Then there were the infected. There were a lot of them and they were active at the moment. But they were scattered. The way the marina was laid out, there were only so many that could, easily, make their way to the boats. One of the yachts was tied up alongside the seawall. The other was butt-in to one of the docks.
She looked up at the sound of an outboard puttering along and wasn’t surprised it was Lieutenant Chen.
“I’m glad you’re here, sir,” Sophia said. She held up her digital camera. “I was taking pictures, but I didn’t know if they were going to make sense.”
“What do you think?” Chen asked.
“I think it’s going to take careful coordination,” Sophia said. “And one of the gunboats. Just in case it drops in the pot. And our best people. We come up to that one that’s butt in. Throw a grapnel on the front rail. Send a team aboard. One of them cuts the ropes, I’d suggest a machete for that, while the other two cover. If the infected react, the gunboats engage outside the boat, port and starboard, and the security team engages inside. Once they’ve cut the ropes, pull it out. Then we find out if it’s going to run.”
“And the big one?” Chen asked.
“Pretty much the same thing, sir,” Sophia said. “Possibly with both gunboats. One inside and one outside. The inflatables will be easy. I’d suggest that we take out the one that’s sternfirst, first. That’s closest to the main entrance and most likely to attract a bunch of infected. The other one, we can cover it pretty good. There’s only one way for them to approach and we can chew them up with the fifties if they come that way.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Chen said. “Rusty and Anarchy, for sure. Who else?”
“Olga,” Sophia said, thumbing at the girl. “With the machete.”
“Oh, you’re going to give me a machete!” Olga said, clapping her hands happily.
“Are the other gunners going to be disciplined enough with Anarchy gone, sir?” Sophia asked.
“I’ll be watching them, Lieutenant,” Chen said. “We’ll use my boat to pull it out.”
* * *
“Okay, the first problem,” Anarchy said, looking up at the bulwarks of the yacht. “How the hell do we get aboard?”
The side of the yacht was well above the level of the inflatable. At least at the front.
“I’ll creep back to the stern,” Paula said, quietly. As one of the people with the most experience driving small boats, she’d been elected to drive the inflatable. She really didn’t like being this close to infected, but she knew she was the best choice.
The sun was well up and most of the infected had gone to ground. They mostly moved at night and around dawn and dusk. But it didn’t mean they weren’t there.
“Hey, boss,” Rusty whispered.
“Yeah,” Anarchy said.
“We get back there, I can boost you and Olga over,” Rusty said. “Then you give me a hand up.”
“Okay,” Anarchy said. “Let’s try to keep this quiet. If we don’t fire at all, I’d be just as happy. I’d like these guys to keep sleeping. Okay, Paula, let’s do it.”
* * *
“You said boost,” Mcgarity muttered as he was more or less hurled over the bulwark. Rusty was a big boy, Mcgarity not so much. And Rusty had gotten back pretty much all his strength, then some, handling the big fifties and their ammo.
The problem being, there was an infected sleeping in the shadow of the superstructure of the yacht. It woke up at the clatter of the arriving infantryman and scrabbled towards him on hands and knees, hissing.
It hit Mcgarity and tried to bite. The security specialist wasn’t wearing full zombie fighting gear and it nearly managed to get his neck. He fended it off and got a hand on its throat just before it let out the standard zombie howl.
Mcgarity drew his side-arm and shoved it into the infected’s stomach, pulling the trigger repeatedly and trying to angle up. Being in contact muffled the sound of the shots. Something must have given because the infected stopped struggling.
It was only when he pushed it off that he realized the infected was a teenage boy, shrunken and emaciated by privation and covered in scars including bite marks.
“Fuck,” Mcgarity said, shaking his head. “Looks like fucking Gollum… ”
He rolled over then reloaded and holstered his 1911, looking around to see if the scuffle had attracted any attention. None immediately apparent.
“Gimme a hand getting this body in the harbor… ”
* * *
Between the two of them and a rope, and Paula pushing on his ass and boots, they managed to get Rusty over the side.
“We gotta figure out a better way to do this,” Anarchy said. “Olga, get the ropes.”
“Okay,” Olga said, drawing her machete.
An infected came down the wharf, on hands and knees, snuffling at the boards of one of the buildings.
“Target,” Rusty said, raising his weapon.
“No,” Anarchy said. “And inside voice. Just be quiet. Olga!” he hissed.
Olga lifted her head and looked at him. She was just about to chop one of the ropes.
He held his finger up to his lips, pointed at the infected, which was no more than thirty yards away, then motioned for her to cut with a knife.
There were six thick lines to cut. Anarchy watched her cutting through one then tapped Rusty and pointed to another.
Rusty pointed at his chest, puzzled, then made a cutting motion.
Anarchy nodded, furiously, and made another cutting motion and pointed at the line.
Rusty made the same cutting motion then held out his hands.
Mcgarity rolled his eyes and pulled out a tactical knife, handing it to him.
Rusty started cutting lines while Mcgarity watched the infected. It finally found what it was looking for and grabbed something. It was a rat. The infected didn’t bother with cleaning. The squeaking rodent went down pretty much whole.
The building was some sort of convenience store. The doors were locked and there were bars on the windows. Even if there had been infected, or noninfected, in there, they were long dead. But the rats could get in and eat. Then the zombies ate the rats.
Zombies could probably survive a long time on rats. And there was going to be lots of food for rats.
Mcgarity suddenly realized that some of the assumptions people were making about zombies running out of food were optimistic. Maybe on ships. Land, not so much.
The infected continued sniffing then looked around, searching for another source of food. It looked at the people on the boat and appeared puzzled for a moment. Then it scurried away around the corner.
“What the fuck?” Mcgarity whispered. He’d been fully prepared to start the party. But the zombie had just run off. They’d pile into a wall of bullets but this one had just run off. “Seriously, what the fuck?”
The last line was cut and he stepped, quietly, to the side and waved for the boat to pull the yacht out of its slot. They bumped a couple of times on the way into the basin but not bad. It was still seaworthy, anyway.
Once it was clear of the slot they tied it off to one of the pilings, away from any other boats, and the engineer from the Wet Debt boarded carrying a toolbag.
“Can you get it running?” Anarchy asked.
“How the hell should I know?” the mechanic said. “I don’t even know if it has fuel.”
“It has fuel,” Olga said. She’d pulled the cap on the tanks and sniffed. Then she looked in. “It’s mostly full.”
“Which means it’s probably got water in it,” the mechanic said, handing her a bottle. “And it will have separated. Pour this in the tank. It might help. I’m going to be at this a while. After I get the door open,” he added, pointing to the hatch.
“I’ve got a hammer,” Rusty said.
“You’ve got a hammer but you don’t got a knife?” Mcgarity snarled. “We need to talk about your priorities!”
“I’ve got a jimmie,” the mechanic said. “If that don’t work, then I maybe need a hammer. I’d rather be able to use the door, you know?”
The mechanic was able to get the door open without too much damage then he waved at the interior.