Z Plan (Book 2): Red Tides Read online

  “Why don’t you come squeeze in up front?” Ben asked Lauren.

  “I’ll be fine back here,” she answered.

  “Don’t be silly, you could fit between us,” he pushed.

  “No, really, I’ll be fine.” Lauren stuck to her decision.

  “I’ll sit up there,” said David, as he hopped out of the back of the truck, leaving the three women in back.

  Ben was disappointed but accepted that there was nothing he could do about it.

  “Alright,” he said, “Let’s get going.”

  The doors were all secured, and the truck made its way through the frozen parking lot. In just a few weeks the snow would all be gone, and the infected sleeping just below the surface might be reanimated once more. The world could become a more dangerous place—again.

  15.

  Abbandonato

  Cale and Naeem joined the other scavenging teams around the breakfast table. When he heard that one of the fleet ships had found a ship adrift, he knew he’d be part of the team that went aboard. He and Naeem had proven themselves quite adept at dealing with the infected. Neither of them would have come so far if they hadn’t, and as he looked around the table, he couldn’t help but wonder how some of these people had survived this long. A scrawny Middle Eastern man sat across from him. ‘Man,’ however, wasn’t exactly the right word. He was more boy than man and was part of the new group of survivors they’d brought in. They too had taken to the sea to escape the dead and, like Cale, had found themselves snatched up by what remained of the Egyptian Navy.

  Which, thought Cale, was both a blessing and a curse.

  “Breakfast,” one of the men said, practicing his English.

  Lieutenant Commander Amun had asked Cale to learn some Arabic, and to teach some of the men English, so that they could avoid sending more of their officers out. Officers weren’t adept enough to deal with the undead yet. Most of the crew had no issues with learning English, but others preferred that Cale learn their language. The problem with that, however, was the variety of dialects the men spoke. For Cale to learn them all would be impossible.

  “The breakfast is good,” another said.

  Cale had only taught them the basics. Simple words like good, bad, door, go, and stop. Some of them were eager to learn more, picking up larger words and actively trying to use them. The table of men looked to Cale for some acknowledgement that they were using it properly. Cale looked at his tray of food, not sure what it had once been.

  “Breakfast is shit,” he replied back.

  The group of men chuckled. They understood what he’d said. Swear words were among the first things they wanted to learn.

  “Breakfast is shit,” one of them repeated and then laughed.

  Naeem was the best versed when it came to English. He, after all, had more one on one time with Cale.

  “Idiots,” Naeem stated.

  Cale smiled at him and nodded. Together they finished breakfast and waited for the others. While they waited, Cale periodically felt for Zach’s knife on his hip. It had been almost three weeks since he’d killed Pashet, and not a tear was shed for the man. Even his own peers had wanted him dead. Many of the lower enlisted, however, had taken a liking to Cale. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the English lessons or because he’d killed Pashet.

  When everyone had finished, they were moved to the prep room. Team one and two’s handlers pushed them in aggressively. Cale and Naeem knew the drill and easily stayed ahead of their handler, Akhom.

  The group of men stood in the small room where the handlers were given weapons. The other crews, because they were new, weren’t given anything but their packs. Each of them was bound to their partner. Cale was permitted to carry Zach’s knife, and Naeem was given the machete he had when he’d been picked up. Both men used their own personal bags as well. Neither of them wore chains now, though they were still under the protection of a handler.

  They’d been on one mission since Pashet’s death, when Lieutenant Commander Amun had tested out his new way of handling the American. Granted, the mission was only to a small fishing community that sat on the edge of the Mediterranean Sea. It was located on the Libyan coast of Africa and—like many populated areas bordering the water—there were boats full of infected. No one ever ventured far into Africa. It belonged to the dead now, which was another good reason for Cale to stay with his captors.

  They had received their mission briefs. All that was left to do was to get topside and start on their mission— boarding an abandoned vessel. The forward reconnaissance teams hadn’t yet gone aboard to see the level of infection, but it was speculated that there would be some on board. Given the size of the ship, they’d hopefully be spread out. As Cale exited the portal and looked at their intended target, he was reminded of the massive oil tankers he’d seen on the news as a child. A transfer to another boat wasn’t necessary this time, but they’d have to pull up alongside her and climb up ropes that hung from the deck. Given everyone’s malnourished state, the climb would prove to be entertaining. Cale specifically looked forward to seeing the scrawny boy from breakfast give it a try.

  The mercantile ship towered over them as they moved into position. It had to have been between eighty and one hundred feet straight up. Her black metal hull was stained with rust and overgrown with barnacles. She was an old ship but sturdy as hell. A gigantic metal chain anchored her in place. It, too, was rust covered, but also had curtains of seaweed that clung to the links. It would definitely be an exhausting climb.

  After hours of each member trying their hand at scaling the side of the ship, only one could make it. Cale and the rest of the scavenging team members gazed up at the one man able to make the climb.

  Naeem stood on the deck of the large ship. He searched for a ladder of some kind to throw down to his comrades, and his search was justified when he found one in a compartment along the deck. Naeem secured it to the railing and let it roll out as it fell. The length of the ladder slapped against the hull.

  One by one, they climbed up to the deck of the massive vessel. Cale looked around. The ship appeared to be abandoned; even the lifeboats were gone, but why? What could have warranted the entire crew deserting the ship? The American looked at the various surfaces of the vessel. He didn’t see any gore stains, or any other sign of the undead. Cale was hopeful that there were no infected aboard, but he anticipated their presence. The scavenging teams went their separate ways. Team one’s handler barked orders at the new ‘refugees’. Cale and Naeem followed Akhom, their new handler, to the ship’s bridge. Hoping to find a log of some kind, the trio entered one of the many doors to the interior.

  Akhom was a quiet man who had served in the Egyptian Armed Forces for ten years. His family’s status, however, limited his career to being enlisted. Even though quite qualified, he would never become an officer, but it never bothered him; he actually preferred it that way.

  Inside, they found a dark hallway lined with doors. The ship’s generators hadn’t provided power for quite some time, so Akhom produced a flashlight from his pack and flicked it on, illuminating the dusty corridor. The wooden floor creaked as the American stepped into the beam and took point. Cale crept as quietly as possible, his knife at the ready. The dust on the floor had never been disturbed, a good sign. He was about twenty paces down the hall when he stopped.

  “How’s your Italian?” Cale asked, pointing to a sign on the wall.

  Naeem and Akhom exchanged words, and then Akhom pulled out a walkie-talkie and called out. Cale wasn’t sure what was being said, but chances were they were hoping someone back on the sub might know the language. Judging by their expression when the operator replied, Cale deduced they were out of luck. Cale looked at the sign. Somehow it seemed familiar. He traced the word ‘ALLOGGIO’ with his index finger.

  “Alloggio,” he said aloud, hoping it might trigger something in his brain. He stood for a moment longer, mouthing the word and repeating it in his head. “Lodging?” he pondered out
loud.

  It might be the crew quarters, but there was only one way to find out. Cale moved from the sign and grasped the banana-shaped handle on one of the doors. The metal creaked and groaned as he twisted it. If there were any undead around, they’d surely be aware of their presence now. The door opened inward with a loud screech as the metal door scraped the metal frame. Akhom shined his light into the room.

  “A bed?” he said in English.

  “Yeah. Sleeping rooms,” Cale gestured to the other doors.

  The room housed a bed, a dresser, and a small desk, none of which had been used in a very long time. The air smelled musty and old, but not of rotten flesh, another good sign. Akhom panned the light further down the hall, revealing another placard mounted on the wall.

  “There,” Naeem said.

  The group abandoned stealth and walked another twenty paces to the next sign. The dust they’d kicked up in the hall caused Cale to sneeze. The sound echoed down the corridor and back.

  “Bless me,” he whispered to himself.

  “What?” Naeem asked.

  “Nothing,” Cale replied.

  The light revealed the word ‘CUCINA’ on the placard. Whatever it was it was upstairs. Cale was confident he knew what this one meant. With Italian sharing many root words with Spanish he remembered that ‘cocina’ meant kitchen.

  “There’s a kitchen upstairs,” Cale announced.

  “You can read that?” Naeem inquired.

  “Not exactly. It’s a guess,” Cale explained.

  The two men shrugged, and the three of them ascended the stairs toward the ‘Cucina’. Once at the top, Cale’s prediction was proven to be accurate. A dining hall and kitchen spanned the room. If it weren’t for the layer of dust, the room would have been immaculate. Long wooden tables and benches filled the space, with a metal divider separating the dining area from the kitchen. From here they could see numerous boxes and cans along the metal shelving.

  “Jackpot,” Cale exclaimed.

  His two companions ignored him, too excited with what they’d found. Akhom fumbled with his radio as he tried to call up their find. It would take all three scavenging teams to move the loot, and even then it was going to take a couple of hours. After radioing it in, they retraced their steps outside, leaving a trail of glow sticks for the other teams to follow. When the other teams met up with them in the galley, they too reported no sign of infected. This was looking to be a simple hit-and-run, and Cale liked it that way. One of the men found a pallet cart to transport their bounty. All nine men worked in the dim light provided by their flashlights, particles of dust crossing between their shadows as they worked. The room quickly filled with the smell of sweat as they labored.

  “I’m gonna head outside for some air,” Cale said, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

  “Here,” Akhom said, handing him a flashlight, “don’t get lost.”

  “Thanks,” Cale said with a smile.

  Truth be told, even though he was smiling and getting along with everyone, he still felt alone. He didn’t know any of these men, nor did he want to. He just wanted to get home. Cale pulled out the Ziploc bag that contained his iPod and ear buds as he descended the stairs where the first green glow stick lit the dirty corridor. Some habits were hard to break. Back when things were normal, he’d take his iPod in a plastic bag on every mission. He noted the disturbed dust on the floor. They’d made a path through it, obscuring each man’s individual footprints. Cale turned the corner to the right, and followed the trail to the outside door. Down the hall he could still hear the men talking and laughing about their find.

  Cale opened the large outer door and looked back down the hall. The sunlight cascaded into the narrow space, providing a better light source than the glow sticks.

  “Think I’ll just prop this open,” Cale said to himself.

  The door clanged as he forced it to its widest. Out of the corner of his eye and down the hall, he saw something move through the light. His eyes zeroed in on the spot. Whatever it was, it was large, and quickly moved away from him.

  “Who’s down there?” Cale asked, as he shined his flashlight down the hall.

  No one answered. The movement had been further down the hall, past the stairs to the kitchen. Why would anyone go down that far? Cale decided to investigate and returned his items to the Ziploc bag in his pocket. With Zach’s knife at the ready and the flashlight in hand, he pursued the potential survivor. He walked past the glow stick at the bottom of the stairs. The sunlight barely lit this part of the hall. He stopped to listen for more steps. Again he could hear the men laughing and carrying on in the kitchen. He looked at the dust on the floor.

  “There’s no trail,” he said to himself.

  Still, he pushed on. Maybe it was further down than he’d thought. Cale came to another intersection where a flight of stairs led down into the ship. Another sign with the word ‘ALLOGGIO’ was posted. Cale wondered how many people at any given time were aboard the vessel. They hadn’t investigated this far in yet; he could very well be walking into a space filled with the undead. Cale went down the flight of stairs as quietly as possible. At the bottom was another sign. ‘CABINA DEL CAPITANO’. That seemed pretty straightforward.

  “Cabin of the Captain,” Cale said aloud.

  He knew that wasn’t the exact translation, but it was close enough. The arrow on the sign pointed to the right. Cale looked down the hall just in time to see someone enter the open door to the captain’s cabin. He gasped, startled by what he saw. For a second it looked like someone in American ACUs.

  “Hey!” he shouted.

  No answer came.

  He covered his light, cutting the illumination, and crept to the door. He looked at the floor. There in the dust he saw boot prints similar to his own. He inched his way to the doorframe and held his knife in an attack position. His heart pounded. Cale took a deep breath, and counted to three in his head. On three he stormed into the room aggressively, ready to fight. He was now in a large room. A bed and dresser lined the wall to his left, and to his right was a sink with a mirror mounted above it and another door. At the center of the room was a large wooden desk. The room smelled dusty from lack of use. After carefully checking the corners and possible hiding places, he approached the door next to the sink and mirror. He again counted to three, and then flung the door open. Inside, a small porthole let in a little light. A toilet was all that occupied the space.

  Cale looked around. He was positive he’d seen someone. And what about the boot prints coming into the room? Cale circled behind the desk and took a seat in the chair. On the desk were some papers—ledgers and transit receipts. A small lamp hung over the left side of the desktop. He checked the drawers, and in the top left one he found an assortment of office supplies: paperclips, pens, pencils, and notepaper. Satisfied there was nothing to be salvaged, he went for the bottom left drawer, but it was locked. Cale gave it a firm tug to no effect. He used his flashlight to observe the lock. The drawer had a small gap, perhaps just wide enough to pry open. Using Zach’s knife, Cale inserted the blade and rocked it back and forth. He could hear the blade striking the lock and changed the angle of the blade, pushing against the interior of the lock. The wood began to splinter, and after a few more twists of the knife, the lock broke off, and the drawer opened. Inside the secured space he found a small black book and an oak box.

  He flipped through the book, expecting to find a personal journal. The captain’s writing was in Italian, but it didn’t appear to be personal. It contained tables of numbers and names. It may have been some kind of code. It also had euro and dollar symbols. Some of the number sequences had large amounts of money circled with them.

  Cale closed the book and pocketed it. He then reached for the box. It was the size of a large book and heavy. He set it on the desk and lay the flashlight down. He hovered over the box, wondering what was inside. Slowly, he lifted the lid, letting it fall back against the desk. The edge of the container cast a shadow, stil
l hiding what secret the box protected. He reached inside and felt a metal object, cold to the touch. He grasped it, smiling as he did, and lifted a gleaming revolver into the light.

  Cale finally had a gun.

  16.

  Little Black Book

  Cale rose from the desk and tucked the weapon into the back of his pants. They’d take it away from him if they knew he had it. As he pulled his shirt down to cover the handle of the gun, someone stepped into the light, startling Cale.

  “Holy shit man, you scared me. We about done moving those supplies?” he asked.

  The man’s legs were the only things visible; Cale had no idea who it was, only that his question went unanswered. Cale looked closely at the legs. He could see ACU pants. Cale looked down and snatched up the flashlight, but when he looked back, the man was gone.

  “Get back here!” he ordered.

  He went around the desk and back into the hall. The corridor was empty. Cale checked the floor for tracks and was terrified by what he saw. It wasn’t that there were more tracks, but the fact that he saw only one set going into the room now.

  His own.

  Had he imagined the other set of prints? For a moment the room spun as he speculated on the notion.

  “I need some air,” he told himself.

  He walked hurriedly back to the stairs, calming down only when he could hear the men in the kitchen talking to one another in Arabic. For a moment Cale felt uneasy. Not being able to understand them made him paranoid, and reminded him of how alone he truly was. He paused on the stairs for a moment, and then went up to share his find with his ‘comrades’. Two of the men were laughing, but stopped abruptly when Cale appeared, making Cale feel even more on the outside. Were they talking about him? He pushed it out of his mind.