Life Goes On by Tayell, Frank (large ebook reader txt) 📗

out of the parliamentary rock. I got the job because of my medals, and had to go to evening functions wearing them, you see?”

“You were wearing medals and everyone else was in a suit?” I asked.

“Yep. Effective, though I can’t undersell how much I hated it. But I loved my workshop, and so does Wilbur. Bought him his own set of wrenches last year. Plastic, but he loves ’em. I bought a few old paddock bashers I was converting into our own little camper. When Wilbur’s a bit older, a couple of years from now, I plan to take us on a cross-Oz trip. Still will,” he added, putting the axe down.

“You’ve got to have something to fight for,” I said.

“Something to live for,” he said.

“But that doesn’t explain the axes,” I said.

“They’re for close combat on a ship,” he said.

“Against boarders? I’d prefer my gun.”

“Against zoms,” Clyde said.

“Because ghost ships will have fuel,” Zach said. “That’s Mr Dickenson’s plan. All those ships they blew up around Madagascar had fuel aboard, so it’ll be the same near Brazil. That’s how we’ll get fuel.”

“With axes?” I asked.

“There’s thirty sailors we can use for close combat,” Clyde said.

“The thirty Bruce is training right now?” I asked.

“Yep. They’ve been through basic. Some have been in combat. None have ever done anything like this. The danger is ricochets and strays, and it’s a big danger if we’re transferring fuel the old-fashioned way. Boarding axes would reduce the risk.”

Clearly, everyone else aboard the ship had been thinking five steps ahead of me, and I didn’t like where their thoughts had taken them.

“Bruce wouldn’t give these thirty sailors rifles when boarding a ghost-ship?” I asked.

“Oh, they’ll have firearms,” Clyde said. “But not as a primary weapon. That’s assuming the ship is overrun with zoms, and that we’ve got to fight our way below to access the fuel. Probably won’t come to that.”

“No, of course not,” I said.

Finding a plane which could fly to Auckland sounded unlikely, while seizing a ship sounded dangerous. But neither was at the forefront of my mind. The original mission was to seize notes from the lab in Colombia. If we didn’t have enough sailors trained in taking a ship, how were we going to use them to take the sisters’ compound?

28th March

 

Chapter 29 - An Old Type of New Sail

Some people play poker to win. Some play not to lose. Cops play to watch other people. Which is another way of saying I lost every hand we played over breakfast. Rations have been reduced. Eating the meal didn’t take long, and the game was a way of passing the time we’d been allotted in the mess hall.

I spoke to the captain yesterday over a mug of tea, which I dreamed was lunch. She confirmed we’re keeping our eyes open for a derelict ship we can search for food and fuel. It’s unlikely we’ll find one. The same is true of a useable runway and working plane. But again, we’ll need food, and we’ll need aviation fuel to keep the helicopter in the air, so why not look around a coastal airport?

But we’ve not found a ship yet and we’re days away from land. Nothing on the radio. Not as of last night. Nothing on radar. No signs of the sub.

I’d like to spend my time on the bridge, but when there’s something we need to know, we all find out immediately. Making a nuisance of myself won’t make a ship, or land, appear any sooner. Though the gym is now cleared of boxes, because of the reduced rations, it’s off limits. As I was close to learning all of the words to the songs on the Dan Blaze DVD, I went looking for Flo, to borrow the third book in Leo’s trilogy.

I found the author himself, in his cabin, watching a tablet.

“On a break?” I asked.

“Working,” he said, reaching forward and pressing pause.

“Hang about, is that a movie?”

“Technically, it’s a German documentary,” he said. “Die Ursprünge de Landwirtschaft.”

“They look like actors. And that looks like a very, very long time ago.”

“We’ll split the difference and call it a reconstruction,” he said. “The title translates to The Origins of Agriculture. It’s a best guess at how hunter-gatherers became farmers about ten thousand years ago.”

“You think that’s how bad things could get?”

“No, I just needed some different stimulus,” he said. “The walls, the deck, the sea, the never-changing monotony isn’t conducive to planning a new world. How can I help you?”

“How’s Zach doing as an assistant?” I asked.

“He seems okay. Adjusting. He’s a good kid. Eager. Bright enough. Focused when he wants to be, but what he knows is mostly self-taught, and that’s pretty selective. He likes books but hasn’t learned how to learn.”

“He doesn’t like the homework,” I said. “Why are you setting it?”

“It’s Flo’s method of distracting people from grief,” Leo said. “Keep them distracted while time does the healing.”

“I suppose it’s as good a strategy as any, and pretty much the same thing Captain Adams is doing with her crew. Are you stuck, then?”

“Stuck?”

“With your work on the weapon.”

“The latest model is compiling,” he said, tapping his closed laptop.

“Are you making much progress?” I asked.

“Honestly, that’s difficult to quantify,” he said.

“Are you getting close to when you’ll need a lab?” I asked, attempting to pin him down.

“Perhaps,” he said. “Either way, we need to plan for what comes next.” He tapped the tablet. “Hence the stimulus.”

“After the weapon’s been deployed?” I asked.

“After the zoms are dead,” he said. “The Pacific needs a plan.”

“I’m sure the politicians have a dozen each,” I said.

“Their plans will centre around re-creating the old world,” he said. “In all our disaster-planning, and I mean