“Thanks, Captain.” Henry nodded gratefully.
Miguel and Henry made one trip after another across the deck of the U.S.S. Boxer. They gathered civilians and soldiers from the barricade, and they returned them to the Humvees. When additional survivors emerged from the nightmarish innards of the Boxer, they retrieved them. When a fresh pack of raging ghouls burst from the flight tower, they ran it down. One by one, the Humvees were filled with marines, sailors, men, women, and children. They had fought their way through hell for one final chance at survival. Against all odds, they had made it.
By the time Miguel’s Humvee was all that remained, the sky shone faintly red with dawn. The deck was piled high with corpses and stained red with gore. A soul-crushing stillness had come over the vessel. The dead and the living had destroyed each other, leaving only an empty floating ghost ship.
Kelly and Pam, filthy and exhausted, slipped quietly into the protection of the armored vehicle as they watched their helicopter ride approach. Henry slid his arm around his wife, and she rested her head on his shoulder.
“Think Cap’s still gonna want to give us a medal after this?” Pam asked Miguel.
“It’s just a medal,” Miguel answered. “We saved a lot of lives…”
“I wish Carl could have been here,” Pam muttered.
“So do I.” Miguel stared blankly at the flight tower exit. Carl’s animated corpse had not emerged — he had looked for it. There had been a part of him that imagined Carl emerging victoriously from the Boxer wounded, but alive. He knew that was impossible and that all he could have hoped for was the opportunity to put Carl to rest.
That opportunity never came.
The vehicle groaned as it rose into the air under the power of the helicopter. The Boxer—and the hell that had engulfed her—began to shrink away.
Pam, Miguel, Kelly, and Henry sat in silence… staring out over the morning ocean. The fleet was still. It floated peacefully on the gentle tide in the orange light of dawn.
Chapter 37
The U.S.S. Ronald Reagan was filled to capacity with military personnel and civilian refugees. While sailors went about the business of crewing an aircraft carrier, soldiers collected in groups for mission briefings. Civilians meandered through gray corridors and in makeshift refugee camps. The atmosphere was eerily reminiscent of the U.S.S. Boxer.
To Miguel and Pam, their new home felt cold and empty.
After finding their quarters, they had wasted no time in locating one another. They then took to exploring the Reagan with vigilance. They had made the mistake of letting their guard down once, and they would not make that mistake a second time. Being familiar with the interior of this floating city would be essential in a crisis. The Reagan was the heart of the fleet, and it seemed unassailable… but so had the Boxer.
Few words passed between Pam and Miguel while they explored the bowels of the ship. They had little to say, and nothing they could do could fill the absence left by Carl. They could only attempt to appease the nagging sense at the back of their minds that danger lurked just out of sight… and distract themselves from the sorrow that weighed upon their shoulders.
When they were confronted by a door labeled “Chapel,” they had felt compelled to enter. Pam turned the handle to the hatch, opened the door, and she and Miguel stepped inside.
“What the…” Miguel took in the image of a small wood-paneled space covered with black graffiti. It appeared that every inch of the room — walls, floor, ceiling, and even pews — was defaced with black marker. Ornamental insets designed to resemble stained glass windows were scrawled with ink.
“Who would do such a thing?” Pam was not particularly spiritual, but the disrespect to a place of worship felt wrong. She could understand people’s anger, but it took intense dedication and a great deal of time to deface the chapel so thoroughly.
“It will take days to clean this.” Miguel had not practiced Catholicism in quite some time, but he too was disturbed by the state of the chapel.
“It’s not what you think.” A familiar voice interrupted Pam and Miguel.
The two soldiers turned to Captain Sheridan who stood in the chapel doorway.
“Yes, sir.” Pam and Miguel snapped to salute their commander.
Sheridan saluted back, and then he resumed a relaxed posture. “Look at the writing.”
Miguel crouched to get a closer look at some of the writing on the floor.
Pam walked over to a nearby wall and began mouthing what she read. “Audrey Laurent — wife, sister, mother. Private David Read. Karen Monaghan — saved my ass a hundred times. Officer Simon Futato — beloved father… names?”
“Just names,” Miguel confirmed.
Captain Sheridan stepped into the chapel and closed the door behind him. “Just names, and some words to remember.”
“The dead.” Pam came to the conclusion. “These are the names of the dead.”
Sheridan nodded. “Soldiers, civilians… I’ve come to understand that people have been coming here since the beginning of the apocalypse and memorializing their loved ones. The candles have run out. The flowers are all gone. Now, people just find a spot and write a name down.”
Miguel was filled with a newfound reverence for the chapel around him. “There must be thousands…”
“Tens of thousands,” Sheridan interrupted. “When the chapel runs out of space, the names will overflow into the hallway outside. When I found this place, I considered what it would take to record every name in here and have a plaque made. I realized quickly that the notion was absurd.”
“It would take years.” Pam ran her fingers over the names as she read them.
“Cap…” Miguel snapped out of his daze first. “It was my suggestion that we break quarantine and rescue civilians from the Boxer. Specialist Grace was just following my orders.”
“No, sir!” Pam whirled around to face Miguel and Captain Sheridan. “I assume full responsibility for my insubordination. I felt that we were acting in the accordance with the wishes of Officer Harvey and accept all consequences of my actions.”
Captain Sheridan sighed. “I’m not here to punish you or lecture you on insubordination, soldiers.”
Pam and Miguel exchanged a glance before Miguel spoke. “What’s next, sir?”
“I’m not sure.” Sheridan reached inside his breast pocket and retrieved a pen and a wrinkled piece of paper. “It will take a few days to reassign everyone from the mainland to new duties. Enjoy the time off while you have it.”
Pam and Miguel did not know how to respond. Being left with no responsibilities, all they could do was endure their grief. Being reassigned immediately was almost preferable.
Captain Sheridan unfolded the paper he had taken from his pocket and examined it with a sorrowful look. He laid the paper down on a pew and began writing.
“What’s that, sir?” Pam asked. She and Miguel moved closer to their commander.
“A list,” Sheridan replied.
The two soldiers read over Sheridan’s shoulder. It was an extensive list of names… names they recognized. At the very bottom of the list was the name, “Carl Harvey.”
“A list of our dead,” Miguel confirmed.
Sheridan finished writing, stood, and turned to the last surviving members of the final convoy mission into San Diego. “A list that is far, far too long.”
Pam and Miguel nodded in agreement.