was a mosher but it didn’t look as if many of the moshers were left. And the zombies were fighting their way over the fences and razor wire to get to the band. Most of Voltaire’s back-up had quit, one was pounding a zombie with an electric guitar, but he was still strumming along.

“Jasper glittered all over the wall, so they /Hung him from the ceiling for a Disco Ball. /There was so much angst after the fight, /Edward and Bella broke up that night. /While some wolves chowed down on a puddle of food /That used to be some rasta vampire dude…”

There was a crackle of sparks as a zombie hit the power leads for the concert and the lights shut out with a sudden finality. Faith couldn’t see what happened in the darkness. But she could hear the screaming.

“You wanna, you know, fight zombies here?” Sophia asked. “I’m borrowing a pistol.”

“Go,” Faith said, returning to fighting. She tried to ignore the screams from the crowd.

“Don’t shoot!” a woman screamed, running towards the group. “Please! Help!” There was an infected in hot pursuit.

“Down!” Astroga shouted. “Get down!” The woman was directly in her line of fire. And she wasn’t listening.

“Cover!” Faith snapped. She could barely see, her eyes were still adjusting, but she drew her sidearm and tracked the zombie one-handed. There was a boom.

“Got it!” she shouted.

“Nice shot,” Copley said.

“Thanks,” Faith replied, firing into the darkness. There was a scream and something started thrashing.

“Thank you, thank you…” the woman sobbed.

“Hey, Christine,” Sophia said, airily. “I thought you wanted to be a zombie.”

“I changed my mind, okay?” Christine said.

“Quiet,” Tom said. Christine started to say something and he hit her on the back of the head. “I said, quiet. Listen.”

“I don’t like being under these trees,” Faith whispered. It was darker even than in the main square and very hard to see the zombies. She flashed her laser around and was rewarded by another thrashing sound. She moved it again and there was another thrashing.

“Are you playing laser tag with a zombie?” Sophia asked.

“I think it’s trying to chase it,” Faith whispered. The sound of the city had nearly died and all there was was the sound of their breathing, the crashing of zombies in the trees and the occasional scream in the distance. A horn started blaring and there were howls in the distance.

“Just keep moving,” Tom said. “Don’t fire unless you have to.”

A zombie came loping at the group and Durante turned to fire.

“I’ve got this,” Randall said, stepping forward. He let his weapon drop on the sling and held out his left hand. “Come on, zombie, nice fresh hand to bite…” He carefully drew his kukhri.

The zombie grabbed his arm and bit down on the offered hand. As he did, Randall brought the kukhri down and to the side, chopping into the back of the zombie’s neck. It dropped to the ground, twitching.

“Stay away from the blood spray,” Tom said.

“Oh, yeah,” Durante said. “Those masks and ponchos make more sense now. You get bitten?”

“Two sets of gloves,” Randall said, holding up his hand. “Rubber MOPP gloves and tacticals. Didn’t even penetrate the rubber.”

“You’ve been planning that, haven’t you?” Copley said.

“Since we got deployed.”

“Sergeant,” Tom said, quietly. “Support?”

“Multiple teams in contact,” Copley said. “The reaction team is in contact. The bases that aren’t deep in buildings are all under attack.”

“If you can, pass that they’re attracted to sound and light,” Tom said. “Go to NVGs.”

“Wish we had them,” Randall said.

They finally cleared the park. There was more light on Washington Square South but not much.

“We need wheels,” Tom said. “Where’s the nearest headquarters that’s not under attack?” Tom asked.

“Fourteenth Street precinct reports no movement,” Copley said.

“Bank’s closer,” Tom said, pointing with his pistol to the west. “We’ll go there. We’ve got a heavy rescue vehicle. We can get you back to your people.”

“Not going to complain,” Copley said. “Wait…” He put his ear to the radio. “Roger… Is that confirmed? Roger… We’ve got ten personnel, say again, ten. Team eight-three, one civilian, six contractors… Okay… Roger… Do no, say again, do not use lights… Roger…”

“What?” Tom asked.

“There’s an MRAP moving down university place to NYU to pick up another team that’s hot. They can do pick-up for us as well.”

“All of us?” Tom asked. “Or just your team?”

“All of us,” Copley said. “It will be tight but they’ll pick us up.”

“East it is,” Tom said. “Rotate with Durante on the park side. Faith, you’re plowing the road.”

“Oh, goody,” Faith said. “Which way?”

“There,” Tom said, grabbing her shoulders to point her in the correct direction. “Specialist, take the back door. Private, you cover the street side. Sergeant, back-up Faith in clearing the road.”

“Roger, sir,” Randall said.

“On it,” Copley said. “We’d better hurry, though. I’m not sure how long they’re going to wait. Or if they can make pick-up if we don’t make the ETA.”

There was a sudden flash of light and a Yellow Cab took the turn onto the street from the direction of the university. Which meant it was going against the traffic if there had been any. It was weaving from side to side, dodging most of the zombies. As Faith watched, it hit one, tossing it half way across the street. As it zoomed by the group it tooted its horn and a faint big band swing medley dopplered into the distance.

Unfortunately, its antics had attracted the zombies in the park. And they were now closing in on the group. Some were getting caught on the low, metal fence of the park but most were successfully clambering over.

“Contact,” Durante said, pulling the trigger. “Tango down. Multiple contacts my side.” He fired again. “Tango down. Not clear…”

“New plan,” Tom said. “Middle of the street. Plow the road and shag bloody arse.”

“We are in heavy contact and moving to your position,” Copley shouted over the radio. “Request support soonest.” He was firing his M4 one handed as he ran.

“Here zombies, zombies, zombies,” Faith said. She was panning the Saiga back and forth at shoulder level. As soon as the red laser would appear, meaning something was in its way, she fired.

“Oh, there’s a bunch behind us!” Randall shouted. “Cover me while I reload!”

“I really wish I’d brought more Saigas,” Steve said. “But what could go wrong with a concert at night in a zombie apocalypse?”

“You’re never going to let go of that, are you?” Faith asked. “I’m out!” she yelled. Zombies were too close to reload so she pulled a pistol and started firing.

“We’re getting surrounded,” Tom said. “We need to keep moving!”

“Take cover!” Copley said. There was a sound of a heavy vehicle moving and a burst of machine gun fire suddenly hit a group of zombies by the park.

“South side,” Tom shouted. “By the buildings!”

“Shit!” Faith snarled. She’d dropped behind a concrete planter just as a burst of bullets ripped over her head.

“Friendlies!” Copley shouted. He was face down on the ground. He popped a chemlight and threw it in the air towards the MRAP.

The unlit MRAP continued to lay down fire over their heads as it moved forward, slowly. When it was opposite the group it stopped and the back doors opened.

“You waiting for an engraved invitation?” somebody shouted, then fired to the rear.

“Waiting to make sure you weren’t going to shoot us,” Astroga shouted. She was in the heavy vehicle like a shot.

“Thanks,” Faith said. “I think. You nearly tagged me back there.”

“A miss is as good as a mile,” the vehicle crewman said. “Who’s got the count?”

“Me,” Tom said. “And we’re good,” he added as Durante boarded.

“Ow!” Sophia said, banging her head. “We should have worn helmets.”

“Military vehicles are designed for them,” Steve said, leaning forward. “Hunch and you probably won’t hit your head as much.”

“When did we go hot?” Copley yelled. The inside of the MRAP was like being in a rock crusher. It also was occasionally tossing around as if it was hitting potholes.

“When the lights went out and every zombie in New York City headed for anything with lights on,” the crewman shouted. “Every team’s been hit and just about every headquarters. We are ‘redeploying for active clearance.’”

“About fucking time,” Randall snarled.

“It’s going to get really tight in here,” the crewman said. “We’ve got two more teams to pick up and they’ve got some civilians, too. I guess the zombies are enforcing the curfew for us!”

* * *

It was nearly dawn by the time Tom was able to arrange pick-up for the group and get back to the Bank.

“So are you pulling the handle?” Steve asked.

“I’ll have to see what the Fed and the Board say when they get around to meeting,” Tom said. He was looking out the window of his office at the darkened skyline of New Jersey. There were a few lights. And although he couldn’t see him he was sure that each was surrounded by a wall of “infected persons.” “I can’t pull the handle until the tipping point has clearly been reached, the Fed orders temporary suspension of all operations or the Board orders suspension.”

“I’d say last night was a tipping point,” Steve said.

“For us, maybe,” Tom said. “But I’ve got to stay until they pull the handle. You can go. The evac plan is solid. Everybody involved in critical actions or in the evac group has been vaccinated and boosted.” His phone rang and he picked it up.

“Smith… Roger, sir… Understood… I’ll send a team to pick them up… Roger, it’s under control…”

“Pulling the handle?” Steve asked.

“Sounds like it,” Tom said. “The Chairman and his family are holed up in their apartment on Park Avenue and apparently they can’t get out. Zombies don’t you know. Do me one last favor?”

“Short on teams?” Steve said.

“Very,” Tom said. “Take the BERT truck and go get them. There’s a few other board members as well. Then take it over to the dock and trade places with Kaplan. I’ll send Durante with you but he may need some fire support.”

“I’ll contact you on Channel 47,” Steve said, standing up wearily. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

“We both are,” Tom said. “Brother…”

“We’ll see you when we see you, Tom,” Steve said. “You going to say good-bye to the girls?”

“Faith would blow me away like a zombie if I didn’t.”

* * *

“As a last job for Uncle Tom that sucked,” Faith said, collapsing onto a couch in the saloon. “I’m done. I’m sooo done.”

It was nearly sundown. They had been up all night and the way things were going they were going to have to be up another night.

The thirteen-year-old was barely out of the hospital. She was toast.

The “simple” job of moving the Chairman of the Board of the Bank of the Americas-along with his “immediate family,” which included not only children and grandchildren but some cousins he thought would be helpful, other board members, their “immediate family” and some hangers-on that Steve thought probably fell into the category of “mistresses” or in one case “boyfriend”-had been a nightmare.

The only people who seemed to understand words and phrases like “urgency,” “emergency evacuation” or “get in the fucking truck, lady” were the Chairman and his wife, Nancy. The Chairman had had to leave in the first lift to get to the meetings at the Bank. There were essentially no electronic communications working. That left his wife trying to persuade a group of wealthy, entitled cats that they needed to move. Didn’t happen quickly and it wasn’t helped by the fact that they had to ride in the BERT van.

In one of the last lifts, Faith had finally lost it when she heard:

“I am not riding in the back of a simply horrible vehicle like that!”

The lady was the wife of a president of something or another at the Bank. A president as she repeatedly had pointed out. Hubby had long since left to attend “meetings.”

Faith, who was working the loading point, pulled her.45 and put it to the woman’s head.

“You can get into the van or I can turn you into vaccine,” she said, coldly. “Your call.”

“You wouldn’t!” the lady snapped.

“Look in my eyes, lady,” Faith said. “Get in the fucking van and get in the van now!”

She got in the van.

“Well, I don’t think we’re going to be asked for our services again, all things considered,” Steve said. “I understand there were complaints.”

“I hope so,” Faith said. “I thing a was a…” Her eyes closed and she started to snore.

“It reminds me of when she was four and she used to fall asleep in her plate,” Stacey whispered.

“The difference being she’s not four, she’s not small and she’s still got all her gear on,” Sophia said, tiredly. “Faith!” She shouted, kicking her sister’s boot.

“Wasat?” Faith said, sitting up and reaching for her pistol.

“Whoa,” Steve said, clamping her hand. “You need to get undressed and into bed.”

“Ogazada…” Faith said and her eyes closed again.

“Mile Seven, this is Thunderblast,” the radio crackled.

“That’s Tom,” Steve said, stepping into the cockpit and keying the radio. “Thunder, Mile Seven.”

“Code is Goose, say again, Goose.”

“Confirm, Goose,” Steve said. As he replied there was the sound of distant explosion behind him. Looking north he saw the center of the George Washington Bridge collapsing into the river. “Bloody hell… Roger, Goose. Good luck.”

“Same, same,” Tom replied. “Out here.”

“And we are away to better climes,” Tom shouted. He hit the anchor winch switch and looked towards the darkened skyline. There were fires burning out of control in Harlem and more from the direction of Brooklyn. The same seemed to be the case on the New Jersey side with widespread fires in every direction.

He raised the mainsail and jib, catching the strong northeast breeze, then straightened away to the south.

When he was underway he pulled out his iPod and scrolled through it for the playlist he’d created. There was a recessed input for it right on the console so he plugged it in and started the playlist.

“Speed bonnie boat like a bird on the wind…” he crooned. “Onward the sailors cry. Carry the lad that’s born to be king, over the Sea to Skye…”