World War Z_ An Oral History of the Zombie War ( PDFDrive )

now calling “the Pacific Continent,” the refugee island culture that stretched from Palau to French
Polynesia. It was a new society, a new nation, refugees from all over the world uniting under the
common flag of survival.
How did you integrate yourself into that society?
Through trade. Trade was the central pillar of the Pacific Continent. If your boat had a large
distillery, you sold fresh water. If it had a machine shop, you became a mechanic. The Madrid
Spirit, a liquefied natural gas carrier, sold its cargo off for cooking fuel. That was what gave Mister
Song his idea for our “market niche.” He was Commander Song’s father, a hedge-fund broker from
Shenzhen. He came up with the idea of running floating power lines into the lagoon and leasing the
electricity from our reactor.
[He smiles.]
We became millionaires, or…at least the barter equivalent: food, medicine, any spare part we
needed or the raw materials to manufacture them. We got our greenhouse, along with a miniature
waste recovery plant to turn our own night soil into valuable fertilizer. We “bought” equipment for
a gymnasium, a full wet bar, and home entertainment systems for both the enlisted mess and
wardroom. The children were lavished with toys and candy, whatever was left, and most
importantly, continuing education from several of the barges that had been converted into
international schools. We were welcomed into any home, onto any boat. Our enlisted men, and
even some of the officers, were given free credit on any one of the five “comfort” boats anchored
in the lagoon. And why not? We lit up their nights, we powered their machinery. We brought back
long forgotten luxuries like air conditioners and refrigerators. We brought computers back online
and gave most of them the first hot shower they’d had in months. We were so successful that the
island council even allowed us a reprieve, although we politely refused, from taking part in the
island’s perimeter security.
Against seaborne zombies?
They were always a danger. Every night they would wander up onto the motus or try to drag
themselves up the anchor line of a low-lying boat. Part of the “citizenship dues” for staying at
Manihi was to help patrol the beaches and boats for zombies.
You mentioned anchor lines. Aren’t zombies poor climbers?
Not when water counteracts gravity. Most of them only have to follow an anchor chain up to the
surface. If that chain leads to a boat whose deck is only centimeters above the water line…there
were at least as many lagoon as beach attacks. Nights were always worse. That was another
reason we were so welcome. We could take back the darkness, both above and below the surface.
It is a chilling sight to point a flashlight at the water and see the bluish-green outline of a zombie
crawling up an anchor line.