“Lounge on the Alpha,” Sophia said. “He’s sort of cleared for duty and he wants to do clearance.”
“And I wanted to get out of the Grace,” Rusty said. “I really don’t like being in cabins.”
“Voyage passenger?” Patrick said, wincing. “That explains the skinny.”
“Yeah,” Rusty said.
“We carried a lot of those over,” Paula said, sadly. “We lost a few, too. But, hey, you made it,” she added, brightening up. “And I am nothing if not a good cook.”
“She is,” Patrick said, patting his stomach. “I was pretty thin when they found me, too. But I’ve been putting it on since.”
“I read the whole thing about the rations schedule,” Rusty said, awkwardly. “I’m not sure… One of the reasons that I chose clearance, besides I like guns and I want to kill zombies, is the ‘double ration’ for clearance personnel. I was on a double ration when I could finally hold it down in medical, but… ”
“Don’t sweat it,” Paula said, grinning. “We mostly do small boat clearance. When we find a boat, we pull off the good rations first. So we’ve always got plenty. I don’t really get the rations thing, either. That’s for the big boats.”
“Positive to the big boats,” Sophia said. “They’re bigger and they’re a lot more comfortable in any sort of weather. And we do get weather. Don’t let this flat calm fool you. Downside, there’s a lot more rules. Have to be. Most people who’ve survived are pretty sensible. You had to be to make it. Some real idiots made it, though. Usually being carried by sensible people. But they made it. People who fill up their plates with food then just sort of look at it. Food that people like us transferred from one boat to another in a storm after somebody had gone into the shit and killed zombies, so they could just look at it? Don’t think so. So they’ve got the ration schedule. You get a big plate of food then just look at it, Rusty?”
“Ma’am, I get a plate of food, I chow it all down,” Rusty said. “Now, I tend to take my time these days and savor every bite. But I don’t let none go to waste if I’ve got the time to eat it all.”
“Do we have orders?” Patrick asked.
“Once we get the bigger boat, we’re supposed to move out of this area and start another search grid down in the area of the Canaries,” Sophia said.
“The birds?” Rusty said. “Sorry, I… ”
“Canary Islands,” Sophia said, pointing to the islands on a map of the Atlantic on the wall. “We’ll be working with the Large and we’ll have to scrounge for fuel and supplies. PO Kuzma will be in charge of the overall operation. He’s a nice guy and he’s getting used to working with us civilians but he can be sort of a stickler for safety. Which I guess is cool. We’ll be working in the Equatorial Current which means some tropicals, still. But just where they’re working up to a real storm. We’re not going to move into the rest of the tropical zone until we’re past hurricane season. Until the… No Tan Lines… ” Sophia hung her head knowing what was coming.
“No Tan Lines?” Paula said, snorting. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Sophia said. “I’m going to talk to Burnell about painting a new name on it. But until we get it, we’re to provide ‘logistics support’ to the recovery effort on the Iwo. Read, pick up any survivors and carry over ammo for my little sister to burn through… ”
* * *
“Finding the way back hoooome…!” Faith sang, dropping a mag to the deck and reloading with practiced speed.
Faith had a perfect soprano voice which was barely audible over the continuous fire. Because half the time zombies appeared out of nowhere and hearing was the best protection, she couldn’t listen to her iPod all the time. But in situations like this, when they’d opened up a hatch where they knew there were infecteds on the other side and had set up a kill zone, she’d hit her “blow them all to hell” playlist.
Currently it was Nightwish’s “Last Ride of the Day” and she was screaming the words over the torrent of fire.
The hatch in question had been from the interior of the ship to the port catwalk of the well deck. The “big hole” in the back of the ship extended forward nearly to the forecastle and held a plethora of, unfortunately useless, hover craft. Having cleared the well deck, they had to gain entry to the ship. So Hooch had popped the hatch he remembered as heading most quickly to the hangar deck, the next major area to clear, and had then more or less flipped off the catwalk to avoid the tidal wave of zombies. They had gone right past him since he was at this point hanging under the catwalk.
Steve had taken a position on one of the hover craft in the well to take the zombies under fire as they passed. Unless, as some of them did, they jumped off the catwalk to come after him.
Fontana and Faith had taken the catwalk. And Faith was burning through magazines in two and three round bursts so fast it was like watching a human machine gun. The value of the 5.56 was finally coming into play. 5.56 might not kill very well but it went through body armor like nobody’s business. And about half of the infected had managed to strip off their trousers before turning but hadn’t managed the same with their body armor.
“Wake up, Dead Boy, Enter adventure land,” Faith caroled as Fontana tapped her shoulder. Despite the torrent of fire, the infecteds were closing. Kevlar was like that.
Faith stepped back, dropping another magazine, and continued singing without a pause.
“IT’S HARD TO LIGHT A CANDLE, EASY TO CURSE THE DARK INSTEAD,” she screamed the chorus, still in tune, reloading again. “THIS MOMENT THE DAWN OF HUMANITY. THE LAST RIDE OF THE DAY!”
The infected were getting close enough, about half the time she was double tapping one to the chest, one to the head. And she was getting at least eight out of ten head shots.
“She really gets into this,” Fontana yelled.
Steve just stuck his thumb up, double tapping a zombie trying to climb up the side of the landing craft.
The infecteds on the catwalk were clear and Faith ducked behind Fontana to shoot the last few that were attempting to get to her father. She popped nine rounds in a rhythmic pattern, dropped her magazine and held the empty weapon over her head.
“Yes,” she shouted. “Last one down right at the end of the song on the last ROUND, headshot through a helmet! That is AWESOME!”
“One just came out of the hatch,” Fontana said, pointing.
“Oh… ” she snarled, reloading. “Oh, that’s just… Upstager! Moment ruiner!”
“I got it,” Fontana said, putting one in the chest and one in the head.
“Can somebody get me down?” Hooch asked.
* * *
“Okay, Hooch, how the hell did you lose this thing?” Faith asked, stepping over body after body. They were all well decomposed, most of them were infecteds, judging by the lack of clothing, and they were all shot to hell. “You guys put up one hell of a fight.”
“We’re Marines, Shewolf,” Hocieniec said. “It’s sort of what we do. But when half the guys in your squad turn on you… It’s sort of hard to hold a position. Any position.”
“And, Faith, note the lack of ricochet marks?” Fontana pointed out.
“Only Imperial Storm Troopers are this precise,” Steve intoned.
“Tell that to Princess Leia!” Faith said. “Stormtroopers can’t hit the broad side of a barn!”
“You got any idea how hard it is to find your way around the Death Star!” Hocieniec said. “It’s the size of a moon. I was on the Death Star for four years and I never did find the cantina on level Sixty-Nine! They were being herded!”