John Ringo - Under a Graveyard Sky

“We decontaminated everything,” Sophia said over the loudhailer.

The submariners had taken the “lifeboat” alternative. Although it was a zodiac with an outboard.

They waved as the packet of vaccine floated towards them.

“Thanks for the assist,” Faith said, waving back. It had been quite an assist.

First the Dallas had approached to within a few hundred meters of the cruise ship. The sub was also dwarfed but the sail was fairly high. Then a team clad in MOPP gear came out on the sail. The team first mounted their machine gun, then set off multiple flares as well as repeated blasts from a loudhailer. The combination had drawn a large herd of zombies to the lifeboat deck.

After there was a fair concentration, the team opened fire. Much of the fire struck the side of the ship but quite a bit had managed to hit the zombies. It had taken about thirty minutes of short bursts and two barrel changes but they finally cleared all of the obvious infecteds from the lifeboat deck.

Then the team clambered down, got out the zodiac and the boarding ladder and approached the ship. Getting the line up would probably have been the tough part for the Wolf crews. The submariners made it look easy. Among other things, they used a line thrower. But Hooch had explained that that was not usually considered “the easy way.”

With the ladder in place they backed off to pick up their vaccine.

“We got to get in there before more zombies come around,” Faith said.

“Da said wait til he got here,” Sophia said.

“Bring us in close,” Faith said, picking up the radio.

* * *

“Toy, Shewolf. Da, you there?”

“Roger,” Steve said. “Closing your position. ETA, one hour.”

“Da, the Dallas cleared off a deck and put in a ladder. If we wait, the zombies are going to come around again. You know how they are. Permission to, I dunno… Get a foothold is what Soph just said.”

Steve thought about that and looked at Stacey. She was looking at him and bending her head as if waiting for a punch.

“Do you have a back-up plan?” Steve said.

“No, but I’ve got lots of guns and knives and a machete. I’m still looking for a chainsaw.”

* * *

“Sir,” the Chief of Boat, Senior NCO, of the Dallas said, standing at parade rest. “Might I suggest, with no disrespect, that it is unseemly for a commander in the United States Navy, skipper of this mighty engine of war, to literally roll around on the deck laughing…?”

* * *

“Authorized.”

“And you had better be okay when we get there or I’ll tan your hide!”

“Yes, Mother,” Faith said. “Shewolf out. Hey, Hooch, let’s LOCK AND LOAD!”

* * *

“Let me go first at least,” Hocieniec said.

“Hooch, you’re a Marine,” Faith said, tightening the strap on her helmet. She was wearing what had become her standard “extreme zombie fighting” kit. Tactical boots and tacticals. Firefighting bunker gear. Nomex head cover tucked under the collar of the bunker gear. Full face respirator. Helmet with integrated visor. Body armor with integral MOLLE. Knee, elbow and shin guards. Nitrile gloves. Tactical gloves. Rubber gloves. Assault pack with hydration unit. Saiga shotgun on friction strap rig. 45 USP in tactical fast-draw holster. 2x.45 USP in chest holsters. 14 Saiga 10 round 12 gauge magazines plus one in the weapon. Nine pistol magazines in holster plus three in weapons. Kukri in waist sheathe. Machete in over shoulder sheathe, right. Halligan tool in over shoulder sheathe, left. Tactical knife in chest sheathe. Tactical knife in waist sheathe. Bowie knife in thigh sheathe. Calf tactical knife x 2. Few clasp knives dangling in various places.

There was the head of a teddy bear peaking out of her assault pack.

“And you’re a grown up. That says you should go. But you’re also not back in shape, it’s been a while since you’ve done a boarding ladder, you’re still in training at zombie killing and I’ve done these things a few times, lately. Just make damned sure the soft part of the boat stays under the ladder. And if I drop in the drink, you’d better get me in fast. Kay?”

“No, but… I guess you’re in charge.”

“Damn straight,” Faith said, clipping the safety line to her waist. “And no paying attention to my butt. Keep your mind on the job.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hooch said.

“Here goes nothing,” Faith said, jumping up and grabbing the ladder.

“Faith, you’ve already got company,” Sophia called from the Endeavor. “One. Male. Decent shape.”

“No worries, mate,” Faith muttered to herself. “I hate heights.”

“Make that, two.”

“Easy. As long as I don’t look down.”

“Four.”

“Six a dollar.

“Five…”

“Target rich environment.”

“More…”

“You have got to be shitting me,” Faith said, keying her radio and whispering. She was nearly to the top of the ladder.

“I think they’re feeding on the ones the Dallas shot.”

“Okay,” Faith said looking up at where the grapnel was connected to the bulwark. She could hear them. “Okay. What’s my back-up plan? Oh…fuck it.” She keyed her iPod and rolled over the bulwark.

* * *

“Oh, shit, no,” Sophia said as Faith clambered the rest of the way up the boarding ladder and rolled over the side of the ship. She could see more zombies moving towards the piles of dead. “No, no, no.”

Faith straightened up and started firing her Saiga to aft. Which was great except for the zombie that appeared from behind cover to her rear and tackled her.

“HOOCH GET UP THERE!” Sophia screamed over the loudhailer. The Marine started to climb the ladder, painfully slowly.

Faith suddenly reared up into sight again, a pistol in her hand and firing into the deck. She stomped once or twice, then turned with her back to the landing ladder and fired one handed to aft, where the zombies were closing and pulled another pistol out and fired forward, turning her head from side to side like she was watching a Wimbledon match. She was missing a lot, but zombies in view were dropping. Unfortunately, not enough and she got dog-piled.

Then she was up again, with a pistol in one hand and a kukri in the other. She slashed down with the kukhri, kicked again, shot a couple more and then went down. Again.

And back up. This time with the Saiga. Got two more. Went down.

Back up, holding a zombie over her head. It had a tactical knife in its eye. The zombie went into the drink. And she went down again.

And up again, Halligan tool in a two handed grip, pounding down. Tackled.

“Okay, this fucking sucks,” Faith panted over the radio. There was a background of constant snarls. “Trying to reload your fucking pistol with a zombie biting your fucking ass fucking sucks… Quit chewing my ass you dummy…”

There was an “open circuit” button on the radios for hands free operation. Sophia realized that had happened to Faith’s radio in the scuffle and her sister didn’t realize that she was broadcasting.

“Careful, careful, Faith, don’t shoot yourself in the ass. That would be embarrassing…” There was a shot. “Dinkum… I’m wearing fucking bunker gear, you dumbfuck.” Two shots. “You cannot bite through it. And that’s my shin pad !” Another shot. “Oooo, I’ll call you melon head. Let go of my arm or I’m going to… Oh, there you are my rugged Nepalese beauty. What were you doing hiding under there? Come to momma… There , I cut off your hand . Happy now? Are you ready ?”