The Roaming (Book 3): Haven's Promise

by Hegarty, W. J.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Penance

  For Miller, his time alone was his penance for past mistakes. And though he was surrounded by friends—new and old alike—he was very much alone. He felt responsible for Rachel’s death and for what he could only assume was Soraya’s death as well. His road-mates—the survivors of Pepperbush that he ultimately delivered to safety—would disagree adamantly if they were aware of his thoughts on the matter.

  No one wanted the reputation of being the whiner, the guy who was always complaining or lamenting the past, so Miller put his head down and let the weeks and months pass. There was a part of him that wanted to take up residence in de-cons, to set up a bunk and await the next excursion and the one after that. If he kept his head buried in his work, it would at least numb the pain for a time. If only life was so easy.

  On more than one occasion, he was roused from thought—while alone in his living quarters—by Jeremiah or Aiko, who were looking for help around the infirmary. Their requests for assistance were nothing more than thinly veiled attempts at getting Miller out and about. The deception was unnecessary but appreciated. Since that slightly embarrassing episode, Miller made it a point to check in with his friends, to at least make appearances around the ship as often as he could. Even still, with the facade and the never-ending line of excursions, he often felt himself asking, Why even bother doing any of it anymore?

  September 14

  Miller pulled up a seat at Trix’s. Vanessa or Lillian was always there to greet him. A part of him envied their ever-present positive vibe; there didn’t exist a cynical bone between the two of them. They took life as it came and made the best of it, no matter what. He made it a point to check in on them a couple of times a week to see how they were doing, how life on the ship was treating them or if they needed him to keep his eyes open for something in particular while out on excursions. Usually they declined; they felt like if Miller was busy looking for some inconsequential bauble for them, he might overlook some unseen danger. That would never happen—his head was constantly on a swivel out there—but he appreciated their concern.

  “Hey, Miller.” Vanessa pulled up a stool beside him. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Not today. I’m just walking the ship, thought I’d stop by and say hi. See how things were going.”

  “We’re good. Great, even. Other than the occasional asshole customer, but working in the service industry, you get used to it.”

  “That’s good to hear. Where is Lily today, anyway? I didn’t see her when I came in.”

  “She’s back at our place, taking a nap. This is the slow time of day when we really only need one person manning the bar, anyway.”

  Our place, he thought. And his mind drifted back to what-ifs and should-haves.

  “You look beat. Is there anything I can do?” she said as she rubbed his back.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bring everyone down. I’m just bored. I’m fine. Really, I am. I need to find something to do around here. Sitting around waiting for an excursion just doesn’t feel right. I could be helping with something. Anything.” Miller put his head down. He tried not to dwell on loss and pain—he really did—but those emotions had a tight grip on him. He feared they would never release him. His skills were of better use to his friends, new and old alike, if he could keep himself focused. Staying on task and pulling his weight was the best way he knew how to keep that focus. Those closest to him understood, and they would give him the space he needed for now.

  September 26

  Cortez finally convinced Miller to join him in the gym after weeks of prodding. There really wasn’t much for the excursion team members to do between missions. Ahole, Genevieve, and Petrova enjoyed their celebrity status and seemed to party as a second profession—though not lately, not since Bull’s accident. Simon usually kept his head buried in books. And Ulrich? Miller wasn’t sure if the two of them had ever even spoken. He had no clue what the man did when not on mission. Alex was still too new; Miller didn’t know what to make of her yet. She seemed like a good kid, though.

  Miller conceded that keeping in shape was important, especially if they were going to be out on the road every ten days or so. It was the company that Haven’s gym offered that irked him so. People watched themselves in the mirror while posing and flexing their carefully groomed bodies. The tanning beds were the worst. All of them were primping themselves as if they were preparing for a night at the club. For most of them, that was exactly the case. He looked around, and it seemed as though not much had changed for any of them. If these people even knew what it was like out there, would they still be so preoccupied with their appearance? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. So he and Cortez changed things up; they began jogging the ship.

  Miller and Cortez had a routine to help pass the time between excursions. Cortez needed no ritual, no excuse to hurry up and get to the next mission. He was content. More than content—he was happy with his life with Trix and his place aboard Haven. That happiness didn’t blind him to the world around him, though; he knew Miller was in pain, so he tried as best as he could and as often as he was able to help get Miller’s mind off his regrets.

  Every morning at dawn, the two of them jogged laps around the ship. Their route had them passing through the pool bar and up a flight of stairs past the Pen, where Lancaster—like clockwork—tried to gain the attention of the former Army captain. Miller ignored him daily. He got the man here safely, which was much more than he deserved. From there, they would jog out past the open-air gardens, then circle the pool deck and begin their trek all over again. The course was probably a half-mile; they ran it ten times before breakfast.

  They ended every run at the diner. Sweet Lips always had a meal waiting. The chef was appreciative of all that they did for the well-being of the ship. He wasn’t ashamed to make his regular patrons wait as he hand-delivered plates to the excursion team, be it Miller and Cortez fresh from a run or Ahole and Genevieve nursing another hangover. They all deserved gold-star treatment.

  Daily, Cortez would try to get Miller to think about something other than the next mission, and daily, Miller’s primary concern was where to next? Miller just wanted to be back on the road.

  October 2: Excursion—Heron’s Flight, Maryland

  Miller had grown accustomed to taking a back seat as far as conversation was concerned. He would listen and learn. That was how he grew to know his new teammates. As they hiked deserted trash-strewn city streets, Miller was listening to Ahole’s ribbing of the new girl, Alex. Whether Ahole knew it or not, how the new girl handled his hazing would be a good barometer to gauge just how she took to stress and if she would ultimately be a boon for the team or a liability. She was eating peanuts from a stash in her pocket and mostly nodded in response to Ahole’s words.

  “Word of advice, mate. Follow the boss’s lead and we’ll get along just fine.”

  “I’m not here to step on anyone’s toes.” Alex shrugged.

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “Leave the new girl alone.” Genevieve gave Ahole a shove from behind. “Go take point.”

  “I’m going, I’m going. Shit.”

  Alex smiled and flicked a nut at Ahole as he jogged up to the front. It got caught in his hair; he didn’t notice.

  “Don’t mind him,” said Genevieve. “He only plays at being the asshole. It’s his way of hazing the newbies. He’s protective of the team, Cortez in particular.”

  “I can respect that. There’s a story to go along with that, isn’t there?” Alex was genuinely curious.

  “There is, but it’s not mine to tell. He’ll share someday, when he feels like he can trust you. What I will say is that Cortez is good at this. If he wasn’t, Ahole wouldn’t be with us.”

  That was a story Miller would like to hear himself someday, but he would ask in private, as he felt it was important to keep up a unified front for the new girl.

  October 22

  As time wore on and the we
eks aboard Haven became months, Miller continued to check in on the Pepperbush survivors weekly. He would meet them for meals or drinks or hop right in beside them at work, often spending hours at a time helping them at their jobs. When asked, he would tell them he was doing better, but that was a front. He was miserable, wracked with guilt and regret. Those feelings would not subside no matter how much time passed. He came to accept it—to crave the misery.

  He became a good liar or at least good enough. He was sure he had everyone convinced that he was back to normal, and what barometer did any of them except Jeremiah and Aiko have to compare him against? They didn’t know him prior to Pepperbush, so as far as they knew, morose was Miller’s default state. He knew it was only a matter of time before Jeremiah called him on it, but what he wasn’t expecting was for Sam to see right through his charade. In retrospect, he should have known that Sam would suss out the truth.

  Miller was suspicious when Sam asked to meet him for drinks in Underworld at the River Styx. Sam would explain to him that he picked the spot solely to avoid the prying eyes and ears present in the locales that his friends frequented on the decks above. The only people either of them knew who lived in Underworld were Radzinski and Damon, and neither of them cared enough to be bothered with Sam or Miller.

  For the better part of an hour, Sam talked and Miller listened. Words like “guilt” and “responsibility” were used, and they made sense. Words like “selfishness” and “self-pity” were also used, and they made even more sense. The latter part stung, and though Sam’s words resonated, it wasn’t as if a magical switch had been pulled and all of Miller’s concerns had suddenly been washed away. Sam said as much before Miller thanked him for the frank conversation and excused himself. Miller left with plenty to think about and just a little more guilt for lying to those who had come to love him.

  November 9: Excursion—Hale’s Wharf, Delaware

  Miller had started studying the carriers; it was a habit he picked up from Jeremiah during their time on the road. Jeremiah was right; they were fascinating if you had an opportunity to look past the gore. After clearing a potential jackpot of a location, Miller filled his downtime by watching a carrier whose ankles were tied to an ancient radiator. The skin where she was bound had been rubbed off down to the bone, and Miller wondered when her foot would break off her body, allowing her to roam the streets on her belly. If Jeremiah had been here, he would have wanted to study her.

  Her face looked sad. Miller opted to not point it out, but the thing had dried tears around her eyes and cheeks. In those moments between lunges, when the creature was at rest for the briefest of moments, her eyes and mouth drooped. The expression on her face almost looked full of sorrow and fear. Were this woman’s final emotions frozen upon her face for eternity? Her jaw opened and closed slowly, but her eyes were wide, and they followed Miller around the room. The skin on her face was stretched tight and was beginning to rip along the edges of her mouth. Every lunge at Miller pulled the dry skin a little farther, causing the tears to spread. He wondered when the tissue in her face could no longer hold up the weight of her own jaw. Was she someone’s loved one? Maybe a friend or a relative couldn’t bear to put her down but also couldn’t let her wander and become a hazard for other survivors. Or was she merely the plaything for some cruel captor? Her last days on this earth had been spent in torment, fear, and pain.

  Cortez came up beside Miller. He stood just out of reach of the carrier’s flailing arms. Her left arm reached unsuccessfully for Cortez while the fingers on her right hand tapped on the front of Miller’s boot. “There’s nothing here, amigo. We should go.”

  “I wonder who she was.”

  “It’s best not to dwell on such things.” Cortez pointed out a tipped-over bowl and a plate within reach of the carrier’s mattress.

  “Maybe someone was trying to get it to eat real food.”

  “Could be. The alternative is more likely, though. You’d have to be pretty desperate to waste resources on one of these things.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “You’re thinking about her again, aren’t you?”

  “Is that so wrong?”

  “Not necessarily, but there’s a time and a place for everything. I need your head in the game. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  November 22

  Miller hated de-cons with a passion. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember anything in his previous life that he detested more than these dank walls. The routine was pointless to him. A simple strip search and a once over by the medical staff should suffice to dispel any notion that returnees to the ship had become infected while out on the road.

  The place smelled of mildew and dried urine. He tried his best to relax and pass the time with sleep, but he couldn’t; he never could. Try as he might, while he lay on the cold steel floor, sleep always eluded him. Instead, he listened to Ahole prattle on about this and that. Miller was convinced that half of the man’s stories were just that: stories. At best, they were embellished, to put it lightly. Outright fabrication was more likely. He’d grown fond of the Aussie but still wondered what the hell Genevieve saw in the guy.

  Ahole’s voice echoed through the cellblock. “Hey, there was this one time…”

  Miller listened in silence as his fellow excursion team members blew off steam and unwound from their latest trip by telling tales. He would humor them when he could, but when asked about his hopes for the future of the ship, he always kept his answers vague. He wanted one thing and one thing only: to return to Poseidon’s Rest and search for Soraya. He had to know her fate, one way or the other. Given the chance, he would search the resort one block at a time, building by building, room by room, until he found her or at least discovered some clue as to her fate. Maybe then he could move on. Sure, that course of action would leave him stranded in a city overflowing with the dead, but at least he would know.

  December 10

  Miller met with Kayembe on the deck outside of the wheelhouse so they could talk in private. He didn’t distrust Arnold or the wheelhouse staff, but he had an ask for the captain, and he hoped it would go over better without the added pressure of prying eyes.

  “I’d like to make a request, sir.”

  “I can promise to listen.”

  “That’s all I ask, sir. I’ll be brief,” Miller said with confidence but also a tenseness that didn’t go unnoticed. “I appreciate all that you’ve done for me and my people. I truly do.”

  “I’m glad to hear that you’re acclimating well to life aboard my ship.”

  “That’s what I’m getting at, sir. My people are good. I’m not. I understand that you have an entire ship’s worth of souls to worry about and that pleasing one man can’t and shouldn’t be a concern of yours. I wouldn’t want to put you in a position to have to risk the safety of anyone here for my own selfish needs, but I have to get off the ship. We’ve been heading south for some time now and we’ll be passing Poseidon’s Rest soon. This could be my last chance to know.”

  “It’s this Soraya, isn’t it?”

  “It is. I need to know if she’s alive or if she’s dead. I can’t be at my best—I can’t offer the team one hundred percent—if my mind is constantly drifting. I have to know for my own sanity. If you don’t want to spare the resources, I understand. Cortez can drop me off at the next excursion and I’ll walk the rest of the way. But right now, I’m no good to anyone like this.”

  Captain Kayembe’s posture revealed nothing. “I’m not in the habit of granting favors, Mr. Miller. If word got out that I showed favoritism, then every soul from Presence to stowage would ask one of me.”

  “I know this puts you in a bad position, and I’m sorry, but I can’t see any other way to move on.”

  The captain studied Miller; all Miller could do was await his response. “I’ll take your request into consideration,” Kayembe said. “Now, if that is all?”

  Miller nodded and nothing more needed to be said. Kayembe would agree or he w
ouldn’t. Miller could only wait and see what the captain decided to do and choose his next move accordingly.

  December 12: Excursion—Sunrise, Virginia

  The excursion team stumbled across a family that was in dire straits. Somehow, they had found themselves trapped in a tiny oceanfront cottage by a group of carriers. Miller shouted for them to remain calm as he and his teammates rushed to their aid. Most of the carriers lost interest in the family, which had locked themselves in a back room, and turned their attention to Miller and the others.

  Ahole swung a baseball bat that smashed a carrier’s face flat. Genevieve danced with her naginata, decapitating the creatures one after the other as the team slowly made its way through the mass and to the room where the family awaited rescue.

  Even when they were fighting hordes of carriers, Miller would find himself thinking, Is this the place? Is this where I part ways with Cortez and begin my search? He thought something similar before, during, and after each excursion.

  There was a fresh body on the floor that some carriers were still feasting on; those carriers remained oblivious to Miller and the others as they too were put down. The dead man with his entrails spread across the floor was probably with the frightened family. It looked like he went down fighting. After the area was cleared of the dead, the people in the room were hesitant to open the door, but Genevieve talked them down. They let the team in and agreed to be led outside, but it sounded like they lost some of their own in the chaos. A headcount could be addressed later, as most of these people’s words were incomprehensible in their panic. Another wave of carriers washed in from the back of the property, and a quick extraction was in order.

  Miller laid down suppressing fire while Cortez and Genevieve escorted the survivors out of the building and into the street. When the family was clear, Miller rushed into the fray with his machete. It was always important to conserve ammo where you could. His machete came down into the skull of a carrier. Her rotten flesh and bone offered little resistance, and Miller’s blade slid right out and onto his next target, a child carrier whose head flew across the room and bounced away into a darkened corner. The small carrier’s body continued walking toward Miller even as its head was rolling across the floor. Odd, he thought as he kicked it away. When the thing hit the ground, it stopped moving. Later, he would be sure to let Jeremiah know what he saw.