“We need to get off this ship now!” I yelled over the noise of the waves.
Kelly nodded. He reached to close the hatch, but a body slipped through. Kelly lashed out and punched the moaning creeper in the face. That didn’t do much more than piss him off. Kelly drew his gun again, pointed it at the man, and then shot him in the head.
“Oh shit oh shit oh shit,” was all I could manage as I monkeyed with a life raft.
We had the newer MK-7s that could seat 25 but right now I couldn’t even get it loose. My head pounded and I had the desire to puke up everything I’d eaten over the last 24 hours. Then I remembered the hydraulic release and hit it. The canister shot over the side but I wasn’t as fast, probably because I was frozen in terror at the idea of following it.
“Are we going over?” Kelly asked.
A pair of former sailors pushed through the hatch, trailing half the crew behind them.
“Fucking zombies!” I yelled out loud, and that seemed to give me power over them. Admitting what my mind had been screaming and denying finally woke me up.
I ran to the next life raft capsule and called to Kelly and his friend.
“When I let this one rip, you guys be ready to follow it. We won’t have a lot of time because that water is gonna suck. Just stick with it and follow me. Got it?” I triggered the release.
The second capsule sailed over the side and I was right behind it. The minute the capsule hit the water it exploded into a bright yellow raft. My stomach leapt into my throat as I fell toward the waves below. I crossed my arms over my chest, pinched my nose with my fingers, and clenched my asshole so I didn’t get a seawater enema.
Hitting the water was like being dropped onto soggy concrete. Even with my body straight, toes pointed, I felt the impact in my chest. Cold water sucked at me. I stayed in the same position and waited to become buoyant. When “up” became apparent I kicked my legs a few times, saw light, and broke the surface with a gasp. I struck toward the raft with long strokes.
Behind me, my two Marine friends were doing their best to not drown. Kelly was the worst in his heavy vest. He tried to keep his weapon out of the water but it was already soaked.
“Come on, you pussy!” I challenged him.
Kelly did his best to give me the finger. His buddy swam up beside him and gave an assist. Together, they made it to the raft, though it was a genuine struggle with Kelly wearing that heavy combat gear. I helped haul them both in but couldn’t take my eyes off of what was happening on the ship. As it sped away, sailors were jumping overboard.
Waves tossed us up and down like a yoyo. My hangover had evaporated during the chaos. I guess having a bunch of friends trying to kill you does something to the body. As we bobbed on the water, the hangover came back with a vengeance.
Kelly was still lying on his back taking in deep breaths. The other Marine stared with me toward port.
“What’s your name, man?” I asked him.
“Joey Reynolds.” We did introductions but neither of us looked each other in the eyes; our attention was devoted to watching our base.
“I hate the water!” Kelly sat up and followed our gaze. “Fuck me,” he said.
Out of the pre-dawn chill, a layer of fog rose. After a few seconds, I realized it was smoke; San Diego was in flames. Columns rose into the air as fires grew. We were still a few miles out, but it was apparent that some kind of massive riot or catastrophic event was occurring.
The McClusky continued to steam straight toward a dock. A transport of some kind did its best to move out of the way while other ships sat silent. The white ship, whose name I couldn’t make out for the life of me, must have kicked the engines into high gear. She quickly maneuvered around, front end swinging away from the dock, as the fast frigate I’d just occupied sped home.
At least the white ship managed to make it.
Men poured over the side, some following lifeboats but many with only life jackets. Others came after them: the snarling masses that had chased us right off the ship. Some of the zombies jumped, landing on sailors, while others managed to get hung up in the railing.
“There were life vests?” Kelly muttered.
A smaller ship struggled to get out of the way of the McClusky but ended up getting clipped. The sound of the two metal beasts screeching against each other was like the world’s longest train wreck. But the McClusky wasn’t done on her journey. She was nudged to the side; her giant propellers carried her straight past the pier to impact with the dock behind it.
“Oh my god,” Reynolds said.
As if pounded by a behemoth pile-driver, the ship crumpled when her mass abruptly shifted from rear to front. Her ass-end swung around after impact and carried the rest of the ship into the dock. It took two full minutes before the McClusky was lifted into the air by a massive explosion. As the sound reached us, I hunkered down and wrapped my arms around my head, then I risked a glance over the side of the raft. The McClusky was briefly suspended on a ball of fire that destroyed the ship like it had been a tin can.
“This can’t be happening,” Kelly said. He reached into his pocket to pull out a cell phone, but after studying the display for a few minutes he tossed the dead device into the middle of the raft.
“Shit. I don’t even have my phone,” I said.
“Where is it?” Reynolds asked.
I pointed at the remnants of the ship.
That’s enough for today. Next chance I get I’ll write about Reynolds and how we established Fortress. Now I’m just sick of sitting around. Joel crashed earlier and has been snoring ever since.
I’m going to use a couple of cups of water to take a bath.
Noises outside, but not the typical crawling dead we hear wandering around out there most nights. I’ll guess I’ll go downstairs and check it out before I call it a night.
This is Machinist Mate First Class Jackson Creed and I am still alive.
Real Monsters
10:30 hours approximate
Location: Undead Central, San Diego CA — Fortress
Supplies:
¾ pound of Jasmine rice
¼ pound of dried beans
1 pound of that tofu-jerky
5 cans of tuna
2 cans of cat food — where the hell is Butch?
5 boxes of pasta
½ beautiful jar of spaghetti sauce
3 cans of various veggies
2 cans of mixed fruit
1 case of canned spinach that neither one of us had touched since we got here.
There wasn’t much to do but sit around and glare at each other. Joel and I exchanged very few words.
No girls to chase. No football games to stare at. No beer to toss back. No smokes to smoke. No Xbox to play and no hot wings. Man I miss hot wings. I saw a whole bunch of seagulls the other day and all I could thing about was shooting them out of the sky so we could cook up some hot wings. I’d eat the shit out of some spicy seagull right about now.
Instead we cleaned weapons with a can of old motor oil. It wasn’t pretty but it got the job done. It made me smell like a mechanic which was just like being back at home on the USS McClusky.
Just a few days ago we’d gone out and tried to raid a few houses but had little to show for it. One place had yielded a few cans of baby formula. Another had provided some aspirin and a full bottle of Tums, found buried in the back of the upstairs bathroom cabinet. We feasted on a few of those for the calcium. We dared each other to drink the baby formula. I ended up liking it but didn’t tell Joel.