The Infected Dead (Book 5): Shelter for Now Page 7

  “The area around the helicopters was crawling with infected.”

  “Military or civilian?” asked the Chief.

  “Why’s that matter?”

  “If they were civilian, it means the military got out with whatever they could. Civilians would have flocked to the base begging for help.”

  “I didn’t see any uniforms,” said Kathy.

  “I hate to say I’m relieved, but it would be nice to know the Air Force got out to a safe zone in a place where the infected wouldn’t survive long.”

  “Is that why you want to hit Columbus?”

  “I want to hit Columbus for several reasons,” said the Chief. “It should be cold enough for us to eliminate the infected in large numbers, but according to Bus, that’s the most likely place to find the President. If he made it, then there would be some command and control. We could contribute by giving the military the locations of the other shelters, and they could populate them with troops the way we did at Fort Sumter.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that list,” said Kathy.

  The Chief was busy bringing the plane around for another pass at the helicopters, but this time they were coming straight at them from the opposite direction. Kathy leaned over to get the video, but this time the Chief saw the infected that seemed to be confined to the area.

  “Was there a fence or barrier at the ends of those streets between the buildings?” he asked.

  “I think so, but Captain Miller’s people should be able to deal with the problem. It didn’t appear to be too many to handle,” she replied.

  “Unless the buildings are full,” he said half to himself.

  “They would be,” said Kathy. “I heard what you said, and I would bet the buildings were full. People who made it to here would have stayed for a while at least, thinking the Air Force would come back for them.”

  “I agree. Besides, they probably didn’t have much choice once they got here. It would have been overrun with the infected in minutes after the military pulled out. Try getting Captain Miller on the radio. He has his intel. Let’s hope his people can handle those Sikorsky’s.”

  ******

  Captain Miller had good news for the Chief when his radio operator received the report. He had at least six men who were trained on helicopters similar to the VH92A. They were all combat veterans from the 1st Air Cavalry who had become separated from their unit on the first day of the infection, and he planned to take all of them along in case he needed backup pilots.

  While the Chief and Kathy were getting the location of the helicopters, Captain Jim Miller was busy with his plans to travel to the Air Force Base. The first order of business was to prepare the USCG Cormorant for the trip, and based on the Chief’s last experience with the Ashley River Bridges, he had to be well under way before low tide.

  The morning had begun before sunrise with a small skirmish on the surface of the shelter at Fort Sumter. His men had attempted to reason with the current occupants of the fort, but they weren’t cooperative. Captain Miller couldn’t help but wonder about a group of survivors that thought they could use force against an armed military unit.

  They had used the hidden loudspeakers to alert the survivors to their presence and offered to discuss giving them permanent safety. In return they only asked that the survivors lay down their arms before the Army would disclose their location.

  The survivors took up defensive positions around the fort and waited. Unknown to them, tear gas charges had been strategically placed around the fort and could be remote detonated. The goal was to take control of the surface, not to kill fellow survivors. However, they did forfeit their one opportunity to be invited into the shelter.

  When the tear gas canisters were detonated, the survivors were forced into the open in an attempt to escape the burning gray clouds. Some of them ran for the docks and took the boats they had tied up near the Cormorant while others tried to stay in the fort. They found themselves running straight into soldiers wearing gas masks who were armed with M4’s.

  They expected to be shot, but instead they were escorted from the fort to their waiting boats. As a parting favor, Captain Miller’s men even warned them not to cross the harbor toward Patriots Point. From what they had seen since the summer, it was occupied by someone who didn’t accept visitors.

  The next chore was to have a crew quickly make the Cormorant seaworthy. Since they had used it the last time it had been lightly coated with radioactive dust and had been inhabited more than once by survivors who thought it was a safe place to stay.

  The cleaning had been done by soldiers in Hazmat suits, and they had the dependable Coast Guard ship ready as the sun appeared on the horizon. Her fuel tanks had been filled, and the soldiers worked as fast as they could to ensure their small raiding party had everything they needed for their trip to the Air Force Base.

  Captain Miller chose to take the same twenty men with him who would go on the mission to Ohio. He wanted them to have some extra time in the field before making the trip, and even though the Charleston Air Force Base wasn’t too far from their starting point, it would be a good idea for the men to remember what they would be facing outside. They had been safe inside Fort Sumter for months, and their senses had been dulled.

  The USCG Cormorant pulled away from the dock on schedule, and Captain Miller told his men in the wheelhouse to get them upriver past the Ashley River Bridge as quickly as possible. They turned the ship in a tight circle and gave it every bit of speed that they could.

  As they passed White Point Gardens and the Coast Guard Base where the Cormorant had originally been stationed, they saw that the city was changing. It didn’t seem to take long for the lack of landscaping to make a city more void of life instead of empty. There were groups of the infected walking through the tall grass, and their attention was drawn to the Cormorant as it churned the water with its powerful engines. The infected walked toward the railing along Murray Blvd. and reached with their arms toward the ship.

  Captain Miller called for one of his best marksmen to report topside with his sniper rifle. It wouldn’t hurt for him to get a little practice while they made their trip up the Ashley River. He passed the word to the soldiers who were keeping a constant watch on the shoreline through binoculars that he wanted the snipers kept informed of potential targets, but to tell him personally if any survivors were spotted.

  The sniper took careful aim with his M24 Sniper Weapon System and started dropping the infected dead with ease despite the swaying of the ship. At first it seemed like the other soldiers were all appreciating the expertise of their friend, but they were more amazed by the sheer number of infected that were lining up along the railing. Some were tall enough to fall over the top rail, and some were short enough to go under it. Regardless of the reason, they were falling into the river in large groups.

  “Where are they all coming from?” asked one of the men.

  “I don’t know,” said Captain Miller, “but from what the Chief told us about how many fell in at the Coast Guard Base there really shouldn’t be this many.”

  One of the men was nicknamed “Preacher” by the others because he could quote scriptures even though he wasn’t shy about killing in combat. Someone asked him if there was a scripture about the dead rising up and trying to bite the living. It wouldn’t have bothered anyone if he had made one of his famous quotes, but he just sat and stared like the rest of them. He had seen things in the Middle East that he never wanted to see again, but the sight of the dead reaching out at them as the ship skimmed past was something that numbed his mind. It was like he kept dreaming but couldn’t wake up. His silence bothered everyone.

  Captain Miller tapped his sniper on the shoulder and asked, “Are you hitting the ones you’re shooting at, or are you just shooting into the crowd?”

  “I’m hitting what I’m shooting at, Captain, but it’s like shooting fish in a barrel.”

  “Save your ammo. We’ll be going under the bridges in a minute
anyway.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE BRIDGES CAME at them fast, or at least that was how it felt to the soldiers. It was the Cormorant that was charging toward the Ashley River Bridges at top speed. As a precaution the soldiers were lined up along the side rails and were ready to rush forward when the helmsman cut the ship’s forward speed. They had sped passed James Island Expressway Bridge as if it wasn’t there. It was so high above them that an infected that was able to hit them would need to be a precision diver.

  The idea was to go under the bridges at low tide with plenty of room to spare, but just in case the clearance wasn’t what they hoped for, putting weight on the bow as they cut their forward speed should cause the ship to dip downward at the right moment. If they did it too soon, the bow would rise higher after the dip, and they would clip the bridge with their mast. If they didn’t do it in time, they were likely to still have enough room, but they didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

  The signal was relayed from the wheelhouse, and the soldiers rushed forward. The sudden decrease in speed added to their momentum as they charged toward the bow, so they were almost out of control, but they had taken the added precaution of tying a safety line from the first man to the last and then to a cleat in the stern. If anyone went over the bow, they would only hang far enough to get wet.

  Captain Miller wanted to preserve radio communications between the Cormorant and the Chief at all costs, so he added one more safety precaution by bringing along a replacement antenna. If they lost their main array, they would just keep going while he had a maintenance crew installing a new antenna.

  The first bridge turned out to be good practice for the second. The tide was low enough that they wouldn’t have needed to put weight on the bow, but then again the first bridge was a higher span than the second.

  There was also a new complication. For a second time the question came up about where all of the infected were coming from. The middle span of the second bridge was crowded, and the sound of the Cormorant’s engines was drawing them to the railing as they approached.

  Captain Miller saw that there were no infected wandering around on the first bridge where he could see them, and the only thing he could figure was that it wasn’t possible to predict their numbers or movements. The world had changed, and it would continue to change.

  “I need at least four snipers up here, like yesterday,” he shouted below.

  His men were good, and he was reminded how good they were by how quickly they arrived. Apparently, they saw what was happening on the second bridge and had already retrieved their M24’s. By the time the Captain had yelled for them, they were on their way.

  They took up their positions along the edge of the top of the wheelhouse so they could use the roof as a steady platform. They sighted in on the infected, and the Captain gave them the order. All four had a target ready, so the shots from the four rifles sounded almost as if they were one shot.

  Four of the infected flew back from the railing and out of sight. None of the snipers waited for a second order, and a second volley of four shots split the air. They weren’t as synchronized this time, but they were just as effective.

  They fired repeatedly for the next few minutes, and the crowd of infected along the railing of the bridge was visibly thinner. All of the shots were to the head, and the infected were punched backward away from the side, so none were going to fall onto the deck of the Cormorant if they were lucky.

  Captain Miller didn’t have to say it, but he was still tempted. He saw the snipers begin searching for specific targets instead of just taking the first available shot. They were only shooting at the infected that were getting closer to the railing.

  A raised concrete edge ran from one side of the bridge to the other, and it was hardly wide enough for a pedestrian to walk on, but the infected would not have been aware of the path. As they walked toward the railing, they were so focused on the ship approaching the bridge that they walked their shins straight into the concrete. The end result was that they would reach out for the living souls on the ship at the same moment that they would collide with the concrete, and since they had no concept of falling, there was no attempt to grab the top rail. Their bodies would simply fall forward and keep falling until they went over the bridge. Captain Miller’s men were determined to keep any from making that fall.

  As they would collide shin first into the concrete and fall forward, a bullet would hit them between the eyes with just enough force to keep them from coming over the railing. Some were punched backward, and some were pushed to the side, but none came over the edge.

  Before they knew it, the Cormorant was passing under the bridge, and just as the Chief had experienced when he had gone under the Ashley River bridges, the infected up above didn’t have a clue that they should cross to the other side. Instead, they started falling over the side the ship had already passed. Without the snipers pushing them back from the railing, they were free to continue their forward motion and go head first toward the water. More than a few began an end over end spin and hit the water at odd angles.

  Captain Miller watched the infected fall for a few moments and then turned back to congratulate his men for doing such a good job. He was surprised to see one of the snipers holding up a score card with 7.5 written on it with a black felt pen.

  The sniper said, “The Romanian judge gave the last high dive a 7.5 because the difficulty factor was low.”

  Captain Miller turned away toward the quarterdeck of the Cormorant and was just about to choke. He wanted to laugh so bad that it hurt, and he was pretty sure the sniper knew it, but everyone else was practically rolling on the deck of the boat.

  Being clear of the first bridges meant they could pour on the speed. They had a couple of miles to go before reaching the next major bridge. The Chief had briefed him about all of the bridges, and he had explained this one would only be a problem if there happened to be a horde on the center span. The bridge was higher than the last two, and the rail was so low that any infected walking on it was likely to fall off on its own.

  The Cormorant rounded the bend in front of the Citadel at full speed and straightened out for a fast run to a much bigger curve before the next bridge.

  Captain Miller had known several Army officers who had graduated from the Citadel, and aside from the Academy at West Point, and Virginia Military Institute, he knew the Citadel to be a school that produced some really fine military men and women. He felt a bit sad wondering if any of them had the sort of luck that had come his way. He hoped so, because he was going to need all the help he could get fighting back at the infected dead.

  When they came out of the big bend in the river they saw that the infected wouldn’t be a problem, but they were surprised to see several smaller boats over at the public pier that ran along the west end of the bridge. The men in the boats all stopped what they were doing and waited, as if they were unsure about what they were seeing.

  After a year of seeing people with guns and infected dead everywhere, the men couldn’t decide if the military ship was a threat or not.

  The spotter in the wheelhouse stuck his head out of the door and got Captain Miller’s attention.

  “Sir, they’re crabbing. Those big wire cages are crab traps.”

  “Thank you, Taylor. Relay word to give them a wide berth and don’t slow down.”

  The men in the boats kept their eyes glued to the Cormorant as she cruised under the bridge and past the pier. One of them held up his middle finger to indicate his displeasure with the wake the Cormorant was about to send their way. Captain Miller hadn’t thought about private boat traffic, so he also didn’t think about the wake. He didn’t want to watch, but he couldn’t help checking to see what damage they had done. The crab traps that had been stacked high in most of the boats had gone overboard, and more than a few of the men were indicating their displeasure.

  Captain Miller thought to himself that they would slow down on the way back if they were still using
the Cormorant, but if all went well, by the end of the day they would be leaving her alongside some railroad tracks upriver.

  It wasn’t hard to recognize their next landmark because of the fire that must have raged for days next to a marina. Bus had told him about how they had found the de Havilland Beaver and several other planes tied up at a pier, and that the place was right next to another pair of bridges. These were lower than the last one, and there was only one place to pass under them.

  A map in the wheelhouse identified the bridge as the William C. Westmoreland Bridge, and there was only one narrow place where they could go through. To their advantage was the fact that after a year, there wasn’t a reason for an infected to be on this pair of bridges. As a matter of fact, there wasn’t much reason for a living person to be on it, either. Both spans of the bridge, one going east and the other going west, were so long and had so few on or off ramps, that there was too much risk involved with crossing it.

  The Cormorant reduced speed and curved over toward the deepest channel that passed under the bridge. They kept watch upward trying to spot movement, but the two bridges were more like auto salvage yards than bridges. Wrecked and rusting cars of all types choked the lanes.

  They were on their final leg of the trip that would allow them to travel on the water in relative safety, and it was only a matter of minutes before they saw the railroad tracks crossing the river ahead. The plan was to anchor the Cormorant near the train tracks and to raft ashore, but as the Chief had said many times, they needed to have a Plan B.

  Captain Miller had always enjoyed discussing strategies with the Chief, especially since the Chief was so experienced, but even more so because the Chief had the confidence to tell an Army Captain what he really thought. If the Chief thought Captain Miller was wrong, he didn’t hesitate to tell him. For that reason, Captain Miller and the Chief agreed that Plan A would end at the railroad tracks across the Ashley River. Plan B would be a direct result of the reconnaissance flight being done by the Chief and Kathy.