The Roaming (Book 3): Haven's Promise

by Hegarty, W. J.

  “Thank you.” Miller smiled as he yanked dirty linens from some anonymous Elite’s bed. He changed out the pillow covers and helped Casandra spread fresh sheets. Afterward, he quickly touched up the mirrors and cleaned the bathroom. Another room down, dozens more to go. Miller had been lending a hand where he could these past months: sometimes helping Sam and Markus in the fishery or Vanessa and Lilian at Trix’s. He helped Jeremiah and Aiko at the infirmary and Marisol and Isaac in maintenance, and from time to time, he even gave Lancaster a hand at the Pen when he felt up for a dose of condescension.

  Today was laundry day for Miller. A knock at his door one morning and an offer to change his linens almost had him laughing at the absurdity of someone else doing his laundry for him. He gently declined and told the housekeeper that he could change his own sheets, a conversation he had had with the same woman twice weekly since his arrival. Samantha would later explain to him the logistics of an entire ship’s worth of people making their way below to do laundry and how unfeasible it really was. Miller saw the logic and relented; from then on, he let the housekeepers take his laundry, but he would pay them back by pitching in when he could.

  He gathered up his and Soraya’s dirty laundry and exchanged it for fresh sheets that he wouldn’t dream of making someone else change for him. As he made their bed and stole glimpses of Soraya drinking her morning coffee out on the balcony, it dawned on him that he hadn’t yet gone to see Samantha and the girls in housekeeping since Soraya’s return. He kissed her on the cheek before running after the room attendant.

  Miller offered to haul the latest load of dirty laundry to the machines; the woman graciously accepted, and Miller was off with a wheeled cart full of soiled linens for the wash. At the laundromat, multiple machines whirred and sloshed water around their insides. The machines cleaned everything from bed linens and clothing to aprons from the kitchen and towels from the pools. Housekeeping was short-staffed, like just about everywhere else on board, so Miller hopped right in where he could. He folded fresh sheets and stacked them neatly for the next round of housekeeping.

  Samantha was going over a schedule when he arrived. She was doling out shifts, assigning specific workers to certain floors to match their temperament to those who lived there. The ones with the thicker skins were tasked with seeing to deck twelve and the Financiers. You never knew when one of them would have a few choice comments for the help, so Samantha usually handled that floor with Casandra. Paula had taught them the meaning of patience.

  Samantha couldn’t delay—she wanted desperately to speak with Miller to find out how things were going with Soraya after only a few short weeks aboard Haven, but duty called. Housekeeping was a never-ending series of tasks, a machine that kept on moving regardless of if you could keep up or not. It was best to stay ahead of the work. Another tip she learned from Paula. The weekend was coming, and with it, the workload would nearly double. Never let it be said that the people of Haven let the end of the world change their routines.

  Miller offered to work the round with her. They would traverse the Elite’s deck, changing out the linens as quickly and as quietly as possible, then continue to the less stressful sections of the ship as the day wore on. Miller had never experienced the Elite’s higher-than-thou attitude pointed in his direction but was aware of their reputation. Before long, the floor was finished, and Nisha was sent home early, an occurrence that was happening more frequently of late. Miller lugged the cart of soiled sheets into the freight elevator; the load was heavier than he was expecting.

  They were headed below deck, back to the laundry room, when Samantha asked, “So now what?”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “So now that you have Soraya back, what’s next on your agenda? You don’t strike me as the type to sit idle, waiting for your next assignment.”

  Miller scratched the back of his neck. “I honestly haven’t given it much thought. I suppose we’ll just continue working with Cortez unless something comes up.”

  “That’s what she means,” Casandra added. “Now that you’ve got your girl back, what’s the next miraculous achievement on your agenda?”

  Miller didn’t answer, but their comments regarding a purpose struck a chord. Somewhere deep in his psyche, just beyond conscious thought, the wheels began to turn.

  January 28

  Even this far south, winter had officially set in. Miller and Soraya walked the deck under a clear, star-filled sky. Thick woolen peacoats, gloves, hats, and scarfs left behind from past guests helped keep out the cold, but each other’s company would have been warmth enough. They stopped far aft on the main deck, the opposite end of the ship from where the Elite gathered above. It was quiet here, peaceful. They watched as the boat’s wake drifted off and disappeared in the endless sea beyond. For them, it raised memories of their first time on a ship together and how they were stranded, adrift at sea with no chance at rescue. A freak storm saved them from certain doom and set them on a path that would ultimately lead them here to this very moment.

  January 30: Excursion – Avalon Coast, Florida

  Another excursion yielded another town that had been thoroughly picked clean. The team was due for pickup and was standing around a pathetic pile of scavenge, waiting for Soraya and Alex, who had ducked into a nearby building to use the facilities. The women took turns on the filthy toilet while the other stood guard just outside of the bathroom. A constant moaning was emanating from the floor above as well as the basement below. It would be best to hurry up and be on their way before an unknown number of carriers burst forth from the shadows. If that was indeed what was producing all that noise, it might just as likely have been a community of raccoons or some other animals that had taken over the place.

  The creaking continued until the wall on Alex’s right side buckled from the weight of whatever was upstairs finally became too much for the structure to bear. A section of the wall jumped forward two feet as the ceiling partially collapsed into the adjoining room. Alex was thrown from the toilet and tangled in her pants as she tried to rise. She scrambled on her hands and knees toward Soraya and the bathroom’s exit.

  “Are you okay?” Soraya was above her in an instant.

  “I pissed all over myself,” Alex groaned.

  Soraya laughed and helped her to her feet. “Come, let us go.”

  “I’ll be right out. Let me try to clean some of this off.”

  “I will wait by the front door. Do not be too long.”

  Alex wiped her legs as best as she could with a filthy towel that she found mixed in with the rubble. Good enough, she thought. She fastened her wet pants and turned to head out when the wall moved again. This time, it came down completely, and a wave of carriers fell into the bathroom with it.

  “Shit!” she yelled as she jumped back just in time to avoid the falling debris and bodies. She slammed the bathroom door shut behind her, hoping it would keep them at bay, but the old house refused to offer even the smallest bit of assistance. When she slammed the door, it fell from its hinges and landed flat on the floor. “Great,” she said as she bolted for the front of the house. Alex’s foot broke through a rotten floorboard; she fell through up to her hip and was wedged in tight. She turned as best as she could and tried to fire on her pursuers, but she couldn’t find a good angle. Below, she could feel carriers reaching for her leg; she blindly kicked at them, hoping that the basement floor was farther away then she suspected.

  From the exit, Soraya heard the commotion, followed by bursts of gunfire. She readied her weapon and ran back in. Soraya darted over to Alex and straddled her to keep herself between her teammate and the carriers. One at a time, she lined up her shots until more than a dozen carriers lay unmoving on the floor at the other end of the room.

  “Thanks,” said Alex, “but I’m going to need a little help getting out of this hole. I don’t know how much longer this floor is going to hold up, and I don’t want to find out what’s under us.”

  “Do not move yet. The
floor is too weak.” Soraya dragged the fallen door over to Alex. “Here, this will distribute your weight.”

  Soraya stood on one end of the door while Alex put her weight on the other end. The floor creaked beneath them as they struggled to free Alex; the weight distribution kept the floor from crumbling, and she was able to wiggle herself loose. Both of them peered through the hole in the floor, and though it was dark, it was clear that the basement of this house was full of carriers.

  “Next time I’ll hold it,” said Alex.

  Soraya patted her teammate on the back and led her out of the ruined house.

  January 31

  De-cons had become a touch more comfortable since Captain Kayembe agreed to let people double up in the cells if they wanted to. Miller and Soraya sat under the door of their cell, taking turns lying in the other’s lap for comfort.

  Ahole was a storyteller; everyone who knew him for more than a day figured that out rather quickly. The excursion team’s time in de-cons with their newest member clued them into the fact that Soraya was a storyteller as well. She and Ahole spent much of their time in de-cons entertaining the group with tales. Someone brought up pizza, and Soraya jumped at the chance to explain how she and Isabelle were able to make pizza of their very own back at Poseidon’s Rest.

  “And then we went to the pizza shop. I tried to tell Isabelle that we should sneak in, but she does not understand such things. While I was looking for a fire escape to climb, she broke a window. It was loud. Now we must fight the dead before we can make our pizza.

  “Isabelle loses interest in her task, fast. While I was busy collecting our supplies to make dinner, she was flinging pizza pans through the broken window at the carriers like they were frisbees. I tell her not to do this, but she pretends not to hear.” Soraya smiled at the memory, and Miller smiled at her telling of the tale.

  “Playing games with the dead sounds dangerous,” Cortez commented.

  Somewhere in de-cons, Ahole groaned.

  “You are right, but there were only two of them. We had killed the rest.”

  “Eh, harmless fun. Girl was just letting off some steam. She sounds like a hoot,” Ahole offered. “Next time I’m in Underworld, I’ll have to introduce myself.”

  “Do not get too close. She bites. Literally,” Soraya cautioned as the cellblock laughed.

  February 4

  Marisol was at the end of a month-long job wiring up electrical outlets and lights when Miller popped in. This area would become an expansion to de-cons. The new site would be a private holding pen for the excursion teams to wait out the mandatory seventy-two-hour hold time with some better amenities like beds and furniture.

  It certainly didn’t take Marisol a month to run the wiring to and through a scant fifty-by-thirty room; her portion of the job took the better part of three days. The remainder of that time was dedicated to the builders adapting a seldom-used storage room not too far from stowage for use as the new facility. Miller stood by as the helper, waiting for Marisol to ask him to fetch this and that or to hold something up or to help her run long stretches of wire.

  “Hand me that Allen wrench, would you?”

  “Five sixteenths?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “So other than a job you can’t stand, how’s life been aboard Haven so far?”

  “In a word? Uneventful. In a few words? Boring as fuck.”

  “Well, don’t hold back on my account.”

  “Eh, I’d rather not unload my drama on you, Miller. It’s nothing, really.”

  “Go ahead. I asked for it.”

  “Alright, fuck it. Let’s take you, for instance.”

  “Oh?” Miller was a little taken aback at being made an example of.

  “You get to go out on the road, to really make a difference. You get to put your skills to good use, whereas what I know, what I’m good at, is wasted here. Hand me that Phillip’s head. Do you see what I mean?”

  “I do, but—”

  “But what? Yes, this shit needs doing, but you know what? There are hundreds of people living on this ship. You mean to tell me not one other person is qualified to do minor electrical work? Fuck, I could train them up. Use me, goddammit.”

  “I’ll talk to Cortez, see if he can squeeze you in with us or, barring that, maybe Lance’s team.”

  “I’d appreciate that. Thank you, Miller. Enough about me, though. God, I feel like all I do is bitch anymore. How are things going with you?”

  “Oh, you know. Aside from going stir-crazy just trying to keep busy between excursions, things are great.”

  “That’s good to hear. Hand me those wire-strippers, the ones with the green handle.”

  February 5

  After the tense standoff between Cortez’s team and Todd’s men, plans for a satellite hospital were drawn up and a location was arranged in a seldom-used corner of stowage as an offshoot of the de-cons expansion. The new facility wouldn’t stay staffed twenty-four hours a day like the main branch, but it would be ready for the next time an excursion team brought home injured. This way, any controversy could be avoided, and medical assistance could be provided immediately upon arrival.

  For the time being, though, Aiko began her shift every morning by swinging by the new facility and making sure things were up to par before trekking to the main location closer to Underworld. The conditions here weren’t ideal, but what was anymore? Considering the alternative, this was better than most had it, for sure. The boy, Joel, was around more as of late. Instead of clinging to Bull’s side like he had been since being brought aboard, he had been put to work stocking supplies and running to stowage with lists of needs. He might make a fine assistant one day, but for now, the extra hands were of invaluable help.

  Miller was making his rounds when he got word that Jeremiah and Aiko were setting up the new de-cons infirmary. He would have given a hand regardless, but any opportunity to spend time with Jeremiah was welcome.

  “This was a good idea, Jerry, setting up a satellite facility down here next to de-cons. That nonsense with Bull could have cost the man his life.”

  “Agreed. That entire episode was completely unnecessary. I can understand Todd’s reluctance to not break protocol, but Bull is one of our own. At the very least, they could have stationed guards with him.”

  “It makes you wonder.”

  “Indeed it does.” Jeremiah pointed to a large stainless-steel table. “Grab the other end of that.”

  Miller spent the rest of the afternoon helping set up the new infirmary. By the time the next excursion team returned from the road, the facility would be operational.

  February 6

  Miller shoveled scoop after scoop of shit into a fifty-gallon trashcan without so much as a nod in his direction from Lancaster. Mayor Lancaster’s suit was filthy. At a glance, one would never tell that its tan and brown shade was at one time—so many months ago—pure white. He had sweat through every joint in the suit, and there were tears in the sleeves and legs. His belt had snapped long ago and been replaced with a length of rope he had to trade his vest for.

  Miller had no love for the man, but he wanted to help where he could, when he could. It didn’t hurt that the waste from the Pen was put to good use. The poundage of weekly animal feces was recycled into fertile soil for the gardens. The pigs ate the table scraps and in turn helped keep the gardens lush and vibrant. Even Lancaster had his own part in the cycle. Still, Lancaster was too stubborn to see that his position—though not glamorous in the least—was just as vital to the ship as any other.

  Lancaster took advantage of Miller’s good nature and his helping hand and sat down to take a break. Miller paid the insult no mind and instead offered the outcast a bit of advice.

  “This isn’t so bad if you consider that what you’re doing helps grow the crops, food that all of us eat daily. You could see the positive in your work if you would only—”

  Lancaster interrupted. “You would insist that shoveling excrement was somehow
dignified. How magnanimous of you, Captain.”

  “There’s just no winning with you, is there? Has it ever occurred to you that your station in life is a direct result of the way you treat people?”

  “Oh, spare me your moral superiority. You seem to have been knocked down a peg or two yourself.”

  “I’m just fine with my station. All I’m suggesting is that maybe you try a little harder. Some of the others might come around. Just give them time.”

  “Not likely.” Lancaster finally rose and even picked up a shovel of his own. “You have the captain’s ear. Would it be too much to ask of you to get me a meeting with him? Every time I’ve attempted to enter the wheelhouse, I’ve been turned away at the door.”

  “That’s not how it works. You don’t dictate terms with the captain. Captain Kayembe calls on you, if he thinks you’ve earned it.”

  “Earned it. As if he is the type of man that I need to earn anything from.”

  “With that attitude, you’ll be shoveling shit for a long time.”

  “Well, as much as I value riveting discourse, Miller, I believe that we’ve conversed as much as we should for one afternoon. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “On that, Lancaster, I couldn’t agree more.” Miller placed his shovel back where he found it. On his way out, he lifted the mostly full-of-shit trashcan. “I’ll drop this off with the processors on my way out. I wouldn’t want you to dirty your suit.”

  February 8

  Miller was leaning against his balcony’s railing. He had left his robe inside; the biting cold on his naked skin reminded him that there was still suffering out in the world.

  Bundled in a thick blanket, Soraya approached from the cabin. She hugged him from behind, wrapped him up, and laid her head between his shoulder blades. “What is wrong, Miller?” she asked.

  “It’s my family again. I can’t shake the feeling that they’re still out there and that they need me.”

  “Do not trouble yourself with things that you cannot change.”