The Living Dead Series (Book 3): Dead Coast (14 page)

The sun burned a hot, glowing orange over the Pacific. In the distance, masses of small figures moved slowly along the beach and streets. Seen through the drifting smoke they could have been locals out enjoying a day at the beach. Debris from smashed boats, docks, and houses floated in and out with the waves. Some of the dead drifted along with the flotsam.

“Before the tsunami there were huge beach houses down there. We had very little warning and most people didn’t get out in time. A lot of the infected get pulled off shore at low tide then come back in with high tide. Not always in the same shape they washed out. Take a look.” She handed the binoculars to Bea.

Bea trained them on the shore. Up and down the coast as far as she could see were smashed houses and jetties. Huge ships lay on their sides, colossal, hulking wrecks. Dark, dorsal fins cut sleekly through the rippling waves, rising and falling almost in unison. Sharks were feeding amongst the corpses.

“Never thought I’d be cheering for the sharks,” Mei said.

They continued up the hill. Behind them the hillside rose only a little higher before it ended in a sheer, rock cliff behind which the hill dropped off precipitously. Daring vandals climbed it in the past to spray-paint obscure graffiti symbols on its weathered face. Ghosts of old messages were still visible when the light hit it from a certain angle.

A natural break in the stone held scrubby bushes that didn’t completely block a view of a construction site below. Gigantic concrete bases held panels of corrugated metal walls arranged to form a barrier behind a scree-covered slope that ascended to a section of cliffs. The site swarmed with workers using heavy-duty equipment to move more of the panels into place. They were obviously building a wall.

Armed sentries patrolled the area. A few infected roamed below the slope, unable to climb it more than a few feet before sliding back down. A shot rang out and brains and bone splattered across the rock and a figure slumped to the ground. Voices shouted angrily and sentries converged on the shooter, taking his gun away.

“No shots unless it’s absolutely necessary, you idiot!” The shooter, head down, climbed a rope ladder back up the slope and disappeared behind a boulder. Another infected, possibly attracted by the gunfire, stumbled in closer where it was dispatched with a crushing blow from the butt of a rifle. The sentry muttered angrily while he cleaned the rifle.

The entire house and grounds were situated much like a medieval fortress, easily defended, but also easily cut-off.

“I love this view, don’t you? I used to drive by this house and imagine what it would be like to live here. I couldn’t have imagined these circumstances though. Let’s go see what the
concierge
can help us with.” Bea and the boys all jumped at the gun shot and the ensuing mess, but noticed that Mei didn’t react at all, as if she were determined not to let it rattle her.

Down more stone steps and across a red, decorative, Japanese bridge they reached a small building almost hidden under a fragrant frangipani tree. The door was ajar so they tapped on it and went inside.

The tiled, single room was cool and dim especially after the heat and glare outside. Wooden crates containing sundry items filled the little space with just a narrow pass-through between them. Mei led them to the back of the room and down shallow steps into another section, this one lit only by flickering oil lanterns. There were more crates as far as they could see.

“A cave?” Bea asked.

“No. Capra’s grandson had all this excavated in the late 1950’s, early 1960’s or so. Originally it was a bomb shelter I think, and they’ve modified it over the years. On the other side of the hill is where he put in-ground fuel tanks. That’s how they’re fueling the helicopters.  Here is where we keep all the food and other supplies.”

They heard footsteps and saw a light bobbing along in the distance, growing closer. A loud, phlegmy cough echoed in the cool dimness and the light illuminated small brown eyes peering at them suspiciously from a bearded, craggy face. He placed the lantern on a crate and cleared his throat.

“Another one? How much room do you think we have here, Mei?”

“As much as it takes, Fitz. This is Beatrice, Brian’s sister, and she came all the way from D.C. just to bother you. Bea, this is Fitz. He is a retired quartermaster and he has no equal when it comes to proper and fair acquisition and distribution.”

He grunted, picked up the lantern and held it in front of Bea. “Six or eight?”

“What?” Bea asked.

“Are you a size six or eight? I’m usually pretty good at guessing, but I’m tired right now so if you’ll just tell me what size clothes you wear I’ll take you to that section. You’ll also get a blanket, and one roll of toilet paper. Don’t waste it.”

“I won’t. Size six. I’ve lost some weight.”

“Most people have over the last few weeks. Follow me.” He said this mournfully as if he were inviting them to view the dead body of a loved one.

Mei left. Bea and the boys followed Fitz through a narrow aisle to a stack of plastic storage bins where he handed her a neatly-folded blanket. She rummaged through a box of clothing, some used, others with the store tags still on them, and pulled out two pairs of jeans, a couple of shirts, tennis shoes, flip flops, and a brand-new swimsuit top she could probably use as a bra. Digging deeper she found the matching bottom, tags still dangling. Good enough.

“I can’t thank you enough, Fitz. I lost everything when my boat capsized.”

“Don’t thank me. I just organize it. People are risking their lives every day to bring this back. Each raiding party has to go a little farther out each time to find swag. Some of this stuff was bought with blood.” He shook his head and his jowls wobbled ponderously.

Bea said quietly, “I know.”

“Good. People don’t understand this camp has an expiration date, and it’s getting closer all the time. Some still think we’re going to be rescued and then everything will get back to normal. Those people are fools. This many people in one place with virtually no sanitation facilities-it’s a ticking time bomb.”

Bea said nothing and turned to go but he stopped her.

“Just a few more questions. Religious affiliation?”

“Uh, Christian I guess.”

“Denomination?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Some people want certain prayers said for them before they die. We have a Catholic priest and one Holy Roller preacher type. Which do you want praying for you if you need it?”

“The priest, I suppose.”

“Fine. Now, about housing. You can either stay in the tent with your brother and Moshe, or you can find a spot on the floor in one of the women’s dormitories. We have almost 70 people here now and space is scarce. Some people say the ground is more comfortable than the tile floors, but I suppose it’s a matter of preference.”

“I’ll think about it.” She wanted out of here. The darkness and the towering mounds of supplies together made her feel claustrophobic.

“Okay, don’t wait too long or the dormitory space may be gone. And don’t forget, all told, typhoid fever and cholera have killed more people than the Z-virus.”

Outside, the heat hit them again, but the brightness was welcome. She followed Brian and Moshe to the tent they occupied on the sloping ground and crawled into the muggy interior.

“It’s better at night because it’s cooler. We usually slide down to the lower section after we fall asleep. It’s not that bad unless it rains. The lower part fills with water then and we both keep waking up wet. But it doesn’t rain that much,” Moshe informed her. “Ian and Virginia’s tent is right next to this one.”

Bea left her blanket and clothes inside and backed out. “It’s got to be close to supper time, right? Where do we go for food?”

Brian led the way to an open breezeway between the main house and the north wing. A capacious pot hung from a beam over a good-sized fire. Sawhorses with planks on top made a long, narrow table. There were no chairs, everyone stood to eat or else sat on the ground.

They joined the line and eventually received a bowl of beef stew and a baked potato. The bowls and plates were of delicate china. Bea looked at the bottom of her plate. Noritake. They certainly dined in style here.

This was her first chance to see the camp assembled as a group. There were more men than women. One of the women wore jeweled rings on every finger and was weighted down with necklaces. She wore heels with denim shorts and clutched her purse tightly when anyone came near. Everyone looked dirty and hungry.

She and the boys took their food up to the highest part of the fence on the steep hillside and sat down. The stew and the potatoes were fairly flavorless, but they ate every bite anyway.

Bea needed to think. Seeing David in that bed, bandaged and vulnerable with Mei touching him aroused a fierce possessiveness that stunned her. How well did they know each other? And why should she care?

That kiss in the shelter was a lifetime ago and she deliberately avoided thinking about it. Now she recalled it in breathtaking detail. She remembered the sweet warmth of it and how amazing she felt-if only for a few moments.

The beat of helicopter blades interrupted her thoughts and she looked up. The chopper hovered for a moment over the rock pool, sending everyone there running. With jerky movements it approached the landing area then the tail rose and the nose tipped forward, wind from the blades scattering the orange cones. The blade then hit earth, throwing up chunks of dirt and sod, bringing the engine to an abrupt halt. The cockpit window shattered and one skid crumpled as the bird tilted to one side.

A helmeted figure staggered from the cockpit, looking over his shoulder and holding his right arm. Blood covered his jacket and he took a few steps then fell and lay still on the dusty ground.

Two women, both wearing grubby-looking white lab coats, stumbled out after him. One was clearly infected; her eyes were dead and dull, but bright-red blood ran down her chin, soaking the front of her shirt. Her left leg dragged behind her, shin bone jutting out through the skin. She fell clumsily to the ground and began to crawl toward the pilot, teeth gnashing.

The other woman was hurt but still in possession of her senses. Clutching her side she ran to the pilot and tried to get him to stand up and run, but he didn’t respond. She stood between him and the infected woman, trying to shield him. Blood ran between the fingers of the hand she held to her side.

Four armed figures ran up to the landing pad and assumed a shooter’s stance. A gunshot rang out. The crawling, infected woman lay still, the back of her head gone. The four stood around the pilot and the other woman. They seemed to be waiting.

A man with two leashed German shepherds dashed up the hillside. The dogs began barking as soon as they drew close to the pilot and the woman standing guard over him. She lowered her head then fell to her knees and began to plead for her life.

“It’s just a little-bitty nip, that’s all. If you’ll just wait, there’s something that might-” she said in a lilting, southern accent. She wrapped her arms protectively around her abdomen and more blood poured down her side. “Please, I need to find my children. There’s no one to take care of them but me. I just want to go home. They said we could all go home after-” Tears ran down her face and she drew a shaky breath and began to plead again.

The dogs pulled back, sat on their haunches and were silent. The group of four closed in and two shots were fired in rapid succession.

Almost everyone turned away. Bea sat back down on the ground, stunned and shaken. Brian looked carefully toward the ocean, away from the three bodies being thrown up and over the fence, left to roll down the cliffs to the streets and to whatever fate scavengers inflicted on them.

“What? We don’t bury them?” Bea asked.

A gruff, British voice spoke behind her. “You want to go out there and dig the graves, love?”

She turned and saw a giant of a man staring stoically down the cliff. “We all die and the dead are blissfully unaware of what happens after.” He turned. “No sense in more dying, I say.”

Bea nodded, a little embarrassed, “You’re right. I still wish...”

“As do I. The apocalypse takes some getting used to. Let’s unload whatever it is they thought was so important they flew it all that way.”

She was bemused by his accent. He had fiery, red hair, vividly blue eyes, and broad shoulders. Muscles in his arms bulged as he pulled himself up into the chopper and began to hand down cargo. Brian seemed to know him already and introduced him as Cam.

There wasn’t much to unload. Styrofoam containers, tightly sealed, took up most of the cargo space. They were cool to the touch and marked with biohazard symbols. An Atlanta, Georgia address was stamped on the bottom of each container.

“Brian, go get Barry or Pam. They’ll let us know where they want these stored. We’d best keep them away from the food supplies,” he said.

Brian returned with Barry, the muscular nurse Bea met earlier in the infirmary. His eyes widened at the sight of the Styrofoam containers. “Looks like the CDC has sent us a special surprise. Follow me.”

He led the way into one of the small cottages and down a short hallway. It was cool here, surrounded by thick, adobe walls. Barry took one of the oil lamps sitting on a small table then they went down a narrow flight of steps to a stout, locked wooden door. He flipped through a set of keys and unlocked the door, lit the oil lamp and beckoned them inside.