John Ringo - To Sail a Darkling Sea

“Roger, ma’am,” Januscheitis said. “Pag, Bear, go break into that bar.”

“Oh, aye, aye, Staff Sergeant,” Bearson said. “We are all over that!”

* * *

“Ola!” Pagliaro boomed through the loud-hailer. “Anybody home? Hello? Anybody home?”

The unit had broken down into two three-man teams with Januscheitis taking charge of one and Faith, with Corporal Douglas, taking charge of the other. Douglas was driving while Pagliaro stuck his head out of the moon roof to try to find survivors.

The streets of the town were deserted. So far they hadn’t seen one single remaining infected and while there was some sign of them, the usual mix of decayed and gnawed bodies and fecal matter, even that was scattered. And there was, so far, no sign of survivors.

“Is it just me or is this creepy?” Faith asked.

“Little creepy, ma’am,” Januscheitis said, taking a slow turn around an even smaller body in the street. “Christ, I hope that some of these towns have survivors.”

“There are more towns up the road according to the map,” Faith said. “I suppose we could try to penetrate into the interior.”

“With due respect, ma’am,” Januscheitis said. “I don’t think that was part of the plan.”

“Plans change, Staff Sergeant,” Faith said. “But, yes, we’d have to get permission.”

“Hey, I think we’ve got customers,” Pagliaro said. “Half a block, roof of the building.”

“Really?” Faith said, looking up through the cracked windshield. “Holy shit.”

A group of people were waving from the roof of one of the buildings. They were just in the process of hanging a sheet from the edge of the roof to try to attract the attention of the Marines.

“Hello,” Faith said, stepping out of the car. “Anyone speak English?”

She took off her gas mask. The smell wasn’t really all that bad and they hadn’t seen a single infected.

“Si!” one of the men yelled. “Hello! Thank you? Are all the infectado gone? Who are you?”

“Lieutenant Faith Smith, United States Marine Corps, at your service, sir,” Faith yelled. “We haven’t seen any. Come on down. Olly, olly oxenfree as we say… ”

* * *

“The building was a general stores house, si?” the man said, taking a sip of bottled water. “Ah, that is good. Very good.”

Valerio Villa had been one of five policemen for the District of San Sebastien De La Gomera. He had done what he could as the Plague took hold, then fallen back on the warehouse along with a small group of survivors from La Puntilla, the small town they’d been clearing.

“We had much trouble with water,” Conchita Casales said. “There is little rain.”

The five survivors, two women, three men, had found seeds and created “soil” from their ”waste,” fecal and urine, and sand for mixing concrete. They had even taken tubs onto the roof and buried the bodies of the dead in them, then planted on those. There had been a store of bottled water in the warehouse but that had run out eventually. They’d collected rainwater. Generally, they’d just dug in and survived.

“Have you seen any evidence of other survivors?”

“There were some,” Villa said, shrugging. “Across the town. We could see them. They did not have the stores we had, the seeds… ” He shrugged again.

“I think we are all,” Conchita said. She took his hand and shrugged as well then patted her belly. “But there will be more, si?”

“What do we do now?” Villa asked. “Is the US… Are we to be… ”

“The United States has fought on every inhabited continent,” Januscheitis said. “And the only land we’ve ever asked is enough to bury our dead. So, no, we’re not ‘taking’ this land. It remains a property of Spain, I guess. More or less independent right now, since there isn’t really a Spain. What you do is up to you. We can transport you back to the squadron or you can stay here. We’ve been asked to ask if we can put off some people here, if it comes up. We don’t have any land bases. But we’re pretty much adjusted to being totally at sea. And we’re planning on taking some US land bases in the near future.”

“If there are infectado left… I cannot clear this whole town by myself,” Villa said. “Among other things, I’m out of bullets.”

“We have plenty of spare M4s and 5.56,” Faith said. “We should be able to get authorization to pass some of those to you. We also have been clearing ships at sea and have some fairly sizeable stores. Or we can pick you up and take you back to the squadron as the Staff Sergeant said.”

“Can you help me ensure that some of the buildings are clear?” Villa said. “We have seen no sign that there are infectado surviving in them but… This is not the place to stay in long term.”

“Ma’am?” Januscheitis said.

“I’ll clear it with division,” Faith said. “But I don’t see that being an issue.”

“You know best,” Januscheitis said. “But I’d suggest concentrating on a traditional building and something near the water front. We can’t clear this whole island for you. We’re not even vaguely up to speed. The USMC is pretty much twenty something guys and the Skipper here and we don’t have a bunch of people to come in and fix your town. So you’d better be prepared to survive on your own. Food, power, water and security.”

“I think we can do that, yes,” Conchita said. “I think we stay.”

“We shall stay,” Villa said, looking around the shattered town. “If we can borrow some guns.”

“Not an issue,” Faith said. “But… would you mind if some people took some shore leave?”

* * *

“I’d say this has been a successful mission,” Lieutenant Chen said, taking a sip of wine. He was leaning back in a chair in front of the Restaurante Rincon del Marinero, which translated as “Corner Restaurant at the Marina.” Which was a description as much as a name. There were a couple of apartments over the restaurant that the survivors had already occupied, and between a generator and finding some stored food, it was more or less back in operation. “Our next objective is Playa De Santiago, followed by San Sebastian De La Gomera. I think if we find any survivors in either town we should encourage them to fall back on La Puntilla rather than remain spread out.”

The group would have seemed right at home in Israel. Although they were enjoying the late afternoon sun at a tavern by the marina, they all had their weapons ready to hand.

“San Sebastian is much the larger town,” Villa pointed out. “It is possible we should move there rather than they here. La Playa has the airport and the boatyard.”

He had an H amp;K G36 assault rifle leaning up against his chair, barrel down. There wasn’t a round in the chamber but a recently refilled magazine was in the well.

“Where you gather up is up to you, Officer Villa,” Chen said. “I strongly urge you, however, to concentrate in one area.”

“Preferably a defensible one,” Januscheitis said. “There are still infected in the surrounding towns.”

“Playa has much in its valley,” Villa said. “But there it is entirely surrounded by mountains. Here in La Puntilla we are in the Valle, si? There are towns all up the Valle. I could see the infectado slowly spreading this way. La Playa not so much.”

“You wish to move to La Playa?” Conchita asked, bringing out a platter covered in slices of sautéed albacore and tomatoes.

“It is easier to hold,” Villa said. “The harbor is not as good, but with the infectado gone, no more will wander in, si? I worry about the infectado coming down from La Calera.”

“Then we’ll move up and clear La Playa,” Chen said. “Then move your people over.”