by Kody Boye
Over the next several minutes, he guided her through the process of disengaging the locks and angling the raft via a series of levers. The winch, daunting in its size and strength, was released via a series of buttons and bars, then made to turn. The descent was nerve-wracking, what with guns going off and bullets bouncing between ships, but by the time the raft hit the water, most had begun to die down.
“Rose,” Lyra said, her tone deadly in the midst of newfound silence. “Get him in the boat. Now.”
“What’re you--” Rose started.
The nearby yacht exploded.
The concussion struck Rose with such force that she nearly fell.
Debris soared.
Instinct threw her to the deck.
She felt rather than heard the impact of objects rebounding off their ship.
Oh God oh God oh God, she thought. Please don’t—
The whole thing lasted less than a minute.
Struck by the acrid odor, Rose lifted her head and attempted to scan the scene, but found she could make out little more than just a few feet out.
Dreading the worst, she got to her hands and knees, then crawled forward.
The man she had attempted to save was huddled on the life raft, uninjured save for a cut along his cheek.
“Are you all right?” Rose called down.
“I’m fine!” the man called up. “Get us out of here!”
“Better hurry,” Lyra said. “Some other people have the same idea.”
“Is that why you were shooting?” Rose asked, cranking the winch with as much careful force as possible.
“Someone tried to gun me down. They want the boat. Seems we have a big invisible target over our heads.”
“Better get moving, then,” Rose said.
Lyra eased her way over as the man she was pulling up onto the boat came into sight. Gun trained on the smog, she nodded with a slight tremble as Rose reached forward to help him aboard.
“Thank God,” he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Thank you, ma’am. God bless you.”
“Are you all right?” Rose asked.
“Just a scratch. I’ll be fine,” the handsome black man said. “No time for pleasantries though. Where’s your console?”
“Up there,” Rose said.
“The key?”
Rose pulled it from its place around her neck and passed it over as she pursued the man along the deck. A quick glance behind her showed Lyra training the gun on those attempting to approach the ship, a resolute nod the last impression before Rose disappeared up the stairs.
At the helm, Rose settled herself into the passenger seat and watched the man scour the console. He flexed his trembling hands to steady them before inserting the key and firing the boat to life.
After days of not experiencing the engine, the shock nearly gave Rose a heart attack.
“You know how fast this thing goes?” the man asked.
“We don’t even know how to drive it,” she replied.
“I do.” He flipped a few switches, curled his fist around a lever, and pushed it forward, revving the motor. “I’m E.J., by the way.”
“Rose,” she said.
The Irishman smiled, his grey eyes briefly meeting hers. “Better buckle up,” he said. “I’m hauling arse.”
“Where are we going?”
“Anywhere but here.” He glanced back at Lyra and yelled, “HOLD ON!”
No sooner had Rose clipped her seatbelt into place than the yacht took off.
Though she’d little idea of how fast the ship could go, the force exerted stole her breath.
The spray of water sent diamonds of light through the air.
“You think they’ll stop shooting now that we’re leaving?” Rose asked, taking hold of the rail alongside her.
“The government might,” E.J. replied. “Doesn’t mean they will.”
As if on cue, a bullet hit the reflective dome and cracked a spider web along the glass.
“Keep your head down, Rose. No use in getting shot.”
“What about you?”
“It’s in God’s hands now.”
In God’s hands now, Rose thought.
Hopefully He would shine His light upon them.
Given their distance from the flotilla, E.J. was able to easily navigate the waters and avoid any ships that happened to be in their way. Most were small vessels—stranded like E.J. had been in the deeper waters off the coast—though a few held scope that none of the others did. One in particular happened to be an England military ship, bearing a red cross that likely marked it as a relief effort.
“You from there?” E.J. yelled over the chaos still taking place around them.
Rose nodded.
“You’ve come a long way,” he said.
“Yeah,” Rose mumbled. “You’re not kidding.”
As the scene faded behind them—in flames, gunshots and screams of glory—Rose closed her eyes.
The sweet rush of air was candy on her skin.
Maybe now they would finally be safe.
Chapter 5
“Ow,” E.J. hissed. “Careful.”
“Hold still,” Lyra chastised, pressing a bandage into place. “I know what I’m doing.”
“So she claims,” Rose said as she descended into the cabin. “You ok?”
“I’m fine,” the Irishman said, hopping off the window seat as Lyra stepped away. “You’re a lifesaver, miss. Thank you.”
“Something similar happened to us,” Rose replied, flicking her eyes to Lyra, who merely shrugged before stepping away, the bloodied washcloth in hand. “Figured we owed the karmic debt.”
“Do you have anywhere I can settle in?” E.J. asked, allowing his eyes to fall on Rose after making a sweep of the room. “I hate to intrude, but I think we could all use some rest.”
“Especially after what you went through,” Rose laughed.
“Seriously—it’s just a cut.”
“That could’ve taken off your head,” Lyra mused.
E.J. smiled and shot a wink in her direction. Lyra raised a brow. “I can get you into a room,” she said. “We’ve got spares.”
“Thank you,” E.J. said.
His kind tone and gentle demeanor brought a smile to Lyra’s face.
As Lyra went to prepare a second room, Rose guided E.J. into the kitchen and handed him a bottle of water.
“Thanks,” he said, taking a swig before expelling another breath. He waited for a moment before speaking again. “Have to tell you, Rose—I’m not sure how much longer I would’ve lasted out there.”
“I can imagine,” Rose said. “Likewise for us.”
“I think we can work this out. You’ve got someone to man your boat, you’ve got shelter. I don’t expect the food to last forever, but I can fish, and I’m a tough bastard, if that’s anything.”
“You seem like it,” Rose said.
“I mean, hell—after running for my life the past few days, I can honestly say you’re a godsend.”
“How long?”
“Three or four days.”
“Shit,” Rose sighed. “So this is all new for you.”
Nodding, E.J. set the bottle of water on the nearby counter and hooked a finger into his pocket. “Yeah. I hauled ass out of Churchtown and nearly broke down around Ballygerry twice. Don’t know how the hell I managed to get to the coast, but I did.”
“Sounds like it worked out perfectly, then.”
“Yeah, it did.”
Rose pursed her lips. Still jaded from the week’s solitude, it was hard to make conversation with anyone, especially someone who’d saved them from an untimely death. E.J. didn’t seem to mind, though. Given his bloodshot eyes, his wind-burnt face and his cracked knuckles, he appeared anything other than offended.
“Come on,” she said, gesturing him out of the kitchen. “Let’s get you a room. You look like you could use the rest.”
“Could I ever,” E.J. laughed.
“Well,” Rose sighed, sett
ling down on the bed. “Now that everyone’s finally settled in… maybe we can relax.”
“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” Lyra said.
There’d been little compromise regarding her decision to allow E.J. on the boat. Throughout, there’d been glances exchanged that beckoned her to question her friend’s confidence in her decision.
Rose could admit that she had not been thinking clearly—that her intentions had been driven by desperation rather than logic—but Lyra was adamant. Her scrutiny was clear.
She can overreact, she thought. You know that.
But if she truly thought about it, it had been Lyra who had knocked her from fantasy without fear, who’d bashed Spencer’s head in, who’d crushed Mary’s skull, who’d declared it the end of the world and said that waiting would only get them killed.
It’d been Lyra who’d led them into the world.
If not for that decision, they’d still be in that flat, scrounging the last bit of junk food from the cupboards, or crying as they tried to keep the dead from breaking in.
In staring into her friend’s eyes, Rose saw the fear, crystalline, a bauble made to dangle above the waters, to wait for the dead to reach out and grasp it.
She inhaled a deep breath of air and held it there for several long moments before finally expelling it. “I know,” she said, minutes after thought had taken her and realization had set her free. “I know.”
Lyra reached up to finger a sore where she’d bitten her lip and looked past Rose, into the vast expanse of the northern Atlantic Ocean. “Well,” she said. “If anything, we know where we are. That’s a start.”
“And not stranded in a country where they’ll shoot on sight,” Rose offered.
“Can’t really blame them, though. I mean, you saw what came out of that boat right near us. Just imagine if all those people had passed through a checkpoint, or whatever the fuck they call it, and into a safe zone.”
“Everyone would be dead.”
“That’s my point. Taking someone in—that isn’t easy. You never know what they could do.”
“Which is exactly what I said.”
Lyra pursed her lips. “I see your point.”
“I’m not saying we have to trust him. I’m just saying we should give him a chance.”
There appeared to be little argument there.
Rising, Rose stepped up to Lyra and pressed her hands along her upper arms. “This’ll work out,” she said. “I promise.”
“All right. Just make sure you keep the door locked whenever you come in. And don’t go wandering around by yourself either!”
“I know,” Rose said. “We still don’t know this guy.”
Regardless of the smile that Lyra returned, Rose’s words haunted her all the more.
They were taking a huge risk.
Hopefully, it was one for the better.
“Is everything all right?” Rose asked.
By light of the setting sun, she watched the man she thought a stranger steer their vessel. Lyra close at her side, smoking a cigarette and watching a pod of dolphins, Rose wrapped a hand around the railing and ascended as E.J. turned to look at her.
“Everything’s good,” he said, tucking his fingers under his arms and clicking his teeth. “Damn. Getting cold out here.”
“Usually does,” Rose offered. “Were you comfortable down there? Got enough blankets and everything?”
“I’m fine, Rose. Thank you for asking.”
She turned her eyes on the horizon and watched what remained of the sun sink into the sea. It was stark across the ocean’s surface, nearly blinding in this twilight hour of evening. She raised a hand to shield her eyes and cast a glance at E.J. peripherally. His gaze had sought Lyra during the lapse into silence.
“How are we doing on gas?” Rose asked, unsure if his attentiveness was attraction or curiosity.
Seemingly lost in thought, E.J. blinked a few times before returning his grey gaze to Rose. “Better than I thought you would be, all things considered.”
“We turned it off.”
“The boat?”
“Yeah,” Rose replied. E.J. frowned and looked over at the console. “Why?” she pushed further. “Was that bad?”
“Actually,” he said, “it’s probably the best damn thing you could’ve done, considering you had no idea how to run it.”
“The ignition seemed easy enough.”
“Lock and load,” E.J. grinned, leaning against the railing. “You guys never did mention what happened here.”
“It’s nothing you probably haven’t seen before.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“You’ve seen so much carnage, so much death… so much destruction. How could what happened here be any different?”
“Because you survived,” E.J. said, spreading his arms out before him. “Out of everyone on this ship, you managed to make it out alive. That shows the survivalist in you.”
“I wouldn’t call it being a survivalist so much as I would being lucky,” Rose laughed. “Really—there’s not that much to tell. We got on the boat, we saw someone we thought was infected, then we hunkered down and waited for shit to hit the fan after a failed attempt to explain the bites.”
“They didn’t believe you.”
“‘Course they didn’t. It was day two… or three… Fuck. I can’t remember. No one knew anything about anything.”
“But they do now,” E.J. said, glancing back as if he expected to see Ireland bleak and full upon the horizon.
“Yeah,” Rose sighed.
There was no need to explain what had happened that morning—no need to elaborate on what had driven them from what could’ve been their righteous salvation. It’d been declared on the face of a man—in his anger, his rage, so fierce and strong, when he’d raised his gun and then in the blink of an eye he’d been gunned down.
Rose closed her eyes.
The question burned horribly, yet refused to be snuffed out.
What would’ve happened if the United Kingdom had taken better precautions? There was no way in hell it could’ve been prevented—God knew that a truth beyond all measure—but what if the military had arrived and stationed themselves at all major international airports upon suspicion of contagion?
Surely the health organization had suspected something, and as such would’ve been quick to respond, but if there had just been a few more guns—if there’d just been someone to shoot the creatures in the head…
Rose reached up to tangle her fingers through her hair and sighed as she turned to head back down the stairs.
“Hey,” E.J. said. “Rose?”
“Yeah?” she asked, refusing to let his pity be the thing that set her free.
“We’ll be ok. Trust me. We’ll get out of this.”
Rose didn’t reply.
While hope was a flame wavering, even the slightest wind could extinguish it.
False promises weren’t needed.
As she’d quickly learned over the past few days, there was only one thing they could do.
Take it a day at a time.
“At last,” E.J. said, settling into the plush armchair normally occupied by Lyra on her more morose days. “Our first meal together.”
The captain’s quarters had been designated as their official dining room. Given that it was the largest room on the ship, and the fact that the original dining table had been destroyed, it only made sense that they should meet here. Rose and Lyra sat together, whereas E.J. had chosen the loveseat across from them, patient in his declaration and even more in his anticipation of a reply.
Though no one responded, his point was made clear.
To Rose, the sight was unnerving.
Well, she thought, forcing herself to take a bite out of a chip rather than allow her eyes to remain upon her new companion. This is different.
She’d never imagined it’d be more than just her and Lyra on this ship. Sure, she’d entertained the fantasy and outright delusio
n that they would be saved, but it had never crossed her mind that it’d be anything like this.
Random chance.
Fate: that fickle little Devil she’d thought of often since this whole thing began. He—or she—so fine and tricky, so horribly humble yet completely unforgiving. During those days, she’d envisioned the scenario incessantly, desperate to rationalize how she’d managed to pin Spencer in the doorway when he could’ve easily broken free in a fit of rage.
They were stronger than she was—uninhibited by mortality and all the woes that came with it—and Spencer, he’d been a man. A big man. There was no way she could’ve realistically pinned him there. Yet she had. That, she realized, was something of chance—fate, as her father had been quick to call it: the four-lettered God that had granted her intelligence, and a knack for hitting baseballs out of the park.
“She’s a bit of a snob,” Lyra said, her words enough to knock Rose from her train of thought. “One of those nerd types, you know--always in their heads, thinking about books and papers and shit. Do you know what the Pythagorean Theorem is? I don’t, but Rose sure does.”
“Fuck you,” Rose laughed. “At least I was doing something useful.”
“I take it Liberal Arts was not your first choice, then?”
Rose mimed lifting a book and smacking Lyra upside the head, to which her friend returned with the middle finger.
Amidst their laughter, Rose heard E.J. say, “What were you studying?”
She almost hadn’t heard him, his voice was so small. She cleared her throat to dispel the rasp and replied, “Architecture,” though immediately it felt insignificant in the scheme of things.
“I’d just gotten outta beauty school,” Lyra said, quick to speak when it appeared they were sharing life stories. “I wanted to move to London and work in the fashion industry.” She paused. “Of course, that’ll never happen.”
“What about you?” Rose asked. “What’d you do?”
“I don’t want to talk about that,” the other man mumbled, reaching back to scratch his neck and revealing, for the first time, a series of musical notes tattooed along his forearm.
“Hey. Wait a minute,” Lyra said, the glimmer in her eye suspicious beyond compare. “You said your name was E.J., right?”
