As days during a zombie apocalypse go, this wasn’t a bad one. We left Beth in her lab fiddling with her equipment and Bert drove us to his marina. We took surface streets, staying on the same street for several blocks at a time to watch for the assholes, but never spotted them. Once at the marina, Bert and I took a boat ride.
As I mentioned before, the marina where Bert kept his boat docked was quite small. But about three miles to the northwest was the much, much larger, Elliot Bay Marina. Bert said that more than 1000 boats could dock there at any given time, and that included dock space for super-yachts. He believed that the Seattle Yacht Club, which had a building at the marina, would have the radio equipment we were looking for. We might also be able to find some useful equipment in the harbormaster’s office or in some of the larger boats.
The boat ride to the marina was fairly pleasant. Sure, the bodies of zombies floating in the Sound could be a bit disturbing, and the complete lack of life on shore was somewhat eerie, but if you ignored all that, it was a nice day and a peaceful trip. Bert had been to the marina a couple times since the outbreak, so he knew what expect when we got there.
More than a few people who had boats docked there had taken them out in the hopes of avoiding the effects of the pandemic. Approximately one-third of the berths were vacant. A few boats could be seen drifting in Puget Sound and Bert said he had approached a couple without seeing any life on board. I don’t know how many made it to the Pacific, or if they managed to avoid getting sick by doing so, but I do hope that some folks got lucky. I wonder if anyone who wasn’t immune to the virus could successfully have gotten away, and if they did, would they be able to return without getting sick now? That might be something for Beth to look into.
An approximately 2000 foot long breakwater protected the 14, 900-foot-long piers that made up the Elliot Bay Marina. Though both ends of the marina were open, about 1000 feet to the east was the Smith Cove cruise ship terminal, and this, along with the breakwater, kept many of the bodies of zombies from drifting out into the Sound. And there were quite a few bodies floating around the piers of the marina.
Bert piloted his boat into the marina, and between piers I and J, in order to dock as close to the yacht club’s building as possible. I heard bodies bumping against the hull, and could hear soft moans coming from a few of the docked vessels. The third mooring from the start of the pier was open, and Bert quickly docked and we got the boat tied up. Though there were no obvious zombies moving around near the piers, we had to be careful. There were some floating near the shoreline, and if any of those revived, as the floating zombies did periodically, they could gain there footing in the shallower water and come after us.
Bert led the way to the yacht club building and drew his pistol before entering. He informed me that he hadn’t ventured into the yacht club, and so I drew my tomahawks and prepared to follow him through the door. The blinds were drawn shut, so we couldn’t see inside. Bert tested the doorknob, and then he pushed the door open a crack. He looked back at me and I gave him a nod. Bert shoved the door and it swung about three inches, thumped against something, and bounced closed.
Bert chuckled and holstered his gun. He opened the door again and this time gave it a gentle push until it stopped. Leaning his shoulder against the door, Bert began putting his weight against it, slowly forcing the door open against whatever was blocking it, until the unknown object moaned and began moving on its own causing Bert to jump back with a shout. Adrenaline surged through me and I took a step past Bert, raising my leg and kicking the door right next to the doorknob as I had seen on so many TV cop shows. I was swinging the tomahawk in my right hand up, preparing to step through the door to take out the zombie that was behind it. But once again TV let me down. The door bounced off of the zombie, knocked the tomahawk out of my hand, and slammed into my face. Bert’s shock quickly turned into hearty laughter at the sight of me rubbing my now bleeding nose.
I was angry with Bert, the door, the zombie, and myself. So after retrieving my tomahawk, I took my anger out on the emaciated zombie; and the two others we found inside. Once my adrenaline was spent, I was left with embarrassment and a sore nose. I was also left with the snickering of Bert as we loaded the radio equipment onto his boat. In retrospect I could see how what had happened to me was funny, but I still find my ineptitude frustrating.
We spotted the asshole’s red BMW parked behind the triangular building when we got back. So we unloaded the radio gear in the alley behind our building. Once Bert gets it setup and working, we’ll see if we can’t figure out what these guys want.
Posted on November 7, 2014, in Fiction and tagged Fiction, Horror, Post Apocalypse, Post Apocalyptic Fiction, Science Fiction, Survival Fiction, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombie Fiction, Zombies. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.