Voyage of the Dead (Book One: Sovereign Spirit Saga)

Voyage of the Dead

Book One of the Sovereign Spirit Saga

By David P. Forsyth

Voyage of the Dead: The Sovereign Spirit Saga (Second Edition, March 2013)

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead (except for historical and public figures), is purely coincidental. Although many of the places and things depicted do exist, numerous liberties have been taken and intentional embellishments made. This book does not purport to provide accurate descriptions of any actual locations, things, or entities. To the best of the author’s knowledge there are no such things as zombies and no plans by anyone to create them. This is an original work of fiction and all intellectual property rights are reserved by David P. Forsyth. Cover Art by William O. Rosenthal. Edited by Felicia A. Sullivan.

Interior design by The Mad Formatter

Copyright 2012 @ David P. Forsyth

All rights reserved

Smashwords Edition

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1: Breaking News

Chapter 2: The End of the World as We Knew It

Chapter 3: Networking Nightmares

Chapter 4: Dead Men Walking

Chapter 5: Escape and Evasion

Chapter 6: Land’s End

Chapter 7: Special Reports

Chapter 8: Safe Passage

Chapter 9: America’s Finest City

Chapter 10: A Few Good Men

Chapter 11: Search and Rescue

Chapter 12: Extraction

Chapter 13: Revelations

Excerpt

Prologue

Los Angeles International Airport: 12:05 AM, April 1

Carl and Pricilla Stiller were running late for their red eye flight to Puerto Rico. The plane was scheduled to depart in less than thirty minutes and they were still standing in line for security screening.

They’d arrived later than planned, and Carl’s wife blamed him for watching the end of his favorite TV show before driving to the airport. His apologies were empty and automatic as he willed the line to move faster. If they missed this flight, they would also miss their Caribbean cruise that departed from San Juan in less than fourteen hours. Carl was about to try bribing a TSA agent to cut the line when he noticed a commotion beyond the security checkpoint.

One of the TSA officers had collapsed and other officers were rushing to assist him. Then another officer stumbled and fell to the floor. Confusion spread as another and then another officer went down. They all seemed to be going into spasms. People in the front of the line began to panic. Carl was no genius, but his first thought was that this was a terrorist attack with some kind of poison gas. He grabbed his wife’s hand and pulled her back towards the ticket counters.

What are you doing, Carl? yelled Pricilla. We have to get on that plane!

Be quiet for a second and look at what’s happening! said Carl harshly. Something’s wrong! It might be terrorism. We have to get out of here, now!

Somehow he just knew they had to get out of the terminal. But as he pushed through the crowd, pulling his wife with him, he realized that the trouble had spread to the ticketing area of the departure terminal too. Screams were coming from the ticketing counters. Some people were running towards the doors. Others were running in from outside. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t localized at the security checkpoint.

Come on, Prissy! Carl yelled as he dragged her to a stairway that led down to the baggage claim area.

The situation on the ground floor wasn’t any better. If anything, it was worse. There was blood on the floor and more people were screaming. Carl ignored groups of people struggling in the baggage claim area and pulled Pricilla towards the exit doors. She was still yelling about missing their flight, but her protests faltered as soon as she recognized the panic that was spreading through the airport. Carl was focused on the exit doors when his wife’s hand was jerked from his grasp. He spun around and was shocked to see an airline employee tackling Pricilla and pouncing atop her. Pricilla was screaming.

Carl was an athletic man who had played soccer and been a football field goal kicker in college. His instincts kicked in at the same moment that he kicked his wife’s attacker in the side of the head. The man went flying, leaving Pricilla lying dazed on her back with blood streaming from a wound on her neck. Carl reached down and scooped her up in his arms, then turned and ran for the exit. He reverted to his football training and charged through the confused people crowding around the doors. Several of them were knocked to the ground by his passage. Then he and Pricilla were outside by the taxi stands.

Sadly, the situation outside didn’t seem any better. Screams filled the night. Cars were speeding, honking and crashing along the length of the terminal. People were running, screaming, crying, fighting and apparently dying. Carl didn’t pause to evaluate any of that. The only thing keeping him from going into shock was the adrenalin that fueled his terrified body. This was not the type of flight that he had planned for tonight, but it was becoming obvious that their vacation had turned into a nightmare, and they hadn’t even left town. Carl had no idea what was happening, but he knew that he had to get out of here and get Pricilla to a hospital.

People were mobbing the taxi stand, so Carl ran past the line until he spotted a cab that was just pulling into the pick-up lane. Holding Pricilla in front of him, he ran in front of the taxi cab and prayed it would stop. It did. Carl stepped up to the driver’s window and said, I need to get her to the nearest hospital and I’ll pay you a hundred bucks to get us there fast! The driver saw the blood dripping from Pricilla’s neck and the panic in her eyes. He nodded and waved them into the back seat. Carl moved fast and was glad he had approached from the driver’s side when he saw other panicked passengers rushing towards his cab from the curb as he placed Pricilla in the back seat. He barely got into the cab before the driver hit the gas and swerved away from the encroaching mob.

Traffic should have been light at this time of night, even at the airport, but this was not a normal night. There seemed to be several traffic accidents blocking some of the lanes in front of the terminal. The flashing lights of a police car illuminated people struggling and fighting in the street. Several bright flashes near the police car might have been gun shots. A shuttle bus cut across lanes, over a median, and through a crowd of people to smash into the plate glass windows of the baggage claim area. Carl thought he had seen people fighting inside the bus as it sped past.

Allah the merciful! exclaimed the Pakistani cab driver as he swerved through a hole in the traffic created by the errant shuttle bus and aimed for the cross street between parking structures that led to an access road between the terminals. This road was empty and took them directly to the Pacific Coast Highway. There is urgent care two blocks up Sepulveda. Hospitals are much farther, said the cabby as more of a question than a statement.

Carl was holding Pricilla across his lap and applying pressure to her wound. There was a lot of blood, but not as much as there would be if her carotid artery or jugular vein were cut. She probably just needed stitches, bandages, and antiseptics, as well as treatment for shock. If he didn’t know better he would swear that it was a bite wound. The urgent care should be fine, said Carl. Please hurry. He looked back down at Pricilla, who was taking short and rapid breaths while her wide eyes stared up at him.

What’s happening? she gasped. I feel strange.

It’s alright, darling, Carl comforted her. We’re taking you to a doctor right now. You’re going to be fine.

I don’t feel fine, she moaned. My head hurts.

You have a cut on your neck, Prissy, but your head is fine, Carl explained.

No it’s not, she said. It feels like something’s crawling around inside it.

Her eyes rolled back and she lost consciousness just as the cab pulled into the parking lot of the urgent care center. There was already an ambulance backed up to the doors of the facility, so the cab pulled up beside it.

Please wait here while I get someone to help me move her inside, Carl said to the cabby as he passed him a bloody hundred dollar bill and slipped out the door. We need some help out here! he yelled as he moved past the ambulance. What he saw brought him up short.

The glass doors to the urgent care center were smeared and splattered with blood, but not enough to hide the horrors occurring within. People were scattered on the floor and other figures were bent over them, ripping and tearing at the bodies with their teeth! There would be no help for his wife here. The horn of the taxi began to blare, and Carl spun around in time to see the taxi surge forward and crash into the ambulance. The horn continued to sound as Carl ran back to the car.

He simply couldn’t believe what he saw. His wife, his gentle and kind Pricilla, was climbing over into the front seat, attacking the cab driver. Carl watched, frozen, as Pricilla sank her teeth into the cabby’s neck and ripped out a chunk of flesh. She must have found a major blood vessel because a fountain of blood splashed the interior of the windshield, mercifully blocking Carl’s view of whatever else transpired inside the taxi. He stood in shock - how long he couldn’t say - as the cab rocked back and forth from the movement within.

Eventually a sound behind him triggered Carl’s survival instinct and he spun back towards the urgent care to see a bloody paramedic stumble out the door. Please help us, said Carl weakly, but the paramedic didn’t look like he was in any condition to help anyone. His head jerked around at the sound of Carl’s voice and he snarled, charging forward with outstretched arms and bared teeth. His face was drenched in blood and he looked like something out of a horror movie.

Carl lurched away from the attack and vaulted onto the hood of the taxi cab, which was jammed into the side of the ambulance. He turned and threw a kick into the paramedic’s face, lifting the fiend off his feet and almost certainly breaking his jaw. But the maniac didn’t stay down, so Carl jumped off the other side of the hood and circled around the ambulance with the paramedic in hot pursuit.

The taxi’s horn, which continued to blare, must have attracted attention because more bloody figures were emerging from the urgent care center. Carl’s choices were limited. He could run towards the back of the parking lot and hope to escape in that direction, but he had no idea what was back there and it would mean abandoning Pricilla. That didn’t feel right. Instead he jumped into the open rear doors of the ambulance and pulled them closed behind him. He had just enough time to find and depress the lock before bodies began to slam against the doors.

Voyage of the Dead

Book 1 of the Sovereign Spirit Saga

There are all kinds of emergencies out there that we can prepare for. Take a zombie apocalypse for example. That's right; I said z-o-m-b-i-e a-p-o-c-a-l-y-p-s-e. You may laugh now, but when it happens you'll be happy you read this…

Centers for Disease Control, Preparedness 101: Zombie Apocalypse. May 16, 2011.

http://blogs.cdc.gov/publichealthmatters/2011/05/preparedness-101-zombie-apocalypse/

Chapter 1: Breaking News

"Never awake me when you have good news to announce, because with good news nothing presses; but when you have bad news, arouse me immediately, for then there is not an instant to be lost." – Napoleon Bonaparte

The Sovereign Spirit was cruising 1,000 miles off the Pacific coast of southern Mexico towards Cabo San Lucas at a steady 15 knots when the world as we knew it ended. There were no obvious signs of impending disaster for the 107 souls aboard the 472 foot expedition mega yacht. No explosions or mushroom clouds. No tsunami, hurricane, or asteroid strike. Nothing obvious. No immediate panic or mayhem. The passengers and crew of the former long distance passenger and car ferry were geographically isolated from the traumatic events that began to sweep around the world on the morning of April 1. They were not, however, isolated from the news.

It was still pre-dawn in the Pacific when Scott Allen awoke from a fitful sleep. He snuck out of bed, careful not to disturb his beautiful wife, Michelle, and went to get a breath of fresh air. Scott strolled quietly out onto the Sky Deck. In years past he would have lit a cigarette, but he had quit smoking immediately after winning the lottery. Instead he took several slow, deep breaths of the clean ocean air and stared up at the unblemished glory of the star filled sky. The stars were slowly being overpowered by the glow of dawn to the east, but the sea remained silvery black as the open ocean swells rolled by. The sight, sound and motion of the ship’s bow breaking through the southerly seas were enhanced by the phosphorescence of the wake that broke through the waves. It should have been a marvelous experience. Unfortunately, Scott was disturbed by his already forgotten dreams. All he knew was that they had left a film of sweat which the subtropical breeze turned into a sticky residue on his bare skin.

Scott ran his left hand through his prematurely graying hair that he kept slightly longer than most men his age. He had always been considered handsome, but at the age of 47, and after winning hundreds of millions of dollars in the lottery, he was finally convinced that he needed to live a healthier lifestyle. No more smoking; less fast food; not as much drinking; and regular exercise to bring his six foot tall body back into the best shape that he could muster at his age. He had been 175 pounds in the Army at the age of 18 and, while he had put on some weight since then, he had never topped 200 pounds. Staring out over the phosphorescent ocean, Scott contemplated going down to his fully outfitted gym for an early morning workout, but there was something nagging at his mind that pointed elsewhere. Feeling the need for some form of distraction, he turned away from the rail and walked towards the multi-media room that adjoined his master suite.

Although the Sovereign Spirit was originally launched in the 1960s, she had been refitted and updated with the latest technology more than once in her long life on the seas, especially during her most recent conversion from specialty cruise ship to luxury mega yacht. Part of these upgrades included top of the line satellite telecommunications. That technology brought the atrocities of the day to those aboard the Sovereign Spirit in crisp HD detail. Scott was the first person aboard to witness these events when he turned on the big screen and tuned into the Global News Network.

"This is Fox Rusher with Breaking News from GNN headquarters in Los Angeles. For the past few hours we have been receiving numerous reports of incredible acts of violence erupting in cities and towns across America and around the world. Details are sketchy at best, but most accounts agree that significant numbers of people are engaged in spontaneous acts of brutal violence on their fellow citizens. There is no official explanation for these events."

Scott took only a moment to digest the horrible news before he lifted the handset next to his recliner and punched in the extension for the night watch on the bridge. This is Scott Allen. Please wake the captain and ask him to meet me immediately in the media room on the Sky Deck. Tell him it’s urgent. After he hung up the phone, the bad news on TV continued to unfold while Scott began to contemplate who he could hit up for a pack of smokes.

"We now have live video feeds from various news sources around the world, but our producers have made the decision to delay and edit many of them due to graphic violent content. I am being told that some of the footage shows intense homicidal cruelty and apparent acts of cannibalism. We have prepared a partially edited feed from Times Square in New York City taken from the GNN studios there within the past few minutes. The pixilated portions of the screen have been intentionally altered to obscure the worst images of violence, but we highly recommend viewer discretion in watching this footage. As you can see there are massive crowds of… Oh my God!"

The scenes from New York were impossible to sanitize. New York was four time zones ahead of Scott’s ship and it was a bright, sunny morning with a clear blue sky. Thousands of panicked pedestrians poured out of buildings, collided and stampeded along the sidewalks, and overflowed into turmoil on the streets. Many of those fleeing were clearly bleeding from injuries to their arms, legs and faces. Many others seemed to be pursuing the injured and healthy alike. When a pursuer caught someone, they fell upon them with obvious violent intent. That is where the pixilation took over, but it could not mask the sprays and pools of blood that spread across the pavement and throughout the crowd. The camera zoomed in on an NYPD cop who pulled his service pistol and fired into the back of one of the attackers who seemed to be biting a young woman on the arm. The perp took the round without flinching, then spun around and charged the policeman, taking three more rounds to the chest without pause. He sprang onto the cop, absorbing additional gunshot wounds without slowing, and sunk his teeth into the policeman’s neck.

Jesus Christ! exclaimed Captain Jordan Fisher when he glimpsed that scene on the 85-inch plasma display as he entered the Sky Deck media room to which he had just been summoned. Is that one of your horror movies, Scott?

I wish, replied Scott gravely, and hit mute on the TV remote, cutting off a stuttering Fox Rusher. No, that’s the GNN satellite feed. Please take a seat and watch this with me for a minute, Captain. If this is half as bad as it looks, we’re going to have some very serious decisions to make soon and we need to have as much information as we can get.

The scene from Times Square pulled back to reveal increasing mayhem. Taxis, trucks and buses plowed through the panicked crowds in a seemingly blind attempt to escape the madness. Victims and attackers alike were crushed into road kill. Mercifully, traffic was soon jammed and ground to a halt. Bodies littered the streets and sidewalks. Endless streams of people continued to pour into the square from every direction. It was impossible to tell which were trying to escape and which were attacking until one pounced upon another. Then the camera returned to the spot where the policeman had been overrun by the berserk cannibal. Amazingly, the assailant who had been shot was walking away, but the cop was lying in a pool of blood, apparently dead. Then, as the camera operator was starting to pan away again, the body of the policeman shook violently and he hopped to his feet. Shaking his head once in confusion, with flaps of bloody skin swinging from his neck, the cop turned and lashed out at a passing civilian. Grabbing a fist full of the woman’s hair, he yanked her towards him and bent his head to her neck. The pixilation could not hide the horror of that moment.

Damn! said Scott as he watched the carnage unfold. That’s what I was afraid of. He just turned into one of them!

One of what? asked Fisher in a stunned tone.

I’m not sure exactly what to call them yet, Jordie, responded Scott, but for want of a better term, ‘zombies’ will do for now.

"Zombies? Get real, Scott! I know you like those Dawn of the Dead movies, but zombies aren’t real."

Perhaps, Captain. I would have agreed with you a hundred percent yesterday. But what other explanation would you offer when you wake up to this shit?

Hmmm. Well, what is the news saying about it?

Not much, yet. Nobody seems to have any answers. But that’s part of the reason I want you to watch this with me. This may be more important than we can imagine, said Scott as the image of Fox Rusher replaced the carnage in Times Square. The laws of nature just changed and we may need to learn the new ones fast if we want to survive. With another grimace Scott restored the volume.

"…inexplicable rioting and unprecedented acts of violence! Similar footage and reports are coming in from France, Britain, Germany, Italy, as well as many locations in Asia, Latin America and across the United States. Emails, texts, and tweets are painting a picture of worldwide pandemonium. As best as we can tell at the moment, this is a global pandemic of violence."

The images next to Fox Rusher’s head shifted rapidly through edited scenes of broadcasts from around the world. They were careful not to dwell on any particular attack, but every scene was obviously violent: Mobs running through the streets of Paris with the Eifel Tower behind them; bodies covering a lawn in front of a church somewhere in Europe; a brief scene of carnage in a Japanese airport terminal; rioting and mayhem in the parking lots at Disney World. And on and on…

"There have been no official statements from Washington, but we now have word of a military alert and recall of all active duty personnel to their bases. Several state governors, including those of New York, New Jersey, Florida, California and Texas, have declared states of emergency and called up the National Guard in the past hour.

"The President is currently aboard Air Force One, returning from his latest twelve nation tour of Africa. White House spokesmen report that he is being kept fully informed of developments. Due to violence in Washington, DC, we are told that Air Force One is being diverted to an undisclosed location, but the President is expected to address the nation later today.

 "Meanwhile we must report that GNN has lost communications with several of our sister stations across the country. In fact, we just lost the live feed from our New York studio that was providing footage from Times Square. However, GNN will continue to broadcast live from our Los Angeles headquarters. Power outages and large fires are being reported in many metropolitan areas. Emergency services are flooded with 911 calls. Cell phone networks are overloaded..."

What the hell is happening? asked Fisher, without expecting an answer. Scott simply shook his head and frowned.

"Although we have received no official direction from Federal authorities, GNN now cautions all viewers to stay calm, stay where you are, and lock your doors to protect yourselves from this mysterious outbreak of violence. We will return with more breaking news after this short public service announcement on disaster preparedness."

Scott leaned back and turned towards Captain Fisher as the screen switched to a test pattern. Jordie, please tell Marty in the com-room to DVR this channel and all other satellite news programming from every country we can pick up. We’ll want to be able to review all the news available if this situation continues to deteriorate.

Why do you think the situation will deteriorate? asked Fisher.

You heard him, responded Scott. They’re already losing contact with some cities. We need to record as much news as we can now, because we might not be able to get any news later.

You think it’s so bad that we’ll lose communications?

I think it might be a lot worse than that. But let’s not panic the rest of the crew and passengers just yet. Tell Marty to cut off TV and internet access to all cabins, staterooms, and public areas except this room and your office. Oh, and let Miguel watch and record the Spanish news channels in the navigation room. We’re heading towards Mexico at the moment and I want to know what’s happening there too. Tell Marty to leave the On-Demand movies working, so the passengers don’t get too upset. Just have him tell anyone who asks that the satellite feed is down. Then come back and we can try to sort this out and decide what to tell everyone else aboard. The last thing we need right now is a panic on this ship.

Captain Fisher nodded and left the room. Scott keyed in the BBC on the satellite remote control, looking very grave. The female anchor looked scared…

"There is mass murder and mayhem taking place in London. Alarms are sounding here in the BBC studios. Violent intruders are reported on this floor. We need security now. Does anyone here have a gun?"

Scott shook his head sadly. The progressive UK gun laws had just become a suicide pact. It was time to change the channel. He wanted news of what was happening back home in Southern California…

"This is live coverage from Sky Eye 3 over the Santa Monica Freeway. Forget about traffic reports. As you can see, nothing is moving down there except for fleeing victims and murderous zombies. That’s right folks, I said zombies. I’ve been watching this develop as the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard and it’s the real Dawn of the Dead down there. Do not leave your house this morning. If you have already left your home, try to get back now. Lock your doors. Don’t take the kids to school. Don’t open your door to get the paper. This looks like Armageddon…"

Since the Captain would be gone for a few minutes at least, Scott decided it was time to wake his wife, Michelle, and tell her the crazy news. He walked quietly into the bedroom of the master suite and bent to kiss her on the cheek. Her long blond hair was draped across half of the regal and gorgeous face that had once graced the cover of fashion magazines. Scott took a moment to appreciate her beauty and his good fortune.

Honey? Wake up baby, he said gently. She stirred and opened her eyes slowly.

It’s too early, Scott, she complained. I was up most of the night reading a book. Let me sleep, honey. Please…

Sorry, baby, but you need to wake up now, Scott pressed. I’m afraid there’s some terrible news.

What is it? Michelle said as she sat up quickly. Is Billy okay?

Take it easy, said Scott soothingly. Everyone on the ship seems fine. He paused and tried to figure out how to explain the news to her. The problem isn’t here. It’s the rest of the world. People everywhere are going crazy. They’re acting like zombies and killing each other. From what they’re showing on the news, it looks like the whole world is falling apart, or most of it anyway.

Stop it, Scott, that’s not funny, she responded in a tone of voice that, after years of marriage, he recognized as impending anger. I know it’s April Fool’s Day, damn it, but that has got to be the worst joke you have ever made.

For just a moment Scott had to stop and wonder if she was right. It was April first. Could this be a practical joke of some kind? One concocted by the media? Something like Orson Wells did on his radio show with War of the Worlds back in the 1930s? Was it possible? Special effects were so advanced that they could generate anything with a computer these days. But whatever false hope he grasped at in that moment was crushed as he recalled how all of the news networks were reporting the same catastrophes. This was the real deal. Michelle must have seen the moment of doubtful hope in his eyes, followed by despair, and that more than anything else brought her up short.

You’re really serious, aren’t you? she said in a much more timid voice. Scott nodded sadly and bent down to give her a hug.

I don’t know exactly what’s happening, Scott said, but whatever it is, honey, I promise I’m going to do everything I can to protect you and Billy and everyone on this ship. But the first step in doing that is learning as much as possible about what’s going on out there. I’m going back to watch the news. We’ll call a meeting of everyone aboard as soon as we get a grip on what’s happening and what we plan to do about it. Michelle gave Scott a haunted look as she gathered the down comforter around her.

Scott returned to the media room and began channel surfing again. He stopped on C-SPAN when he noticed that it was displaying a test pattern with the words Emergency Broadcast System across it. The speakers relayed the familiar buzzing alarm that usually accompanied regular tests