To Sail a Darkling Sea

As a skipper, and an Acting Ensign, whatever that was, she really shouldn’t be doing boardings. But when they’d left the main squadron, Rusty was the only volunteer for “hostile boarding specialist” that she could scrounge up. And clearing something this size was a two-person job. Paula and Patrick were trustworthy to hold the boat. Not so good at clearing zombies.

Fortunately, one of the ships they’d cleared had some double-ought and a couple of pump shotguns. So they both had adequate firearms. Rusty had some body armor borrowed from the Coast Guard. It wasn’t really his size, as usual. And he still didn’t have real shoes.

Needs must.

The reason for the surviving infected was a set of bags of rice on the pallets. The zombies had gnawed into the rice bags and had been feasting on the rice. And from the looks of things, the occasional bird that had tried the same.

There was also freshish rainwater pooled in the inflatable on deck.

“Water, food, zombies,” Sophia said, pointing. “No fresh water, no zombies.”

“I wouldn’t drink that,” Rusty said. The water was clearly foul. Then he thought about it. “Yeah, come to think of it, if I had that on the Voyage I’d have drunk it.”

“Interesting fact,” Sophia said, cautiously rounding one of the pallets. “With water like that, the trick is to use an enema.”

“Seriously?” Rusty said, grimacing.

“Your rectum sucks up water from your poop,” Sophia said. “It’s why it comes out solid. The water gets drawn out by the rectum. And it also filters out the bad stuff, obviously. So if you’ve got really foul water and you really need it, you just give it to yourself as an enema.”

“I wish I’d known that on the Voyage,” Rusty said. “I was mixing water and urine.”

“Which was why you survived,” Sophia said. “Won’t work with salt water, by the way. But you can even survive, for a while, on small quantities of salt water. The problem is, it’s actually the salinity of the human body. So your body can’t really absorb it well. But when you’re really dehydrated, your salinity increases compared to salt water and you can survive. For a while. Then you go fricking nuts and die. Also the problem with urine. When you’re recycling, you’re still losing water and the salinity, not to mention urea, gets higher and higher and you die.”

“I really don’t want to be back in that situation again,” Rusty said.

“And, hopefully, you won’t,” Sophia said, regarding the open hatch on the deck. “Any zombies in there?”

“Want me to yell?” Rusty asked.

“Nah,” Sophia said. “I’m pretty sure any that are alive would have come for the feast… ”

* * *

The only “survivor” hadn’t. He’d hanged himself in the small cabin he was trapped in. But most of the belowdecks watertight doors were closed. The engine room was in good shape, as was the bridge. Pretty much the only areas messed up by the infecteds was a companionway. And the cabin with the suicide was a bit rank.

“Good find,” Sophia said, examining the main engine controls. When she’d first seen an engine room like this, she’d thought she’d never understand one. Now, while she was no expert, she generally knew how to get the engine started on something this size. If there was any fuel and juice. She went through the procedure for engine main start-it was an air-powered starting system-and hit the button to start it cranking.

“Come on, baby,” she muttered. She could tell the batteries were low, but the starter generator did turn over. Then the big diesels rumbled to life.

“Beauty, eh!” she shouted. They’d both donned earmuffs.

“Nice!” Rusty shouted, grinning.

She went up to the bridge to check the systems. There were readouts in the engine room but she understood bridge systems better. Besides, it was easier to talk. Everything, so far, looked in the green.

“Rusty, go get some of daddy’s little crawlies and drop them on the bodies on the deck and in the cabin. Then head back to the boat. We don’t have a prize crew so I’m going to con this back to the Large. Just follow me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Rusty said.

“Don’t fall behind,” she said.

* * *

“Okay, so I’ve got to slow down,” she muttered. The Pit Stop was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a speed boat. But it was faster than the No Tan Lines. A lot faster.

* * *

“It’s a crew supply vessel,” Kuzma said.

“Details?” Sophia said, yawning. She’d had to keep awake non-stop heading back to the flotilla.

“Details, sir,” Kuzma said, without rancor.

“Sorry, sir,” Sophia said.

“No problem,” Kuzma said. “The Coast Guard is sort of easy on the whole ‘sir/ma’am’ thing. But the Navy’s not. And I’m trying, at fairly long range, to get you ready to assume the mantle of a Navy officer.”

“Yes, sir,” Sophia said. “Understood. But… What is a crew supply vessel? Bringing supplies for crews or supplying with crews?”

“Both, either, depends on the configuration and mission,” Kuzma said. “Generally they’re faster than other ships their size and they’re used to do things like run crews out to oil rigs or supply ships like the Alpha at sea or at least in out-of-the-way coves. That was probably what this one was used for, based on the, you know, antique car on it. Which means there’s another megayacht out there somewhere. Well, there are probably lots of megayachts out there somewhere. Somewhere is the key.”

“Yes, sir,” Sophia said, yawning again. “Sorry, sir.”

“Been there,” Kuzma said. “However, there is one other area to cover. I understand that you did not have a prize crew available. However, in the future, while I can understand your doing boardings until we can get you another security officer, you should have put two of your crew aboard the Pit Stop to con it back or called for a prize crew. The Lines is your boat. You’re the skipper. You don’t leave your boat. Understood, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir,” Sophia said.

“When you’re a bit more clear-headed I’ll go over some of the very bad things that have happened in history when skippers leave their boats at sea,” Kuzma said. “Repeat after me. Do not leave the boat.”

“Do not leave the boat,” Sophia said. “Aye, aye, sir.”

* * *

Rusty was trying to stay awake. He really was. It was just there was nothing to do on what the Navy called “midwatch.” They boat had an autopilot which currently had it cruising at just about walking pace on a general “southwest” heading. He just had to sit at the helm, not touching anything, keep an eye out they weren’t going to hit a drifting boat or freighter and try to stay awake.

They’d picked up about a dozen refugees in the past week, mostly from one big lifeboat. They were dossed down below. Everyone was dossed down below except one Rusty Fulmer Bennett III who had drawn midwatch.

He stood up, walked around the small bridge and sat back down. Which was about when he noticed a small red icon flashing on the control screens.

He looked at it, rubbed his eyes and frowned.

“ ‘Main breaker overload fault’?” He said just about the time the icon got brighter and the console started going “Breeep! Breeep! ” Then another icon popped up.

“ ‘Engine room fire alarm’?” Rusty said. There was a moment of confusion before it kicked in. “ENGINE ROOM FIRE ALARM?”

* * *