“All problems we’re going to have to figure out,” Faith pointed out. “We’re going to need the fuel now or later.”
“Open hatch to the interior,” Fontana said, pausing. The scattered bars were designed to get people to flow in a freeform manner. They also tended to restrict line of sight. Which he wasn’t enjoying.
“Olly olly oxenfree!” Faith shouted. “Zombies, zombies, any zombies home?”
“I wonder how far that actually carried?” Steve asked.
“Far enough,” Fontana said, as the laser dropped onto the zombie’s chest.
“Wait!” Faith said, delightedly.
“Why?” Fontana asked. The zombie was in pretty bad shape and it wasn’t closing fast, but it wasn’t like he wanted him to get to melee range.
“Oh, My God!” Faith squealed as the zombie charged. “Do you know who that is?”
“No,” Steve said, still covering the rear. “You going to shoot or Fontana?”
“Mike Mickerberg!” she said, pulling the trigger on the Saiga twelve gauge. The former internet billionaire was splattered all over the deck of his mega yacht. “Clean-up on Aisle Nine!”
“That’s getting old, Faith,” Steve said. “And who?”
“The guy who invented Spacebook! Duh.”
“Well, even if we had the equipment we couldn’t use him for vaccine,” Fontana said.
“Why?” she asked, heading to the next hatch. “He’d infect people with horrible apps?”
“Actually, I was wondering if he had a spine,” Fontana said, then looked down. “Yep. Sure does. Amazing…”
“Don’t step in him, Da,” Faith said. “You might get Slimelined. HELLO! ANY ZOMBIES IN THERE? ZOMBIES, ZOMBIES, OLLY-OLLY OXENFREE!”
CHAPTER 25
“I’m starting to think there was a mutiny,” Steve said, stepping over the corpse. The man had been wearing body armor and he would have been facing a similarly clad man further down the corridor. Both had rifles by their bodies, one an M4 the other an AK variant, and there were casings scattered along the corridor.
“Looks that way,” Fontana said, turning the smaller man over. His legs and face had been chewed off but the armor had kept his torso intact. Except for the decomposition. “Ugh.”
“What?” Faith asked, looking down. “Clean it up and it’s pretty good gear. Well, except the holes that are in it.”
“It wasn’t the body or the gear I was going ugh about,” Fontana said. “Soccoro Security. Evan Soccoro’s company.”
“Context?” Steve asked.
“There are contractors and contractors,” Fontana said, continuing the sweep. “Despite it’s rep, Blackwater wasn’t actually that bad. They had something resembling quality control. Triple Canopy? Very good. At least their primary operators. And they pick good associate operators.”
“Primary, associate?” Faith said. “Bosses and subordinates?”
“Generally, but not exactly,” Fontana said, banging on a hatch. “You can call it racist, but primaries are all from developed nations. Generally. Associates are guys hired from developing nations. Associates are cheaper and generally not as well trained. Not always. Some groups use former Ghurkas for associates or even primaries. There’s one run by a former Ghurka that does shipboard security.”
There was no response so he entered the compartment. There were several bodies in there but none had been chewed. Some men, some women. Most had been shot in the head.
“So what’s with Socorro?” Steve asked.
“I won’t get into my personal issues with former Special Forces major Evan Socorro,” Fontana said. “Although I had personal issues with Socbreath. Which term came from his tendency to…fellate highers from SOCOM. Pretty much anybody who worked for him did. But he finally got a chain of command that, officially in writing, asked how an asshole, and a not particularly competent asshole, got to be a major in the Groups in the first place and he got out. And started his own security company. He had some assbuddy primaries that were mostly not former military, just call them gun geeks. Some of those guys are fine. A lot of them weren’t military cause they couldn’t make the grade. ‘How soon do I get to kill somebody?’ couldn’t make the grade. That’s the kind he liked to hire. Then instead of hiring good associate contractors like, say, former Peruvian mountain commandoes or El Salvadorans or even some of the SA or Angolan ‘bleks’ he picked west Africans.”
“Bloody hell!” Steve said, looking around a corner. “Seriously? More here.”
“Is that bad?” Faith asked. “I guess so.”'
“Think child soldiers whose ‘military experience’ consisted of rape, loot, pillage and burn,” Steve said. “Again, there are good West African troops…”
“For values of good,” Fontana said. “I think ‘good’ for even their elite is a stretch.”
“But the majority are pretty damned bad,” Steve said. “By any definition of bad you’d care to name. Competence, ability, discipline. I’m surprised anybody would hire a group like that.”
“They were cheap,” Fontana said, shrugging. “He didn’t pay his primaries at full standard rate and his associates got paid dirt. So he could shave a few bucks off a contract.”
“Looks like he got what he paid for,” Faith said, pointing to a hole in the bulkhead. “Steel. I’d say… 7.62?”
“Yeah,” Fontana said, staring at one of the female bodies. “I think these were potential infected that were terminated. I don’t see any bites but that might not have been how they were chosen. And…”
“The women have all been raped,” Steve said. “From the ligature marks.”
“Oh, God,” Faith said, grimacing.
“‘If one holds his state on the basis of mercenary arms, he will never be firm or secure; because they are disunited, ambitious, without discipline, unfaithful; gallant among friends, vile among enemies; no fear of God, no faith with men; and one defers ruin insofar as one defers the attack; and in peace you are despoiled by them, in war by the enemy,” Steve said.
“Da and his quotes,” Faith said. “Which one is this one?”
“Macchiavelli’s The Prince,” Fontana said. “I know some good guys who are contractors. And some good companies.”
“So you’re facing a zombie apocalypse where every reasonable person foresees a potentially permanent breakdown in law and order, and you bound onto your megayacht, load up with models, then hire a security company filled with freaking West Africans?” Steve said.
“Well, no,” Fontana said. “That was stupid. You might as well put a steak around your neck and go jump in a tiger pit.”
“So…” Faith said. “Guy’s smart enough to build and run a billion dollar company. How come he makes that mistake?”
“Situation he’s in is a tough call,” Fontana said. “I mean, in normal times no way that you’d have to deal with a take-over by your security. There’s laws. Bad things will happen to them. Post-apoc? Don’t ask me what I would have done if I was the guy running security, had all the guns and all the people who knew how to use them, and the boss was now utterly useless.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Steve said.
“Different situation entirely,” Fontana said. “And I’m not Socorro.”
“I’m not talking about that,” Faith said. “I can see that problem. I mean, I’ve been nervous about all the new people. Not you, Falcon, but… You know, who do you trust? I guess I’m wondering how a guy like Mickerberg could have picked somebody even I would know not to trust?”
“You’re thirteen but you’ve got the background,” Steve said. “Your mom and I gave it to you. I don’t know a lot about the guy, but I got the impression of intelligent liberal, one each. To them, everybody who knows how to use a gun looks the same. There’s no difference between Sergeant Fontana and Kony in Congo. He probably just told one of his staff to find a security company that could supply security and picked one of the lowest bidders.”
“We’re all babykillers after all,” Fontana said, banging on a hatch. “Hello! Any babies to kill in there?”