A New World: Untold Stories (24 page)

How could the situation have deteriorated so quickly?

I opened my email hoping to see something from my wife or kids. There was nothing from them. However, there was an email from Max. I opened it:

Hey Bro, the shit has hit the fan! I tried calling and texting you but you must still be in the air. Got my rental car and went back into the terminal to wait for Lisa. She wanted to surprise you, so I didn’t tell you she was coming in a couple of hours after me. She texted me when she landed and told me to pick her up outside baggage claim area. So I got the car and parked in the airport cell phone lot waiting for her call. She called a few minutes later in a panic saying that the military was holding them in the baggage claim area and wouldn’t let them leave! I beat feet to the loading zone outside and there were several Bradley’s there. You know, the troop carriers, so I kept going and turned into the long term parking lot. I stayed on the phone with Lisa and she was starting to lose it. I told her to hold it together and that I would get her out of there. I am heading in now. I’ll let you know more later! Max.

I shot a quick reply to him hoping that he might see it,
Max, meet me at Sarah’s house if you can!

Our niece Sarah lived in Seattle. I was pretty sure I was going to end up back on the mainland where currents in the area would more than likely beach the drifting ferry. I wasn’t sure if Max had made it to the island but I doubted it. Sarah’s was the only place that made sense right then.

His email had been sent at six o’clock. Lisa was Max’s step daughter from his second marriage. She considered him to be her Dad and was one hundred percent his daughter. I continued to berate myself for my stupidity in not checking my phone earlier. I guess I was just so caught up in getting where I was going and not missing the last ferry that I simply forgot to switch it back on. Apparently, my decision to not check a bag had saved me from being held at the airport.

Slipping out of an unguarded exit, I had escaped the airport by sheer luck. I browsed to Facebook while noticing that I didn’t hear anything outside of my closet door. While Facebook was no longer the be all and end all with the younger generations, it was still my “go to” place to find out what was going on with the family. I hated using the app on my iPhone. It was too small to really give me the experience I was used to on my laptop, but the laptop was in the trunk of my car and I didn’t plan on heading anywhere until I figured out what was going on.

There were no posts from my wife or our kids. That in itself was not unusual. As I said, the kids didn’t “hang out” on Facebook much anymore and the wife never really did. There were posts from several other of my family on the west coast though. My heart caught in my throat, my pulse raced, and my eyes blurred. My niece Carla had married my best friend Jacob from high school. He and I had joined the Coast Guard together and right there in front of me was a post from Carla saying he had gotten sick yesterday and died last night. She apologized for posting it but she said she just couldn’t get through to anyone on the phone. The fact that Jake was gone was like a cold anvil lying on my chest. I closed the app and went to a search engine. I had to find out more about what was happening.

Article after article told of the devastation that the Cape Town Flu was wreaking on the world. A story from early yesterday morning said that the vaccination the CDC had sent out all over the world was being recalled. It was apparently what was causing some people to become violent and attack anyone around them.

My God! How many people had rushed to their doctors and clinics to get that damn vaccination?

The government had actually made sure that all doctors, nurses, paramedics, and servicemen were the first ones to get it.

Shit oh dear! Leave it to the government to make a pandemic into an epic horror movie.

The nut jobs outside my closet were apparently people that had received the vaccination and now were some kind of freaks that ate people’s faces off and gorged on their intestines.

Max closed his email and unplugged the air card from his laptop. He sat for a minute trying to come up with a plan to get Lisa out of quarantine. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to break her out, the only other option was to do what he did best. He would have to bluff and bullshit his way through. Max had ‘the gift’ as his brother called it. With it, he had gained entrance into places and parties where they had no right to be and over the years it had become a running joke. Of course, it didn’t always go his way as his time spent in a Mexican jail would attest to.

Max drove out of the parking lot and squealed to a stop in front of the Bradleys. Exiting the Land Rover he rented the day prior, he put on his angry face. He eyeballed the guy that appeared to be in charge and marched straight towards him. When he was about ten feet away, he could see the subdued rank of Colonel velcroed to the front of the man’s uniform.

 
“Listen you fucking idiot. You’ve got the goddamn Attorney General’s daughter in there! You might survive this Flu but your ass is going to be dead meat if you don’t get her out here immediately!” Max stated.

The Colonel looked up from a clipboard in his hand and took in the picture of Max in all his outraged glory. He didn’t bat an eyelash. He removed his Colt M1911 .45 from its holster and pointed it right at Max’s forehead. Max halted in his tracks, held up his hands, and started apologizing before the Colonel had even cleared leather.

“Sir, I’m sorry as hell. I lost my cool! I’m the Attorney General’s brother-in-law and was supposed to pick up his daughter. My sister will kill me if I don’t get her home in one piece!”

“Son, I don’t care if you are the Pope’s daddy! No one is leaving the quarantine area until I get word from the Governor,” the colonel said, slowly lowering his handgun.

Max patted his pockets like he was trying to find his cell phone, acting as if he had left it in the Rover. He held up a finger and turned to go back. He made it a couple of steps before the Colonel fired a round off into the air. Max threw his hands in the air again and asked the Colonel not to shoot him, his voice several octaves higher than before.

Turning, Max observed the reaction of the soldiers with the colonel. To a person, they had their weapons aimed at Max, their expression tense and fingers caressing the triggers. Two of them were in mid-run and tackled Max, slamming him to the ground. Wrenching his hands behind his back, they proceeded to slap zip-ties on his wrists and ankles.

The Colonel walked over politely stated, “You do know that I have the right to shoot anyone that doesn’t comply with my orders, son.”

“Uuuhhhh…sir I uuuhhhh,” Max stammered his reply.

The colonel ordered his men to cut the ties on his ankles and to stand him up. The colonel approached to within inches of Max’s nose.

“If I were you, I would get back in that fancy SUV and depart the area before I decide to use my discretion and kill your dumb ass!”

After hanging up with Max, Lisa looked out of the large-paned windows in the front of the building. Knowing her dad, and knowing how he thought, she immediately scanned the room for a way out. She could see her dad showing up in an ambulance, a SWAT van, or something equally as outrageous in an attempt to free her with some kind of story. While her confidence in him was high, it was also realistic. She remembered the stories her uncle Ryan always told about him and his antics. No matter what the story was, they all had the same ending. The success rate of his schemes was notoriously low.

“You can’t steal a base if you‘re afraid to try!” her dad would say.

The meaning of that saying was, as he would go on to explain, that Ty Cobb held the record for stolen bases for many years not because he was fast, but because he was willing to try.

“Do you know who Brady Anderson is? No? Exactly. Brady Anderson has the highest percentage of stolen bases ever, but nobody knows who he is because he only stole a base when he was ninety-nine percent sure he would make it,” he would continue.

With that in mind, she casually walked to the baggage conveyor and sat down next to the luggage chute. Keeping her attention focused outside, she wasn’t surprised when, several minutes later, a black Land Rover squealed to a stop in front of the building and out jumped her dad. She watched as he started yelling at the guy in charge and making a scene. She couldn’t hear what was being said but it was apparent he was trying one of his schemes. Everyone in the quarantine area watched the display out front, including the young Guardsmen that were supposed to be watching the detainees. With everyone’s attention on her dad, she eased onto the carousel and positioned herself right below the conveyor belt, and waited.

BANG!
A shot went off. She jumped to her feet to get a better view, fearing that her dad had gone too far and had been shot. She was relieved to see him still standing and apparently unharmed. Taking two steps back, she disappeared down the conveyor belt and out of view. She huddled at the bottom of the conveyor, listening for the yells that would indicate her escape attempt was known.

The Wi-Fi dropped.
“Fricken Great! Now I’m in the dark, both literally and figuratively”

I turned off my phone to save the battery life still remaining, which hovered around thirty percent. There was no use having it on without a signal or connection. I hadn’t heard anything outside of the closet for about an hour. Did I mention that I have a problem with claustrophobia?

I had to get out of this damn storeroom and get to the car. I carried a few survival items in my laptop backpack and my knife was still stowed in there as well. I was surprised when I opened the pack earlier and saw it in there. I had completely forgotten it was there when I packed and headed to the airport.

So much for TSA and their thoroughness with finding weapons
.

The survival knife was a small folding job with an LED flashlight, a whistle, and a fire starter all built into it. Thinking that I should probably find some kind of weapon before I tried the door, I found the light switch and flipped it…nothing. I guess the power was gone. That would answer why the Wi-Fi dropped. I fumbled around the closet, feeling for something, anything, to use as a weapon. With a shake of my head and feeling a little stupid, I pulled out the phone back and turned it back on. Using it as a flashlight, I examined the interior of my hideout. I had been sitting on the edge of the janitors sink this entire time. Across from me there was a metal cabinet. I opened it, thankful that it didn’t squeak on its hinges. Inside was a bunch of toilet paper on the top shelf.

At least I won’t die with a stinky ass!
I stifled a laugh that threatened to spill out.

On the second shelf there were a few things that might come in handy. Duct tape, a hammer, and a couple of screwdrivers. The rest of the shelves were full of cleaning supplies. Staring at the items, I wished that I had my bug-out bag.

Here I am. All this prep for an eventuality like this, and it’s thousands of miles away
, I thought, shaking my head at the irony.

I had a book in it that had the instructions for making a bomb out of everyday household cleaners. I had no clue how to make one without some guidance.

My dad’s voice echoed in my head, “
If wishes were fishes, no one would go hungry!”

“Yeah, thanks dad.”

I took a closer look at the cleaning supplies. On the bottom shelf was a bottle of bleach. I grabbed it and it felt about half full. What can I say? I’m a half full not half empty kind of person. While I didn’t see an immediate use for it, it can be used to purify water. I had been drinking from the sink in little sips throughout the night, but now the faucets would only give a dribble – another sign that the ferry’s power plant was offline. My search of the closet turned up only one other item of use, a mop. While I was not about to swab the decks with it, the handle was made of thick wood with a rubber coating for a grip. I needed to break it, but hesitated to make that much noise. Weighing the pros and cons, I decided to risk it. I put it on the floor and propped the mop end up on the bottom shelf of the cabinet. I wanted it to break toward the end; I took a deep breath and put my weight on it.

CRACK!
I held my breath, listening for any sign that I had disturbed the freaks.
Nothing, that’s good.

Turning off my phone, I returned it in my pocket. I was now armed with a four-foot spear in my hands, a hammer wedged in my belt, and a couple of screwdrivers in my back pocket. I couldn’t figure a way to carry the bleach so I placed it back on the shelf. The duct tape went into my North Face windbreaker. I was missing my 9mm and my dad’s voice threatened to invade my head again. I found the door handle and suddenly had the urge to relieve myself. Fortunately, I found the mop bucket.

That will lessen the chances that I will pee myself when one of those freaks jumps out at me from the dark… Okay, here goes nothing.

As quietly as possible, I opened the door a crack. A stench assaulted my nose.

Oh Jeez, the smell is a mixture of crap and carrion!

The door opened outward so I couldn’t immediately see very much of the interior. The main lighting was gone but the emergency battery-operated lights bathed the area in a pool of lukewarm half-light. In reality, it was better than it had been when I went into the closet. It wasn’t bright but I could still see fairly well. My heart was pounding as I nervously glanced around, expecting to be attacked at any moment. Nothing happened. I opened the door a few more inches and listened intently for any sign of the freaks.

The fact that I didn’t hear anything was just about as bad as hearing something, anything…I stood for what seemed like an hour, although I’m sure it was probably more like ten minutes. In all of the zombie books I had read, this was the part where the zombies would grab the door, wrench if from the person’s grip, and proceed to make him into an unhappy meal. My pulse climbed to about one eighty. Beads of sweat ran down my brow and I had to remind myself to breathe.

Zombies? When had I started to think of them as Zombies?

I eased out of the door and stood still.

These things are not like any Zombies I’ve ever seen or read about. Focus dammit or you’ll most certainly not get a chance to reclassify the thing that eats you!

I was startled to see the remains of the woman that I originally tried to rescue. She was definitely no longer overweight. Lying in a wide pool of drying blood, there were only shreds of flesh clinging to her arms, face and ribcage. Thankfully the rest of her was hidden by a row of seats. I felt bile rising in my throat and it was all I could do not to heave the remains of my dinner all over the place. After another hour — ten actual minutes — I decided that standing wasn’t going to accomplish much. Forcing my legs to move, I sidled down the wall one slow step at a time. Every brush of my clothing, every crack of my joints, sounded like a rock concert. The stairwell was about five feet away. In order to get to the car, I would have to go around the end of the wall and then head back down the steps toward the front of the ferry.

Although my car was on the main level, it was toward the stern. The only reason I chose this stairway to come up last night was because I had spotted a military Humvee on the same deck toward the bow and wanted to check it out. When I had walked up to the Humvee, I saw a couple of guys in fatigues slumped over sleeping in the front seats. I decided I would be better off not bothering them.

I laughingly thought at the time,
They probably have my picture broadcast online as the one guy that got away at SeaTac
.

The five feet to the stairs seemed like a mile. My panting breath and sweat trickling down my sides made it feel like I sprinted that distance by the time I made it to the stairwell entrance. I slowly worked my way down to the main deck, listening for any sounds. There was nothing but the creaking of the ferry riding on the swells. Descending, I felt the rolling of the vessel.

I have to come up with a better name for these things. Zombies won’t do. Hmmm…Oh for Pete’s sake man, FOCUS!”

I could feel the terror building. It was a fear that went down to my very bones. Stairwells are creepy enough, but with what I had observed, and with the total hush now prevalent, the one I was descending took on a sinister aspect. The swinging doors at the bottom of the stairs were like a mental brick wall. I couldn’t force myself to go through them.

I could hear everyone in the theater shouting at me, “No! Don’t go out there!”

Standing in the darkened stairwell, the faint green light from the exit sign above me barely illuminating the door, I steeled myself and cracked the right side door open an inch. The lighting on the other side was no better, no worse. Moonlight shone through the sides, bathing everything in silver and deep shadow. Other than the moon beams, a few emergency lights cast pools of light in places. Staring through the crack, I pictured a freak behind every car.

C'mon Ryan! Are you a man or a mouse?

Taking a deep breath, I crept through the door and scanned the area. I thought of the two National Guard guys in the Humvee. I slowly worked my way to the aisle of cars. WHUMP!

My heart jumped clean out of my chest and I damn near screamed. If it wasn’t for the sharp intake of breath that I held, I would have. I whipped the mop handle around, hitting the car next to me. Inside, one of the freaks was smashing into the window trying to get at me. Its shriek was muffled inside the Cadillac sedan. Even though I relieved myself earlier, I still felt a small trickle of warmth run down my leg.

So much for preventative measures
, I thought, staring at the pale face, its hands hammering at the glass.

I turned and ran toward the Humvee, hoping that the guys there could help me. Two steps past the Caddy another freak emerged from between the cars ahead. I didn’t think. I didn’t slow down. I kept running and held my makeshift spear out in front of me. The freak launched through the air, letting out a loud and unworldly shriek. My shoulders jarred with the impact of my spear hitting it at the base of its neck. The shriek ended with a gurgle. A shower of hot blood splashed across my face and drenched my jacket. I let go of the spear and did my best fullback impression. Tucking my shoulder down to my knee, I knocked the airborne freak ass over tea kettle and continued running toward the bow.

Ahead on the right was a bulkhead door. It had a wheel in the middle to lock it down for a watertight seal. I slid to a stop in front of the door and grabbed the wheel. Quickly spinning it, I soon realized that it had already been unlocked and that I had just engaged the mechanism. I glanced up just in time to see another freak bearing down on me from the other direction. As it ran through a pool of light, I saw that it was wearing fatigues.

Oh great, I bet this one knows judo.

Frantically, I reached for the hammer in my belt. I just cleared it when I was jarred from the impact. Falling backward, I twisted. We rolled and I ended up on top. Breaking my hand free from the freak’s clawing, I swung down as hard as I could. It sounded and felt like I had just burst a watermelon like Gallagher. The struggling figure went limp.

Breathing heavily, I rose quickly and stepped back to the hatch. I released the mechanism and stepped through, slamming it shut behind me and spinning the wheel.

A sudden, panicked thought coursed through my mind,
Did I just lock myself into a room full of these things?

I
spun around and raised the hammer. Nothing. I slumped to the floor on a big coil of rope.
I was in the forward line locker where they kept the lines used for tying up the ferry when it was docked.