Wendy kept her gun on the corpse anyway. "Where is it?"
Paul's eyes darted from boat to boat. "Gotta be around here somewhere," he said, trying to see through the rain.
"Paul?"
Paul continued looking down the dock where the man had come from.
"Paul?"
"Yeah?" he said, looking to the next dock over and letting his eyes hop from boat to boat.
Wendy cleared her throat and he finally turned to her. She nodded to the white boat sitting right next to them.
"Hello," Paul said, staring at Wavy Gravy, which was just as nice and shiny as Wine-N-Down. He stepped aboard with the keys in hand and looked through the sliding glass door. It looked clear so he began trying the four keys on the ring. The second one unlocked the door and he turned back to Wendy and jumped when he found her standing right behind him. "Man!" he said. "You about gave me a heart attack."
"Did it unlock it?"
"Yep. Stay frosty," he said, unsheathing his Beretta and grabbing the glass door's long handle. It glided gently with the ease of a newer door. "I don't smell anything," he said, cautiously step inside with Wendy following close behind with her gun wrapped in both hands and pointing to the ground.
The rain beating on the boat's roof made it difficult to hear if anything was moving or not inside the spacious boat. His held a hand up and they stopped, his eyes roaming from the L-shaped leather couch and built in flat screen TV over to the tiny kitchen. He wiped water from his face with his shirt and moved forward into the thin galley with a built in mini-fridge and microwave. A coffee maker and toaster sat on the counter. They continued down a short hall and stopped at the first door they came to. Paul turned back to Wendy. She nodded and he carefully gripped the knob and opened the door.
Wendy inhaled sharply and threw a hand over her gaping mouth. "Look how clean the toilet is!"
His eyes bounced off the white stool over to the shower, covered with a hunter green curtain. He reached out, took a deep breath and yanked it back.
Wendy gasped again and shot her hand back to her mouth. "There's soap and shampoo!"
He snorted and pushed past her. The next room had two red bunk beds with a long orange rug running the length of the beds. The bottom bunk was lined with dolls. From Barbies and Bratz dolls to old fashioned creepy dolls in dresses with rosy cheeks.
"Oh I'm not sleeping in here with those things," Wendy said gravely. "You know that one is coming to life at night," she whispered, pointing to an old doll with a bum eyelid.
Paul swallowed and slowly went into the room next door. It was a bit larger with a full size bed and another flat screen built into the wall above a narrow dresser.
He exhaled and holstered his weapon. "Clear down here," he said, going back into the kitchen and opening a small pantry door. "Jackpot," he whispered, staring at a case and a half of bottled water, cans of pop and beer, cookies, Pop-Tarts, bags of chips, boxes of crackers and a bunch of chicken flavored Ramen and cans of tuna.
"Yes!" Wendy cried.
Paul cracked open a new bottle of water and pounded half of it while watching Wendy pull out a box of liquor bottles from a cupboard beneath the sink. She removed a bottle of red wine and raised her eyebrows.
"Not bad," she said, slipping it back into the box.
Paul exhaled and took a deep breath and went back in for more water. He slammed the empty bottle onto the counter and went back across the living room to shut and lock the sliding glass door. He took a good look outside and then plopped down onto the narrow couch and let out an another exhausted sigh.
The helm's control panel looked intimidating. It had so many buttons it made Paul tired just looking at it. He couldn’t tell if the liquid running down his face was from the rain or sweat. The smallest key on the ring unlocked a glove-box, where he found the thick owner’s manual. He wiped his face and sat down in the captain's chair with the book while rain beat on the small roof overhead. Wendy read over his shoulder.
In small print, the manual told them that Wavy Gravy was a four year old, forty-five foot Cabo Express with 800 gallon fuel tanks and a water tank capable of holding up to 100 gallons. Wavy also had a vac-u-flush head in the bathroom, an automatic anchor and a big old twin diesel beneath the hood. She claimed to sleep six comfortably and had a sound system running throughout the boat.
Paul wiped his face again and inserted a key into the control board.
"Do you know what you're doing?" Wendy asked, watching his every move.
"Nope," he said, turning the key forward one spot and lighting the dash up with the power of the boat’s two large batteries.
“She’s gotta full tank,” he whispered, afraid to jinx it. Probably a time-share boat the portly man split with another family with a rule to leave it like you found it, he figured.
“Yes!” Wendy shouted. “Can you start it?”
“Hang on a second,” he said, flipping through the thick manual.
“I can't believe it!” Wendy said, bouncing around the upper deck. "Maybe there is a God after all."
He glanced up to her and then found the page he was looking for and ran a finger along a paragraph as he read aloud. Water droplets slowly dripped from the tip of his nose onto the page as he slowly repeated the instructions, more to himself than anything else. He swallowed and took a deep breath. "Cross your fingers."
She stopped dancing and put her hands to her mouth.
He hit a couple of switches and turned the key the rest of the way. White smoke billowed out the boat’s rear exhaust pipes with a thundering rumble that reminded him of a Harley. The throaty engines chugged and coughed out more smoke. After a few seconds, it began to even out and stop smoking. He turned to Wendy with a big smile, one of the few she had seen from him.
She screamed in ecstasy and hugged him, planting a big wet kiss on his filthy cheek.
He hugged her back for a brief moment and then pushed her away. "Let's go get the guns from the car and then untie from the dock while we still can."
He checked the manual one more time before putting it in gear. Gingerly, he backed out into the open water. "How we lookin back there?" he yelled over the rumbling diesels.
"Little more, little more… Okay that's good!"
He took it out of reverse and gently throttled up and killed it. He moaned and started it again. This time he successfully got them out into the bay. His old ski boat he had owned with Dan had the same general operating procedures, but this was like going from a Honda Civic to a Fed-Ex truck.
Once they were in the clear, he got into the throttle and took Wavy out for a test run, slicing across the ocean like a hot knife through butter with the wind whipping through their hair. It was a smooth ride with long gradual bounces off the rugged waters. They both let out screams of victory. It was the first time in nearly two weeks they were completely safe. Until they ran out of food and water anyway.
He brought the boat to a smooth stop and turned it off. Then he noticed the Wavy's radio.
"This is so awesome," Wendy said through chattering teeth.
He didn't hear her and lifted the black microphone handle from its cradle.
"Do you think it works?" she asked, coming closer.
“Only one way to find out," he said, switching the radio on as the boat rocked back and forth.
Tiny bright colored lights lit up in the gloomy gray. He tried channel twenty-three, which was the channel it was already on. “Hello? Is anyone out there?”
He released the button on the mic’s side and listened to the rain slow to a sprinkle.
There was no response. Not even static.
He flipped to channel thirty-seven and got the same result.
Eleven.
Nada.
He tried nineteen and nothing there as well.
"Alright, I'm going back downstairs. I'm freezing," she said, quickly turning for the steps with the wind tugging at her wet hair.
"I'll be right down," he said, trying a few more channels
to no avail. He wiped his face with his wet arm and looked out across the choppy waters. The retreat of the sun left the ocean looking dark and sinister. He spit into the water and reached out to turn the radio off when a muffled sound came through. His eyes widened as he paused and held his breath. He turned up the volume and clicked the button on the plastic handset. “Hello? Is somebody there?”
Silence swarmed in again after he let up on the button. His eyes swung out over the angry waters, which were clear of any vessels or birds.
The sound returned, this time louder. His head snapped to the small radio and froze. He listened to the coughing coming through the speaker and his eyes narrowed.
“Hello? If you can hear us, we are in a small fishing boat just north of Corpus Christi! Do you copy?” He let up on the button, his breath coming fast.
The coughing was gone and silence was the only answer. He glanced down the stairs to see if Wendy had heard any of it but she was gone. Then more coughing came through the radio's speaker. Or was it gagging? He stared at the radio. Someone yelled something unintelligible in the background. Then something shattered into pieces. His heart jumped.
“Hello? Can you hear me?”
Lazy raindrops tapped on the roof above as he waited for a response that wouldn't come. He raised the microphone to his open mouth and was about to press the button when someone hawked up a loogey and spit. Paul frowned, listening to the speaker as muddled, frantic voices rose in the background again. A lady screamed at the top of her lungs just before the channel went dead. His wide eyes stared at the radio in utter disbelief as he waited for more. More to convince him he wasn't losing his mind and that wasn't what he thought it was. The rain stopped and lapping waves quickly gobbled up the ensuing silence.
He gripped the microphone tighter and pressed the button on its side “Hello?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
No response.
He swallowed and tried again. “Is someone there?”
The salty water slapped against the sides of the boat.
He stared at the radio with unfocused eyes. It couldn’t be.
“Hello?” he repeated.
It wasn’t possible.
He studied the radio for a moment longer and then slowly racked the microphone on its side. Cautiously, like the radio might bite his hand, he turned it off. Incredulity claimed his face as he turned to shore and wondered how they had gotten here. He decided not to say a word of it to Wendy and went back downstairs with the hairs on the back of his neck standing up like sharp prickles.
Chapter Thirty
“So what do we do now?” Wendy asked, wrapped in a blanket and sitting next to the bag of guns on the couch.
He rubbed his face on the other end and yawned. "Take a nap."
"I'm not tired," she yawned.
He tossed the owner's manual on the triangular coffee table and leaned back. “Eventually, we'll figure out how to power all of this stuff up. It’s got a working toilet, shower and fridge. We can even watch DVDs on the TV,” he said, not knowing where to even begin.
“It is going to be so nice to sleep in an actual bed without worrying about any of those things getting in,” she said, shivering.
Paul felt the same way and figured they could find an even bigger boat down the road if they wanted, but this would be a great stepping stone in the meantime. "If we anchor out about a hundred yards or so like this every night, we should be good."
They no longer took small things like sleeping in peace at night for granted. That stuff was now worth its weight in gold and it was startling how fast their values had shifted. Most of the things they had prized were completely worthless now. Things like cell-phones, iPads, and TMZ.com. They were chomping at the bit to sleep in a safe bed and it wasn’t even three o’clock in the afternoon yet.
"I need a hot shower," Wendy said, wrapping the blanket around her tighter.
Paul sighed and picked the manual back up off the coffee table.
It didn’t take him long to figure out that the boat was pretty much all set up to use. The only thing he had to really do was locate and flip a few switches, which brought different lights and hums to life.
Wendy took the first hot shower and came out smelling fresher than a field of daisies. "That was amazing!" she said, going into the room with the bunk beds.
"Wow," Paul said, catching a scent of lavender as she passed him by with a towel wrapped around her hair. "I must really smell bad to you right now," he said, squeezing inside the bathroom that wasn't much bigger than a phone booth.
"I wasn't going to say anything, but..."
He snorted and shut the door. Before he knew it, he was soaking up the shower's warm water, shampoo and conditioner like he was an indulging refugee from an undeveloped country. He let the hot water rush over his face and tried to scrub away the horror of everything. It almost worked.
After brushing their teeth, Wendy threw the dolls she didn't like overboard. Then they ate a late lunch with wet hair in the cozy sun lit living room.
"I don't remember Chip's Ahoy ever tasting so good!" she said with her mouth full.
Paul kept working on a bag of microwave popcorn and didn't respond, too tired to do anything other than force himself to eat. He kicked his feet up onto the coffee table and couldn't stop rubbing his cleanly shaven face. They didn't talk much as they gorged themselves into a nice food coma.
When Paul woke up the next morning, he didn't remember coming into the master bedroom. The last thing he remembered was the dark clouds rolling away to make way for the fading sun. He yawned and stretched in the comfortable bed as daylight carved its way through the room's small porthole window. Then he wondered where Wendy was and got up.
Quietly, he cracked open the door to the other tiny bedroom and saw her curled up in the bottom bunk bed. When he heard her heavy breathing and was positive she wasn't dead, he gently closed the door and went into the bathroom to take a leak.
The sparkling clean toilet seemed like a mirage and was nice to not have to hold his breath for a change. It reminded him of home. He tried to be grateful for their fortune but gruesome thoughts of Sophia and Dan wouldn't let him. He fought them off just enough to focus on what they needed to do next instead. There was enough food and water in the galley for a few days but it wouldn't be long before they'd have to find a Target or a Wal-Mart somewhere nearby. They could take the Chevelle if they had to but he'd prefer an SUV, which would be easier to load and unload supplies from. They could drive it right down to the dock too.
He peed on the floor a little as the boat tilted at the wrong time and vowed to clean it up later, but quickly forgot about it. Jacking a new car and a grocery store with just the two of them would be risky. Super risky. A woman in a red shirt with a price gun hanging down around her leg floated through his mind. He could see her nametag and her yellow eyes. Broken teeth were visible through a jagged gash in her left cheek as he and Wendy rolled a red shopping cart through the cereal aisle. Then she disappeared around an end cap. He swallowed dryly and washed his hands in the boat's miniature sink.
After brushing his teeth, he grabbed some water in the kitchen, rinsed and then went up to the helm for a look around. The clouds from the day before had cleared and the mammoth cruise ship barreling down upon them caused his heart to nearly burst out of his chest.
His mouth gaped as the humongous white ship with a single red stripe running across its side came closer and closer, on a direct course to run aground onto the beach. Unfortunately for them, they were in the way. He tried to scream but nothing came out as the rumbling water grew louder and bouncier. “Wendy!” he finally yelled, starting the boat and hitting the button to raise the anchor at nearly the same time. Once again, time was money.
The ship came closer. Faster. Louder.
“What’s wrong?” Wendy yelled, from the bottom of the steps.
“Hang onto something!” he screamed, jamming the throttle forward and praying Wavy wouldn’t stall.
The mighty hotel on water hit sand before reaching them and made a garish sound of metal twisting against metal beneath the rugged water. It was a bone chilling noise with dire consequences for anything that got in its path. Wendy screamed again. The sand slowed the vessel just enough for Paul to jam the throttle forward and get clear just in time. Wavy violently rocked in the ocean liner's gigantic rolling wake. Wendy fell again.
Paul's eyes got even bigger when he saw all of the ZIPs aboard. The things desperately scavenged up and down the cruise ship’s many levels of balconies as soon as they saw Paul and Wendy. Determined, like wild dogs in a cage when a cat walks by. Some wore straw hats and torn Hawaiian shirts with little fanny-packs clipped around their waste. Some flung themselves overboard. The ones that didn’t die upon impact tried to splash their way to Wavy Gravy but quickly drowned as a result. Paul felt like there was an outside chance one of them would catch on and start swimming like Michael Phelps.
“What the hell?” Wendy screamed, bracing herself against the passenger chair as Wavy violently rolled back and forth with the mammoth swells.
“Hang on!” Paul roared through gritted teeth, fighting the steering wheel in the choppy waters.
Wavy lurched to and fro and threatened to roll over with each amorphous mound of water. A man with a white captain’s hat and short sleeved button down shirt hurriedly followed them along the top balcony of the colossal vessel as it slid by. When he ran out of deck he climbed over the railing and fell past rows and rows of windows, to a thundering splash below that both Paul and Wendy could hear over the ship’s symphony of destruction.
Paul struggled with the wheel and continued away from the monstrous liner and its massive wake. He let out a pent up breath as he finally began to regain control of the luxury fishing boat.
COLD FAITH AND ZOMBIES Page 23
