Omega Days (Book 2): Ship of the Dead (3 page)

Evan Tucker piloted the crowded maintenance barge along the southern edge of the old naval air station, scanning the rocky shoreline for a suitable landing spot. Twenty-five and good-looking, he had blue eyes and black hair down to his collar. Dressed in faded jeans, a denim jacket, and work boots, he looked the part of the wandering writer, traveling America’s roads as he dreamed of crafting the Great American Novel. In the weeks since the outbreak he had gone from vagabond loner to leader.

Out on deck, Calvin and his Family hunched against the rain, many seeking shelter behind the mass of the armored Bearcat riot vehicle. Calvin, a fiftyish hippie with an Australian bush hat and heavily armed, had thus far managed to keep the Family alive. The Family was his collection of free-spirited relatives and friends living a gypsy lifestyle. Their lack of dependency on modern conveniences had made them all the more resilient in what had become of the world.

Maya pressed close against Evan, resting her head on his shoulder. Her silent reassurance was calming, and he needed that now. She was a few years younger than him, with long dark hair and sapphire eyes. Maya had been deaf and mute since birth, but she and the young writer had no trouble communicating their feelings for one another. Her father, Calvin, approved.

The barge was rocking hard, taking the rhythmic surges of the bay full along its right side. They were exposed to more powerful waters out here, a forceful wind hammering them with rain and sudden, unexpected gusts, and yet again Evan was reminded that the long, flat vessel had never been intended for more than puttering about a placid harbor. He was forced to slow down for fear that a wave would tip them over, just as his imagination had pictured, and that action prolonged their exposure and increased the odds of catastrophe.

Though it had occurred less than an hour ago, their narrow escape from the relentless horde of the walking dead on the Oakland pier felt to Evan as if it had happened in another lifetime. For him now there was only the struggle to keep the barge level and on course, and to keep watch out the wheelhouse windows, praying for something more than rock and fence and windblown weeds.

After another hour of achingly slow chugging, during which time Evan’s arm, shoulder, and neck muscles had begun to cramp from his fight with the wheel, shapes in the distance began to materialize out of the rain. As the barge drew nearer, the shapes resolved into a pair of huge concrete piers with vintage gray warships and an old carrier tied to them. Evan let out a laugh, and Maya hugged him from behind. To the left of the piers was a large, rectangular lagoon notched into the Navy base, framed by a cement wall. A buoy floated near the entrance with a rusty yellow sign on it reading
SEAPLANES
above an arrow pointing into the lagoon. Evan slowed further as voices out on deck started shouting. With the armored van parked beside the wheelhouse he couldn’t see the cause of the commotion, but a moment later Calvin’s brother Dane, wearing a blond ponytail to the center of his back and armed with a lever-action rifle, appeared at the window.

“There’s a boat coming in from the right. It looks like a police boat.”

“You guys will have to handle it if things go bad,” Evan said. “I’m heading for that lagoon.”

“Got it.” Dane disappeared.

The rocking lessened as Evan passed the buoy and angled into the lagoon, aiming for a long, newer-looking dock—empty of boats—leading back toward shore and a cluster of white buildings around a small boatyard. The only vessel in sight was a weathered charter-fishing boat perched on metal stands in an extreme state of disassembly. What appeared to be its motor sat on a plywood worktable nearby, taken completely apart.

Dane returned to the window. “It’s definitely a police boat, but I don’t think they’re cops. There’s only a few people on deck, and they started waving when we got close to each other. They’re following us in.”

“Keep an eye on them,” Evan said, still not quite comfortable with giving orders. “And get some guns up front. I’m going to bring us in slow, and I want a warning if anyone sees drifters. I’m not taking us into another death trap.”

“Calvin’s already on it.” He disappeared again.

Evan scanned the approach. The old warships were far to the right now, and ahead, an access road appeared to run beside the concrete lip at the water’s edge. Derelict buildings with peeling paint lined the other side of the road, each identical to the next. He saw nothing moving on shore, and no one called out. It was small comfort, and he thought of the elderly zombie he had seen rattling the fence. The old drifter wouldn’t be the only one of his kind here.

He throttled back and guided the barge along the side of the dock, hitting it harder than he intended, the impact throwing several people off their feet but thankfully none into the water. The barge made a long scraping sound as it slowed, causing the dock to shudder and splinter in places, and Evan cursed, certain he was going to tear the entire length of boards and pilings apart. He wished for brakes and killed the engine. The left bow struck a sturdy piling and stopped the barge with a wrenching blow, resulting in alarmed cries. In seconds a handful of hippies were tying off, others with rifles leaping onto the dock and going ahead while parents helped their children off the barge.

“We’ll take care of your hog,” Dane shouted back to the wheelhouse, and immediately a group of men muscled the Harley Road King onto the dock, another carefully walking it ahead toward land. Evan and Maya walked out onto the deck, preparing to join the others.

Carney, one of the two escaped San Quentin inmates on the barge, caught up to Evan and stopped him before he could follow. They had spoken only briefly back in Oakland. “I didn’t get your name. You in charge of this group?”

Evan shook his head and pointed at Calvin, who was helping his wife, Faith, with their kids. “I’m Evan, just tagging along.” He introduced Maya.

“Uh-huh.” He pointed to an enormous, muscled Viking of a man covered in prison ink, with long blond hair, his cellmate of many years. “That’s TC. I’m Carney.” He left out their last long-term address. “We’re going to need this,” he said, jerking a thumb back at the Bearcat, its idling engine still knocking.

Evan looked at the truck, then at the narrow dock, feeling foolish. “Right. There’s got to be a boat ramp around here. I’ll beach this thing and you can drive off.” He failed to register that the side of the vehicle said
CALIFORNIA D.O.C.

Carney nodded and went back to the truck. TC stood on the deck, smiling at the writer. Evan didn’t care for that smile, though he couldn’t say why. He helped Maya up onto the dock and then started untying the lines that secured the barge.

“I’ll ride with you,” said Calvin, standing near the bow, wrists draped comfortably over the assault rifle hanging around his neck, rain dripping from the rim of his outback hat. He had noticed what was on the side of the truck and easily made the connection with these two big, tattooed men. “If these fellows decide to go their own way, you won’t be left walking by yourself.” Calvin was looking not at Evan as he spoke, but at TC.

The smile slid off the inmate’s face, and his eyes glittered with something unpleasant.

On the other side of the dock, Rosa and Xavier had pulled in shortly after the barge, the Navy Reservist bringing the patrol boat in smoothly. They tied off as their passengers hurried to join the hippies on shore, ducking against the rain.

“I’m a little worried about leaving the boat unguarded,” Rosa said softly, glancing at the crowd of unexpected company.

“So take the keys,” said the priest. “If all goes well with the helicopter, we won’t be back anyway.” He slung the shotgun and climbed off. Rosa hung a bright orange nylon satchel over her shoulder and followed.

On the barge, Calvin spotted the bold red cross on the side of Rosa’s bag. “Hey, are you a doctor?” When the woman shrugged, he pointed at the armored Bearcat. “There’s a really sick girl in there. Could you take a look at her?”

TC gave Calvin a look that Carney noticed from the cab of the truck. It was a look he was familiar with from their days at the state prison, and it never meant anything good for the person on the receiving end.

“I’ll go with you,” Xavier said, and followed Rosa onto the barge. Carney climbed out of the cab and took them to the rear doors, opening them and gesturing to the young woman bound and gagged on the floor. Calvin joined them. The barge’s diesel fired, and Evan backed slowly from the dock.

The medic looked inside to see a girl—a woman, actually, probably not even twenty—lying on the floor, hands, feet, and mouth secured. She wore a mix of fatigues and civilian clothing. Rosa climbed in and crouched beside her, looking over the gag and zip ties to be certain they were secure. She recognized the restlessness and sweating, felt the heat coming off her. “When was she bitten?”

“I don’t think she was,” Carney said. “She got brains and blood in her face, definitely in her mouth, probably her eyes too.”

“No bites?” Rosa pulled on rubber gloves and produced a pair of surgical scissors, cutting away the girl’s clothes. She didn’t see any bite wounds. “When did this happen?”

“This morning,” said Carney, “in Oakland. We got her out of a church where she was playing sniper.” Then he remembered the many bodies in the street, and the accuracy with which she killed. Perhaps
playing
wasn’t the right word. “She’s been like this since.”

Rosa checked her watch. It was hard to see as the storm chased the last of the daylight from the sky, and the rear of the truck didn’t have a dome light that came on when the doors opened. She figured maybe nine hours. “Any vomiting?”

“Not that I’ve seen,” said Carney. He looked around for TC. The man was nowhere in sight.

Rosa shook her head. “It’s unlikely. If she’d done it with this gag in place, she’d have choked to death.”

Carney looked back into the truck. “She’s sick, probably the virus.” He pointed. “That gag stays in place.”

“No argument,” said Rosa. She lifted the girl’s eyelids one at a time. The right eye was clear and white, but the left had a milky, yellow tint, and the pupil was both enlarged and a cloudy blue, like a cataract. She wrapped the girl in a blanket she found draped over a cardboard case of peanut butter. “We’ll know in another twelve to fifteen hours,” she said, climbing out of the truck. “She’ll have to be watched. If she starts to vomit, we’ll have to get that gag off and clear her airway.”

Carney shook his head. “I don’t know why I saved her in the first place, and I sure don’t know why I’ve kept her with us this long. She’s going to turn into one of those things. What’s the point?”

“Doc, what will we know in twelve to fifteen hours?” Xavier asked.

“Whether she’s going to pull through,” said Rosa. “It could be the slow burn I told you about, exposure to infected fluids from something other than a bite. Inside twenty-four hours the victim either comes out of the fever, or turns.”

No one spoke as that sank in, the sway of the barge rocking them all gently.

“You mean she could live?” asked Carney. “What are her chances?”

Rosa shrugged. “Not great. I saw only a few cases, and only one that lived.” She glanced back at the girl. “I’ll stay with her, if that’s okay.”

Carney nodded.

“What’s her name?” asked Xavier.

“I have no idea,” said Carney, walking back along the side of the truck. The priest, medic, and hippie exchanged glances, followed by introductions. Calvin quickly filled them in on their odyssey into Oakland, and how Evan had come to be with them. Xavier found that he liked Calvin at once, attracted to his easygoing, confident manner. He was clearly a person to whom people looked for answers and guidance, and the priest suspected he would be a good man to have around in a crisis.

The journey to a nearby boat ramp took only a few minutes. “Coming in now,” Evan called from the wheelhouse, and a moment later the barge shuddered as its hull slid up onto angled cement. Carney soon had the Bearcat riot vehicle they had taken from the prison on the access road beside the lagoon.

The large hippie family joined them minutes later, having paused to break open some snack and soda vending machines back at what turned out to be a yacht mooring, sales, and maintenance facility. A bearded young man named Mercury pushed Evan’s Harley up beside the Bearcat, as Xavier and Rosa climbed out to join the group. Carney walked up a moment later, but TC stayed in the truck. Watchful eyes scanned the vacant buildings as evening came on fast under a stormy sky.

“If my sense of direction is right,” said Evan, “the helicopter landed somewhere over there.” He pointed to the northeast, across the lagoon. Warehouses and hangars stood in gray rows where he was pointing, some with streets between them, all with darkened windows.

Rosa nodded. “The airfield is over that way.” When this drew some looks, she said, “I live in San Francisco and I’m in the Navy. I’ve never been here, but the place isn’t a secret. It’s huge, though. If we’re going, we need to move. It’s getting dark.”

“Maybe we should wait until morning,” said Faith, holding her and Calvin’s ten- and twelve-year-old sons close to her sides. “We never travel at night.” Her face, worn from years on the road but normally warm and welcoming, had a strained, cornered look.

“I doubt anyone does,” said Evan, looking around. Everyone shook their heads. “But can we risk waiting and having that helicopter take off before we get there?” More looks, more shaking heads.

“He’s right,” said Calvin. “We’ll stay close together, guns on the outside, and keep moving.” The hippie looked at Carney. “You coming?”

Carney paused, then nodded.

“Maybe you could drive slowly ahead of us, let your headlights show us what’s coming?”

Another nod.

Calvin nodded back. “Couldn’t help but notice the firepower you’ve got in that truck. Spreading it around could—”

“We’re not drinking buddies just yet,” said the con, his lip curling. “You keep your people close to the truck, and we’ll see what happens.”

“I’ll scout ahead,” said Evan, climbing onto the Harley with Maya. Xavier and Rosa returned to the back of the Bearcat, and minutes later the group was moving slowly through the abandoned naval base, the taillight and engine noise of Evan’s Road King vanishing in the thickening gloom of twilight.