John O'Brien - Conspiracy

Raising the high-powered binoculars, Leonard traces the shoreline. Several dark figures stand out against the light-colored sand. At this distance, he can’t make out much definition but they haven’t moved from the time he first spotted them. He can definitely see that they are bodies and they are either sunbathing in the middle of an apocalypse or dead. A closer inspection reveals the beach is strewn with dead bodies.

“Sir. We have activity around the breakwater,” one of the lookouts states.

Leonard looks to the area and focuses on the movement. The white hulls of several boats appear from behind the rocky breakwater. More follow and they all turn toward the Santa Fe .

“I count nine of them, sir,” the lookout reports.

“I see them,” Leonard says.

White sprays out from each of the boats as they plow through the swells — they are approaching quickly having sped up after clearing the seawall. The vessels themselves are large, sea-going pleasure boats. Not quite yachts, but not far from it. Focusing on the boats in front, Leonard sees several figures atop the decks and in the steering houses.

Contacting the control room, he has the sub turned toward the open water and preparations for an emergency dive initiated. Although they are adequately protected, he doesn’t know the intentions of the people rapidly closing in on their position. He doesn’t want to risk the chance of a stray round damaging his boat.

“Have Chief Krandle and his team standing ready,” he says, finishing.

As the boats approach, they spread out so that they are approaching line abreast. This configuration and the fact that they haven’t slowed doesn’t make Leonard feel any kinder toward their intentions. They have no outside armament with which to engage surface vessels, or anything else for that matter. He’ll let them approach to within hailing distance and tell them to halt. If they keep coming on, he’ll order full speed and slip beneath the waves, leaving the ones advancing to themselves.

The outlines of the vessels become distinct without the aid of binoculars. Bow waves splash out from the oncoming boats as their hulls pound into the face of the swells. Leonard feels the sub heel as it begins its turn to face the ocean and deeper water. He shifts positions to keep the approaching boats in sight.

Raising the bullhorn, his voice is amplified across the intervening space. “That’s close enough.”

The vessels continue without altering their speed. Repeating the message, he notes the decrease in spray as the boats slow and then come to stop a short distance away, running their engines only to maintain their relative position. The Santa Fe continues its turn and halts with its long stern pointing to the line of boats.

“Sir, the men I can see are armed,” one of the lookouts says.

“What are they armed with?” Leonard asks, not taking his eyes from the boats.

“It looks to be a mix of rifles… hunting rifles mostly, but I see three shotguns.”

“Are they acting in a hostile manner?”

“No, sir. Not that I can see. They are carrying them, but at their sides. I can’t see any that are actively aiming at us,” the lookout reports.

“Very well. Keep an eye on them.”

“Aye, sir.”

“State your intentions.” Leonard calls out to the group facing them.

“We heard the foghorn and saw you sitting out here. We were foraging, so it took us some time to make our way here. Are you really Navy?” an amplified voice asks.

“I am Captain Leonard of the USS Santa Fe . Who am I addressing?”

Leonard raises the binoculars again and the figures on the lead boat zoom into greater clarity. The validation of being a member of the Navy, or armed forces in general causes a reaction as the five people he can see all look to one another and seem to be talking animatedly with each other.

“I am…Christopher…Christopher Malkin,” the voice responds.

“And how many are with you?” Leonard asks.

“We have thirty-seven men and women here with us, Captain.”

“Is that all in your group?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are there others in the city that you know of?” Leonard asks.

“We heard gunshots far to the south a few nights ago, but we haven’t met anyone else,” the man answers. “Captain, is there any way you can come aboard or us come there. It’s easier than shouting at each other across the water. Or we can meet ashore if you’d prefer.”

Leonard ponders the situation and knows that if they are to have any meaningful dialogue, the man is correct, they will have to conduct it personally.

“Do you have a means to come to us?” Leonard calls.

“We have an attached skiff. We can make it to you.”

“Two of you may approach and come aboard. Make sure you are unarmed.”

“Give us about fifteen minutes,” the man replies.

Leonard informs the control room and has a crew readied on the deck to receive the two. He quickly briefs Chief Krandle and his team that they are to provide security.

“If you see anything amiss, and I mean the smallest thing, you’re clear to engage as you see fit. The boat and crew are to be protected at all costs,” Leonard states, finishing his brief.

A small boat emerges from aft of the lead boat and approaches through the choppy waters. Leonard halts the boat a short distance away while the lookout crew carefully searches the open boat with their binoculars. Finding nothing awry or some haphazard box which may go boom, Leonard directs the boat to continue its approach.

Boat hooks grab the skiff and bring it close aboard. The crew ties the vessel off and two men climb up rope ladders thrown down the side. One of Krandle’s team thoroughly searches each of the men and gives the okay.

“Have them brought to the crew’s mess,” Leonard says and disappears below decks.

Leonard rises from his seat as the two men are brought in. They appear well-kempt and clean. After handshakes and introductions are made, the men seat themselves. Krandle and another of his team stand by the near wall with their weapons lowered but ready.

The men tell a story of the mayhem that took hold of the city seemingly overnight. The fires, screams, and gunshots that filled the night streets at first. It seemed like similar riots that have taken hold of the city from time to time so they initially thought this was just another one and stayed indoors to wait it out. They heard throngs of people screaming as they passed in the night and thought they were looters out to steal what they could in the resulting mayhem. They knew of the sickness that gripped the populace and thought the riot was caused by the lack of available law enforcement.

The next morning, it seemed to be over. There weren’t many people to be seen out and about. The few that were out walked aimlessly down debris-ridden streets, stopping to sift through some of the rubble from time to time. They appeared dazed. Smoke poured from many of the buildings and many of the vehicles lay smoldering in the thoroughfares. It was the next night that showed that it wasn’t over by a longshot.

As the darkness fell, screams again filled the avenues. Those that were out were attacked by gangs and mercilessly torn apart. Neighbor’s houses were invaded and their screams of terror and pain echoed throughout the community. The horror of that night passed and the man speaking, Chris, gathered the survivors in his neighborhood and made for the marina in the light of the day. They took to boats and made for the seeming safer waters. Over time, they came to realize what they were dealing with. Since then, they scrounge for supplies during the day, never venturing far into buildings, and bring the boats out into the bay where they tie together and anchor for the night.