Islands of Rage and Hope

CHAPTER 20

“You guys okay?” Sophia asked as she entered the container.

“They finally got the TV working,” Troy answered. “They just ran the Welcome to Wolf Squadron video.” It was possible the former SEAL was the only one able to talk.

“Your family started this,” Tom said.

“Yes, sir,” Sophia said. “That shot of me in a suit was where I was working in New York producing vaccine. Like I said, I’ve pulled half the squadron over a transom. We’d get you all the other briefing stuff but it’s paper and there’s no good way to decontaminate it and ditto with moving a computer in here. I’m not sure what they’ll be playing, next, but I hope you can hang in there with it. We’re going to have to crash. After that, we’ll be going to four-hour shifts until you guys are recovered and we see if the vaccine holds. Shortest period for turning we’ve seen is three hours. So we’re going to have to secure you while we pass out. Light restraints; you can get out of them if you’re sane. Then Mr. Walker will be back in about four hours.”

“We’ll be fine till then,” Dr. Price said. “One question. How many MDs have you found?”

“One,” Sophia said. “You. Our other doctors are Lieutenant Fontana and Mr. Walker, who are both SF medic trained. There’s one in the CDC who can talk us through stuff. Oh, and we’ve got seventeen hundred women who are pregnant and about to give birth.”

“I’m not sure how many more shocks like that I can handle,” Rizwana said.

“Here’s another then,” Sophia said. “We had eighteen hundred. We’ve lost about a hundred babies or their mothers to complications or miscarriages already. And when Walker isn’t in here, he’s running around the flotilla checking on the mothers. Including both of my subordinate skippers and six members of our boat crews. Last bit of news. We’re moving, so you’re going to have to put up with some motion. This beach is getting rather nasty so we’re moving to a harbor that hasn’t been shot up. Should take about an hour. Since I have to move my boat as well…”

She hung her head.

“See y’all tomorrow,” she said, exiting the container.

“Sir, I’ve been looking at the map…” Faith said, her mouth half full of sushi.

The Marines had cleaned up after extracting the astronauts, eaten breakfast, then crashed. It was dinner time and Faith was still barely recovered.

In the interim the task force had moved to Rendezvous Bay. It was on the far side of the island from Road Salt Pond Bay and thus nicely away from the smell and sight of piles of dead bodies. Unfortunately, it was close to Blowing Point, which had been another clearance point. But even though the wind was from that direction, there was no real effect.

The bay was better in lots of ways. It had fewer wrecks and less mess than Road Salt Pond and there was, apparently, no fire damage. There were a couple of resorts in sight that looked almost as if nothing had happened.

“Remember those sayings, Lieutenant?” Hamilton said. “That sounds very much like ‘I have an idea…’”

“I’m a second lieutenant not a first lieutenant, sir,” Faith said. “But about the map, sir. This beach has another one of those salt ponds behind it. It’s just a little strip of sand, sir. It’s even narrower than that other anchorage was.”

“I noticed that, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said.

“Thing is, sir, we put out a couple of security points and infected can’t really get to it, sir,” Faith said.

“Thinking of hitting the beach for a tan, Lieutenant?” Hamilton asked.

“Thinking that most of us haven’t had anything like a break in a long time, sir,” Faith said. “So, yes, sir, that was sort of asking if the men could have some shore leave, sir. Since we’re stuck here till the astronauts recover, sir. I was thinking about Christmas day, sir.”

“How would you do it?” Hamilton asked, interested.

“One squad should be able to cover it, sir,” Faith said. “One team at each end with the squad leader doing interior patrol as sergeant of the guard, sir. If we’re here for a few days we could have them rotate one day on one off, sir.”

“Why not Navy away teams?” Hamilton asked.

“I…don’t run them, sir?” Faith said.

“The force has about the same number of Naval ground combat team members as Marines,” Hamilton said. “How would you do it if you had them as well?”

“Not much different, sir,” Faith said after a moment’s thought. “Possibly have two shifts each day. I’d suggest that all armed personnel who go ashore, go ashore armed. But other than that…Just more free time, sir.”

“How do you integrate the fact that people who go on liberty tend to drink?” Hamilton asked. “What about a reaction team?”

“I’m getting out of my depth, sir,” Faith said.

“There’s an outline for a standard liberty schedule in your inbox, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said. “Along with our current TOE. I need the details filled in by zero eight hundred tomorrow. That way, people can have liberty on Christmas Day.”

“You’d already thought of it, sir,” Faith said.

“The definition of intelligence is generally said to be when someone has the same idea you have,” Hamilton said. “I’ve found it to be when someone has a better idea. But you’re getting there….”

“Hi, folks,” Hamilton said, looking through the plexiglass. There was an intercom with a hand mike set up. “I’m Colonel Hamilton, commander of Kodiak Force. Sorry I haven’t made it down here before now. You all nominal?”

“Nominal, Colonel,” Commander Daniels said, sticking up a thumb.

“Now that we’ve got the plasma running, we’re working on getting you up on video with the Hole and suchlike,” Hamilton said. “We also took the time to extract the seats from the capsule. Doctor, do you think those would be preferable if we can decontaminate them?”

“How contaminated are they?” Dr. Price asked.

“We used the same protocols to recover them that we used to extract you,” Hamilton said. “They’re in the five-ton, which you can’t see is still parked right behind the container. We’re just not sure if it’s worth the risk. On the other hand, the bedding you are on just came off the cleanest boats we could find that didn’t appear to have been opened since the plague broke out. We cleaned the hell out of them, obviously, but…Those have a higher likelihood of contagion than your capsule seats.”

“More wonderful news,” Dr. Price said. “The seats would be preferable. They’re conformal and we actually need to be somewhat vertical to get our bodies adjusted to gravity.”

“I’ll have them moved in next shift,” Hamilton said. “For general information on the progress of any potential contagion, our experience is that most people who turn start to do so in the first several weeks after exposure. According to Dr. Dobson at the CDC, with your reduced immune systems, that’s more like three to five days. So if you’re going to turn we should know in a week or so. I’m not trying to be depressing with that. Simply the realities of current existence.”

“Understood,” Dr. Price said. “We’d discussed on the station what was likely when we landed.”

“We’d discussed simply reentering more or less at random,” Commander Daniels said. “But the Hole assured us that all we’d find is infected.”

“It really is all gone?” Rizwana said.

“It is,” Hamilton said, simply. “This is the first place we’ve cleared that you reasonably can walk around with minimal arms and security. And it took a heck of a lot to make it that way.”

“Even looking at the view at night,” Tom said, shaking his head. “It’s hard to believe.”

“It’s like that for people who were in enclosed spaces, even lifeboats,” Hamilton said. “Cognitive dissonance and denial are fairly normal responses in the current environment. I was in a warehouse. When you can go out at night and there is not a light to be seen and no humans but infected…it’s easier to believe and understand.”

“Do you have family, Colonel?” Rizwana asked. “We have a daughter in England.”

“Point of protocol is that that’s generally not a subject of discussion,” Hamilton said. “But since you did ask, I had to kill my wife and son, ma’am.”

“Oh, my Lord, Colonel,” the physicist said, her hand over her mouth. “I am sorry for…” she shook her head again.

“And that is why the subject of family is generally off-limits, Doctor,” Hamilton said.

“What is the plan for us when we’re recovered?” Matveev asked.

“You’re probably all headed back to Gitmo,” Hamilton said. “If you wish to help out, that’s where you’re most likely to be of help. We’re on a rather specific mission. But back to Gitmo is the plan.”

“What is going on there?” Tom Shelley asked. “I assume that the detainees have been released?”

“None of the detainees made it,” Hamilton said. “At the point that we were trying to manage their extraction, things pretty much fell apart. I’m assuming the few who were resistant were eaten by the rest or died in their cells of dehydration or starvation. It was not intentional, there was more effort put into securing the detainees than other, arguably more vital, issues. Like a lot of things, it just didn’t work out. At the time I was handling other issues. Family among others. Guantanamo Bay is currently our only land base and it’s not even fully secure, from what I’ve been getting. They’re trying to get helos operational as well as building zombie traps. That’s where all the building is happening and with the exception of Mr. Lyons, it’s assumed that you all would prefer to be builders rather than this rather nasty but necessary destruction.”

“Am I being reactivated, sir?” Troy asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Not if you are resistant, Mr. Lyons,” Hamilton said. “Your mechanical expertise would be quite useful on the civilian side. But I’ve got a thirteen-year-old running my Marines and a fifteen-year-old running my Naval Landing Parties. Competently or they wouldn’t be doing so. But you’ll understand that I’m not going to turn down the help of a former Naval Special Warfare officer if it’s offered.”

“I’m not exactly in shape at the moment,” Lyons said, raising his arm with some difficulty.

“That is what food and exercise are for, Mr. Lyons,” Hamilton said. “My only gunnery sergeant, who is not here unfortunately, had to be carried off the Iwo Jima. He is currently again leading PT at Gitmo. Although they go running in combat gear since they occasionally run into infected who have penetrated the fences.”

“You have helos,” Kuznetsov said. “Do you have other aircraft?”

“The helos are yet to be certified for flight,” Hamilton said. “That is where a good bit of my Marines are, working on them. As to other aircraft, there are no current plans to get airplanes working. The only strip we could use is Gitmo and possibly here. And we have virtually no mechanics qualified to work on most of them. Obviously, if we’re talking about a Cessna, any of the Marine mechanics could fix one up.”

“Any of us could fix one up,” Commander Daniels said. “Well, most of us. And drive them.”

“Captain Smith is concentrated on helos,” Hamilton said thoughtfully. “There are planes at this airstrip. The ones at Gitmo are either too large to be viable—there’s a Hercules there—or too complex. Most of the rest are corporate jets. But I suspect there are some smaller ones here. Probably not worth the effort, though. We don’t do much in the way of reconnaissance and that would be about their only real utility.”

“Critical parts and supplies?” Commander Daniels said.

“Scavenge and kludge,” Hamilton replied.

“Seriously?” Lyons said.

“Pretty much what we do,” Hamilton said. “Captain Smith noted to me that his master’s thesis was on the Siege of Malta and the many work-arounds that were used to keep their aircraft flying. He holds the opinion that letting people scrounge in a situation like this, if not at will then widely, is more effective than trying to do everything by the book. So far it’s working, so I suppose my boss has a point. It’s a decidedly eccentric one, however.”

“What about medical evacuation?” Dr. Price said.

“The most serious issue we’ve had on this float was an AD,” Hamilton said. “Which was an abdominal through and through.”

“Ouch,” Troy said. “What happened?”

“As Lieutenant Smith said when I asked, we’re taking undertrained Marines mixed with trained ones, few of them infantry MOS, and throwing them out into a chaotic environment,” Hamilton said. “The short answer is one of them swept his buddy and jerked the trigger in panic. Mr. Walker—whose medical training was an intense but brief course thirty-some-odd years ago and about three years experience putting bandages on pimples—then opened him up like a trout and stitched everything back together as best he could remember. I’m given to understand he had someone hold open a copy of Gray’s Anatomy while he was working.”

“Jesus,” Dr. Price said.

“The Marine is currently recovering in sickbay,” Hamilton said. “So far the infection is under control. He has some rather spectacular scars but it appears he will live. And that more or less defines current reality. Dr. Price, ever delivered a baby?”

“I heard,” Price said, sighing. “I’m hoping there are some obstetrics texts.”

“We just raided the medical school on this island,” Hamilton said. “They had some. Now we do.”

“Any surviving faculty?” Tom asked.

“This is the first island where we have yet to find a single survivor,” Hamilton said. “And we’d have found them by now what with one thing and another. We’re not sure why this one had zero. We’d expected, statistically, to find twenty. But there were none.”

“That is so sad,” Rizwana said, shaking her head. “What London must be like.”

“The ocean is made of tears, Dr. Shelley,” Hamilton said. “The only thing we can do is keep lighting candles, one by one, and try to bring back the light. And with that, I really must bid you adieu. I have to go see a subordinate about a liberty schedule. The one benefit to being forced to stay in place is I can spend the free time giving my people some time off on Christmas Day before we institute a rather strict training schedule…”

“That is gonna cause one hell of an interesting set of tan lines,” Sergeant Smith said, making sure his shades were in place so it wasn’t obvious he was watching his jailbait boss.

Faith had just run down the beach to dive into the water wearing a blue bikini top, pink shorts, a trench knife and dual .45s in tactical thigh holsters.

“It’s like Zombie Raider,” Hooch said, shaking his head.

“But with a better butt,” Smith said, then grimaced. “I’m going to hell for that, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are, Sergeant, yes, you are,” Hooch said. “You’re going to the special hell.” He looked at his watch and lurched up. “Gotta go get it on.”

“I’m not even sure the security is worth it,” Smith said. “We haven’t had a single incident all day.”

“We were still shooting them last night,” Hooch said, then shook his head. “Two nights ago.”

“Hey, guys, why aren’t you swimming?” Faith asked, walking out of the water and wringing out her hair.

“Uh, sharks, ma’am?” Sergeant Smith said.

“So far so good,” Faith said, shrugging. “I think they’re all over at Blowing Point getting stuffed. The water’s great.”

“Okay, ma’am,” Smith said, getting up. He wasn’t going to get out-oorahed by a thirteen-year-old even if it was Miss Faith. “I’m not sure about my M4, ma’am.”

“Sling it over your back,” Faith said. “We’re going to have to clean the shit out of our weapons, anyway. And that way if there is a shark you can shoot it.”

The water was gin clear and smooth as a mill pond. Smith was pretty sure that they’d see any approaching sharks.

He was also pretty sure he was going to the special hell.

“Can’t catch me!” Faith said, splashing him, then diving away.

Smith stayed where he was.

“I’m trying for friendly uncle, here, ma’am,” Smith said, wiping salt water off his face. “I’m not sure that fits in with playing chase games.”

“If you’re an uncle, you must be from West Virginia,” Faith said, grinning. “At least from the look of your bathing suit.”

“Crap,” Smith said, turning around.

“Sorry, Smitty,” Faith said. “That was sort of pushing the limit, wasn’t it?”

“A bit, ma’am,” Sergeant Smith said.

“It’s like the only guys I meet are my subordinates,” Faith said, frowning. “Not to dump on you, but it’s sort of getting weird. I’m not, you know, gay. But there aren’t any guys I meet who I like and I’m not the boss. Sorry to, you know…bitch I guess.”

“Not a problem, ma’am,” Smith said, frowning. “I guess it’s kind of tough on you that way.”

“I think Da did this on purpose,” Faith said, darkly. “He knew I was going to go for the Marines so he put them all off-limits!”

“That, yeah, sort of sounds like a dad, ma’am,” Smitty said, grinning.

“Not that I’m like super attracted to you or anything, Smitty,” Faith said. “More like a brother kind of thing.”

“That’s cool, ma’am,” Smitty said. “I can handle brother. Better than most of the alternatives.”

“Hey, it’s getting crowded.” Faith’s entry to the water had broken the ice, sort of. Plenty of people were still on the beach but there were more people getting in the water. “Let’s go check out the resort.”

“Ma’am, with due respect, are you nuts?” Smitty said. “It’s outside the perimeter.”

“This island is as clear as a liner after we’re done,” Faith said. “We’ve got guns.”

“And no reloads,” Smitty pointed out.

“Spare mags,” Faith said, pointing to her pistols. Each holster had two integrated magazine pouches.

“One mag,” Sergeant Smith said, tapping his slung weapon.

“There may be booze,” Faith responded.

“With your permission, ma’am,” Sergeant Smith said, “I’m going to go ensure that that largish resort is clear, ma’am. Prevent infiltration and all that.”

“Well, you shouldn’t go by yourself, Sergeant,” Faith said, nodding. “I’ll be your backup. Or maybe vice versa.”

“Hey, Rusty,” Faith said. “Sup?”

“Hot as hell in all this gear, Faith,” Seaman Apprentice Robert “Rusty” Fulmer Bennett III said, shaking his head. “Can’t wait to get off.”

“Have to talk to somebody older than me, Rusty,” Faith said, grinning.

“Uh…” the seaman apprentice said, his mouth hanging open.

“Close your mouth, you’re attracting flies,” Faith said. “We’re gonna go check out these buildings outside the perimeter. Don’t shoot us.”

“Uh, okay, Faith,” Rusty said. “Is that safe?”

“No,” Faith said. “But I figure somebody else is going to wander over there, and better me and Smitty than some civilian.”

“Okay, ma’am,” Rusty said.

“Hey, Rusty,” Smitty said. “Check the time and pass this on to the Marines when they take over. If we’re not back in an hour, send the reaction team.”

“Okay, Sergeant,” Rusty said.

“Jesus, Navy,” Smitty muttered as soon as they were out of earshot. “And it’s worse these days.”

“The lack of ‘aye, aye’ you mean?” Faith said. “They’re civilians that just raised their right hand. But they did raise their right hand, if you know what I mean.”

“Hope he passes on the message,” Smitty said. He had his M4 in a tactical carry position and was scanning the surroundings. “Should we be making noise, ma’am?”

“This one I’m not so sure,” Faith admitted. She still hadn’t drawn her side arm. “I wonder what’s in here?” she said as they came to a container that had floated ashore.

“Please God, it’s not illegal immigrants,” Smitty said as Faith used her trench knife to pop the seal on the container.

The interior was filled with large plastic cases.

“Running shoes,” Faith said, looking at the manifest. “Explains why it floated. This is useful. Maybe Rusty can find a pair in his size. Keep going?”

“Sounds good to me, ma’am,” Smitty said. He’d turned to cover the lieutenant while she explored. “There’s a small hotel up the beach.”

“Trying to get me into a bedroom, Sergeant?” Faith asked.

“Now why would a brother do that, ma’am?” the sergeant asked.

The one-story hotel had a small pool half filled with green-tinged, debris-filled water. The rooms were mostly open and had been ransacked. Ditto the tiny bar and kitchen.

“What is this?” Faith asked, looking behind the bar. There was a cluster of…junk. Some blankets, children’s toys, remains of what looked to be fish and maybe rats. Human bones. “Phew. Stinks.”

“Looks like some sort of nest, ma’am,” Smitty said.

“A survivor?” Faith asked. “No.”

“Probably a zombie, ma’am,” Sergeant Smith said. “Too nasty even for a kid.”

“That’s new,” Faith said.

“We didn’t really clear many houses in the Canaries, ma’am,” Smitty said, shrugging. “Maybe that’s how they live when they’ve got the materials.”

“Point,” Faith said, walking out of the open bar. “I want to go check out the big resort before our hour’s up. How come you said an hour, anyway?”

“Because that’s about as much time as we should take, ma’am,” Sergeant Smith said. “And if you’re going off exploring, you make sure people know where you’re going, ma’am.”

“Point, again, Sergeant,” Faith said.

“God,” Faith said, looking down the long wading pool at the Cuisinart Caribbean Resort. “Why didn’t I get to go places like this before the zombie apocalypse?”

The resort centered around a three-story building with a vaguely rococo style. A series of villas in the same style lined the beach. A large zero-edge pool led from the main building to the wading pool which continued nearly to the beach. On the west side of the pool were additional support buildings. The pool was flanked by a line of palm trees waving in the trade winds. At the beach, at the base of the wading pool, was a circular “beach bar” with a folding canvas cover. Prior to the apocalypse it had been a rather idyllic spot with a wonderful view of St. Martin in the distance.

The pool was again half filled with green-tinged water. The wading pool held barely a skim of water so foul she was pretty sure even the zombies wouldn’t drink it. The lawns were covered in blown debris, mostly limbs and leaves, and a tropical storm had thrown the chairs and patio tables around in a helter-skelter mess. The canvas cover, despite having been folded down, was torn by the winds.

There was a small skull, some fine blonde hair still attached to it by a scrap of skin.

The one thing going for it was that there didn’t appear to be any infected.

“I dunno,” Smitty said. “A little paint, a little police call…”

“Let’s see about the villas, first,” Faith said. “I’d like some idea if we’ve got infected behind us.”

The villas, however, were inaccessible. All of the windows and doors were covered with solid steel shutters that were locked on the inside. Even after circling one of them, they couldn’t find an entrance that wouldn’t require entry tools.

“Somebody was careful to prep this place,” Faith said, standing by the westernmost villa’s private pool with her hands resting on her hips.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sergeant Smith said.

“Okay, main building it is,” Faith said.

The main building was also covered in steel shutters but at some point someone had already broken in. The shutter on the main ocean-side doors had been forced open.

“Oh, not without a flashlight,” Faith said, poking her head up to see through the opening. “No light. Well, not much.”

“How’s it look?” Sergeant Smith said.

“Zombies have been in there,” Faith said, sniffing. “But…not a bunch or not real recently. Sort of trashed out but not bad…Sergeant, I think…we might have found a land base.”

“I don’t think we can secure it, ma’am,” Smitty said.

“I’d want to have another night sweep,” Faith said, musingly. She turned and headed back down the pool towards the beach. “But I’m not sure it’s an issue anymore. I mean, by the end of the sweep, we were having almost no contact. The only leakers we had were two at the landing sight and a dog for God’s sake. I mean, face it, we need a secure land base, Smitty. Hell, think of this as a hospital for all the pregnant ladies.”

“That…is an interesting point, ma’am,” Sergeant Smith said.

“Be nice to fence it,” Faith said, kicking a palm frond. “But that would take one hell of a lot of work.” She stopped, bent over and pulled a brochure out from under the frond she’d just kicked.

Sergeant Smith quickly turned around to check six. Security and all that.

“Sweet,” Faith said, continuing to walk as she perused the brochure.

“Ma’am, I think we’re being followed,” Smitty said quietly.

“From the Force?” Faith asked, looking towards the beach and the boats.

“No, ma’am,” Smitty said. “I just saw movement by the main buildings. Too tall to be a dog, ma’am.”

“So you’re saying it’s not clear?” Faith asked, not turning around.

“It’s gone whatever it was,” Smitty said. “But I’ll back out if you don’t mind, ma’am.”

“SEAL spin,” Faith said, drawing a pistol. “Rotate.”

“Rotating,” Sergeant Smith said.

They did a rotational movement, covering each other, until they reached the beach.

“Let’s try to keep an eye on our back trail as we head back,” Faith said.

They walked down the beach for a bit, passing the villas and Faith casually turned and picked up a shoe that was part of the debris.

“Saw it,” Faith said. “Out of the corner of my eye. Darted into cover. Can still see it, though.”

“Infected?” Sergeant Smith asked.

“Human, anyway,” Faith said. She straightened up and tossed the shoe into the bushes. “Why can I never find a pair? Not to mention in my size. Yeah, I know, I’ve got big paws like a Labrador puppy. Let’s go swimming.”

“Ma’am?” Sergeant Smith said.

“Sling your weapon,” the lieutenant said, holstering her pistol. “If we’re playing in the water, maybe it will come down where we can get a better look.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Smitty said, slinging his weapon. “Uh, first one in the water is a rotten…”

Faith was already running.

“There it is again,” Faith said as she came up out of the water.

“I am just not catching what you’re seeing, ma’am,” Sergeant Smith admitted.

“Young female,” Faith said. She was apparently looking down the beach. “Black. I’m pretty sure it’s an infected. Just not very aggressive.”

“That would be a change,” Smitty said.

“Let’s head back to the official beach,” Faith said. “I need to check in with Hooch. Oh, and I need some more sunscreen…”

“You want to do another night sweep?” Colonel Hamilton said.

“I want to get some training in, first, sir,” Faith said, trying not to squirm. Sophia may have spent half the last six months developing her tan but Faith had spent most of it in uniform. A point she’d forgotten, along with regular application of sunscreen. She, fortunately, had fairly dark skin naturally despite being blond. She’d still picked up one heck of a sunburn. “Notably Close Quarters Battle training onboard the Tan, sir. Then some live fire, possibly on one of the nearby desert islands, sir. Then another sweep of the island, sir.”

“To clear it,” Hamilton said. “I’m not sure that’s possible, Lieutenant. Not thoroughly.”

“Not sure myself, sir,” Faith said. “Not entirely. But it may be clearable enough to secure a land base. Somewhere for a ground hospital even, sir. It’s in better shape, and more securable, than Gitmo, sir. It’s an island, sir. Zombies aren’t going to swim the channel, sir.”

“Have anything to do with that world-class resort you and Sergeant Smith did an unauthorized reconnaissance of?” Colonel Hamilton asked.

“It wasn’t unauthorized, sir,” Faith said.

“I didn’t authorize it,” Hamilton said.

“Your Marine force ground commander authorized it, sir,” Faith said.

“So, better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, Lieutenant?” Hamilton said.

“I’m not begging forgiveness, sir,” Faith replied. “The orders for the landing party did not define that all personnel must remain within the confines of the secured zone, sir. During the landing, your ground force commander made the determination, based upon experience and the perceived threat level, that a low-support reconnaissance of nearby buildings was a low-risk mission, sir. And, sir, your ground force commander was correct, sir. Should I be begging forgiveness, sir?”

“I would not have authorized it, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said.

“I understand that, sir,” Faith said. “In the future I will keep that in mind, sir.”

“And you really think it was a good idea?” Hamilton said.

“I’m sure you don’t think so, sir,” Faith said. “However, sir, having very briefly swept the two resorts, the smaller one by the main beach and the big one, I’m of the opinion that I could walk from one end of the island stark naked with maybe one pistol and not have a problem. Except I don’t go around stark naked, sir. Obviously. Sir, I think this island is clear, sir. I mean, pretty much deserted. No real threats left. Or so close that I’m not sure we’d pull up leakers with one more sweep. We did detect one possible infected, sir. But it was…shy. It was following us but it was staying away.”

“Really,” Hamilton said, leaning back. “A shy infected doesn’t seem…” He paused and frowned.

“My da ran into something similar one time, sir,” Faith said. “Early on he made a covert landing on one of the small Bermuda islands. It’s where he picked up his little helpers, sir. And he ran into a female that just ran away when he…sort of did like a chimp. Oook! Oook!” she finished, bowing up.

“So some of them are beta?” Hamilton said.

“Yes, sir,” Faith replied. “Still not…word…sounds like sentence…”

“Sentient?” Hamilton said.

“Yes, sir,” Faith said. “They’re still not sentient, sir. But they’re also nonaggressive. Or at least less aggressive. I’m not sure I’d want to try to catch one, sir. On the other hand…I had a clear shot at this one and didn’t take it, sir. She didn’t seem to be a threat, sir.”

“Plausible,” Hamilton said. “The human brain is a tricky thing. But that means the island is not clear.”

“You saw how the zombies act, sir,” Faith said. “Your pe—The personnel from Gitmo had more time watching zombies than any of the rest of us. They are territorial and only…swarm when there’s an apparent food source, sir. Sort of like piranha. The…beta ones that are…smarter have probably learned to not even turn up for the feeding frenzies. Which means they avoid the normal attractors like light and sound, sir. On the other hand, based on this one and the one in Bermuda, they also are low-threat. Sir…we need a secure ground base, sir. I think we have one. Low yellow to…lightish green, sir. Yellowish green.”

“Chartreuse?” Hamilton said.

“Excuse me, sir?” Faith said.

“Yellow with a touch of green, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said drily. “Slightly more yellow and less green than lime or spring-bud. And, no, despite the recall of Don’t ask, don’t tell, I am not gay. Just into information.”

“I would say more lime, sir,” Faith replied. “More green than yellow.”

“Perhaps spring bud, then,” Hamilton said.

“Are we actually having this conversation, sir?” Faith asked.

“Not anymore,” Hamilton said. “More important item. I’ve convinced Squadron that Gunnery Sergeant Sands is more valuable to us than to Guantanamo.”

“Oorah, sir,” Faith said.

“Oorah, indeed, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said. “So he and the captain are on their way down. The captain wishes to talk directly to our astral visitors, and the gunnery sergeant will take over as platoon sergeant as well as running training. Issues?”

“No, sir,” Faith said, a slight tone of surprise in her voice. “Looking forward to it, sir. NCOs handle training, sir. That’s how it’s supposed to be as I understand things, sir.”

“I understand that you ran the training of the Iwo Marines, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said.

“That was before the gunny was back on his feet, sir,” Faith said. “And I wasn’t an officer then, sir. And it was showing them the difference between regular clearance and zombie clearance, sir. NCOs handle training, sir.”

“Very well,” Hamilton said, ticking off an item on his checklist. “When the gunnery sergeant gets here he will coordinate training for all Marine personnel as well as Navy Landing forces with the appropriate senior NCOs on the Navy side. Once training is complete, or as complete as we can make it given time constraints, we will consider doing a night sweep as further supplemental training.”

“If I may add, sir?” Faith said.

“Yes?”

“There are sure to be some liners tied up over in St. Martin, sir,” Faith said. “No training like crawling around in the bowels of a ship, sir.”

“They also take a good bit of time to clear, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said. “And we are already well over our planned time for this sweep.”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said. “Permission to ask when the gunnery sergeant will arrive, sir?”

“They’re supposed to be arriving this evening,” Hamilton said. “Apparently they left Gitmo in your father’s fast boat, then sent the message. If I’d had more warning I’d have had everyone do a nice GI party.”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said.

“As it is, we will have a greeting party,” Hamilton said. “Go get with Staff Sergeant Barnard and have her ensure the greeting party is prepared. I’ll have Sergeant Major Barney do the same on the Navy side.”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said.

“And that’s it,” Hamilton said. “We’re on short time. Roll it, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said.

“Welcome aboard, sir!” Hamilton boomed, saluting Captain Smith.

“Thank you, Colonel,” Smith said, returning the salute, then saluting the colors. “Very nice turn-out.”

There was a line of sailors and Marines in surprisingly neat uniforms lined up to greet the arriving Commander Atlantic Fleet.

“Thank you, sir,” Hamilton said, returning the gunnery sergeant’s salute. “Pleasure to have you aboard, Gunnery Sergeant Sands.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sands said, running a gimlet eye over the Marine guard. He didn’t look all that pleased. “Looking forward to joining your force, sir.”

“Shall we repair below, sir?” Hamilton asked.

“Of course,” Smith said. “Though, you’ll need to get a working party together. We didn’t just bring ourselves. One of the containers we opened was destined for a hospital in Ghana. It didn’t have much in the way of materials to produce the vaccine but it did have useful medical supplies. So we arrive bearing gifts. What we could fit in the Achille. There’s more on the way via the Pit Stop, which is following us.”

“Yes, sir,” Hamilton said. “Sergeant Major Barney. Manage that.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” the British sergeant major said.

“Get those to Mr. Walker, Sergeant Major,” Smith said. “Now let’s repair below. You lead, Colonel.”