by Kody Boye
Contrary to what she thought had only been flickers and mimics, the sound inspired a sense of majesty that pulled tears from Rose’s eyes and forced her to watch the whale’s descent until it could no longer be seen.
“Wow,” Lyra said when finally the surrealism was replaced by the jagged face of reality.
“Wow is right,” Rose replied.
She sought others of its kind in the depths and distance, but found nothing.
Her eyes instinctively fell to Lyra.
Just knowing that her friend was here, when she could easily be alone—that was unlike any nightmare.
Luck had chosen wisely that day.
Without Lyra, she knew she wouldn’t have survived.
They were bound to face the undeniable after Lyra stumbled into the wall and accidentally turned on one of the lights.
They were running on fumes.
They didn’t know what to do.
The face of the structure that powered the vessel was daunting. Wrought of iron, metal, mechanical engineering and braids of electrical fabric, its practicality was masked by a nautical inhibition neither of them would be able to conquer.
Its most obvious features were the key set near the steering wheel, and what Rose could only assume was a gear gauge, though what it would do when they tried to disengage it to try and save gas, she couldn’t be sure.
“You have any idea how to run a boat?” Rose asked after several long minutes of staring at the console.
Lyra’s silence spoke for her.
Sighing, Rose surveyed the spread of machinery, the hope of somehow being able to secure their electricity fading by the second. While their preparation had not taken into account the liveliness of the fridge or even the other simple mechanisms like the microwave, it didn’t discount the reality that losing such utilities would radically shift their lives.
And the bathrooms.
The implications here were enormous.
Whatever they decided to do… whatever they decided not to do… would change everything.
“Well,” Lyra said, “we could always just leave it running and let it die out on its own.”
“How long you think that would be?” Rose asked.
“I dunno. A few days, maybe? Right now we’re coasting. Doesn’t look like we’re moving. Just… idling.”
“Yeah.”
“But I don’t know. You’re probably thinking the same things I am, but the fridge, the toilet, the heat…”
“It’ll definitely be a change,” Rose nodded.
“But we got lucky,” her friend was quick to cut in. “The stove’s propane. We can cook on it, so long as we’re careful.”
“The only real blessing we’ve got.”
Stepping aside, Lyra slid her fingers along the railing outside the protective glass shield and stared out at the expanse of ocean. Her ebony hair pulled back in a ponytail, her eyes thick with perseverance, a frown crossed her lips and a sigh escaped her lungs before she glanced at Rose, a thin strand of her bangs whipping free of its restraints and falling evenly across her temple.
“You thinking about something?” Rose asked.
“Not really,” Lyra shrugged. “I just… damn. Trying to get used to this, is all.”
“No kidding.”
“What about you? How’re you holding up?”
“Better than I was before,” Rose admitted. “Thanks to you.”
Lyra smiled. “Why’re you thanking me? I haven’t told you anything you already didn’t know.”
“I know. But… still. It helps to be reminded sometimes.”
“Tell me about it.” Lyra stepped back. “You know, Rose… I was thinking. We got lucky when those guys came along. I mean, it’s no secret that we would’ve been screwed unless we’d pulled a rabbit out of a hat. The gate didn’t hold. You saw how easily those things toppled it. I mean, come on—the fence was falling over before we even got to the end of the dock.”
“I know.”
“And I keep telling myself that it was luck—that we got lucky because someone else came along to save us. And yeah—we did have help, but at the end of the day, who came out on top?”
“Us.”
“Exactly. Now look: I’m not saying it’s bad to trust people—because it isn’t—but you saw how easily Yayir turned you away. You know how that turned out.”
“Yeah.”
Lyra spun to face Rose and forced a smile, though whether she’d intended for it to appear so comical was beyond Rose’s knowledge. Her cheeks were strained and her teeth were bared as if she were the cat in the land whose wonder Alice had all but stumbled into. We’re all mad here, that grin clearly said, and we’re on a boat and we’re never, ever getting off.
Never, ever?
Could that be true?
Would they be stuck here until the day they died, taken by starvation or the ravenous sea?
The few moments in which she’d not responded appeared not to be noticed, for as soon as Rose returned the smile, Lyra nodded and slid her hands into her pockets.
“The church always said we were on our own without God,” Lyra said. “Guess that’s true now more than ever, isn’t it?”
Rose nodded.
Between them and something was a world full of nothing.
No schematic existed.
The map was not in place.
The magnetic cords of north and south were skewed.
“I need to teach you to shoot,” Lyra said.
“What?” Rose asked.
It was obvious by the look on Lyra’s face that she was not amused.
“Did you really not hear me?” her friend asked, crossing her arms over her chest as she turned to look at Rose.
Rose swept the last of the glass and antler into a dustpan and approached her friend. “I heard you,” she said, dumping the trash into the bag Lyra held out. “It’s just that… I don’t really understand why I need to—”
“Learn?”
“Yeah.”
“Because, Rose. If we run into those things again, you need to know how to…”
Lyra trailed off.
Rose could tell by the look in her friend’s eyes that she already anticipated her argument.
“Yeah,” Rose said, turning to resume her work.
“Just because we’re stuck on this boat doesn’t mean we won’t run into them again,” Lyra continued, pursuing her across the living room as Rose continued to sweep up the debris.
“Yeah, but it’s highly unlikely that we will.”
“That doesn’t give you an excuse.” Lyra pressed a hand onto her shoulder to keep Rose from moving further. “Look,” she said, stressing the word as she leaned in closer. “I know there’s probably no chance in hell that we’ll ever see another zombie again, but we have to consider the possibility that we’ll run into people. Not everyone’s going to be prim and proper now that the world’s gone to shit.”
Rose snorted.
“What?” her friend growled.
“You said ‘prim and proper,’” she said, then giggled, unable to help herself. “You sound so English when you’re mad.”
“Fuck you, you stupid twat.”
“Fuck you back,” Rose laughed. She lifted her head to look at Lyra and forced a smile. “All right. If you really want me to learn, I will. I’m not sure how we’re going to do it though, considering we probably don’t have many bullets.”
Her friend’s mouth parted in a wicked grin.
“What’s that look for?” Rose asked.
“Oh,” Lyra said, turning and starting for the stairwell. “You’ll see.”
She flung a knapsack onto the deck and unrolled it to reveal dozens of bullets. “Found it in the cupboard,” she said, then tossed another, smaller satchel atop it. “And his fanny.”
Rose giggled.
“His fanny pack, you twit.”
“I’m sorry,” Rose laughed. “It’s just… you know, being American and all—”
“You’re predi
sposed to being an idiot.” Lyra crouched down and ran her fingers along the bullets, the devilish glint in her eye reminiscent of easier times. “They all go to his gun. I checked. The others were just dinky shits—revolvers that’d kick and break your nose if you weren’t careful, or back-alley shit I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. This, though--” she lifted the pistol Yayir had once carried on his hip and held it up for Rose to view “—this is something.”
“And you’re convinced I can learn how to shoot it.”
“You’re gonna have to, doll. Can’t expect me to always be around to save your pretty tits.”
“I guess,” Rose mumbled.
Lyra ejected the magazine, filled it with rounds, then stood. “We’re not on the most optimal learning ground,” she said, “which I guess could be a good and bad thing, considering. At the very least, it’ll teach you to adjust to moving targets, though I’m not sure what we’re gonna use for target practice.”
“Are those cereal boxes still down there?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I have an idea.”
With a combination of masking tape, determination, and Lyra’s assistance, they assembled their shooting range along the far side of the ship, complete with cereal boxes etched with comical zombie-face drawings.
“Da Vinci would be proud,” Lyra mused.
“I never said I could draw faces,” Rose replied, lifting the gun in both hands and taking aim. “You’re sure I’m doing this right?”
“We’ve already gone over this!” Lyra barked. “Grip, steady, fire!”
A bullet exploded from the pistol and tore clean through the center of a nearby cereal box.
“Fucking A!” Lyra cried.
“I’m sorry!” Rose cried back. “I should’ve warned you.”
“No! Fucking A good, you ninny. Now do it again.”
Rose drew a bead on the second box. Though her second shot missed when a wave brushed the boat, her third happened to find its target through the zombie face’s chin.
“I don’t know if that would kill it,” Rose mused as she considered the damage.
“Sometimes it’s not about killing them,” Lyra replied. “I mean, yeah—better off dead and in the head, but if you can’t hit that, at least hit something.”
Rose grimaced as she thumbed the safety and lowered the gun. “Do you think this is enough?” she asked.
“For now?” Lyra replied. “Yeah. I do. But it’s nothing compared to the real deal.”
“I can only imagine,” Rose sighed.
After relieving the fridge of the last of the things they could salvage and preparing a meal from it on that cold, lonely night, it was decided that they would turn the ship off and allow destiny to take its course.
Atop the private yacht, wrapped in jackets with their hoods pulled up, their hair framing their faces, Rose reached out with the weight of the world upon her.
It was with great grief that she turned the key and found she was able to remove it.
It was with even greater trepidation that she pulled it from the ignition slot and held it steadily—a bulky contraption, with only a fish ornament dangling from the end.
“Well,” Rose said, lifting the key for their kingdom to see. “This is it, then.”
Lyra made no move to comment.
Nothing could be said for what they had just done.
For the longest time, neither of them did a thing—always breathing, never speaking.
The waves crested the ship, the dour grey clouds shifted across the sky, the occasional fish broke the water to disturb the peace—the yacht, so foreign and alien, drifted steadily, while its two remaining passengers stared at one another as if they had all the answers in the world: for what to do now that they no longer had electricity, for what to do now that they would no longer have cold food—for what they would do now that they had essentially stranded themselves at sea.
Trembling for the fears now upon her, Rose lowered the hand holding the key and made a fist, wishing with all her might that there was someone to help them, or something she could do.
The enormity was closing in.
All around them lay nothing but water, and beneath their feet, a few layers of wood and metal.
So consumed was she by her struggles that Rose barely noticed when Lyra stepped out from under the awning. “You think that’s the way we came?” her friend asked.
Rose turned. “Huh?” she asked.
Her friend pointed. “That way,” she said. “Which… ever direction that is. You reckon that’s the way we came?”
“How am I supposed to know?”
“Beats me. Just trying to make conversation.”
“Kind of a bad time, don’t you think?”
“It’ll kill us, you know? Drive us mad.”
“What?”
“The silence.”
Alone in her room, bent over her desk, a mass of books, a pile of papers, a laptop filled with architectural designs—she had spent many a night in solitude, dissecting the inner workings of buildings and putting them back together.
Most of the time, she’d thought nothing of it. It was trivial, this thing she struggled with—the homework that would come to pass—and for that, she knew emotional investment would not get her anywhere.
But there had been those seldom times—those times when, pushed to her limits but glued to her seat, she’d bit at her bottom lip, gnawed her nails to the quick. Lyra had always chastised her, saying it was indecent, but Rose, so consumed by isolation, could hardly hear it.
It was like wind passing through a porthole—pressure equal on one side, but completely diminished once on the other. It was without cause that such things happened—that disconnect occurred only when in the worst of plights—and for that it could be said that silence was madness.
A man could shout in a crowded theater and always be seen for what he was, but if he shouted in a quiet room, he would only be seen as mad.
Lyra was right.
When it came down to it, their distance could be measured in so much more than just miles from shore.
In light of what her friend had said, Rose knew she couldn’t let adversity push them apart.
After making her way down the stairs, Rose walked up behind Lyra until she stood directly at her side.
Caught in the spectacle of a rolling wave, Lyra turned to look at her only after Rose reached down to take her hand. “You all right?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” Rose said. “Better than I would be if you weren’t here.”
Lyra smiled and leaned into her side. “We’ll get through this, Rose,” she said. “Just you wait. We’ll show the world who’s boss.”
Rose closed her eyes.
Only time would tell.
Chapter 4
“Hey, Rose,” Lyra said. “You think we’ll ever crash land anywhere?”
The question came after one week of being at sea.
From her place in the corner, where she sat in a plush armchair that had quickly become her favorite, Rose lifted her head. “What?” she asked.
“You know—crash somewhere: like an island, or maybe another country.”
“Ireland’s just across the way,” Rose mused.
“Ugh. The Irish.”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people.”
“Excuse me? One of those people? What the fuck are you—” Lyra paused. Her eyes narrowed considerably. “Oh, no. Don’t you even start with that. He was the one who tried to snog me.”
“And you still hold a grudge against an entire nation?”
“Why not? It happened more than once! You saw it! It happened damn near every time we were there!”
“And what happened when we went to a different bar?” Rose asked, waiting for the response that she knew would not come. “Exactly.”
“Pfft. Not my fault I’m irresistible.” She made an impressive show of brushing her hair back over her shoulders, then puffing her lips out while pushing her
chest forward.
In the throes of laughter, Rose nearly fell out of her seat. “See,” she managed, choking the word out as if she’d just swallowed down the wrong tube. “I told you. That’s most men when they’re drunk.”
“A bunch of wankers, if you ask me.”
“At least we won’t have to deal with them anymore.”
The words came out before she could even think.
Lyra—whose demeanor had been anything but morose—instantly sobered upon hearing the remark.
Looking at her friend’s face, Rose could swear she saw the words spelled out—etched in the lines in Lyra’s brow, in the depressions around her mouth.
“Lyra,” Rose started. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” she said, interrupting before Rose could continue. “Don’t worry about it.”
Swallowing, Rose managed, “Lyra?”
Her friend didn’t respond. Initially, Rose thought the brief turn of her head was for her, but found it to only be a large fish breaching, then hitting the water.
“I didn’t mean what I said,” she continued. “I should’ve thought about it before I opened my mouth.”
“It isn’t your fault,” Lyra said. “It…” She paused, a sigh passing from her lips. “It was just like old times, wasn’t it? Me and you, at the bar, all the girls, talking, laughing, fighting off boys.”
“Maybe that was why it came out like that,” Rose offered.
“Oh, don’t worry—it definitely was. But I don’t blame you for it. There’s only so much we can ignore before it comes around to bite us in the ass.”
Was there, though? Considering what-all they’d been through, it was a wonder there hadn’t been more conversation about the ‘real world.’ They’d been out here for a week—had survived on bagged foods and canned goods heated by propane heat. This, to Rose, spoke of something. With so little time to adapt, how were they supposed to react after having been thrust into such a bleak and hellish situation?
Truthfully, there was no answer for this. This she knew, this Lyra knew, and this anyone who could ever be in their situation would’ve known, if only they’d a chance to experience it.
