To Sail a Darkling Sea

who will instruct you in the methods and means of infected clearance. Because, Captain, she is your number one expert at heavy clearance.”

“Sir… ” Wilkes said.

“Again, not a request, Captain,” Steve said. “She trained the fucking Gunny at how to do clearance, Captain. You can God damned well listen to her. You’ve been telling people they should move faster. Possibly that’s the case. But you don’t really know what’s happening up front, do you? Because you’ve been staying as far away from zombies as you can get. Well, you’re done staying away from zombies, Captain. Gunny Sands can manage the flow of material. Lieutenant Fontana will manage personnel distribution. You will go fight zombies. As of now. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Wilkes said. “But, sir… ”

“What is it about ‘go fight zombies’ you don’t understand, Captain?” Steve said, tiredly.

“Sir… I’m out of qualification on my M4, sir,” Wilkes said reluctantly.

“Okay,” Steve said, drawing a breath of foul air. “Captain, I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt. That is either the lamest excuse to avoid combat I’ve ever heard, or you’re actually saying you haven’t dotted an i and crossed a t in a zombie apocalypse!”

* * *

“Hey, Ernest,” Isham said, waving at a chair. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks,” the former executive said. “So you’re the number two guy? Where’s this Smith character? I need to talk to him.”

“Over on the Love Boat,” Isham said. “Checking on the clearance operations. So, you getting your head back into shape?”

“Well, except for that incident last night,” Zumwald said, angrily. “According to Milo, that bitch was a Marine. He said he’d talked to her, but she needs to be charged with assault.”

“And that’s what we’re here to talk about,” Isham said. “According to more than one witness, you grabbed her arm and told her to get you a drink.”

“That’s no excuse for trying to choke me to death,” Zumwald snapped.

“Shewolf wasn’t trying to choke you to death,” Isham said, chuckling and waving a hand. “If Shewolf wanted you dead, you’d be dead.” He held up his hand to forestall a reply.

“You work with people,” Isham said. “You know working the politics of Hollywood. Let me just give you a little brief, okay? Some information you need. Okay? About the politics of this little hellhole called Wolf Squadron.”

“Okay,” Zumwald said, crossing his arms. “But that bitch is fucking nuts.”

“Yes,” Isham said, nodding. “Yes, she is. She is totally fucking bonkers. So’s her dad. You read that little pamphlet?”

“The one about ‘Welcome to Wolf Squadron’?” Zumwald said. “Read it. It could use a rewrite.”

“Maybe,” Isham said. “But here’s the thing. The chick you accosted last night? That was Lieutenant Faith Smith. AKA Shewolf. Boss’ daughter.”

“Oh, crap,” Zumwald said, shaking his head. “I guess that throws getting her charged with assault out the window.”

“Bit more than that,” Isham said. “The reason you’re talking to me instead of Steve is he was ready to throw you off the boat. Into the harbor I mean. The one with all the man-eating sharks. And here’s the part you probably aren’t going to get real easily. He’d have felt the same way if you grabbed any of the little bobsies running around the saloon.”

“Okay, what?” Zumwald said. “His daughter… I can get that. I suppose I should apologize to him… ”

“Might want to back off on that for a bit,” Isham said. “Some more info. First, Faith’s only thirteen… ”

“I heard that but I didn’t believe it,” Zumwald said. “Seriously? How’d she get to be a Marine? Oh, her dad of course. Duh.”

“Sort of,” Isham said, pointing out the window. “You see that ship? What I call the Love Boat. There are thirty Marines, including your buddy Milo, clearing it right now. Slowly. Faith and her dad, one Marine and a Green Beret sergeant cleared one that was a touch larger. Before they found the rest of the Marines. Then they cleared the fucking Iwo Jima, which is the size of a World War Two carrier, to find some Marines to, you know, help.

“Faith’s like a goddess to the Marines, and she’s actually good at her job, especially given she’d just finished seventh grade. Which is an important job. She does really important shit.

“Right now, you’re just getting your head together. Like the pamphlet says, maybe you decide to help out. We can use people who know how to get shit done. Not just as military. I only took the Lieutenancy they offered cause I have to work with the Navy and Marines to get my job done and it helps. But there’s lots of ways a guy with your background and work ethic and general get-it-done attitude could help. Problem being, even if you wanted to, right now the only reason the Marines haven’t gotten together to kick the crap out of you is that they’re too busy. When they get less busy or, for example, this evening when they break from killing zombies, I would not want to be in your shoes.”

“So what is this?” Zumwald said. “A military dictatorship? Beatings for free?”

“Yeah,” Isham said, looking at him as if he was nuts. “We’re on ships. And they are all officially US Navy vessels. Even most of the dinky little yachts. The commanders, including this one, are all Navy officers, even if the ink is still wet on the commissions. And even if they weren’t, captains of vessels at sea have a lot of legal control in any circumstances. By the way, I talked Captain Graham, boss of this boat, out of pressing charges against you for assault. Because you don’t get how badly you fucked up. I get that. He’s another Faith lover, but it’s also you don’t get to just grab any cookie and tell her you want another scotch. You don’t. This isn’t Hollywood, and, sorry, you’re not some big time movie executive anymore. You’re a fucking refugee in a squadron that spends half its time on the ragged edge. Still. You got no clue how tough it is to keep these vessels supplied.”

“This is bullshit,” Zumwald said, shaking his head.

“This is a zombie fucking apocalypse, Ernest,” Isham said. “It’s not a movie version, either. It’s the real fucking deal. And right now, the choices are, you help to whatever extent you can and you get some perks. You don’t and we stick you in a hold with a bunch of other losers and you get water and sushi or you can feel free to jump in the fucking harbor or catch a boat to land. Now, Faith and her crew sort of half-ass cleared a couple of towns in this area. You can ask the Canaries if they mind you jumping ship to one of those. No problem. I’ll give you a pistol so you can go scavenge in the ruins.”

“Very funny,” Zumwald said.

“I’m not fucking joking, Zumwald!” Isham said, leaning forward and banging his desk. “Those are the choices. You got an alternate suggestion?”

Zumwald thought about it for a second.

“Hell, I can drive a boat,” he said. “I’ve got my own yacht back in the LA marina. Gimme a boat.”

“Which is what Smith did for me when we had our first little run-in,” Isham said, nodding. “Then I hit the problem which he’d foreseen. Where you going to get fuel? Where you going to get groceries when they run out?”

“You guys have got ’em,” Zumwald said.

“You going to whip out the Amex black?” Isham said. “Won’t get you far. I said, it’s a bitch to keep this Squadron supplied. Okay, we’ve got a bunch of ships and boats to get stores from at this point. You think we’re going to give you all the coordinates? We need those supplies. Are you going to climb the ladders, board the boats, some of them still with infected onboard, haul the stores off the boats? Ever tried to refuel at sea from a freighter? It is not easy, bub, trust me.”

“Shit,” Zumwald said, shaking his head.

“That fucker Smith left me to rot on a boat in the Bermuda harbor,” Isham said. “And that was after he’d put a gun to my head. I learned my lesson pretty quick. I’d much rather sit in an office pushing paper than fish for my supper. Or haul stores or fight zombies for them. I leave that shit to crazy fuckers like, well, Faith. So now that we’ve got some background to the situation, I’ll