by Adams, Lucia
I had a small Audi TT that, if I was honest, I would admit I bought because I liked the headlights. When the doors opened, the garage was quiet. The guard had left, leaving the place feeling like a tomb. I grimaced—not a good analogy in light of things.
My car was off to the left; to my right was Mr. Kowalski’s 1965 Mustang. It was a Fastback and black as sin. He was its only owner and spent every spare moment tending to it. And even still, I doubt he ever got it out of first gear.
I looked at his car, looked at mine, glanced at a massive white Suburban, and considered that if I was about to commit grand theft auto, I should be practical. Again, I locked the elevators doors open, took Parker’s hand, and walked over to the guard shack. There was a spare key for everyone’s car, just in case. As they were usually secured, no one had an issue with it.
Two hits of my ax opened the small box, revealing rows and rows of shiny keys. I had mine; I took the ones for the Suburban and the Mustang. As I walked over to the cars, I tossed the keys to the Suburban on its hood and opened the trunk to the Mustang.
I couldn’t get the MRE box to fit in the trunk, so I settled for opening it and dumping the loose meals in. My suitcase and Parker’s, along with most of the weapons, followed. I settled Parker along with his pillow and blanket in the back seat. My Glock, its case, and some ammunition went on the passenger seat.
I slid inside, enjoying the smell of well-oiled leather, and started the car. It rumbled to life with a growl, and despite myself I smiled. I backed out, drove over to the entrance of the garage, and keyed in my code.
As the door cycled up, it seemed as though the very gates of Hell had opened.
CHAPTER 14
Lake Huron, Canada
Gerry
‘Dead in the water’ wasn’t a phrase I’d care to experience. The police boat was a throaty V-8, but still a single screw, so slow and steady would have to do. Overloaded as we were, conservation needed to be our main concern.
To save fuel, I kept the boat at about twenty knots and hugged the shallows of the American shoreline. Staying away from the choppy waves of the lake’s open water would save us from continuously needing to stop and refuel. Eventually, though, we’d run out and need to stop somewhere. I’d followed the yearly sailing race to Mackinaw Island a few times, so I had an idea of how far our current supply of fuel would carry us.
Because I’d eventually need to sleep and didn’t want to drop anchor when I did, I decided to teach three of the kids how to steer, set the cruise control, and start the engine. Not like it was rocket surgery, but better cautious than dead… or to end up as one of those things out there.
It wasn’t long after leaving the dock in Corunna that we came across our first floating zombies; poor fucks wearing life jackets who’d sought refuge in the water after being bitten, then died of the infection and reanimated while floating down the river. They bobbed and moaned like some freaky nightmare Grimm version of a waterlogged Siren, so they were easy to spot, but hard to kill. We approached the first few, believing them to be survivors, but after an infected nearly dragged one of the teens into the water with it, we steered clear of anything in a life jacket.
Aside from the occasional bobber, for the past week I’d had nothing but water, water, and more fucking water to keep me company. The kids avoided me for the most part, and kept at the tasks Kyle (my self-appointed First Mate) had laid out for them, so I’d had plenty of time to try and put things into perspective. There were certain realities I—or I should say all of us, I guess—would have to face. The most glaringly apparent was that our home and everyone we knew were gone. If the virus or one of the infected didn’t get them, the explosion that rocked the horizon at 7:02 this morning sent them on a bullet train to the afterlife. Even from our position nearly 200 kilometers away, the resulting aftershock nearly capsized the boat. I couldn’t describe the explosion or its fiery aftermath if I tried. One minute there were clouds and a hazy outline of land, then the next it all suddenly burst into a wall of flame. Sarnia had been wiped from the face of the Earth. Family, friends, the tree in Canatara Park where I scratched a heart and the name of my first crush: all gone.
As tough as the kids wanted me to think they were, I heard them at night—maybe not all, but enough—crying quietly into their makeshift pillows, or waking up screaming from nightmares. I covered my ears and left them to their demons. I had enough of my own to deal with. I could never confess to being an overly sensitive man, but the night of the explosion, after most of the kids had turned in and I relieved the two who remained on night watch, I cried. Off in the distance, carried out over the water by prevailing winds, the gurgling moans of the dead kept me alert enough to stay awake all night, and were loud enough to cover my grief.
*
On day six, we emptied the second-to-last barrel of fuel into the boat’s main tank. It was time to make a decision. Cheboygan was an hour up the coast. I remember spending a few days there once as a teen, on my first trip to Mackinaw. And I knew of a good spot to go ashore for fuel—dock-side pumps used by fishermen working for the local fisheries. The inlet used to get there was tricky to find after so long—like I said, I was a teen the last time I came this way—but we found it.
Kyle (a.k.a. Tagger) was barking order before we’d even sighted the dock.
“All right! Listen up, you screwheads. This is gonna be a four-dude mission. T-Rex, Bogus D, you two scout the perimeter. Top Gun, Fish342, you take the dock. If we need to remote-start the pump, this area needs to be secure. You dudes get me?”
Four heads bobbed in affirmation. T-Rex said, “Righteous”; Top Gun and Fish said, “Yes sir”; and Bogus D said, “Dude”.
These kids said ‘dude’ an awful lot.
T-Rex thrust his hand up. “Radios, sir?”
Kyle shook his head. “Won’t need ‘em, dude. Stay within the zone while Fish gets shit going.”
“Wait,” I said. “I should be the one to go start the pump if needed.”
Kyle raised an eyebrow. “So you know which buttons to push to activate the pump?”
“Well, not exactly, but I could figure it out.”
“Nu-uh, Captain. You gotta stay with the boat.” Over his shoulder, he said, “Tell the captain what you did before, Fish.”
Fish lifted his face from where he was busy priming his crossbow. “I worked for my dad down at the gas station.”
Kyle smiled. “We got this shit, trust me. Dude, you’re looking at the clan that’s plastered every wannabe paintball team in Southwestern Ontario. You didn’t think we were just a bunch of Halo-playing couch potatoes, did you?”
I shook my head. “No, I never thought that.” Even though I really, really did think that.
“Look, man, this raid’s gotta happen. You said yourself we’re almost out of fuel.”
He was right. It was either raid or we’d be drifting. Not something I’d care to do in water populated by the aforementioned ‘bobbers’, but I had a bad feeling.
My asshole was clenched tight enough to crack diamonds, but I had to give in. “Yes, we are almost empty. I just feel like a dick about sending, you know, you guys out there.”
Kyle’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you mean ‘you kids’?”
“No, really.”
“Fucking right you don’t. ’Cause we’re not.”
And then the boat was bumping along the tires tied to the side of the dock. The mission was going down whether I wanted them to go or not. I nodded.
Show time.
Kyle whistled, and T-Rex and Bogus hopped from the boat. They hit the dock running, followed by Fish and Top Gun, who stopped long enough to tie us off. As soon as they’d taken their positions, Kyle jumped off and snatched the fuel hose from the pump. He tossed the nozzle end onto the boat, and another boy (whose name escaped me) snatched it up and stuffed it into one of the barrels on deck.
When Kyle flipped the lever to activate the pump, the coinciding motorized hum brought a rare grin to his pimpl
ed cheeks. “Fucking beautiful, man.” He gave a thumbs-up to Fish, who passed the good news along.
“Yeah, B.A.,” I said as relief flooded through me, “I love it when a plan comes together.” Relief or not, I kept the rifle’s scope to my eye, scanning the tree line, the buildings, and the parking lot, but nothing so far except a few dead animals near the dock.
Justin, my paperboy, tapped my shoulder. “Who’s B.A.?”
“Never mind. It was a show long before your time.” To Kyle, I said, “Call your crew back to the boat. We can keep watch from here.”
Kyle turned toward the boys on the dock. “Why? We won’t be full for another few minutes. What about snacks and shit? We’re growing boys, ya know. If there was anything nasty out there, it would’ve come at them already.”
Without waiting for an answer, he raised his voice and called out, “Fish, take T-Rex and Top Gun and search those squats for some eats. Bogus, you keep an eye.”
Bogus nodded and stood his ground while the other three headed for the first of the two small buildings. Top Gun reached the door first. He nodded, waved at us, and shouldered his crossbow as he entered.
My arms began to ache from staring through the scope for so long. I lowered the rifle in time to see movement at the opposite end of the parking lot, near an abandoned pickup truck.
“Kyle, get ’em back here. There’s something over there!” I raised the rifle and searched, but couldn’t find anything. Just as I was about to tell Kyle to forget it, a head appeared from the other side of the pickup. Without thinking, I fired. The side window blew out of the truck, but missed the target.
“Abort! Abort!” Kyle took off running toward the end of the pier, his shotgun bouncing on a strap over his shoulder. “Bogus, get back to the boat. I’ll cover you.”
The drooler that had been behind the pickup lunged toward Bogus, and I trailed it, trying to get a good shot. My first shot missed. I fired again and struck its shoulder, spinning it, but it kept coming. Bogus dropped to one knee and aimed his crossbow at the creature as it gained on him. His arrow struck the monster in the throat, staggering it. Onward it rushed, and Bogus turned to run for the boat. I aimed, but he was covering my shot. Kyle swore and yelled for Bogus to drop, but the drooler fell upon him near the open door to the building the other three had entered.
Kyle stood and ran toward Bogus. It was too late. We all knew it. The thing had already taken a chunk out of his leg, but I understood his rage. “Bogus!” I dropped the rifle, pulled both 45s, and followed him.
My first thought was that Kyle meant to save Bogus, but he veered away and headed for the building. “Fish,” he screamed. “Get your asses the fuck—”
Before he could finish, T-Rex fell through the door, grappling with a female gurgler. Kyle stepped forward and shot the girl in the face.
I pushed past him and entered the one-room building. The room was dark, but I found T-Rex near the entrance, his throat torn out, and missing half of one forearm. Blood flowed from his wounds, but slowly; he was already dead. I found the light switch, and immediately wished I hadn’t. Across the room was the fattest man I’d ever seen, alive or dead, advancing toward a form huddled up in a corner of the room. Two arrow shafts protruded from the top of its scalp, but hadn’t been enough to stop it.
“Fish!” I yelled. “When I shoot, you run back to the boat, got it?”
Fish lifted his face at hearing my voice. He’d been crying, but hope lit up his eyes at seeing me. He rolled sideways and prepared to run. I took that as my cue to shoot. I hit it five times, but only one was a headshot. It blew the skin off the top of its head, exposing a steel plate.
My mouth fell open. Not fair! I opened fire on the creature, blowing bits of it off while I screamed for Fish to run. When Fish shot past me, I turned and darted out the door. Fish collided with Kyle at the entrance, and I tripped over both of them. Fucking moron was gonna get me killed. I rolled to my feet and shoved the teens ahead of me. The fat gurgler, though holier than before, was still very much in the game. It fell out the door and found its feet as we reached the dock.
Kyle spun around and raised his shotgun. “I got this. You get him aboard.”
“Like fuck you ‘got this’.” I grabbed him by the hair and dragged him, kicking and screaming, back to the boat.
“You,” I pointed to the closest teen, “get someone to help you with the ropes. You,” I said to another, “gimme that gas nozzle and shove this fucking boat off.”
Fish was already on the boat, probably somewhere below deck, but Kyle stood before me, rubbing his scalp like a chastised child. I pushed him toward the boat and he didn’t protest. His shoulders slumped as he slid over onto the deck. I cast the boat off with a push from one foot, then turned to face the four-hundred pound gurgler that had killed two of my people. While I fished through my pocket for my lighter, I doused the dock with gasoline. Halfway out on the dock, the gurgler stopped and sniffed the air. Thinking back to my time in the cell, I remembered Jack doing the same thing. This thing couldn’t smell me over the gas.
From the boat, now about five feet from the dock, Kyle whispered, “Forget it, dude. It’s not worth it.”
“No. Fuck that. I’m not leaving ’til that fat prick is dead… again. Whatever. Just shut up and keep the boat about six feet away.”
I took a breath, released it, and stomped my foot on the dock. The creature’s head snapped up, and it lurched forward. Each time it growled, greenish slime oozed through the bullet holes in its neck. There was no need to wait ’til the last second. This thing was committed. It wanted my ass. When it got close enough to douse it, I sprayed it down and lit the stream with the lighter. Before it could crash into me, I ran and jumped for the boat, covering the distance with no trouble.
I thought the creature would follow me and fall into the water, but it stood at the edge of the dock, flames eating it pound by pound, sniffing at the air.
I had to turn away before I puked. “Alright,” I said. “Get this tug moving.”
“Wait,” Kyle said.
I spun around, ready to hit him, but saw he had my rifle raised and aimed at something near the dock, to the left of the burning gurgler. It was T-Rex. Or what was left of him. He’d… come back.
Kyle turned to me and we shared a look. Neither of us said a word, but a lot was said. The pain he felt had stitched itself into his face like a mask.
I nodded grimly, biting back an insult. “Do it,” I said, and left him to deal with it on his own. Call me callous, but I blamed him for those three deaths. Arrogance and inexperience can’t cancel out the utter stupidity he showed by sending them after snacks.
I don’t know if it was some sort of self-imposed penance, but once we were back on track, heading north toward Mackinaw, Kyle came to me and begged to take the night watch by himself. I let him. Maybe I felt sorry for him. He was just a kid, after all. I fucked up plenty when I was a teen.
Long after the rest of the kids were sleeping, crying, or both, I stood in the shadows at the aft of the boat, watching Kyle. Out under the stars, curled up in a tight ball, he sobbed quietly into a clenched fist.
The kid steering the boat (Jamberman, I think his name was), well, he ignored Kyle as best he could, but every once in a while he’d glance over, then hang his head.
I needed to take care of this before the pain sunk too deep, before it spread to the rest of the kids. We were gonna be on the water together for fuck knows how long, and I didn’t want to have to worry about him or any other angst-riddled teen losing their shit and shooting everybody in their sleep. I left Kyle and tiptoed below deck. The duffel I was looking for was easy to find. I’d hidden it so the kids wouldn’t find the weed I’d taken from the police lock-up.
Mine means mine.
I lifted a tightly packed brick from the bag, then grinned and shook my head. I didn’t have any rolling papers, and finding papers on a police boat seemed a little far-fetched. However, one fact that found its way onto every rep
ort card sent home from school said ‘Gerry has a very creative mind’.
It had been years since I’d smoked weed, but a bong took less time to fashion that I thought it would. Half an hour later, pop bottle/duct tape/toilet brush bong in hand, I walked out and sat down across from Kyle. He nodded and swiped the back of his hand across his eyes.
“I was awake,” he said. “I was just thinking.”
“I know. That’s not why I’m here.” I produced the brick of weed and the bong. “I come bearing gifts,” I said (lamely, if I do say so myself).
After inspecting the bong I’d constructed, he shook his head. “I got papers if you need ’em. That doesn’t even look like it’d work.”
“Oh,” I said, and dropped the bong into the water. “Yeah, papers would be much better.”
We didn’t smoke the whole brick, but sure made a healthy dent in one end. Sometime during the fourth or tenth joint, Kyle finally relaxed. We talked about a lot of things. To be honest, I don’t remember most of it, but one thing I do recall saying to him was this: very soon, we were gonna need to find somewhere to land. As safe as it seemed out in the water, we were at the mercy of our stomachs, water shortage, the fuel tanks, and a thousand other things I couldn’t think of at the time, but would kill us dead all the same.
I don’t remember which one of us brought it up, but we started talking about Thunder Bay and the many national parks surrounding it.
The next morning, I was still thinking about it. I looked up the population density of Thunder Bay’s surrounding parks. It was something like one person for every five-hundred kilometers or some shit. I liked those odds. Besides, the kids were starting to get a little ripe. I couldn’t speak for them, but I’d have been hard pressed to remember the last time I was near a bar of soap.
Later on that day, I called everybody up on deck and let them vote. I don’t know what would’ve happened if they voted against Thunder Bay, but I’m glad I didn’t have to make an executive decision. The final tally was fourteen for, one against. I never found out who voted against the idea, but didn’t really care. We had a destination. That meant something to strive for. An end was in sight.
