Under a Graveyard Sky

CHAPTER 28

“Time, time, time,” Steve said pushing the throttles of the Toy forward again. It didn’t give him any more speed. “Ask me for anything but…”

He stopped speaking as an attack boat made a fast surface off his starboard bow at about 1000 yards. He noted in the back of his mind that they’d surfaced upwind.

“Tina’s Toy, USS Dallas, over,” the radio crackled.

“Steve!” Stacey screamed from below.

“I see it,” Steve said, picking up the radio. “Wolf Actual, over.”

“Wolf, all possible support has been authorized for this operation,” the Dallas said. “USS Charlotte is in the process of taking the Campbell under tow to bring it to the cruise ship. We cannot supply clearance personnel but access to all USCG materials are, say again, are authorized and USCG personnel are to place themselves, temporarily, under your command for clearance and rescue support. We don’t have much in the way of shotgun rounds but we’re going to float what we have off in a boat, as will Charlotte upon arrival, to assist your clearance teams. Current weather report is no fronts or tropical activity for this area for a minimum of ten days. Some convection storms are possible but they are scattered. We will be monitoring all area channels but are now authorized to direct communicate. We will be taking over Marine Channel Thirty-Three. We will continue to give what support we can without being contaminated. Do you have any questions at this time?”

“Not that I can think of,” Steve said.

“We will draw ahead of you and drop off a radio on a float,” Dallas said, speeding up.

The Tina’s Toy was a fairly fast yacht. Not a racing yacht but no lubber. The Dallas just left it behind. On the surface.

“That radio is for your use and your use only, Commodore Wolf,” Dallas continued. “Higher would like to have a secure chat. Proceeding to the Sea Fit’s location. Good luck, Wolf.”

A bright orange buoy ejected from a launcher and the Dallas slipped below the waves. Steve was pretty sure by the time it disappeared it was going faster than a cigarette boat.

Stacey sat down next to him and wrapped her arms around him. Her eyes were misty.

“We’re in contact,” Steve said, hugging her.

“That’s not what I’m crying about,” Stacey said.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked.

“Nothing,” Stacey said, hugging him again. “The commander of a U.S. Navy nuclear submarine called you ‘Commodore.’ And I don’t think he even realized he’d said it.”

“Oh, that,” Steve said, slowing the boat as Pat pulled out a boat hook to catch the buoy. “No worries, wife ’o mine. I’m sure he’s regretting it already.”

* * *

“Where do you want me to put it, Faith?” Sophia asked.

“How the fuck should I know?” Faith said. She sounded desperate. There was reason to be.

The cruise ship was massive. Really seriously stupidly huge. The boats around it were so many mice, no, fleas circling an elephant. A wounded and still bleeding elephant. Because rising as high as a sky scraper, or so it seemed from the water-line, there were state rooms. With exterior balconies. And on at least a dozen of those there were people watching the circling craft. People that looked like survivors of the death camps. Most of them couldn’t even stand. They were leaning against the railings, just staring with glassy eyes at the help just a few hundred yards away.

One of them on a lower balcony lurched to his feet and started to climb the rail.

“No, no, no,” Faith shouted.

“No! No! Sharks! Sharks! Sharks!” Sophia shouted over the loudhailer.

The man couldn’t seem to hear or understand. He more fell than dove over the side.

Hocieniec started firing from the aft deck but there was no way. There were sharks everywhere. It was unlikely that he was the first person who’d taken that way out in preference to starvation or dehydration. The man didn’t even scream as he was taken under.

“Why, damnit, why?” Faith shouted. She picked up the mike for the loudhailer. “STAY WHERE YOU FUCKING ARE! WE WILL COME FOR YOU. JUST HOLD ON!”

“How?” Sophia asked. “There’s no entries. And that promenade…”

It wasn’t really a promenade. It was the life-boat deck. And that was fifty feet above the flying bridge of the Endeavor.

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Faith repeated.

“You’re the entry specialist,” Sophia said, calmly. “I’m trying not to stress you. I really am asking.”

“Hooch,” Faith shouted. “How would the Marines board this thing?”

“A helicopter!” Hooch shouted back. “Or a boarding ladder.”

“There’s a helo on the Alpha,” Sophia said.

“You know how to fly one?” Faith asked, somewhat hysterically.

“Faith, take some breaths, sis,” Sophia said, calmly. “We’re going to do this. We are.”

“Okay, okay,” Faith said. “We get a grapnel up. Then… I dunno, maybe with some knots in it or something?”

“There we go,” Sophia said. “It’s going to be a bitch to climb.”

“Yeah,” Faith said. “Especially in armor. And if we drop in the drink… Shit…”

“Keep going,” Sophia said.

“Well…” Faith said, then stopped. “Or maybe we could ask the sub if they’ve got an idea.”

“What su…” Sophia said, looking around, then stopped.

“Local Wolf Squadron boats, USS Dallas. Looking for the boarding action commander. Please switch to Channel Thirty-Three. All captains may monitor but request not break. Again, USS Dallas looking for boarding action commander. Shewolf, you on the Endeavor, over?”

“So we’re Wolf Squadron, huh?” Sophia said, picking up the radio and handing it to Faith. “Faith, honey, take a deep breath and don’t get hysterical when you’re talking to him.”

“I’m not the boarding action commander,” Faith said. “That’s Da.”

“You’re the closest,” Sophia said. “Want me to take it?”

“No,” Faith said, her face firming. She took the radio and cleared her throat. “Thirty three?”

“You’re on,” Sophia said.

“Dallas, Shewolf,” Faith said. “Over.”

“Shewolf, we’ve been monitoring your squadron’s communications. Your reputation precedes you. The man who is filling in as president says that the moment he meets you he’s going to cover you with so many medals, you’re not going to be able to move. Of course the same can be said of everyone in this squadron. But we know you’re the Squadron’s premier clearance specialist. This has got to be a nightmare for you. Over.”

“Got it in one,” Faith said. “Over.”

“We can’t get out of this tin can. We’re still uninfected and can’t change that for any reason. But we are going to do everything else we can to help. Have you discussed how to do entry?”

“Roger,” Faith said. “All we’ve got so far is throw up a grapnel with a knotted rope. Lance Corporal Hocieniec is still not really in shape. And I’m not what you call a great climber. That completely skips the whole man-eating sharks, part. And the zombies at the top. Still thinkin it, over. Over.” ///copy editor: sic///

“We have an assault boarding ladder,” Dallas replied. “We will float that off along with all of our onboard shotgun ammo and the shotguns. We use nine mil onboard. Can you use that, over?”

“Not really,” Faith said. “Limited guns for it and we carry mostly forty-five. We’re okay, for now, on forty-five. The shotgun ammo is, yeah, going to be helpful. But,” she unkeyed the mike for a second. “Hey, Hooch, you know how to use an ‘assault boarding ladder’?”

“Yeah!” Hooch said. “Sort of. I mean, I’ve seen it done.”

“Dallas, we may need somebody to coach us through using an assault boarding ladder, over,” Faith said.

“We’ll do that, Shewolf,” Dallas responded. “The tough part is the throw. It’s got a double line. You get the grapnel up, make sure it’s on, then pull in on one of the lines. That pulls the ladder up and it hooks in at the top. Then it’s just a matter of climbing the ladder. Stand by….”

“Roger,” Faith said, shrugging at Sophia’s look.

“Shewolf, have your boats pull back. We’re going to do a close approach and send up a party to clear off some of the zombies from your boarding area. We may, say again may, be able to get the ladder in place for you.”

“Don’t get yourselves contaminated doing that,” Faith replied, sharply. “You’re the closest thing we’ve got to home left, Dallas. Look… Just. Standby.”

“Roger, Shewolf.”

“Hooch,” Faith called. “They want to shoot some zombies off the side and maybe get the boarding ladder in place. I’m afraid they’re going to get contaminated.”

“They’ve got suits like moonsuits onboard, Faith,” Hooch called back. “And a machinegun. I think they can do it. The question is can they get the zombies up to the boarding area?”

“Dallas, you sure you can do this and not contaminate yourself?” Faith asked. “Cause I just thought of something.”

* * *

“She’s more worried about losing a sub than her own life,” Galloway said. “I am going to cover that girl in medals. So help me God.”

* * *

“What is your suggestion, Shewolf?”

“We’ve got some vaccine,” she said, looking at Sophia. “It’s still good, right?” she whispered.

“Should be,” Sophia said. “We even stabilized it.”

“Not a lot left, but enough for a small team. We’d really appreciate the help with the boarding. But I’m worried about the rest of your crew getting contaminated. So… Your guys clear the group off. Get the ladder up if they can. Then put them off in a lifeboat or something. We’ll get them some vaccine. It’s supposed to take two weeks to work. But they can’t get the blood pathogen except with a bite or getting blood in a cut. And if that’s all you get, well, I survived after just the primer. So all they get, maybe, is the flu bug. And we’ll keep away from them so they shouldn’t get that. I guess you can float them rations or something. So… They hang out until they’re boosted. Ten days on a raft. Most of the…squadron has done two months. If you can spare them and if somebody wants to volunteer. And if that makes any sort of sense. Over.”

“Interesting plan. Considering that, Shewolf. Being discussed by experts. We have volunteers either one way or both. Have your boats clear back from the port side. We are going to do a close approach for direct fire.”

“Roger, Dallas,” Faith said. “Thanks. Really, really appreciate it.”

“Hey, you’ve got the tough part, miss. Dallas out.”

“Squadron, this is Seawolf,” Sophia said over the flotilla net. She engaged the engines to full and turned to port as she said it. “Clear the port side, say again, port side of the ship. Dallas is going to do a ‘close approach for direct fire.’ Get way, way back. In fact, get forward and way back or on the far side of the ship. Ricochets from machine-gun fire can kill you at a mile.”

“You girls just know too damned much about guns,” Sherill growled. “Moving around to the far side. I do want to watch, but not enough to get hulled.”

“We were approaching your location,” Chris called from the Cooper. “But on consideration, I’m stopping about five miles out. Nice to see the bloody USN decided to finally show up to the party.”

“Navy’s here?” someone called. “Hallelujiah!”

“Submarine,” Sophia said. “It can’t do much but fire from range. They’re not contaminated and don’t want to be that way. But, yeah, we’ve got some support. Finally.”

“Chuck, switch to twenty-three and I’ll fill you in,” Chris said. “I was monitoring the conversation.”

“Be nice to get some help. Switching.”

* * *

The “radio” was a blue satellite phone with no markings on it. Steve set the Toy on autopilot and hit the only number listed.

“Strategic Armaments Control, is this Commodore Wolf?”

“Roger,” Steve said.

“Stand by, please.”

There was a click.

“Wolf?”

“Roger.”

“This is quote Blount, Commodore. My actual name is Frank Galloway. Prior to the Plague, I was one of several people rotated to secure points to act as NCCC in the event of something like, well, this.”

“Zombies high on the list of possible problems?” Steve asked.

“No,” Galloway said. “Not really. And to give you an idea how bad it is, I was number one hundred and twenty-six on the list. The current Commander of the Joint Chiefs is a brigadier and you can guess how low the rest of the people are. The reality is that there probably are other survivors higher up the chain. There may even be functioning secure points which have just lost commo. But…”

“But possibly not,” Steve said.

“CDC is still there as well. And several other nations have maintained at least one functioning fraction of their former government. Russia, notably. One of the reasons we haven’t called you back is that we’ve been getting…flack from the Russians. They’re insisting on equal access to the vaccine.”

“I don’t have an issue with that,” Steve said. “I mean… I’m not some sort of tranzi, but right now there’s no real point in worrying about borders. They’re basically gone.”

“My Russian counterpart is an interesting chap,” Galloway said. “He’s stated that Russia is no more and that it is again the Soviet Union and that absent supplying all of his nuclear wessels ///sic/// with vaccine, immediately, he will solve our zombie problem with nuclear strikes.”

“What?” Steve said.

“I’d appreciate you keeping that to yourself, Commodore,” Galloway said. “As I said, the reason you’ve been out on a limb is that we didn’t have a secure line. I had considered this method earlier but it was not… I should have done it sooner. I apologize. While this is not exactly a busy job, it’s not all beer and skittles.”

“Going to have to leave that in your lap, sorry,” Steve said. “Any idea if this cruise liner has an x-ray machine.”

“It does,” Galloway said. “But the overall lab supplies and equipment will be miniscule. And the nearest hospital ship with one is in the very south Atlantic. It was on its way from the IO when the plague broke out. And it managed to still get contaminated. Do you think you can clear a land area?”

“Depends on how large,” Steve temporized. “And right now, no. But I have some notional plans for clearing, say, small towns that are remote from major infected presence.

“Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, had barely nine thousand personnel,” Galloway said. “However, it had been upgraded to support not only the detainees but as a support base for disasters in the Caribbean region. Also…sometimes there were refugees with medical conditions from those disasters that needed a better hospital. If there wasn’t a hospital ship available, they could be treated at Gitmo without bringing them to the U.S. So a second hospital was built, which has a full epidemiological lab. It should have everything you need to produce attenuated vaccine. However, there is a significant infected presence on the base.”

“I think I can clear it,” Steve said, rubbing his chin. “Possibly. Probably.”

“How?” Galloway asked.

“Well, you have information I need,” Steve said. “Is there a large source of fifty caliber ammunition somewhere nearby? At sea, I mean. I’m thinking of a SeaLift ship. There aren’t any on the AIS I’ve got. But that’s not complete. AIS stops working when the ship does.”

“Standby… There is a Marine amphibious assault carrier, the Iwo Jima, approximately eight hundred nautical miles southeast of Bermuda. According to my senior Marine that would have a large store of fifty caliber. You need fifty caliber to take Guantanamo I take it.”

“Mount fifties, water cooled, at the level of the docks,” Steve said. “Make lots of light and noise overnight. Open fire at dawn. Then continue clearance on land. If there are survivors on the Iwo Jima… That would increase our chances. So far we’ve only found the one life raft from the Iwo. Most of them probably went east of Bermuda and we’ve been searching west. God knows I could use some Marines. As well as trained Navy people.”

“The question of your ability to prepare the vaccine has been raised again. Is your tech… Without naming any names or… Oh, skip that. Can he or she do it?”

“Quality control is the issue,” Steve said. “We have the recipe if you will. But the doctor checked the quality and we won’t have the materials or equipment he had. Then again… We don’t know what we’re going to get off this cruise ship. In terms of help, that is. There are people alive.”

“Yes, we’re getting a live feed from the Dallas,” Galloway said.

“Some of them could be doctors,” Steve said. “Biologists or MDs. Possibly. Or not. That’s the problem with making plans with this job. You never know what you’re going to get. You change your plans on the basis of whatever shows up, however it shows up. Fortunately, my masters is based on that.”

“Excuse me?” Galloway said.

“Have you ever wondered why my daughter is called Faith?” Steve said.

“I had assumed you were a fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” Galloway said. “Or at least that was suggested by one of my advisors.”

“Never saw it until after she was born,” Steve said. “My masters was on logistics in a low support condition, specifically keeping the Gloster Gladiators flying on Malta during the Siege.”

“I have a lot of history, but… Standby… Ah, my senior Air Force advisor just filled me in. Faith, Hope and Charity. I see.”

“Three obsolete biplanes faced down the Luftwaffe for nearly two years and kept flying, sir,” Steve said. “Their crews had to make parts from scrap metal. Parts would come in for Hurricanes. Hurricanes. They didn’t see their first Hurricane until 1943. So they would rework Hurricane parts to work in Glosters. They would beg, borrow or steal. Rework, refit, literally use chewing gum. When they had chewing gum.”

“That makes sense,” Galloway said. “I guess you are well prepared for your current situation.”

“Does your Air Force advisor know which aircraft had the most kills, sir? That never missed so much as one battle?”

“She admits that as a bomber pilot she’d sort of consider them the bad guys, so, no.”

“Put it this way, sir,” Steve said. “Whenever they went to battle, they always had Faith.”

* * *

“We decontaminated everything,” Sophia said over the loudhailer.

The submariners had taken the “lifeboat” alternative. Although it was a zodiac with an outboard.

They waved as the packet of vaccine floated towards them.

“Thanks for the assist,” Faith said, waving back. It had been quite an assist.

First the Dallas had approached to within a few hundred meters of the cruise ship. The sub was also dwarfed but the sail was fairly high. Then a team clad in MOPP gear came out on the sail. The team first mounted their machine gun, then set off multiple flares as well as repeated blasts from a loudhailer. The combination had drawn a large herd of zombies to the lifeboat deck.

After there was a fair concentration, the team opened fire. Much of the fire struck the side of the ship but quite a bit had managed to hit the zombies. It had taken about thirty minutes of short bursts and two barrel changes but they finally cleared all of the obvious infecteds from the lifeboat deck.

Then the team clambered down, got out the zodiac and the boarding ladder and approached the ship. Getting the line up would probably have been the tough part for the Wolf crews. The submariners made it look easy. Among other things, they used a line thrower. But Hooch had explained that that was not usually considered “the easy way.”

With the ladder in place they backed off to pick up their vaccine.

“We got to get in there before more zombies come around,” Faith said.

“Da said wait til he got here,” Sophia said.

“Bring us in close,” Faith said, picking up the radio.

* * *

“Toy, Shewolf. Da, you there?”

“Roger,” Steve said. “Closing your position. ETA, one hour.”

“Da, the Dallas cleared off a deck and put in a ladder. If we wait, the zombies are going to come around again. You know how they are. Permission to, I dunno… Get a foothold is what Soph just said.”

Steve thought about that and looked at Stacey. She was looking at him and bending her head as if waiting for a punch.

“Do you have a back-up plan?” Steve said.

“No, but I’ve got lots of guns and knives and a machete. I’m still looking for a chainsaw.”

* * *

“Sir,” the Chief of Boat, Senior NCO, of the Dallas said, standing at parade rest. “Might I suggest, with no disrespect, that it is unseemly for a commander in the United States Navy, skipper of this mighty engine of war, to literally roll around on the deck laughing…?”

* * *

“Authorized.”

“And you had better be okay when we get there or I’ll tan your hide!”

“Yes, Mother,” Faith said. “Shewolf out. Hey, Hooch, let’s LOCK AND LOAD!”

* * *

“Let me go first at least,” Hocieniec said.

“Hooch, you’re a Marine,” Faith said, tightening the strap on her helmet. She was wearing what had become her standard “extreme zombie fighting” kit. Tactical boots and tacticals. Firefighting bunker gear. Nomex head cover tucked under the collar of the bunker gear. Full face respirator. Helmet with integrated visor. Body armor with integral MOLLE. Knee, elbow and shin guards. Nitrile gloves. Tactical gloves. Rubber gloves. Assault pack with hydration unit. Saiga shotgun on friction strap rig. 45 USP in tactical fast-draw holster. 2x.45 USP in chest holsters. 14 Saiga 10 round 12 gauge magazines plus one in the weapon. Nine pistol magazines in holster plus three in weapons. Kukri in waist sheathe. Machete in over shoulder sheathe, right. Halligan tool in over shoulder sheathe, left. Tactical knife in chest sheathe. Tactical knife in waist sheathe. Bowie knife in thigh sheathe. Calf tactical knife x 2. Few clasp knives dangling in various places.

There was the head of a teddy bear peaking out of her assault pack.

“And you’re a grown up. That says you should go. But you’re also not back in shape, it’s been a while since you’ve done a boarding ladder, you’re still in training at zombie killing and I’ve done these things a few times, lately. Just make damned sure the soft part of the boat stays under the ladder. And if I drop in the drink, you’d better get me in fast. Kay?”

“No, but… I guess you’re in charge.”

“Damn straight,” Faith said, clipping the safety line to her waist. “And no paying attention to my butt. Keep your mind on the job.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hooch said.

“Here goes nothing,” Faith said, jumping up and grabbing the ladder.

“Faith, you’ve already got company,” Sophia called from the Endeavor. “One. Male. Decent shape.”

“No worries, mate,” Faith muttered to herself. “I hate heights.”

“Make that, two.”

“Easy. As long as I don’t look down.”

“Four.”

“Six a dollar.

“Five…”

“Target rich environment.”

“More…”

“You have got to be shitting me,” Faith said, keying her radio and whispering. She was nearly to the top of the ladder.

“I think they’re feeding on the ones the Dallas shot.”

“Okay,” Faith said looking up at where the grapnel was connected to the bulwark. She could hear them. “Okay. What’s my back-up plan? Oh…fuck it.” She keyed her iPod and rolled over the bulwark.

* * *

“Oh, shit, no,” Sophia said as Faith clambered the rest of the way up the boarding ladder and rolled over the side of the ship. She could see more zombies moving towards the piles of dead. “No, no, no.”

Faith straightened up and started firing her Saiga to aft. Which was great except for the zombie that appeared from behind cover to her rear and tackled her.

“HOOCH GET UP THERE!” Sophia screamed over the loudhailer. The Marine started to climb the ladder, painfully slowly.

Faith suddenly reared up into sight again, a pistol in her hand and firing into the deck. She stomped once or twice, then turned with her back to the landing ladder and fired one handed to aft, where the zombies were closing and pulled another pistol out and fired forward, turning her head from side to side like she was watching a Wimbledon match. She was missing a lot, but zombies in view were dropping. Unfortunately, not enough and she got dog-piled.

Then she was up again, with a pistol in one hand and a kukri in the other. She slashed down with the kukhri, kicked again, shot a couple more and then went down. Again.

And back up. This time with the Saiga. Got two more. Went down.

Back up, holding a zombie over her head. It had a tactical knife in its eye. The zombie went into the drink. And she went down again.

And up again, Halligan tool in a two handed grip, pounding down. Tackled.

“Okay, this fucking sucks,” Faith panted over the radio. There was a background of constant snarls. “Trying to reload your fucking pistol with a zombie biting your fucking ass fucking sucks… Quit chewing my ass you dummy…”

There was an “open circuit” button on the radios for hands free operation. Sophia realized that had happened to Faith’s radio in the scuffle and her sister didn’t realize that she was broadcasting.

“Careful, careful, Faith, don’t shoot yourself in the ass. That would be embarrassing…” There was a shot. “Dinkum… I’m wearing fucking bunker gear, you dumbfuck.” Two shots. “You cannot bite through it. And that’s my shin pad!” Another shot. “Oooo, I’ll call you melon head. Let go of my arm or I’m going to… Oh, there you are my rugged Nepalese beauty. What were you doing hiding under there? Come to momma… There, I cut off your hand. Happy now? Are you ready?”

Faith came up with a zombie on her back and shrugged it off, spinning in place with the kukhri and cutting its throat as she fired her.45 into the back of one grabbing her waist.

“I AM SICK AND TIRED OF THESE MOTHERFUCKING ZOMBIES ON THIS MOTHERFUCKING…” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

Hocieniec cleared the railing and finally saw what was going on. He clearly was frozen trying to figure out what to do, pull zombies off Faith or engage the ones still closing. Faith swung the Halligan tool, jamming the claw-hammer into a zombie’s skull, then overbalanced and went down again.

“GET THE OTHERS,” Sophia boomed. “FAITH’S DOING FINE.”

* * *

Bradburn waved a finger at the periscope repeater.

“COB.”

“Sir?”

“Remind me never to piss that young lady off.”

“Yes, sir.”