weeks earlier, with their AKs still slung across their backs. The numbers of undead increased to dozens and in some cases approached a hundred or more.
The closer they moved to the coastline, the denser the hordes. The anomaly was so new that the creatures had not yet spread out from the coasts; most of the world’s population lived in the littorals, and now the dead ruled these regions.
Fueled by rumors that the fleet might be anchored off the coast of Pakistan in the Arabian Sea, Doc and Billy pressed south. It was not until the day before they reached the coast that radio chatter began to break in on their handsets. They eventually made contact with the USNS Pecos —their ticket home.
Doc adjusted course based on the ship’s transmitted position and they continued to pay their toll in lead to the undead for the last miles to the sea. The sun was setting and their scorched rifles were out of ammunition by the time their boots filled with seawater. They sidestroked away from the massing thousands of creatures that churned the surf with undead footsteps.
The Pecos was the last ship remaining at anchor to take on American evacuees. Billy and Doc soon found that the Pecos’ s master was pleased to have the added security of two special operators aboard. After arriving, eating, and taking a shower, Doc and Billy received a current situation briefing.
• • •
Doc learned of deadly piracy taking place on the high seas. The pirates were capitalizing on the lack of maritime security, and ruthlessly attacked all vessels on sight. Chinese, American, British, all were falling prey to Somali warlords and other vile sea vermin. The pirates were cold-blooded in their attacks, using stolen military hardware to sink vessels that didn’t explicitly comply with their demands.
On their way stateside, steaming south, deeper into the Arabian Sea, they verified the worst of the reports. The GPS navigation network was failing. This, combined with a lack of sea charts, forced the Pecos’ s master to adjust course west and visually hug the African coastline. Pirates had been a problem in the Horn of Africa region long before the undead, and now they were a force that rivaled them.
Pecos was under attack long before they saw Africa.
The faster pirate vessel approached quickly through the choppy blue waters. As the vessel maneuvered into range, it began firing at Pecos with crew-served machine guns, aiming for the stern just above the waterline. Fortunately for Pecos and her crew, the pirates were not trained marksmen.
Doc, Billy, and the ship’s master-at-arms took down the pirate vessel in a flurry of accurate sniper shots. Anytime a head popped up above a catwalk to man a machine gun or peek through a porthole, Billy put its lights out. The ship soon surrendered to Pecos and her superior firepower and was boarded.
Doc remembered when he and Billy had boarded the ship all those months ago. It was one of those things that would be difficult, if not impossible, to forget.
“Doc, look at that,” Billy said, pointing to the pile of shoes six feet high, near the pirate ship’s bow.
“Let’s take a look down that hold,” Doc said, hoping his first instinct was wrong.
“Chief, you open that hatch, me and Billy will be ready to spray whatever’s down there.”
“Aye, sir.”
The chief master-at-arms jerked the hatch open, exposing aputrid and hellish pit to the East African sun. The stink was so intense that the chief dropped the hatch cursing and gagging. He poured canteen water on his face and covered his mouth with a bandana before making a second attempt.
Doc stepped up to the edge.
The hold was filled with barefoot, half-naked creatures. They reached up to the light seemingly asking for help, just a hand. Doc felt the heat from the open hatch radiate from the baking and bloated corpses. The men examined the pulley boom and tackle mounted over the hatch; it stank, covered in sun-scorched human remains. Its
The closer they moved to the coastline, the denser the hordes. The anomaly was so new that the creatures had not yet spread out from the coasts; most of the world’s population lived in the littorals, and now the dead ruled these regions.
Fueled by rumors that the fleet might be anchored off the coast of Pakistan in the Arabian Sea, Doc and Billy pressed south. It was not until the day before they reached the coast that radio chatter began to break in on their handsets. They eventually made contact with the USNS Pecos —their ticket home.
Doc adjusted course based on the ship’s transmitted position and they continued to pay their toll in lead to the undead for the last miles to the sea. The sun was setting and their scorched rifles were out of ammunition by the time their boots filled with seawater. They sidestroked away from the massing thousands of creatures that churned the surf with undead footsteps.
The Pecos was the last ship remaining at anchor to take on American evacuees. Billy and Doc soon found that the Pecos’ s master was pleased to have the added security of two special operators aboard. After arriving, eating, and taking a shower, Doc and Billy received a current situation briefing.
• • •
Doc learned of deadly piracy taking place on the high seas. The pirates were capitalizing on the lack of maritime security, and ruthlessly attacked all vessels on sight. Chinese, American, British, all were falling prey to Somali warlords and other vile sea vermin. The pirates were cold-blooded in their attacks, using stolen military hardware to sink vessels that didn’t explicitly comply with their demands.
On their way stateside, steaming south, deeper into the Arabian Sea, they verified the worst of the reports. The GPS navigation network was failing. This, combined with a lack of sea charts, forced the Pecos’ s master to adjust course west and visually hug the African coastline. Pirates had been a problem in the Horn of Africa region long before the undead, and now they were a force that rivaled them.
Pecos was under attack long before they saw Africa.
The faster pirate vessel approached quickly through the choppy blue waters. As the vessel maneuvered into range, it began firing at Pecos with crew-served machine guns, aiming for the stern just above the waterline. Fortunately for Pecos and her crew, the pirates were not trained marksmen.
Doc, Billy, and the ship’s master-at-arms took down the pirate vessel in a flurry of accurate sniper shots. Anytime a head popped up above a catwalk to man a machine gun or peek through a porthole, Billy put its lights out. The ship soon surrendered to Pecos and her superior firepower and was boarded.
Doc remembered when he and Billy had boarded the ship all those months ago. It was one of those things that would be difficult, if not impossible, to forget.
“Doc, look at that,” Billy said, pointing to the pile of shoes six feet high, near the pirate ship’s bow.
“Let’s take a look down that hold,” Doc said, hoping his first instinct was wrong.
“Chief, you open that hatch, me and Billy will be ready to spray whatever’s down there.”
“Aye, sir.”
The chief master-at-arms jerked the hatch open, exposing aputrid and hellish pit to the East African sun. The stink was so intense that the chief dropped the hatch cursing and gagging. He poured canteen water on his face and covered his mouth with a bandana before making a second attempt.
Doc stepped up to the edge.
The hold was filled with barefoot, half-naked creatures. They reached up to the light seemingly asking for help, just a hand. Doc felt the heat from the open hatch radiate from the baking and bloated corpses. The men examined the pulley boom and tackle mounted over the hatch; it stank, covered in sun-scorched human remains. Its
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