To Sail a Darkling Sea

William, his ten-year-old son, and Julie, fourteen, came up on deck quickly with the cobbled together signs. They had made them from bits of stitched together plastic and can boxes to keep from damaging their sheets.

They carefully held them up to prevent them tearing in the breeze.

* * *

“ ‘Do Not Approach.’” Commander Vancel said. “ ‘Not Infected.’ They’re in the same boat we are.”

“With less in the way of stores and no power, sir,” his XO pointed out.

“Seem to be making it,” the CO replied, touching a control.

* * *

A light began to wink on the periscope.

“If I understood bloody Morse maybe I’d understand what you were saying,” Lincoln said through gritted teeth. The signal was repetitive, though, two flashes then two flashes…

“I think they’re just saying they understand,” Susan said.

“I was thinking the same,” Lincoln replied. He waved and nodded. “I wonder if they’re infected? Or not.”

* * *

“See if the Lines is monitoring,” Commander Vancel said.

* * *

“No Tan Lines, Alexandria, over.”

Sophia had been expecting the call and already had the mike in her hand.

“Alex, Lines, over.”

“Sierra is forty-five-foot Activa motor yacht. No power. Four survivors, probable family, uninfected. Boat has British registry. Over.”

“Roger, Alex. Just over the horizon. Have them on radar. Will come up from their lee and attempt to communicate.”

“Roger. Standing by.”

“Alex, could you retrans to flotilla then possibly squadron ops?”

“Roger, stand by… Ready on retrans to flotilla, over.”

“Living Large, Living Large, No Tan Lines, over… ”

“No Tan Lines, Living Large, over.”

“We have a contact this area. According to the Alexandria, they’re uninfected. Last I heard, the squadron still had a few units of vaccine. I’d suggest that it would be advisable, given these people’s circumstances, out of fuel and in the middle of no-where, to use it on them. Over.”

“Stand by, Lines… ”

“Standing by,” Sophia muttered. She could see the yacht on the horizon. The wind was from the southeast and she was coming in from the northwest. Which would put her downwind, or “to the lee” in nautical speak, from the yacht. Which was where she wanted to be.

It was, at this point, extremely unlikely that casual contact with the people on the yacht, or the sub crews, would give them H7D3. Flu eventually became noninfectious as a person’s immune system overcame it. She probably could come from windward, fuel up the yacht, transfer supplies, carefully…

“Extremely unlikely” was not the same as “could not happen.” And nobody wanted to infect people who had survived this long. Families like hers were not so much rare as non-existent. Nobody found so far had so much as one family member survive. The closest was Chris Phillips, Captain of the David Cooper and his former fiancé. And both believing the other one dead, they had sought opportunities elsewhere in the interim. Even if a family was on a life raft or boat, like this one, drifting, only one survivor had generally been found.

Preserving this family was, in her opinion, critically important. They probably felt the same way.

The problem was… The ocean was really, really big. Finding them in the first place had been a matter of luck and that “intermittent distress signal.” If they left the boat behind, they might be able to find them again. They knew the currents in the area and they knew where they were, now. But it was, again, only “likely.” And if they were left to drift… They could drift until they were all old and grey and died on the boat if they ended up pushed into the Sargasso Sea. More likely, they’d eventually run aground and either get infected or eaten. Sum it up as “bad things.”

Kuzma knew all this and he had way more experience than she did. Maybe he’d come up with a good answer.

* * *

“… that’s my take on it, sir,” Kuzma said. “If we leave them drifting, even for the time it would take to go up to squadron and get the vaccine, we’ll probably lose them. I’m sort of lost for an answer here, sir… ”

“Roger, Large,” the Alex replied. “We’ve been kicking it around as well. The only solution we see, and we’d have to get permission from higher, is for one of our subs to take them under tow and bring them up to squadron AO. We’re going to discuss that with higher.”

“Roger, Alex,” Kuzma said, his face working. “I’m going to leave this on you and the Tan Lines for now if that’s all right.”

“Under control, Large.”

“Living Large, out,” Kuzma said. He shook his head and looked at the helmsman. “That’s a zammie.”

“Definite zammie, sir… ”

* * *

“Boat, Da,” William said, pointing to the northeast.

“I’m going to assume they’re with the submarine,” Lincoln said, looking at the approaching yacht through his binoculars. “I hope they stay downwind.”

“Leeward, Da,” Julie said, didactically. He had one manual on seamanship and his oldest had studied it assiduously.

“I hope they stay to leeward, then,” Lincoln said, trying not to smile.

* * *

“Good afternoon,” Sophia said over the loudhailer. “We get that you’re uninfected. Which an amazing number of people find tremendously exciting. You’re the first complete boat of survivors we’ve found. Which is why you are about to have a zammie, which is an acronym for a ‘zombie apocalypse moment.’ The pre-Plague term is ‘what the heck?’ ”

* * *

“Da,” William said. He was always the one looking around. “Another submarine!”

Forward of the ship an American attack sub surfaced.

* * *

“The USS Annapolis is going to fire you a line. They are uninfected so there’s no chance of catching the flu. When you get it, hook it up to your forward cleat. We have a small stock of vaccine back at our squadron which is operating about six hundred miles north of here. It’s going to take a few days for you to get there but they’ll tow you up. They will also pass you some water since your still won’t work being towed. No food, sorry, they’re short on rations as well. Anyway, a billion-dollar nuclear submarine is about to act as a tow truck for one forty-five-foot yacht full of vacationers. Welcome to a zombie apocalypse moment. We hope that you consider Wolf Squadron and the US Navy in the future for all your towing needs… ”

* * *

“Hoooh,” Sophia said, adjusting the focus on her binoculars. “Sweet.”

She keyed the intercom, powered up and turned to starboard.

“Rig for fishing ops!” she boomed, then switched to the radio. “Flotilla, Lines, over.”

“Flotilla.”