Survivors (19 page)

After the meeting Margaret pulled me aside.
“That guy Brad and his friends left last night. The
people from Cape Coral say their cars are missing,
and nobody knows where they went. They just up
and left.”

I felt like saying good riddance to bad rubbish, but I had this uncomfortable feeling in the pit
of my stomach. If these guys headed north, they
were surely going to run into the bad guys near
Tampa, and that could mean bad news for us. We
needed to get Lieutenant Monroe and his soldiers
here tomorrow. I hoped he and his team were
ready to go.

Phyllis was pushing Beth in a wheelchair
from the kitchen to the dining tent. I walked up to
her and asked, “Who let you out of jail?”

She laughed, “You can’t keep an old lady
down. Mary said I could leave the operating room if
I stayed in a wheel chair for the next two days.
Phyllis is my body guard.”

Phyllis said, “And you better listen to what I
tell you Beth. Otherwise you’re headed back to the
Science Building.”

I called an emergency town hall meeting.
Our residents deserved to understand what was
going on. It took thirty minutes to assemble everyone. I stood in front of them and waited for their
attention. “Good afternoon everyone, I want to
spend a few minutes telling you about some of the
events that have taken place over the last few days.

“As you know, our group met some rather
nasty people on the way to Orlando. They raped
Debbie and beat up Bruce. Luckily, we were able to
rescue them. Also, a few days ago, Rebecca’s friend
Ralph, told us about how he encountered another
group of thugs in southern Georgia. They were abducting women, and they killed an old man.

“Today, Blaine and I visited the MacDill Air
Force Base just outside of Tampa. There are several dozen survivors living there. We spoke with Major Connors. He’s the senior person in charge of
the military installation. It seems a large group of
thugs are also creating havoc in the Tampa area.
Needless to say your Board of Governors is very
concerned about the security of the campus and
also the dairy farm and Immokalee.

“We have a plan to deal with this security
issue. First, we transferred the children who were
at the airbase here. They will now be in a better
environment, and I’m certain you will welcome
them all.

“Second, Captain Ami Stewart and Sammy
Lafayette also returned with us from MacDill. Tomorrow we will begin daily flights of airplanes and
helicopters to MacDill. This will indicate to the bad
guys who are looting and killing people in Tampa
that the military is building up resources at the
military base. We think they will believe the increased military presence at the airbase will allow
soldiers from the base to attack them. We are hoping they will leave the area and head north toward
Georgia.

“Also tomorrow, we will begin building a solar array at MacDill. Bill and his team will lead this
effort. If we can provide the base with electrical
power, then they will be able to access data from
military satellites and follow the movements of this
group in real-time.

“Of course we can’t be sure these people
will move northward. Beginning tomorrow, a few
soldiers from MacDill will be arriving here to provide security for the campus, the dairy farm, and
Immokalee. They will be led by Lieutenant Vince
Monroe. He and his men will begin to train all ablebodied adults in the use of arms and self-defense.
Please provide him all the support he and his people need.

Of course there were questions, dozens of
questions. Between Captain Stewart and the governors, we answered everyone to the best of our
ability.

Captain Sanchez and his crew left the Wilson family after two days of successful hunting
and fishing. Between the wild pigs and a variety of
fresh fish, they had replenished the ship’s supplies. They headed north toward Portland Maine.
Their plan was fairly straightforward. They would
hug the eastern seaboard and try to make contact
with survivors.

Three days later the massive attack submarine passed just south of Cushing Island and slowly approached the Portland harbor area. It was
midmorning. The sun had warmed the early spring
morning chill, and an early morning fog had started to lift. Sanchez and four sailors were standing
atop the submarine’s sail searching for any sign of
civilization. Commercial Street ran along the edge
of the port, and the submarine held its position a
mile off shore. They couldn’t risk approaching closer due to the shallow water in the south harbor
area.

They spent almost two hours searching for
any sign of survivors. Gordy Phillips stood next to
Sanchez. “Captain, I’m thinking the survivors knew
they couldn’t stay in the city. With all the dead
bodies lying around, it wouldn’t be the ideal place
to make a new life.”

“Captain, I’m guessing out into the countryside but close to the ocean. That way, they could
still fish and use some farms to grow the rest of
their food.”

“Okay Gordy, change course and take us
south along the coast. I’m going to get a cup of coffee. Do you want one?”

Gordy Phillips gave orders to the helmsman, and the submarine slowly backed out of the
Portland harbor area. After clearing Cushing Island, the submarine advanced slowly south hugging the coastline in 150 feet of water. As they
moved along at a slow five knots, Captain Sanchez
finally appeared on deck with his mug of hot coffee.

An hour later, they spotted a fishing boat a
few miles ahead. A few minutes later the fishing
boat spotted the submarine and immediately
changed course and headed toward the large submarine. As the two boats approached each other,
Sanchez ordered his ship to a full-stop. It coasted
another one-thousand yards before coming to rest.
The submarine waited for the fishing boat to reach
its port side.

A crew of five on the fishing boat readied
their lines to tie up alongside the submarine, but
Sanchez was not about to risk his crew, not after
all they had been through. Sanchez emerged from
the sail’s hatch and talked to the crew of the fishing boat. “I’m Captain Sanchez, and this is the USS
Jimmy Carter. We’ve been out to sea for five
months, and I don’t want to risk exposing my crew
to the virus. What’s your status?”

A surly looking man with an unlit cigar in
his mouth spoke to the Captain. “I’m Barney Fillmore; we’re some of the immune ones. Our group
is living in Old Orchard Beach. There’re about fifty
of us now. I was living in Portland but I had to
leave; the rats and wild dogs were eating everything. It was too dangerous.”

Sanchez said, “Mr. Fillmore, I need to talk
to Mr. Knight. We’ll follow you into shore but we’ll
have to stop at a depth of 100 feet. Can you bring
him back out here so we can talk?”

The fishing boat pulled away from the submarine and headed at its maximum speed into the
dockage at Old Orchard Beach. It was almost thirty
minutes later when the same boat pulled away
from a quay and headed out toward the submarine. As the fishing boat slowed to a crawl, Sanchez
could see five people crowded onto the aft deck.

The men on the fishing boat were all smiles
as they docked on the starboard side of the submarine. Sanchez and Gordy Phillips stood as close
to the edge of the starboard deck as they dared
without risking falling into the sea.

A man standing in front of the others said,
“Yes Captain, I’m Kevin Knight. You can’t believe
how good it is to see another group of survivors.
Why don’t you guys come ashore and we’ll talk?”

“Mr. Sanchez, none of my crew has been
exposed to the virus. I’m afraid we can’t risk getting exposed.”

“About four weeks ago, one of our fishing
boats returned to Portland. They had never been
exposed. They had stayed out on the ocean for almost three months. They didn’t really know if it
was safe to return, but they thought they’d risk it.
None of them have shown any symptoms yet, and
they’ve been walking around the town. I’m sure
they’d be infected already if there was any live virus around.”

Sanchez asked his Chief Medical Officer to
join him. Doctor Raymond Fleming arrived two
minutes later, and Sanchez briefed him on the situation. Fleming spoke to the men on the fishing
boat. “Mr. Knight, the CDC indicated the incubation period can be as long as ninety days. It’s still
too early to ensure the safety of our crew.”

Kevin Knight showed his disappointment.
The two ships spent the next two hours exchanging
information. Sanchez was able to explain what had
happened immediately before losing communications. Kevin Knight provided some history on how
the survivors in this group had come to Old Orchard Beach. It was really all about the need for
fresh food, and the ability to fish on a daily basis.
They had found a well just outside of town and
they were operating it using an emergency generator to run a makeshift pump. The system was sufficient to provide enough water to fill a nearby water tower, and it could provide just enough fresh
water for the small community. Between a diet of
fresh fish, a few deer they had been able to kill,
and scavenging for canned food at nearby houses,
they were just able to keep themselves fed.

Sanchez and his crew listened to the story
of the small community trying to survive. “Mr.
Knight, it is my intention to continue cruising
down the eastern seaboard looking for groups of
survivors. We will let everyone know where survivors are living. We’ll probably cruise all the way to
Galveston before we return here. I’m guessing we’ll
be back in a few months. If your men who were out
at sea are still free of symptoms, then we’ll be coming ashore, and we’ll share with you everything
we’ve found out.”

It was difficult for the Old Orchard Beach
survivors to accept the fact that this symbol of
American power was unable or unwilling to provide
any hope of a better life.

The fishing boat pulled away from the USS
Jimmy Carter and headed back to its port with
nothing to offer its residents other than the same
miserable life.

I had never been on the tarmac of the Fort
Myers International Airport. I had always been restricted to the terminal, but TSA was not there to
stop me. Captain Stewart had settled on a Southwest 737-800. She said it was the newest generation of the 737 series built by Boeing.

Dozens of people from the campus were
busy helping load the plane with fresh produce
and the last of our solar array kits. Stan had even
brought over a couple of freezers and refrigerators
to help store the food. Beth donated a few of her
precious tenderloins for the MacDill survivors.

Bill and his team were helping prep the airplane. They had found one of those portable generators on wheels to provide power to the aircraft
while Ami completed her pre-flight checklist. I was
sitting in the copilot’s seat. Jessie chose to accompany Sammy in a sleek black Bell 407GX helicopter that Sammy had found over on the civil aviation side of the airport.

Blaine had driven down to the Naples airport and had flown up in a Beechcraft King Air
350i twin-engine airplane. Captain Stewart had
everyone using the same radio frequency so we
could all communicate.

Finally, Bill and his crew closed the baggage compartment hatch, and his team of six
boarded our aircraft. I quickly gave up my seat to
Bill who I felt might be able to help out with a lot of
the technical things that might come up.

Ami ordered the start of our mission with
the words, “Gentlemen, start your engines.” Ami
looked like she had flown this plane for hundreds
of hours. I figured it must be like when I used to
get a rental car, and it only took me a few minutes
to figure out all the controls.

Captain Stewart taxied out toward the runway followed by Blaine with Manny riding shotgun.
Meanwhile Sammy Lafayette was doing his own
thing. After his chopper warmed up, he saluted the
remaining ground crew and increased the pitch of
the blades with the collective. The helicopter rose
slowly from the tarmac and banked to the north.

Ami Stewart applied the brakes at the end
of the runway and completed a final check of her
instruments. She spoke into the radio. “Eagles One
and Two, this is Eagle Three. I am ready to roll.
Blaine and Sammy acknowledged her call, and
then she advanced the engine’s throttles, and the
737 started gaining speed. Halfway down the runway the plane rotated and slowly lifted into the air.
Bill had been shown the control to retract the
wheels and at her command he flipped the switch.
When a green light came on, he indicated wheels
up and locked.

We had planned on arriving at different
times, feeling this would reinforce the psychological perception of many personnel arriving at the
airbase.

Captain Stewart leveled out at 10,000 feet
and set the plane on a heading that would bring us
to the east of Tampa. It took us about twelve
minutes to arrive at a point about ten miles east of
the city. Ami banked the aircraft into a gentle turn
to the left and pulled the throttle back to reduce
our airspeed. About five miles from the airbase, Bill
lowered the wheels and Ami extended the flaps.

Anyone on the ground, unless they were
deaf, would have heard the noise of the engines as
Ami lined up with the east-west main runway at
the airbase. She slowed her airspeed further and
then fully deployed the flaps. As we flew over the
city, I thought I could see a number of people looking up at our plane, and I hoped our arrival scared
them to death.