John Ringo - Under a Graveyard Sky

“So how do we handle this?” Faith asked. She was rigged up and had her respirator on.

“Carefully,” Steve said, drawing his.45. He fired twice, missing both times. The combination of the roll of the boat and the lifeboat, called “catenary,” was something he was still getting used to. It wasn’t something he’d trained for in the paras or since. He hit the zombie on the third try. It clawed at the wound in its stomach and dropped back into the lifeboat.

“Mark this one for later,” Steve said. “He’ll bleed out or die of sepsis. We’ll clear it later.”

“She,” Faith said.

“Easier for me to just call them all he or it,” Steve said, waving to Sophia. “Next beacon!”

* * *

“I don’t think anybody’s home,” Faith said.

The lifeboat was much more substantial. There was a deck aft and a solid covered area with portholes. It was marked “Carnival Cruise Lines 4416” which meant that some cruise ship had, not surprisingly, ordered abandon ship. The one problem, indicated as Sophia had circled the boat, was that there was a hatch and it was shut. Which meant anything could be inside.

“Get the grapnel,” Steve said. “We’ll see.”

* * *

Moving from the Toy to the lifeboat in armor was unhappy making. The waves had increased, probably because of a distant storm, and Steve had to be careful jumping from one boat to the other. If he went in the drink, the combination of armor and equipment would carry him down fast.

“We need to figure out lifevests for this or something,” Steve said as he landed on the deck of the lifeboat.

He tapped the hatch with the butt of his Saiga and waited. He was fully expecting a zombie to hit the hatch running.

He opened the hatch and looked inside, then stepped back, turned to the side, took off his respirator and puked over the side of the raft.

After a bit he spit to clear his mouth, put his respirator back on and entered the cabin.

There were shots from the interior. Steve hurried back out, unhooked the grapnel and crossed back to the Toy.

“What were you shooting?” Faith asked.

“The deck,” Steve said. “I think that’s one of those no-sink hulls but it was the best I could do. I pulled the EPIRB before I shot. Hopefully, nobody else will have to see what I just saw.”

* * *

1436 26 JUL EPIRB 1164598, loc: 33.797409,-70.927734. Four dead, no survivors.

1623 26JUL EPIRB 2487450, Loc: 33.797326,-70.926289 2KIA. Nosurv.

0814 27JUL DSC: “Cost Estimate,” 45ft sportfisher. Loc: 33.797298,-70.926327. 1 H7. 2KIA. Nsv. Cleared. Disabled. salvaged materials, fuel, water (see inventory). Scuttled.

* * *

“EPIRB,” Sophia said from the helm. “Looks like one of those good lifeboats.”

“I hate those,” Faith said. “I’m getting to hating this whole idea.”

“There are survivors,” Steve said. He was starting to realize what luck finding Tina on their first boarding had been. “And it’s not about how many dead we find but how many alive.”

“If we find anyone alive,” Faith said.

“Faith,” Stacey said from the galley.

“Well, I keep getting rigged up!” Faith said. “And for what? There’s nobody !”

“I survived,” Tina said. She was carefully cutting up a blackfin they’d caught earlier in the day. They always had a line running behind the boat.

“I’m sorry, Tina,” Faith said. “I’m just frustrated.”

“What you’re doing is important,” Tina said. “You don’t know what it’s like, thinking somebody is going to come and they never do…” She paused and wiped her eyes. “And then you did . Faith, you’re a miracle to somebody. You were a miracle to me . You just have to keep looking.”

“Horn,” Sophia said a minute later. She’d started to slow to come alongside.

The horn blasted, then blasted again.

“Bloody hell!” Sophia said. “Survivors!”

* * *

“Chris Phillips,” Chris said, holding out his hand. “Thank you.”

“Steve Smith,” Steve said, taking his hand and pulling him aboard. “Are you the last off?” Steve asked.

“Last off,” Chris said. “Pulled the EPIRB as you requested.”

“We’re going to be tight as hell,” Steve said, looking at the group on the aft deck. There had been seven survivors from the lifeboat. “And we’re going to have to be careful with rations. You’re the senior officer?”

“As such,” Chris said. “I was a chef onboard the Voyage Under Stars .”

“Damn,” Steve said. “No offense, but I was hoping for engineering or ship’s officer.”

“They scarpered long before,” Chris said. “Aussie?”

“Got it in one,” Steve said. “Brit?”

“Former RN,” Chris said.

“Para,” Steve said. “Okay, as we announced, we need to do a salt-water washdown. We got some slops from the boats we’ve cleared and we’ll try to find clothes for everyone. Males are forward…”

“We’re a bit past that,” Chris said. “We’ll just wash down here.”

“Uh…” Steve said.

“Sir,” one of the ladies said. “Captain. First, again, thank you. Second, we’ve been on that tiny little boat for two months . There is absolutely nothing we don’t know about each other including what we look like without clothes.”

“Well, then,” Steve said, shrugging. “We’re already rigged for wash-down…”

* * *

“You’ll probably get tired of us saying thank you,” Paula Handley said, sipping tomato soup. Not only had they included it as a major store item, they’d found more on the Toy and the one other boat they’d cleared. Paula was the lady who had pointed out that group washing was not going to be an issue. In her late twenties with fine, reddish blond hair, she looked as if she might once have been plump. Two months under starvation conditions had changed that. “But thank you, thank you, thank you…”

“Where the hell is the Coast Guard?” one of the men asked, truculently.

“Gone,” Faith said. She was looking nervous with all the people on the boat and had kept her sidearm. She was clearly trying not to tap it. “No shortwave from any governmental agency. The few ham radio operators on land say that they can’t move outside of their compounds and spend a lot of time hiding even then. There are some towns that survived in the high arctic but they’re back to, basically, living like indians.”

“Show a light, have a gen and you’re hit by the zombies,” Steve said. “I’m wondering about my brother. He had a professional fall-back point. But I just hope it was strong enough.”

“Everything can’t be gone !” the man said. “That’s not true!”

“Mister…sorry, name?” Steve said, calmly.

“Isham,” the man said. “Jack Isham.”

“Mr. Isham, I can’t prove to you that it’s gone,” Steve said. “But there is a shortwave receiver. I can pull up the frequencies of the few hams that are out there. If they’re broadcasting. If they’re not gone as well. And you can then check the Beeb, FEMA, what have you. They are gone . Check for yourself.”

“Well, where are we going to go, then?” Paula asked, looking around. “There’s not enough room on here for us to stay forever. I appreciate the hospitality but…”

“Other boats,” Steve said. “There are more. Some of them larger. For the time, we’ll need to be a floating community as it were.”

“I want to get my feet on dry land,” one of the women said. She was probably a well-preserved sixty and had the remains of a strong dye job. Her natural hair color was now clearly gray.