Pirates and Zombies by Jeff Thomson

Author:Jeff Thomson [Thomson, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Unknown
Published: 2018-11-09T00:00:00+00:00

78

Sass Two

Honolulu Harbor

“Who’s the worst shot?” Jonesy asked.

“Me,” Harold replied, in less than a second.

“Fuck you,” Jonesy said. “You’re not that bad.”

“I could be,” the young man objected.

“I can knock the wings off a flee,” ET1 Glenn Newby bragged.

Jonesy gave the man an assessing look. “And if we come upon a Flea Apocalypse, that skill might come in handy.”

“Just saying...” Newby said.

“Probably me,” Tara McBride said, shrugging and ignoring the banter. “Made Marksman in boot camp and haven’t touched a gun since.” She might bear watching, Jonesy thought - and not for the obvious reason that her demeanor and carriage were so overtly sexual as to almost make a parody of the idea. And she had a nice butt. None of which was the real issue.

Honest...

The real issue was her give a shit attitude. Such a personality trait was to be expected from any bunch of sailors. The experience of being at sea, of being surrounded by the wonder, majesty, and sometimes terror of Mother Nature, tended to leave people with a sense of insignificance. Against such a backdrop, the small shit of “normal” life shrank to a relatively small, easily compartmentalized ball of who gives a rat’s ass. But she seemed to be taking the notion one or two steps further. It seemed as if she didn’t give a shit about anything, and that could be dangerous. Time would tell.

“Anybody else?” Jonesy asked. The only person remaining, Seaman Apprentice Jerry Nailor, shook his head. “Made Sharpshooter in boot,” he said. “That was only a few months ago.”

Jonesy nodded. “Well, then, at the risk of seeming sexist, McBride, you get to stay with the boat.”

“Aw, man,” Harold swore.

“Deal with it, Harry,” Jonesy said, slapping him on the back. He idled the boat just off the tank farm, on the Eastern shore of the harbor. It sat across the estuary from more or less the middle of the Container Port Pier. The zombies, thanks to the loud hailer and the 25mm auto cannon, were being drawn to the north end of the Port. The theory was that the infected assholes on the east side would be drawn northward, as well, and thus, away from the tank farm. On paper. According to plan.

For once, the plan seemed to be working. Not a single zombie could be seen, either roaming the tank farm, or in the understandably empty areas to the north and south. Real estate on Oahu was some of the most expensive in the world, and in Honolulu, that went double, so empty space wasn’t just frowned upon, it was damned-near blasphemous. Regardless, nobody wanted property that might get wiped out, should the fuel tanks ever explode; hence, the mostly empty spaces.

To the north, lay a large building - probably for maintenance - surrounded by quite a bit of more or less empty concrete. A few vehicles dotted the landscape, but that was about all. To the south lay an even bigger lot, which was also, for all intents and purposes, empty.

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