Free Voyage of the Dead - Book One Sovereign Spirit Saga by David Forsyth Page B

guy runs into trouble, right?”
     
                “Yeah,” replied Scott.  “I’ve asked Clint and Mark to come along.  They both have military training.  And I gave each of them a semi-auto hunting rifle with scope.  But we’re only going to open fire if we’re sure the targets are zombies and Hammer really needs help.  This is supposed to be a scouting flight anyway.  Not a combat mission.”
     
                “From the look of things on TV, just surviving is a combat mission now,” commented Mick.  “I’m bringing my own Winchester 300 magnum rifle in my duffle bag, and you can bet I’m packing my Colt 45 whenever I leave this ship!”
     
                “No shit,” Scott agreed.  “I’m bringing a Desert Eagle and a 12 gauge just in case.”   He hefted the gym bag in his hand slightly for emphasis.  The Sovereign Spirit was certainly not a war ship, but Scott did like his guns.  Considering the fact that their round-the-world voyage had taken them through some seas that were known to be infested with modern day pirates, he had decided to increase his gun collection at the same time as he bought all of his other “toys” for the trip.  Of course many of the countries that they visited had rather strict gun laws, but a ship that was more than one and half football fields long had a lot of potential stash spots. 
     
    Scott had constructed three arms caches aboard the ship.  Two were hidden and one was actually quite obvious and “official”.  The latter was the gun safe on the bridge where he kept most of his shot guns and hunting rifles.  The shot guns were officially used for skeet shooting, since the ship had skeet launchers near the stern, or bird hunting on shore excursions.  The hunting rifles were officially for safaris ashore and defense of swimmers from shark attacks.  That explanation was good enough to get them accepted by most authorities.  If not, Captain Fisher was always happy to let the locals put their own lock on the gun safe until the ship departed their jurisdiction.  
     
    The two hidden arms lockers were less innocent.  One was a concealed compartment in Scott’s master suite that held several dozen hand guns and assault rifles, along with thousands of rounds of ammunition.  The real armory was a larger cache below the vehicle deck that held even more impressive hardware.  It was all hidden inside of an old sewage tank to discourage inquisitive customs inspectors.  Scott had not broken out any of the really heavy metal yet.  After all, this flight was only supposed to be a scouting mission.
     
                “So what do you expect to find ashore?” asked Sam Waters, the other pilot who had been listening to their discussion.  
     
                “Don’t ask,” said Scott with a frown.  “Probably the living dead, if not a living Hell.  If things are as bad as they look, it’ll be bloody too.”
     
    “Do you have any real news from Cabo yet?” Sam persisted.
     
                “Not really,” Scott replied in a concerned tone.  “We did have brief radio contact with the local airport in Cabo San Lucas that caters to private jets.  I know it well.  The control tower there is right next to a small military base.  It sounded like they were fighting off hordes of attackers.  That might be the only secure area left in Cabo.  They requested our assistance, but I don’t want to land there.  You can bet those soldiers would commandeer any aircraft they can find, and who’s to stop them now?”
     
                “Yeah,” Sam said.  “Those Federalies were always highway robbers.  It must be pure anarchy there now.”
     
                “I don’t think the Federalies are the reason for anarchy today, Sam,” said Scott with close to a grin.  “But I wouldn’t be surprised if they are more interested in saving themselves than anyone else right now.