Voyage of the Dead - Book One Sovereign Spirit Saga (14 page)

            “Holy shit!” yelled Mick Williams as tracers stitched the air in front of the cockpit.

            “Break right!” shouted Scott.  Mick obeyed his order, but they felt a few thuds in the rear of the fuselage as the helicopter turned and skimmed over the boats in the harbor.  “We took some hits.” Scott noted calmly. 

            “Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea,” said Mick tensely. 

            “Time for the escape and evasion part of the plan?” asked Mark casually.

“Keep going over the harbor and inland, Mick.  We still need to draw them away from the dock,” replied Scott.  “And watch your instruments for any sign of damage.”

“Okay,” said Mick as they flew out of machine gun range.  Scott looked back and saw that the armored personnel carrier had turned to follow their course as best it could on the ground.  That should give George a chance to get the yacht out of the harbor. 

“Hydraulic pressure is fluctuating,” said Mick in a flat voice.  “Now it’s falling slightly.  We may have a problem.” He was concentrating on the instruments now and climbing the helicopter slowly towards a thousand feet.  That was fine with Scott, as it meant the men in the APC would be able to see and follow them further away from the harbor.

“How bad is it?” asked Scott.

“Not catastrophic,” replied Mick.  “At least not yet, but I don’t think we should try to fly back over the ocean to the ship without checking it out.”

“And that means landing,” noted Scott.  “Damn it!  This could get interesting.”

*****

Interlude in Hell

El Segundo Water Tower: 8:33 AM, April 2, 2012

Carl had repacked all of his survival gear and made one last surveillance circuit of the catwalk before starting his descent from the water tower.  Now, as he reached the ground, he retrieved and carefully refolded the compact ladder taken from the ambulance.  Then he moved quickly and quietly to open the gate of the enclosure.  Stepping gingerly over the reeking bodies of the zombies he had terminated yesterday, Carl moved with what he hoped was a stealthy gait towards the golf cart that he had spotted from above. 

As expected, the keys were absent, but a quick press of the brake released it and he was able to turn the wheel left and right without hindrance of a steering lock.  So far, so good.  The next step in his plan was to simply push the cart out to the street where gravity would take him down the hill to his initial destination.  He stepped out of the cart and pushed.  It moved!  But then it came up short with a slight rattle of chains.  Damn.  It was chained to a pole with a padlock.  Carl realized this only made sense here, where any group of kids could have enacted the same plan as a prank.

Carl looked around nervously for any sign of zombies, but the coast appeared clear.  He took off his backpack and withdrew the bolt cutters.  They made short work of the lock and Carl returned to the task of pushing the golf cart towards the street.  It was harder than he had thought it would be.  The damned thing was heavy!  But it could be his ticket past the zombies clustered a block down the hill.  So he kept pushing, while looking for any sign of stray zombies.  

            It took at least three minutes for Carl to push the cart up the slight grade from the parking lot to Lomita Street.  Luckily the crest of the hill was right there and he didn’t need to push it any farther.  He was sweating and out of breath when he felt the cart roll a little more easily and realized that he had accomplished the first stage of his escape from the tower.  It was all downhill from here, but certainly not without danger.   He jumped into the driver’s seat and re-engaged the brake while he looked around for any threats.  Still clear.

            Carl wiped the sweat from his eyes and quickly rearranged his gear in the cart.  If he needed a weapon, the fireman’s pick axe would be too cumbersome in such close quarters.  So he strapped it to the backpack and withdrew the smaller rock hammer/ice axe.  Then he placed the backpack on the passenger seat.  If all went well, he would need the folding ladder.  So he propped it between the floor and passenger seat.  He was feeling apprehensive, but almost prepared for departure when the first zombie grabbed his shoulder.

            It seemed to have come from nowhere, this bloody apparition that grabbed his left shoulder and bent its head towards his neck.  Carl reacted instinctively with a right handed swipe of the ice axe that connected cleanly with the monster’s temple.  A wet crunch rewarded the effort and the zombie, a teenage boy, fell limply to the ground.  Carl’s relief was short lived, however, as he turn and saw five more zombies running towards him from behind the cart. 

‘Now or never!’
Carl thought as he released the brake and jumped out of the cart to push with all his might.  It started to move slowly, too slowly, as the zombies closed in with what looked like grins of delight.  Carl didn’t pause or falter.  He pushed harder and ran faster until he realized that the cart was about to leave him behind.  With a desperate spurt of speed and energy he leapt onto the golf cart and pulled himself into the driver’s seat. 

The cart was accelerating down the hill as the zombies closed in from behind.  One of the fiends was fast enough to reach the back of the cart and grab onto it.  But the cart was still accelerating and the zombie lost its footing and was being dragged behind the cart.  In Carl’s mind this was almost more dangerous than if it had climbed aboard, because it was slowing the acceleration of his escape vehicle.  He knew that he had to get rid of the unwelcome dead weight.  In desperation Carl turned towards a car parked parallel on the side of the road and swerved away sharply at the last moment.  The angular momentum whipped the body of the dragging zombie into the rear wheel of the parked car.  Carl felt the zombie get torn away from the cart and when he glanced back he saw that the impact had literally torn off one of the creature’s hands, which retained a death grip on the carts rear cargo rack.  The rest of the zombie squirmed under the parked car.

Carl had time for neither celebration nor revulsion.  As the golf cart accelerated faster it pulled away from the pursuing zombies, but their moans and the sound of the zombie impact against the car was attracting the attention of many more zombies that moved out into the street along the next block.  The golf cart was traveling at over 20 miles per hour as it crossed the first intersection with Grand Avenue and Carl had to swerve to avoid zombies that attempted to converge on it.  He made it, barely, but the next block would be the worst one. 

The street was lined with apartment buildings and there must have been some normal people hiding inside them because groups of zombies were clustered around numerous doors and windows, struggling to gain entry.  The appearance of the golf cart changed their priorities in a hurry though, and almost all of them turned away from the buildings and converged on Carl.  He was doing more than 30 miles per hour down the steep hill, faster than a golf cart should ever travel.  But he couldn’t chance using the brakes for fear that the zombies would close in on him, and was afraid to take any drastic evasive action either.  So he gritted his teeth and gripped the wheel tightly as the unpowered golf cart plowed into one after another of the zombies.   Carl did his best to avoid hitting them head-on.  For the most part he was successful.  Since the cart was narrower than a car, he didn’t have to swerve as much to get some deflection.  He hit most of the zombies at enough of an angle that they spun away like bowling pins.  One zombie zigged when Carl zagged and did get hit head-on, but it was merely thrown forward and the golf cart crunched over its body and kept rolling down the hill at high speed.  The experience was still horrifying. 

Unlike the ambulance, the golf cart was an open vehicle and zombies were able to reach for him as he zoomed past them.  Dozens of bloody fingers and fingernails raked along his fireman’s jacket, but Carl only focused on keeping his exposed face and hands protected.  It might have been comical, if it weren’t a matter of life and death. 

The golf cart plowed through the next intersection and onto the lesser slope of the last block of the street.  It was lined with commercial and industrial buildings.  Therefore it seemed to be less attractive to zombies.  There were only a few of them visible here and Carl was able to avoid them with relative ease.  The cart was still accelerating, but it was approaching the bottom of the hill.  Now only the empty Sepulveda Boulevard separated the speeding golf cart from the fenced in oil refinery.  Carl actually smiled as he worried if an errant vehicle might broadside the cart as he ran the stop sign.  Then he was crossing the street and stepping on the brake as he aimed the golf cart between two large trees and turned the wheel to avoid crashing into the fence.  Suddenly the cart nosed onto a drainage ditch that he hadn’t spotted through the trees.   He felt it tilt and roll onto the passenger side in grinding a screech that jolted him sharply.   

Carl clung to the steering wheel and kept himself from falling out of the cart as it rolled.  But he knew that he had to move fast once it settled to a stop.  He also noticed that a branch or root had slashed the back of his hand and blood was beginning to flow down his fingers.  But he was almost certain that the wound had not been inflicted by a zombie. 
No time to worry about that now!
Carl thought.

He climbed out of the overturned cart and reached in to pull out his priceless backpack, ice axe, and the all important folding ladder.  He was almost too afraid to look back, but he had to know how much time he had.  There were over a hundred zombies running down the hill after him, but most of them were still more than a block away. A dozen or so were closer, but even they were more than a hundred yards away.  He just might have time to use the ladder.

 Carl had practiced opening the ladder at the water tower and he deftly unfolded it now as he moved towards the twelve foot high fence.  The top two feet of this fence was composed of strands of barbed wire, angled inwards, to prevent any normal person from scaling it.  Carl didn’t care.  He must get over this fence, or be devoured by zombies.  He got the ladder assembled just as he reached the fence and propped it up immediately.

As soon as the ladder felt secure he climbed it without looking back.  But as he reached the top he felt the ladder shudder beneath him.  Glancing down only made him move faster, because a blood drenched zombie in a policeman’s uniform had just grabbed the bottom of the ladder and was reaching for Carl’s legs. 

Flight overwhelmed his fight reaction as Carl scrambled over the barbed wire and dropped to the ground on the other side of the fence.  But he turned and watched in horror as the zombie cop followed his example in climbing the ladder Carl had left leaning against the other side of the fence.  Carl scrambled to extract the pick-axe from the straps on his survival backpack.  He realized absently that he had been lucky that it hadn’t impaled him when he jumped down from the fence. 

The zombie cop was struggling to get past the barbed wire as Carl turned to face the fence and saw dozens of other zombies rushing towards the ladder. 
They can only climb it one at a time,
he thought.  Then he returned his focus to the flailing policeman zombie that tumbled over the fence towards him. 

Carl stepped aside and swung overhand before the fallen body was able to stand, planting the pick end of the axe squarely in its skull.  And, as he pulled the weapon free of the blessedly lifeless corpse, Carl noticed that the cop’s service pistol was still in its holster.  Two more zombies were climbing the ladder as Carl bent down to claim the hand gun. 

Chapter 6: Land’s End

“I spread the whole earth out as a map before me. On no one spot of its surface could I put my finger and say, here is safety.”  
Mary Shelly,
The Last Man 

George Hammer and his waterlogged companions had just reached the
Expiscator
when the helicopter swooped down and the machine gun on the armored vehicle opened fire.  It was shockingly loud.  George watched as the chopper banked sharply away and seemed to stagger for a moment as the line of tracer fire converged with it.  Thankfully there was no smoke or fire, but George feared for the men and machine.   Then he realized that the next burst of fire might be aimed at him and his family.

“Get down!” he yelled.  “Move out of sight of the shore.  Stay down while I go aboard and get this baby started.  Hector, Pablo, get ready to untie the ropes and cast off.  We may not have much time.  The guys in that armored car thing don’t seem very friendly!”

“Si jeffe!” agreed Hector.  George jumped over onto the rear deck of the yacht and climbed the stairs to the Sky Deck.  Using the keys to open the door, he went through the sky lounge to the bridge.  He kept the pistol at the ready in case there were more surprises inside.  No sign of life.  The main bridge was a high tech set-up with numerous radars, GPS and communications consoles.  It was much more complicated than the forty foot charter fishing boat he had owned.  It took him a minute just to find where to insert the ignition key next to the helm.