John Ringo - Islands of Rage and Hope

Her third shot scored, high and center, on one of the infected and he dropped out of sight.

“Excellent shot, Ensign,” Walker said.

“Thanks,” Sophia said, keeping her eye in the scope.

Walker was firing one-handed, arm extended, his left hand on his hip. It was not a normal firing position but it gave the added advantage of being very flexible. That flexibility had him, at first, chasing the targets. When he realized that wasn’t the best choice, he waited until they came into his target zone, then adjusted minutely.

Head shot.

Now he was getting in the groove….

There were originally seven infected on deck. Sophia and Walker fired nearly simultaneously and the last target dropped.

“Okay,” Olga said. “That was definitely a head shot. But I can’t tell which of you got him. And you were neck and neck up to that point.”

“Walker,” Sophia said.

“Skipper’s,” Walker said.

“From the way the head came apart I think it was both,” Olga said.

“Since the Hole is so interested in ‘Marigold,’ whoever he is, upload this to General Brice’s attention,” Lieutenant Commander Vancel said, watching the screen. “And let’s go find some more prospects.”

“That’s gotta be a both,” Olga said. “Yuck.”

“It was,” Walker said, chuckling. “This is the forty-five going in here on the cheek. The skipper’s five-five-six went into the right eye. I’d say either one was a kill shot. The interesting question is what is in the container.”

The answer was fruit juice in cardboard containers. The infected had managed to rip their way into the pallets and get both liquid and some nourishment. The bodies of a few crew as well as feathers of seabirds indicated there had been other sources of protein.

“I’m glad I’ve got a respirator on,” Walker said. He’d armed up with a 1911 and a pump shotgun and changed into his blue coveralls. But other than that he was just wearing a respirator. Olga was in full combat gear with a balaclava against bites to the neck. “Let’s check out the rest. You lead.”

“You’re such a gentleman,” Olga said.

“I’m a firm believer in female equality,” Thomas said. “After you.”

“I really don’t like this,” Olga said. Belowdecks was dark as a tomb. Also silent as one except for a rattling and banging of metal as the freighter slowly rocked in the swells. Each bang, though, was startling. They were too irregular to predict.

“Does get the blood pumping, don’t it?” Thomas said as they swept through the crew quarters. The area was a mess and the reason was apparent in a naked body, past bloat and long dead. “Don’t think we’re waking him up, no matter how much noise we make. But the body hasn’t been mauled. That would tend to indicate this area is clear.”

“So we can go back, right?” Olga said.

“Mechanical spaces still to go I would think. But you’re in charge.”

“I think the engine room was closed up,” Olga said, sweeping around one of the massive generators. “No crap, no dried blood.”

“And no body,” Walker said. “I would say this is legal salvage and in decent condition.”

“Flotilla, Division Seven,” Sophia said, then looked down to the aft deck at the clearance crew. “You two, get out of your gear and grab a drink. I know how nerve-wracking that can be. Flotilla, Division Seven.”

“Division Seven, Flotilla.”

“Ship is clear. Seven live infected now KIA. One previous KIA in the interior. Mechanical and working spaces in good shape. Diesel engines and onboard fuel. Recommend this one for a salvage team. Geared and loaded with cargo.”

“Will pass that on to Squadron, Division. Any problems?”

“Walk in the park, Flotilla.”

“Okay, let me make this real clear ,” the salvage crew boss said. “This one had better actually be cleared .”

Adam David Saddler had been a master mariner, driving ships like this one, for thirty-five years before the Plague. What he had not been, had no desire to be, was a cop, a soldier or, for that matter, a zombie hunter. He thought anyone who did it for kicks or for pay was an idiot. He’d had to kill one of his crewmates when the poor guy turned on their lifeboat. He was not interested in meeting more.

“Had that problem before?” Sophia asked.

Two off-shore inflatables were filled with a crew from the Grace Tan , ready to, if possible, get the ship underway to join the squadron.

“Yes, we have had that problem before,” the captain said. “And we don’t find it funny. Did you clear the engineering spaces?”

“Yes, we cleared the engineering spaces,” Olga said. “They were closed. We only found one infected belowdecks. It was dead and it hadn’t been chewed on.”

“Don’t suppose you cleared out the bodies,” one of the crew asked.

“No, we didn’t,” Olga said. “That’s what you big…strong…men are for. We just killed them.”

“Need your clearance people to accompany,” the salvage boss said.

“That’s why they’ve got their guns.”

“What are you going to do with the container?” Walker asked.

“If we can get everything running, probably hose it out and close it.” Suzanne Grazier had been a full rate deck hand on a freighter that had been infected. She’d jumped ship with three of her shipmates. One other had survived and they had both been quite happy to see a boat like Sophia’s come along. Especially given the pregnancy. She’d liked both of the guys who had turned but the upside was, she knew who her baby’s daddy was. “It’s not worth trying to undog it and winch it over the side. And I don’t think the stuff’s going to be good anymore.”

There was a slight rumble under their feet and Suzanne grinned.

“Well, that’s one thing working,” he said.

“And we’re away,” Sophia said. The salvage boss had grumpily declared the clearance of the M/V Paul Osted “ good enough” and taken over the ship. “Now we just have to catch back up to my division. Full power, helmsman!”

“Full power, aye,” Olga said, pushing the throttles forward.

“But that way,” Sophia said, pointing to starboard. “You’re headed for, well, Antarctica right now.”

“Details, details…” Olga said.

“…KING OF MIAMI AND THE KINGDOM OF FLORCUBATAMP! ALL SHALL BOW BEFORE MY MAGNIFICENCE…!”

From: Collected Radio Transmissions of The Fall

University of the South Press 2053

“ Bella , Bella , Bella , this is the Finally Friday , over.”

“ Friday, Bella, over,” Olga said in a bored tone.

“Fuel state, three hundred fifty gallons. Water, twenty gallons. Our ROWPU is acting up and the oiler can’t get it fixed so far. Lots of food, lots of booze, not so much on the water and fuel thing. Captain McCartney asked me to add that this is an official ‘we need fuel’ call. Over.”

“Roger,” Olga said. “Will pass that on to the division commander. Bella , out.”

“Anything new?” Sophia said, coming up on the fly bridge.

Azure and silver. She’d been reading quite a bit and on Walker’s suggestion had dug into Hornblower. Part of her gift from Mr. Lawton had been a slew of e-books and they included all of the Horatio Hornblower series. She now knew what a “cutting out expedition” was supposed to be like. And the description of southern seas was accurate as all hell. Perfect blue, perfect silver, perfect days of peace and quiet and not a damned problem in the world except an almost complete lack of people to save and Olga going slowly stir crazy.