Rotter World: Rotter Nation Part 9

"So the locals just abandoned this town?"

"Not a soul in sight when we arrived, although as best as I can tell there were only a few people living here to begin with. That's why we set up camp around the church. The steeple gives us a good vantage point to survey the surrounding area. Over time, we commandeered a few solar-powered generators to keep the meat we hunt frozen."

"And keep the beer cold," said DeWitt, holding up his bottle.

Simmons smiled. "We live here in the pastor's house, and keep a get-away vehicle hidden off the road half a mile to the north. So far, no one has noticed us."

Jennifer sat forward and leaned her arms on the table. "How did you wind up here?"

"When we left Boston," started Simmons, "we headed north-"

"I mean, what's your story? What made you guys abandon the city to take up residence in a pastor's house in the middle of nowhere."

Simmons went silent and averted his eyes from his guests. Wayans glanced over at his buddy and then the others. He spoke in a low, deep tone tinged with an anger and disgust that seemed menacing.

"Lady, we left the world behind when it went to friggin' h.e.l.l."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

Everyone stared at Wayans. He took a deep breath, held it for ten seconds, and exhaled. Although his anger dissipated, the disgust still remained.

"Simmons and I made up the Boston Police sniper team and were on duty when those friggin' things... what did you call them, rotters? ... started coming back from the dead. The mayor was friggin' useless. The first day of the outbreak, when they brought the first bite victims into Ma.s.s General, he went on television and ranted about the gun culture and violent video games causing people to attack each other. It took him two days to figure out this wasn't a bunch of friggin' druggies strung out on bath salts, but a real pandemic. By then the outbreak had spread all over the city. Downtown became a killing zone, and in places like Southie and Roxbury, people took matters into their own hands. They couldn't hold it back. By the end of the third day, everyone not already dead was making an exodus out of the city.

"For some friggin' reason, the mayor took it upon himself to contain the outbreak. There were already reports of infections as far north as Beverly and as far south as Fall River. He closed down the Callahan and Sumner Tunnels and set up roadblocks on the roads out of the city, checking everyone for bite marks before letting them pa.s.s. One was set up in the center of the Tobin Bridge. We were a.s.signed to the Chelsea end, and set ourselves up in one of them three families alongside the bridge. We had orders to shoot anyone who jumped the roadblock and tried to escape. Only one attempt occurred, some guy with a wife and three kids. Can't say I blame him. I wouldn't want to be trapped in a city being overrun by the dead just because some friggin' politician is looking out for his political future. But orders are orders. So we blew out the tires and immobilized his car, and then held him at gunpoint until the cops came for him and brought him back to the roadblock. After that, no one made a run for it. Talk about a friggin' c.r.a.ppy a.s.signment. It beat manning the roadblocks though. We were in constant radio contact with the guys on the bridge, and every time they called in you could hear screaming, arguing, crying. A friggin' madhouse.

"About two hours into our s.h.i.+ft, all h.e.l.l broke loose. Not sure exactly what happened. As far as I can tell someone must have either turned at the roadblock, or the dead finally reached them. Whatever happened, everyone broke and ran, a couple of thousand people swarming across the bridge hoping to get to safety. We didn't know what to do and then... then...." Wayans paused, fighting back his emotions. "Someone blew up the friggin' bridge. The charges were rigged to detach the two center spans. They collapsed onto each other and pancaked into the Mystic River. I don't know what bothered me more; listening to the cries of help of all those dropped into the river, or the terrified screams of those still trapped on the southern span of the bridge being overrun by the dead."

Jennifer placed a hand over her mouth. "Oh, my G.o.d."

"G.o.d had nothing to do with it, lady."

"The mayor ordered the bridge destroyed with all those people on it?" asked Robson.

Wayans shrugged. "The mayor, or someone who took his orders too seriously. It doesn't friggin' matter. Thousands died on that bridge. Plus we heard explosions throughout the city. Not sure where they came from. From what I could tell from the smoke, they also detonated the Sumner and Callahan Tunnels as well as the underground expressway. Few people made it out of Boston alive."

"What'd you do?" asked Jennifer.

"Nothing we could do. We got the friggin' h.e.l.l out of there as fast as possible. We made it as far as Revere before the highway became impa.s.sable. We took the back roads until we found a Harley shop, confiscated a few bikes, and headed north."

"And that's when you found this place," said Robson.

"Yeah. Friggin' paradise."

Wayans went silent, so Simmons took up the conversation. "It actually took us a few weeks to find this place. By that time, I had a bad case of the flu, so we crashed here for a week until I got better. Once we realized how secure it was, we decided to stay permanently. We've been here almost seven months."

"No one else ever came by?" asked DeWitt.

"They did, but we never reached out to them. Most were either trouble or stupid, and we didn't want to be holding their hand." Simmons slapped a hand against Wayans' arm. "Remember that moron who came by here a few weeks ago?"

Wayans chuckled. "The jerk was driving a Toyota Corolla, not the best vehicle for surviving the zombie apocalypse. He left his wife and kid sitting in the car while he walks into the general store like everything was normal. Don't know how that friggin' guy lasted so long."

"What made you want to reach out to us?" asked Robson.

"We didn't," Wayans sneered.

Simmons cast his friend a disapproving glance. "I saw you when you rolled into town, and you looked like you knew what you were doing. I figured you were safe. Besides, we've been cut off for so long, I hoped to get some news about the outside world and find out your story."

Robson spent the next hour relating the details of Fort McClary and how their lives fell apart with the arrival of Dr. Compton, his claim to have a vaccine for the Zombie Virus, the disastrous journey down to Site R, and what they found upon returning to the fort. He concluded with their recent escapade in Portland.

When he finished, Wayans stared at him. He pointed to Dravko and Tibor. "You mean those two are friggin' vampires?"

Tibor leaned forward and smiled, baring his fangs.

Wayans shook his head. "Friggin' unbelievable."

"You don't seem surprised," Robson said to Simmons.

"Are you serious? If you told me a year ago I'd be hiding out in a church avoiding the zombie apocalypse, I would have locked you up. The existence of vampires seems blase now." Simmons glanced over at Dravko. "No offense."

The vampire nodded. "None taken."

"What now?" Simmons asked.

"We're just going to rest up here a few days and scope out the rape gang's hideout, and then we'll get Windows back and be gone."

"Is that the gang who took over the old storage facility down off of 28?"

Robson nodded.

"Do you need help?" asked Simmons.

"You don't have to do this," answered Robson.

"Yeah, man." Wayans looked confused. "Why do you want to get involved?"

"Because I'm tired of just sitting around here," said Simmons. "This is the same gang that destroyed Locke Lake five months ago, and we did nothing."

"We couldn't help them. There are only the two of us. You friggin' want to blow this deal to get involved in a fight that's not ours?"

"Yes. We used to protect people. If these guys have the b.a.l.l.s to take on the rape gang to save one of their own, I want to help them."

"Why?" Wayans nearly spat the word.

"Because I'd rather die on my feet than live on my knees."

Wayans huffed and crossed his arms across his ma.s.sive chest.

"That is," Simmons directed to Robson, "if you want our help?"

Robson smiled. "h.e.l.l, yes."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

Natalie checked her watch for the tenth time that hour. It read six minutes before eight AM.

Good. Only a few minutes left until s.h.i.+ft change.

She glanced over at the others. Tiara was napping on one of the seats. Sandy sat in front of the radar, her head drooping until any sudden motion woke her up. Sandy had been doing this every few minutes for the past hour. Normally, Natalie would chastise her for falling asleep at her post, especially since a dense fog had rolled in a few hours earlier, cutting visibility to less than a hundred feet. She would probably be dozing off herself if she wasn't so wound up. Not that she had a reason to be. Other than flotsam near some of the larger port cities and the occasional stray small boat, they had not run into anything significant since Boston. As far as she could tell, they were the only ones around for hundreds of miles.

Having three people on duty to run the yacht during each eight-hour s.h.i.+ft might have been superfluous; however, it kept the Angels occupied, which she considered important right now. They had spent the entire previous day cruising down the coast, every city or town they came across ravaged and swarming with rotters. Nowhere did they see any signs of survivors. By late afternoon, the Angels had become morose, so Natalie ordered Josephine to take the yacht twenty miles off sh.o.r.e where they couldn't witness the endless destruction and devastation. She then set up the three-team s.h.i.+fts so they wouldn't just sit around growing more depressed. With luck, it would keep up their spirits for the rest of the trip.

If her own emotions served as an example, it would fail miserably.

Natalie sighed. She had not been this miserable since the first weeks of the outbreak. She missed Robson. Ever since his team had picked her up outside of York Beach in southern Maine and brought her back to Fort McClary, the two of them had been together. She had even fallen in love with him, and they had consummated their relations.h.i.+p at Site R. At that time, everything had seemed so promising. They had become lovers, had defeated Compton's plan to kill them all, and had brought samples of the Zombie Vaccine to Fort McClary to forward it to the government-in-exile in Omaha. That's when everything fell apart. Now she sat on a yacht heading for Omaha while Robson went on a suicide mission to save Windows from the rape gang.

G.o.d, she missed him. It went beyond a physical attraction, though that was a major part of it. She missed the little things. The way he'd smile at her from across the compound. The way he laughed. The way he used to make hand contact with her, which appeared innocent enough even though it harbored deeper feelings. He had been a major part of her life for these past seven months, one of those constants in her day-to-day existence, and one of the few things that gave her focus. Now he was gone. Not dead, although he might as well be. Even if he and the others survived the raid on the compound, the chances of the two of them ever seeing each other again were minimal.

The sound of approaching footsteps jarred Natalie out of her self-pity. Emily, Ari, and Bethany ascended the ladder to the flying bridge.

"Morning, honey." Emily slid up beside Natalie. "Anything exciting happen last night?"

"Thank G.o.d, no."

"You didn't run into any zombie sharks?"

"No!" Natalie had never considered the possibility that the Zombie Virus could species jump, and didn't want to start thinking about that now.

"Just teasing." Emily gave her a hug around the shoulders. "What's our location?"

"My best guess is we're somewhere off the Outer Banks of North Carolina. I can't tell for certain." Natalie pointed to the state-of-the-art GPS chart plotter. "The GPS is acting funny."

"That's not surprising. GPS satellites require ground control station updates to maintain coverage. Without that guidance, readings become inaccurate and many areas will suffer from low confidence. We're making good time." Emily examined the navigation charts. "How's Doug running?"

Natalie furrowed her eyebrows. "Who's Doug?"

"That's what I call our yacht."

"Why Doug?"

"I named it after an old boyfriend who treated me like s.h.i.+t in college. Like him, I'm going to use it to my advantage, run it into the ground, and then leave it when I'm done." Emily flashed a conspiratorial smile. "Never screw over Southern women."

Natalie chuckled. It had been a long time since she found humor in anything. She gave Emily a mock salute. "The bridge is yours, Captain."

Emily slid behind the wheel. "Aye, matey." The pirate accent mixed with a Southern drawl didn't sound right.

Ari replaced Sandy at the radar. Ari checked the screen when she called out, "We have a contact at bearing 338."

"s.h.i.+t, I missed that?" asked Sandy.

"It just appeared. It's five miles out."

"Is it a lighthouse?" Natalie asked.

"It's too far from sh.o.r.e to be a lighthouse. And it's too big." Emily studied the charts. "There's nothing listed in this area as a navigational hazard. It has to be a s.h.i.+p."

"It's pretty big," said Ari.

"What's its course and speed?"

Ari watched the radar for several seconds. "It's not moving."

"A derelict?" asked Tiara.

"Possibly," said Emily. "Or they could just be coasting. Where else can they go? I'll set a course so we steer clear of it."

"No," countered Natalie. "Let's check it out."

"Do you think that's a good idea?" asked Ari.

"They may have fuel we can use. I'd rather get it out here than have to try and go ash.o.r.e for it."

"Suppose they're not friendly?" asked Emily.

Natalie thought about that for a minute. "Sandy, go downstairs and wake the Angels. Take Tiara and Bethany with you. I want all of you locked and loaded in five minutes. Stay below deck. It this s.h.i.+p turns out to be trouble, I want to have the element of surprise. If it's friendly, then you can stow the weapons and come on up."

Sandy nodded and led the others down below.

Natalie turned back to Emily. "How long until we reach it?"

"Just a few minutes. I sure hope you know what you're doing."

"So do I."