The Final Voyage of the Mikimoto Pearl

It has been widely regarded that throughout the outbreak of the virus, it should be known that some of the first things to beset the world were misinformation and panic. Had there been a general understanding from the governments of the world to inform the public rather than mislead and suppress information, it is theorized that containment might have been better implemented and more people saved.

In the early days, people suspected that the safest places to be were ships where they were isolated. This might have been a solid idea in the early stages of the outbreak, expect the idea fell to pieces as the days would pass. Whether to poor planning in regard to supplies or general pirating among ships, eventually all ships sailing the seven seas succumb to threats not external, but internal resulting in the loss of almost 90% of the world's fleets.

Most ship's fates are met with theory and conjecture, but as the world began to restore the balance after the virus raged its surface, it was clear that it would be easier to salvage and restore ships rather than build new ones.

Such is the case of the Mikimoto Pearl, captained by veteran James Strong. A passenger liner running from Bangkok to Australia, she is one of the few ships whose logs were kept despite the crisis giving us an idea of what happened to the people and crew while the rest of the world fell into anarchy. Below is the captain's log.

March 17th 1956,

Bangkok is burning.

I have instructed the crew to cast off the lines from our berth at the mouth of the Chao Phraya River. We took as many people as we could fit safely, and still more and more people crash against the gates to our dock like the sea crashes into the sand.

Desperate many tried taking their chances jumping into the water and swimming. I could see the undead closing in on our docks before I forced myself to look away. I couldn't save everyone, but I'll do my damndest to save the people aboard the Pearl.

March 23rd, 1956,

We have inventoried supplies and set up refugee areas in places that were once supposed to house leisurely functions. We have done a head count and there are 4,500 people aboard as well as 200 crew members. That's almost an extra thousand people aboard. The ship is a place of sadness. People are trying to keep their spirits high. The people have begun to rally behind delegations of people responsible for relations between the people and the crew.

The radios have already fallen silent. The Navy was last seen steaming off towards Japan. Let them run, how do you kill something that's already dead?

April 20th, 1956,

Most of the fresher food has been exhausted. Even rationed, the Pearl's supplies were intended for a seven-day cruise. I had to kill my pet, Sparky, a tuna on display in the main dining hall. The fish had been with me since for four years and had always been a sort of good luck charm on the ship. People tried to comfort me in saying he was the best fish they ever ate. As we dip into what reserves we have left, we will have to cinch our belts a little tighter. We have strung fishing lines to try and increase our food supply. While this has been somewhat successful, it can't sustain the ship's population solely. The ship isn't really moving as we more or less drift to conserve power and fuel. The batteries will last for some time before needing to power the turbines and generator.

May 5th, 1956,

We have our first child born on the Mikimoto Pearl. It is a joyous occasion and just for one moment in time, everyone forgets the problems of the world to celebrate the birth of little James, named in my honor. I really don't envy the poor child as there doesn't seem much left to be born into.

May 14th, 1956,

We have repelled pirates! Two boats, cutters in size, attempted to take us over for supplies. They tried to board us, but luckily my crew and a couple of crack shots deterred them. From what we can tell, there is only minor surface damage. Our navigations officer says we are starting to slowly drift towards waters that were infested with pirates BEFORE the virus. I put watch guards on points at all times as we steam closer to Borneo.

May 17th, 1956,

I arranged to speak to the passenger delegates' representative, a man named Dante. He's tall, lanky and thin-boned and seems to prey on people's sympathy. He has been an oily snake that I would rather be rid of. He "demanded" that I treat the passengers as well as my own crew. When I told him that was already the case, he became deranged and suspicious accusing me of hiding things. I have half a mind to put that man to work in the boiler room for a day if he thinks my crew has it so much better.

May 29th, 1956,

We are steadily running out of all supplies including fresh water. We already have drained all seven pools. In hindsight, this was a poor choice not just for the hygiene, but it was one of things that kept the children aboard this vessel occupied. Dante has requested numerous meetings to which I have denied everyone. The workings of a ship captain are too busy to entertain the whims of that man.

June 4th, 1956,

We're a little north of Australia. We are forcing ourselves into a standoff as we argue about returning to land. Dante's "People of the Pearl" or POP organization is lobbying that we have to take the chance. I try to inform him that we have no news as to the status of the surrounding areas.

June 5th, 1956,

Whether by a stroke of luck, our radio officer reports an S.O.S signal from the cruise liner, Oriental Jewel. I inform Dante, that maritime law supersedes a return to land. He is hesitant, almost mutinous, until we inform him that the Jewel may have supplies.

We find the Jewel running adrift and dark. All in all, it doesn't look to be damaged, but there are no visible signs of people. Something feels off. I order the Pearl to drop anchor off her bow, but we will wait until morning to board her.

June 6th, 1956,

A heavily armed boarding party goes aboard the Jewel. After hours of searching, they find no sign of survivors, but heavy amounts of blood and gore about the ship. When asked about the status of the supplies, they report that the Jewel is laden with needed cargo. We bring the Pearl in to tank off their fuel and water as well transfer foodstuffs. This is the first real positive news we have had in months. It's only a shame that it came at someone else's expense.

June 7th, 1956,

Dante demands that representatives see firsthand the extent of the damage and mystery that beset the Jewel, a contingent of his men go and inspect the vessel to make sure I'm not using "scare tactics" to keep the passengers in line. Something goes terribly wrong as two of his men hurt themselves severely when not paying attention falling. They're now in the infirmary where my ship's doctor says they've suffered some cuts and lacerations as well as a few broken bones, but aren't any worse for wear. Dante blames me.

June 8th, 1956,

I'm a damned fool. The two injured men somehow contracted the virus. We had assumed all along that you had to be bitten as witnessed in personal accountings before everything went to hell. Apparently the virus is like a bacteria that sat on the Jewel waiting to infect anyone it could.

We have sealed the two levels where the infection broke out thanks partly to the fast reactions of this highly trained crew. Elevator and stair well doors have been welded shut.

Unfortunately we lost more than 220 people to the outbreak as well as our ship's doctor. Several other people have volunteered their medical expertise, but the damage has already been done. Worse still, half of the supplies were still packed on those decks and will eventually need to be secured if the Pearl is to continue.

July 14th, 1956,

Infected undead are aboard the ship and no clear solution has been drafted on rescuing our supplies. Further more, Dante's POP organization is up in arms and growing more mutinous by the day. He controls the morale and minds of the people while I only control the ships operations. Every day I'm losing more and more control.

July 25th, 1956,

Dante has once again demanded that we head for land. I tell him this is no longer an option as we now possess the virus in some degree or the other. Rather then argue, Dante merely excused himself. Something feels dreadfully wrong about this.

August 8th, 1956

We have just passed Darwin and decided that we will steam to the port of Sydney and see if anyone can be reached to help us in our situation. The remaining supplies will only last us for two more weeks.

Dante has begun completely ignoring me and the spotlight in general it seems.

We need those supplies for the balance of power to shift back to us.

August 9th, 1956,

My first officer has come up with a brilliant idea to regain our lost supplies. He and a team will repel down the side of the Pearl and begin distracting as many of the infected as possible while we slip down into the holds and secure as much of the cargo as possible. While it's impossible to say the plan is flawless. I order the engine room at full speed ahead and ask the passengers to make as much noise as possible to desensitize the seemingly excellent hearing of the infected.

August 10th, 1956,

I had seen the photos, but I didn't realize how ugly infected truly were.

Choosing to go on the mission myself, we took the cargo elevator down. Everything was going swimmingly until one of the crew made the mistake of not checking the toilet for potential threats. I tried to dispatch the infected swiftly, but he ultimately paid for it with his life. One thing that no one describes about the infected… is how moist they are. It's like they are damp from head to toe. The monster took almost an entire clip from my rifle to be destroyed. Mr. Geary separated the creatures head from its body to be absolutely sure. Ghastly business.

August 11th, 1956,

With the majority of our supplies back in hand, I order a celebration to take place. People seem hesitant, until the children come out and play reminding everyone of happier times. The innocence of a child still isn't lost on a ship with undead strewn about it.

August 15th, 1956,

MUTINY!

I knew better than to ignore the biggest threat to this ship. Even bigger than the infected. I never really thought Dante had given up and chosen to lay low. Instead, he had spent much of his time trying to subvert my loyal crew until he succeeded. Now him and his supporters are armed and calling for an immediate secession of the Pearl into his hands. I have put what loyal crew I have into key choke points of controlling operations, but it is only a matter of time as his some 400 direct supporters wait for my crew of less than 150 to succumb to attrition.

Right now, everything is in standstill hinging on the spark that will engulf us all.

August 16th, 1956,

The Mikimoto Pearl is in chaos.

My men have stood their ground for the better part of the day, but they are human like the rest of us. Dante has somehow secured access to the P.A. system and has continued to incite the remaining passengers against us. My crew reports incidents flaring up among some thousand people. I don't blame them, they're just frightened puppets like they have always been.

August 17th, 1956,

People are dead.

Testing our resolves, Dante sent his sheep to the slaughter forcing our hands and the tragic deaths of over 25 passengers. Whatever support we had just ebbed away like the tide of the ocean.

My NCO tells me he has an idea. With elevator access frozen, he intends to unlock the sealed decks of infected in some sick and perverted version of the enemy of my enemy is my friend.

While I can't willingly sign off the deaths of the over 3,500 people on this vessel. He reminds me that 3,500 is insignificant to the population of a major metropolis city or worse, an entire continent. I give him permission.

August 18th, 1956,

If the world survives, I doubt they'll sing songs of me as a hero. Mr. Avers plan works disgustingly smooth, as the POP turns inward on themselves. I can hear the screams of people all over the ship as if the Mikimoto Pearl herself is crying out in agony.

August 22nd, 1956,

After several days, the sounds of the ship have grown silent. The crew has sealed the remaining entrances and areas that have protected the vital parts of the ship. Of the original 4,500 people aboard, only 95 still remain. I schedule a meeting to confer with the remaining crew.

When I tell them of the truth and what happened, most are in shocked. Most agree it was the right course. Others, can't look me in the eye.

What have I become?

August 23rd 1956,

Somehow Dante survived! It seems that him and Mr. Avers had been working hand in hand the whole time. They purposefully eliminated the supplies to stretch out their own survival!

They're trying to breech our final defenses and the barricades are failing. If I can get my hands on that slime of a turncoat Avers, I'll make sure he's infected before he embraces the sweet outcome of truly dying.

August 24th 1956,

This will be the final captain's entry.

I've brought the ship to full steam, and set her on course for the Great Barrier Reef. I cannot let this ship, with all its infected, fall into the wrong hands and hurt more innocence. Plus, I just really don't like the idea of Dante having control of the Pearl. She's my ship, and she'll go down with me the same as I would for her.

I've sabotaged the remaining rudder controls, and broken the controls, the Pearl should crash herself upon the reef before Avers can fix anything. If I don't get him, I hope the sharks do. I've also released all life craft remotely, if they're brave enough to try and swim for one let them. The Mikimoto Pearl shall be their grave.

To anyone who might discover this vessel, be careful she is now a ship of the dead… and the damned.

Captain James Strong

The Mikimoto Pearl was found crashed and partially sank at the edge of the Great Barrier Reef in 1963. As Australia was the first country to expunge the infection, they became the last bastion of humanity. She was salvaged and renamed the Strong in memory of her captain and converted into a supply and troop carrier attached to the Pacific 3rd Fleet. The Strong has personally ferried over 300,000 troops across seven campaigns as well as saving over 45,000 survivors through the course of her service. She is considered one of the most famous vessels of World War Z.

The Strong now sits as a museum in Sydney Harbor docked along the rebuilt Sydney Opera House.