The Undead World (Book 12): The Body [An Undead World Expansion]

by Meredith, Peter

  Her two fellow islanders were the other reasons she hesitated. The plan she had concocted—the only plan with any hope of succeeding—required her to set the boat on fire with them both still on board, bound by the wrists and ankles. There was a very good chance that she was going to roast them alive or blow them up.

  Of course, she’d be blowing herself up as well.

  “Maybe,” she said, and started kicking again. The screams of poor Ted drove her on. If that had been her, she would much rather face a dicey rescue than go through that horror.

  She didn’t want to look. She didn’t want to know what they were doing to the two men, but she had to keep an eye on the Corsairs. She had to know if they were looking her way or if any of them were going to suddenly decide to go for a ride on their canoes. And so, she saw them beat Ted’s shins with a bat.

  As he writhed in agony, her stomach rolled over and she started to gag not fifteen feet from the back quarter of the boat. She had to turn away from the sight and concentrate on her kicking. Just keep kicking. Just keep kicking, she repeated to herself, right up until she thumped into the side of the boat. Pulling her camo-cloak back, she saw she had hit further toward the mid-line than she wanted.

  From this angle, she couldn’t see anything, certainly not the Corsair who suddenly stepped away from the others. He was right above her and the first indication she had that he was there was the sound of his zipper coming down.

  15

  She cringed as urine started splashing down, on her! Simple as it was, her camouflage was working. From his perspective; from a black boat in a black night, looking down on black water she was a bit of trash; a shred of a sail or an old jacket perhaps. He couldn’t tell which and he didn’t care.

  A scream made him jerk, interrupting his target practice. “You guys mind? I’m tryin’ to take a piss here.” They laughed at him.

  The ordeal seemed to take forever and even when it was finally done, Jillybean couldn’t dunk herself. She still sputtered sometimes when seawater got into her face. The slightest noise would get her caught, so she endured, kicking to the back end of the boat.

  When Burt and Carl had rowed her past the fleet earlier, there had been two men here, one lounging behind the wheel, the other with his back to the rail. One was inside now, standing over the poker game; the other was ten feet away from the wheel, making terrible, evil suggestions on how best to hurt two men who’d never done anything to him.

  “I say ya make ‘em eat rocks. Ya know, just in case we trade ‘em. They’d still die ‘an all, but they’d look normal. Could you imagine that? Eatin’ like twenty rocks?” He grabbed his stomach for emphasis.

  In that second, Jillybean hated the man and wished it was he that she had stabbed instead of Burt. Burt had been reluctantly evil. This man enjoyed it.

  “Please don’t,” Ted blubbered. “I swear, they’ll give you guys the boats.”

  “What did I say about talking?” one of the others snapped. “You want two in a row?” Ted quickly dropped his chin, shaking his head.

  Jillybean’s stomach suddenly clenched as if she was the one with rocks in her belly. Her hatred was so great, this would normally be where she would switch with Eve, but there wasn’t a peep inside her, and for once, Jillybean was glad Eve was gone. After everything she’d been through that day, she wanted to take her frustrations out on someone.

  If she could.

  The danger increased with every second. Anything could happen. A zombie could pick that moment to show up, a bad hand might sour a player, who’d come storming out and catch her right there next to the canoes.

  Even as this last thought went through her head, there was a bark of laughter followed by a string of curses. She had just a hand on the ladder and now she braced herself, ready to slip away if she could. No one came storming out.

  With aching slowness, she eased out of her camo-cloak and climbed up the ladder, hearing every drop of water splash back into the Sound as if they were beats of a drum. Even when she got on the platform she couldn’t move quickly. Every step was taken at glacial pace. It was hell on her shivering little body, but she fought on, hoping she was doing the right thing.

  Finally, she found herself directly under the fuel tanks.

  Up close, she realized that half of them were painted plastic. A grin spread across her face. She wouldn’t need to siphon the fuel after all. Slipping Baldy’s knife from the scabbard, she positioned it under the closest tank which was at chest height. Then she waited for the next scream. It was from Ted and it was both heartrending and infuriating. With a snarl, she used her legs to drive the knife up.

  She was splashed with gasoline; the smell was nauseating and the fumes made her head go light. Forcing herself to focus, she quickly stabbed a second tank as the scream went on and on. She was able to do a third, but had to wait three terrifying minutes before attempting to open more. Anything could’ve happened in those three minutes, but her luck held.

  “Alright ass-face,” she heard from the deck. “Let’s give you a few whacks. This guy can’t have all the fun.” Willy started to struggle. He even tried to roll off the deck and into the water where he would’ve drowned in seconds. The Corsairs grabbed him and held him down. By then Jillybean had punctured two more of the tanks.

  His screams lasted thirty seconds and when they were done, the little girl was back in the cold water. She had pressed her luck to the breaking point, but had done her job. More than a hundred gallons of gas was streaming from the tanks and spreading over the water behind the boat.

  The light current was gradually sending the gas towards the next boat in line. The most imaginative part of her pictured the flames shooting across the water like dragon breath. Realistically, she had her doubts whether the fiberglass would catch fire at all, but knew that any fire would cause even more chaos and that, more than anything, was what she needed. Her plan required panic.

  If anyone kept their head and remained calm, Jillybean would be scooped up in ten minutes.

  All this was going through her mind as she reslung the camo-cloak and unwound the wire holding the bottle of gas hooked to her belt. It was still full.

  As she kicked along the boat, she dribbled the fuel on the side of the hull. Most of it ran down into the water as she knew it would. Happily, it collected right next to the boat instead of floating away. She was midway down the length of the boat when there was a surprised shout from back along the line. This was followed by curses and more shouts.

  Someone had finally noticed that The Toad was sinking.

  “Davey, find out what the hell’s going on,” Van Mire growled. He was looking down a two-pair, the best hand he’d been dealt all night, and nothing short of an act of God was going to move him from the table.

  Now! Jillybean’s own voice screamed inside her head. She upended the remains of the bottle and grabbed the lighter she had taken from Baldy.

  Davey, a lanky twenty-year-old with a practiced sneer, had been a snaggle-toothed geek before the apocalypse. He had been mean and vindictive. Little had changed, except he had found others just like him in the Corsairs. Pushing through the black curtains he tromped up the steps to the “cockpit” as he thought of the sunken area at the stern where the wheel sat surrounded by cushioned benches. He was immediately assailed by the stench of gasoline.

  The smell was overpowering and should’ve been a cause for alarm, however lights were being flicked on, far down the line. They had been expressly forbidden.

  “Something’s happening,” he said. “Some idiot’s turned on his lights. I think it might be…” His words caught in his throat as he saw light closer, much closer. Fire was running along the side of the boat. It was in the water. He stared blankly, without comprehension and only uttering the useless word, “Fire.”

  “Did he say fire?” someone asked.

  The answer came from outside the boat as the dancing, somewhat gay appearing flames reached the stern. With a fwoomp! the water all around the back
exploded like a bonfire.

  The flames engulfed the platform and the stern. Davey had two seconds to react and he could’ve gone with instinct or intellect. The sudden heat was stunning and he threw his hands over his face as he fell back down the stairs. It was a poor reaction. At the table, the poker players leapt up, spilling chips and cards everywhere. A man named Chuck Boschee darted to the stairs, and ran up them just as one of the untouched fuel tanks melted from the sudden heat.

  It let out a gush of gasoline which burst into flames as it poured down into the cockpit and straight at Boschee. He didn’t hesitate. Taking three great strides he launched himself over the side rail. The others went to the stairs just as the flaming gasoline poured down. The torturers were also leaping overboard, leaving Willy and Ted to their fates. Both began to roll and squirm to the front of the ship as the rear had turned into an inferno.

  Willy made it all the way to the bow where he decided that drowning was a much better death than being roasted alive and was trying to figure out how to get through the rails. Ted’s cuffed hands had gotten caught up on a stanchion and he was being cooked. His screams now were even more horrible than before.

  They drove Jillybean up the anchor chain faster than she thought possible, especially as her soaking wet camo-cloak weighed her down and tried to choke her. Climbing on deck was like climbing up to hell. The night was brighter than any day she had ever experienced. It was far hotter as well. She was struck by a blistering wind of ash and smoke.

  Cringing behind the cloak, she stepped over Willy and hurried to Ted who was still stuck. Those fifteen feet were like night and day. At the bow, the heat was at least survivable, here it could kill a person in minutes. Ted was bare-chested and where he hadn’t been cut or whipped, his flesh was red and raw. Blisters formed, popped and formed again.

  Beneath her feet were the cries of the trapped Corsairs. They were screaming back and forth. There was a gunshot and then an entire barrage of them. At first, Jillybean thought they were fighting each other. Then she saw the water skipping with bullets. They were trying to shoot their way out!

  It wasn’t the worst idea, and it might have worked if the door to the bow cabin had ever been replaced after a brawl at sea months before. Now when they fired through the hull all they were really doing was opening a series of ventilation ports to an already voracious inferno.

  The flames grew even more massive and the heat kicked up to an even greater degree. Ted was going mad with pain. Thrashing freed his hands from the stanchion and he rolled over with no other notion than to relieve the mind-numbing pain. Jillybean dropped her knee down on his back to keep him still enough to unlock him. The moment his hands sprung apart he bucked her off and crawled for the rail. She saw that he was going to go into the water even with his feet still chained—and he didn’t care.

  “Now me! Unlock me!” Willy cried to her. Standing, she swayed. The gunfire had ended as had the shouts. Van Mire and his captains were unconscious, overcome by the smoke and the fumes. The same smoke staggered Jillybean and her vision went in and out as she freed Willy. Like Ted, he scrambled under the rail as soon as his hands were free. The water was yellow-green from the flames. It beckoned and she was about to join the two men when she realized they would need floaties of their own. The key fell from her hand and out came the knife.

  Along the rail were more foam-fenders. Four was all the strength she had left to cut away and throw to the two men. By then, her once soaking wet cloak was billowing steam in wispy clouds. She was losing her protection and yet she looked back at her handiwork. The first two ships in line were on fire and the last ship was even then slipping below the surface, tearing the entire stern from the ship in front of it and causing a seam to open up along its hull—it would eventually sink.

  Along with the ships, she had managed to kill the squadron commander and four ship captains.

  This was all fine, but she still had two hostages to worry about, both of whom were barely clinging to the fenders.

  16

  The water felt so unbelievably good that she couldn’t help but sit there for a moment, gasping for breath. She watched as the entire fleet seemed to be in panic mode. Every one of the ships had cut their anchor and the guide ropes that were keeping them in line. Engines were hurriedly started and the boats raced away, leaving behind at least three sailors who tried to scream them back.

  The sailors didn’t concern Jillybean. Not only was the closest half a football field away, they were all likely unarmed and more concerned with getting as far from the burning boats as possible.

  As much as she wanted to rest, Willy and Ted were barely holding on. She paddled her shotgun floatie to Ted, only then remembering she had dropped the key.

  It took her a minute to fish out one of her spares and by then the two men had floated nearly ten yards apart.

  “Stay together,” she urged Willy, but he lacked the strength and as she tried to unlock Ted’s ankles he drifted further away.

  “I’m going over to Mr. Willy. Try to kick over to us,” she told Ted when he was free. Instead, he simply hung on his fender. She had to leave him. A minute later, and out of breath, she repeated the same exhaustive process with Willy. He was so far gone that she had to dive underwater, scale down his legs and attempt to work the tiny key into a tinier hole in the dark.

  Finally, she was done and he was free, but her work was not over. Ted was forty yards away and looked like little more than some of the trash that was floating near the wreckage. He waved an arm at them.

  “Can you make it that far?” Jillybean asked Willy.

  “I’m gonna have to go further than that.” He jutted a stubbly chin towards the island. It sat calmly four-hundred yards away, its lights going back and forth. They both started the difficult task of fighting the current to get back to Ted who was still waving his arm to attract their attention.

  There were other things on the Sound that night than just Corsairs. The dead had been attracted to the screams and the flames; and one was attracted to the waving arm. It surfaced only feet away from Ted, its mouth stretched wide, showing hideously jagged teeth.

  “Look out!” Jillybean hissed, pointing behind Ted at the monster. It was far enough away that he should’ve been able to get away, but he panicked. For some reason he thrust the fender at the creature who swatted it aside and reached for him. Ted flailed in the water, thrashing spastically and he would have escaped if the zombie hadn’t been one of the seven-footers Jillybean had been warning people about.

  It stretched out that frightfully long arm, grabbed Ted and dragged him under just as he let out a last gurgling cry.

  Jillybean was struck dumb by the suddenness of the attack. She stared at the rising bubbles as if hypnotized. Willy’s reaction was at the other end of the spectrum. He began to freak out. “Gimme the gun,” he hissed, his voice high and crazy. “Come on, I need it. You can have this.” He pushed the fender towards Jillybean and then elbowed her off her own gun-floatie. She didn’t want the fender. It was odd-shaped and when she had tried to grip it around the middle, it seemed to come maliciously alive and squirm up and out of her hands.

  “It’s too big,” she told him, a slight panic in her voice. “I can’t hold it and swim.” He was already five feet away.

  “It’ll be okay,” he whispered. “Everything’s going to be okay. We’re going to be fine.” He was speaking to himself.

  She realized there’d be no talking him out of the gun. Luckily, she still had her wits about her. Not far away was another of the fenders. With two tied together, she could make a serviceable pair of water-wings which would likely be even more freeing for swimming. Unfortunately the fender was in the direction of where Ted was being fed upon. Willy wouldn’t go near it, while Jillybean didn’t have much of a choice.

  A minute worth of awkward doggy-paddling, with the cloak weighing her down, got her all of thirty feet closer to the fender. Already exhausted, she chanced a look back and saw Willy staring in h
orror. One of the black ships was slipping back towards the wreckage. It was sleekly dark, and exuded evil like some sort of giant alien shark. A one-eyed shark that beamed piercing white light at whatever its gaze fell upon.

  On one level, Jillybean knew it was a searchlight flashing back and forth over the water, illuminating the floating odds and ends, but the idea of a shark in the waters was enough to freeze her to the bone.

  She had rarely felt so intensely vulnerable. The water itself was death and what swam beneath it was death, and what floated on top was death…and all she had to protect herself with was an old blue-blanket and a foam fender. And she had to give up the fender.

  Reluctantly, she let the fender go and slipped under the blue blanket. At first it tried to drown her. It was heavy and clung, and she couldn’t move…You’re not supposed to move, she reminded herself. You’re water. Splaying her body out in perfect float-form, she went still and concentrated everything she had on keeping her body rigid.

  After his night of torture and terror, Willy lacked her reserve of self-control. At first, he tried to swim away, which only pushed him to the point of exhaustion. Then as the light slashed across him, he tried to duck under the water. Sadly, the odd configuration of fenders caught the eye of one of the Corsairs. “Go back. I saw something.”

  The light bore down just as Willy came back up, gasping for air. The boat turned toward him and Willy went wild. Again, he tried to out-swim a motorized boat. In seconds it was obvious he wasn’t going to make it. He began to scream, “No! No! No!”

  Despite his panic—or maybe because of it—he did the smart thing in the end. As the boat pulled up and boathooks were thrust at him. He leaned onto one side of the gun-floatie, exposing the working end of it. Wearing a madman’s grin, he fired and blew the face off one of the Corsairs. A second later, as he was trying to jack in another shell without tipping over, he was riddled with bullets.

  As the echoes of the guns seemed to paint the edges of the Sound, Jillybean finally found her perfect floating form. She simply gave up and laid there beneath the blanket as the small waves lifted her and set her down with gentle repetition. The light passed over her a number of times, but she was part of the Sound and the alien shark-ship only perceived water on water.