Beyond the Brink_Toward the Brink IV

by Craig McDonough

  A stroke of luck for Elliot and Jerry.

  “Look out, Elliot!” Jerry warned.

  The foamer snarled in the dark, but her all-white eyes were as bright as lights on a Christmas tree.

  Elliot leaned forward to the edge of his seat as the foamer snatched at him. They were closer to the wall of fire, and the residual light from the flames enabled them to get a view of their assailant. Stringy, gray, shoulder-length hair with a tattered white shirt covered in blood stains, dirt, and green foam. Her chattering teeth could be seen through the gaping hole on the side of her face where her cheek once was—which extended over the front of her teeth where her lips used to be. What they couldn’t see in the dark were the razor-sharp, bony fingers and the strips of dried flesh that swayed with each lashing from her arms. The foamer writhed from side to side as she tried to squirm her way further into the car. Growls of anger or hunger emanated from the backseat as she thrashed about.

  “Through the flames, Jerry! Take this fucker through the fire!”

  The moment the Corolla hit the flames, Jerry hit the brakes. He allowed the fire to catch hold of the zombie bitch before he took off. The unwanted passenger shrieked—high pitch wails from the depths of hell—and flung her arms about frantically as she shook her head from side to side and bounced on the backseat—now they knew foamers felt pain! The foamer pushed back against the seat and forced herself back out the window. Elliot heard the thud as the foamer landed hard on the road and turned back to see the foamer squirm on the ground as flames violently engulfed her. The fire seemed alive, so great was the intensity.

  “Let's get out of—”

  The car skidded to a sudden halt, and Elliot looked back to see the headlights had picked out hundreds of foamers, now forming a wall across the road.

  “Drive through them!”

  “This piece of shit won’t get through all of them, Elliot. No fucking way!”

  Elliot pulled the double-barrel shotgun up in his left hand and laid it on the dash, then put his window down and poked his revolver outside. “Well, I’ll help thin ’em out for you.”

  “I don’t think that will—”

  A long echoing howl pierced the night, interrupting Jerry. Like a cross between a wolf and a bull moose. Jerry and Elliot didn’t need a second guess as to the origin.

  The mutant children.

  “Are…they in front or-or behind us?” Jerry’s voice quivered, his more than fear obvious.

  “I have no idea, but look.” Elliot pointed at the foamers ahead.

  Only moments ago, they’d received confirmation that foamers indeed felt pain and now they got the same for hearing. The foamers in front of the Corolla turned to the direction of the chilling cry in the night. Their interest in the two humans decreased as they shifted focus toward the center of Corvallis. The occupants of the Corolla were relieved as they watched the foamers move as one in that direction.

  “What are they doing?” Jerry asked.

  “Not sure but I’d say they’re going to confront the mutants. They’re leaving and that’s about the main thing, just stay here and let them go. Wait until they clear the road, then take off.”

  The idea of watching the foamers and the mutants go toe-to-toe appealed as any prize fight would, but there was no time. More cries went up in the center of the city as the foamers picked up the pace, hungry for battle—or just hungry.

  Warriors from the edge of reality set forth to do battle. The prize? The right to proclaim themselves the new rulers of the planet.

  Jerry eased down on the accelerator. The last few foamers had left the road and they didn’t want to re-attract their attention by spinning tires. Elliot kept a watchful eye as they passed by the spot where the foamers were. Through his open window, Elliot could hear high-pitched shrieks and heavy grunts from the dark streets on his side.

  The battle had begun.

  “Let’s pick it up. I don’t want to be anywhere near this place when it’s over.”

  With the rain now stopped, their vision was better, and Jerry took a bit more of a risk on the wet roads. They had lost too much time back there and still had another hour of travel to make it to Newport.

  “Can you believe that?”

  “What, the foamers and mutants?”

  “Yeah, the heavyweight battle of all time. Bigger than the USSR vs the USA, or Ali vs Frazier or Batman vs the Joker!”

  Jerry chuckled. Elliot showed his relief from the imminent foamer attack with joviality—something else he learned from his mentor Chuck.

  “How do you know about Ali and Frazier, the greatest contests of all time?”

  “My dad. He loved boxing and used to watch old videos of the fights. I used to watch them with him, I knew all the greats.”

  “Man, I’d give anything to see those old Ali/Frazier fights again.”

  “Well, just get us to Newport first. We can worry about that later.”

  Sandspit 29

  The high winds which swept across the islands earlier had subsided, but the rain continued to fall in buckets. Water ran down the nearby hills that had been cleared of trees. Parts of the golf course had turned into inland lakes. Mayer and Goodes decided to spend the night. Taking the light dinghy, even the few hundred yards to the sub, would be precarious. The sea was rough with strong currents and choppy waves. As was the norm in such situations, the commander of the ship would take her below surface. Never a good idea to have a nuclear missile-boat tossed around like a cork, if you could avoid it.

  “There’s very little we can do with this weather as it is, and besides, we don’t have much to take.” Bob addressed everyone in the former motel office. “So, I suggest we all go back to our rooms and try and get some sleep. It’ll be hard, I know, but try.”

  Most took Bob’s advice and put on jackets and parkas when Kath burst in through the door. She stood there for a moment, a shocked look on her face as the rain washed pelted through the open door.

  “Cindy. She’s gone. She’s fucking gone!”

  Chuck grabbed a cup and poured a hot coffee for Kath, who sat drying her hair with a towel. She had worn one of the yellow rain jackets left earlier, which had prevented from getting soaked through.

  “Here you go.”

  “Thank you, Chuck.” She reached up and took the hand he placed on her shoulder.

  “I didn’t see Cindy leave. What time was this?”

  “It was when Captain Mayer was talking about safety. She got up and walked to the door. She was very quiet and had a strange look about her.”

  “Strange? How so?”

  “I’m not sure. Kind of like the look you have when you’ve been told to do something you don’t want to do, know what I mean?” She looked around at the confused faces. “Anyway, that’s how it looked to me.”

  “What are you doing, Chess?” Chuck called when he saw the younger Special Forces leader start to put on his camouflaged jacket.

  “I’m getting ready to go look for her, that’s what.”

  “Out there in that weather? In the dark? Are you crazy, man?”

  Chess looked out the window, then back at Chuck. “But-but we have to do something.”

  “Chuck’s right. If we attempt to look for her now, we’ll only put more of us at risk. We can’t do that.” Bob’s deep voice always added the final stamp of authority on things.

  “Get a search party ready before first light and we’ll hold off sailing for as long as we can. But when the tide is at its peak, we’ll have to go. You understand, right?” Mayer told a relieved gathering inside the office. “More than likely, she hasn’t made it further than one or two buildings away. But you’ll never find her in the dark. If you’re ready before first light, we may find her before she moves off again.”

  “Or freezes to death. Damn stupid girl, what is she trying to prove anyway?” it was clear the Riley wasn’t pleased.

  “She obviously determined to stay here in case Elliot shows up. And I can tell you she has a lot of cl
othes on. I checked the closet in her room. She’ll be cold, but she won’t freeze—so as long as she’s not directly in the weather.” After a couple of sips of the hot brew.

  “All right. Chess, I gather your watch has an alarm on it?”

  “Yep, sure does.”

  “Set it to zero-four hundred. We’ll get up, get some coffee into us, and get out before the first light.”

  “Who’s going to make the coffee?” Kath asked.

  “You are.” Chuck turned and rubbed his hand through her hair. “It might be better to use a few of the camp stoves to boil water—we don’t have enough stored power for the stove at that time of the morning. And cold beans will be good.”

  “So much for a good night’s sleep. As if there wasn’t enough anxiety felt over our submarine departure, now we’ve got Cindy outside in the cold and wet. I’m just so glad there are no foamers to complicate matters any further.” Kath stopped for a moment and gripped the coffee cup with both hands. “You don’t think there’s any more out there, do you?”

  “No, not around Sandspit. There hasn’t been a sighting or any evidence since our first night. Over the channel on Graham Island, it might be a different matter. But like Steve said, it’s doubtful she has gone too far in the dark.” Chess—who had conducted several searches outside—replied confidently.

  Chess understood the reasons for not venturing out in the dark in a futile search, but he was also determined to find Cindy—alive. Since Allan’s death, he now saw himself as responsible for the protection of the others’ lives—especially the younger ones like Cindy. He felt it was also the best he could do for Elliot too. When Chuck and Bob and a few others viewed him with suspicion, Elliot treated him fair. Chess remembered that and it meant a great deal to him. He wanted to go along with Elliot and Tom instead of Tristan, but Chuck insisted he was needed here at Sandspit. Perhaps he was right, because like Chuck and a few of the others, Chess felt that if Elliot was alive he’d have made it back by now.

  Chapter Eleven

  Against All Odds 15

  After escaping the foamer ambush in Corvallis with aid from unexpected quarters, Elliot and Jerry made better-than-even time as they raced to Newport. The coastal town was divided in two by Yaquina Bay, a large inlet from which several inland rivers branched out. The town had been popular for boating, skiing, and fishing—though not anymore.

  “Take the next left.” Elliot studied the map intently as they closed on Newport. “It’ll take us down to the bay road and the marina on this side of the town. We should find a boat right there. There’s a parking lot and a marine supplies store as well. We might have time to grab some extra gear before we leave.”

  “Yeah, some protective clothing, some fishing rods and bait, and we could cast a line while we’re at it!” Jerry turned and winked at his younger companion.

  “Funny, Jerry, funny. But it’s a lot of what we’ll be doing when we get back to Sandspit. There’s no reason to suspect that sea life has suffered from this plague, so they’ll form a major part of our diet.”

  “Sounds a lot better than baked beans and jerky. But what of this greenhouse you said you had planned? Do you think it will provide all of you with enough vegetables?”

  “We hope it will. We’ll have a generator set-up, might even be completed by now, it’s powered by a wind turbine and my Aunt Kath brought seeds with her from her farm. The problem, of course is the extreme cold. But with a good hothouse, we should be able to manage.”

  “How many are there altogether?”

  “Well, there are now four fewer than there were…”

  Jerry concentrated on his driving, nodding a time or two. “Yeah, I’m sorry, Elliot. Truly…”

  “It’s okay. Nothing can change the shape of things now.”

  In every single aspect of life on Earth, Elliot’s last statement summed it up perfectly. When the Shape of Things to Come was written for the film Wild in the Streets it alluded to changes beyond our control. But a man-made plague or a planet overrun probably wasn’t what they had in mind.

  No matter.

  The changes had happened, and no one could do anything about it.

  Jerry pulled into the parking lot of the Embarcadero Marina on Newport’s north. To his right was the supplies store and in front, the marina.

  “Let’s find a boat first, make sure it’s sea-worthy and fueled up. Then if we got time, we’ll check the store, okay?”

  “Got it.”

  Elliot got out the instant Jerry brought the car to a halt at the end of the parking lot, closest to the marina ramp. He shined his powerful flashlight along the first tie-up ramp.

  “You won’t believe this.”

  “Try me, you might be surprised?” Jerry said as he got out of the Corolla. There wasn’t really much left not to believe, was how Jerry looked at it.

  “The marina is full of boats. We’ll have our choice of the best.”

  Jerry also shined his flashlight around the marina and was surprised to see it was full of boats. An odd empty spot could be seen, but there weren’t many.

  “Do you think everyone in the town fled by car or became foamers or what?”

  “As we’ve seen, and as I’ve seen in my other travels, mass evacuations aren’t the cause. I don’t think everyone turned into foamers, either. I think many died from the disease, while others were killed in the panic. They fought and killed each other over the smallest and most meaningless things.”

  “Like the last six pack.”

  “That would be about the size of it. When the fighting was over, those that were left became victims of the foamers. Nourishment.”

  That would mean a lot of feeding had been conducted to account for the lack of human bodies—or any other animals for that matter—in the towns they’d been through. Jerry considered this when Elliot grabbed his arm suddenly, giving him a start.

  “There it is, the last berth. See it?” Elliot jiggled the flashlight to indicate the large white cruiser boat with blue trim.

  “Yeah, that’s a decent-sized boat all right. That should get us along the coast and the short hop from the mainland to Sandspit without any problems.”

  The air was still damp and very cold, but the rain had stopped. For the most part, the wind had decided to lay down. This would be their best opportunity to get underway.

  “If I can get it started!”

  While Elliot headed to the cruiser—a Sea Ray Sundancer 310—Jerry checked nearby boats for any containers of fuel. As he hunted through the nearby boats, he heard the rumble of the big cruiser’s engine which told him Elliot had managed to get it started.

  “Hey! You got it going. How did you manage that?” Jerry said as he heaved a fuel container aboard.

  “I pulled this knob and turned that handle, but mostly I just turned the key.”

  “Smartass!”

  Even in the dark, Jerry could see Elliot’s big-toothed grin.

  “How much gas is in this thing—do you call it gas in a boat?” Jerry asked as he stepped up the helm.

  “To be honest I don’t know, but there’s nearly three-quarters of a tank.”

  “This should top it up nicely then.” Jerry held the can of fuel up for Elliot to see in the dark.

  “Yeah, it will. And as you’ve got it, you can find out where to fill it!”

  “Wow, you really full of it now, ain’t ya!” Jerry quipped.

  “Ahoy matey, I be the cap’n, I be!” Elliot thumped his chest as he stood at the helm and did his best pirate impression. With the patch over his eye he didn’t have to try very hard, Jerry reasoned. The discovery of the boat so soon and the easing of the weather had lifted their spirits. But as with everything since the outbreak, small victories were usually followed by crushing defeats. This might not be an exception.

  “Do you know how many miles-per-gallon this beast gets?”

  “I don’t have any idea. If it’s at all like a car, we’ll—” Elliot paused, “hey look at this!”


  “What is it?”

  “It’s the operation manual for the boat, I found it this compartment on the side.”

  Jerry stood and watched anxiously as Elliot put the book on his knee and, holding the flashlight back, flicked through the pages until he came to the part he wanted.

  “Holy shit! That can’t be right, must be a fuckin’ misprint.”

  “Why, what does it say?”

  “Says here, ‘you can expect to get between 0.88 and 1.3 miles per gallon in your Sea Ray Sundancer 310.’ I mean that’s fucking ridiculous. It holds twenty-eight gallons. So, twenty-eight miles at best. We’ll spend more time looking for fuel than we will traveling.”

  “Let me add this fuel, then we can discuss it.” Jerry wandered off to the back of the boat where he assumed the tank would be.

  The information in the manual distracted Elliot from his concerns of being out in the open with a flashlight acting as a beacon.

  “All fueled and ready, Cap’n.” Jerry offered a mock salute, but Elliot didn’t even see him. Or if he did, he didn’t pay him any attention. It took five minutes to get the backpacks, rifles, and the sawed-off shotgun from the car along with the rest of the supplies they had with them.

  “Okay, you ready?” Elliot asked after he stowed his pack below deck in the mid-berth closets.

  “What about checking the store?”

  “While you filled up, I looked around. I don’t want to switch the light on just yet, but I found a few things.”

  Elliot led Jerry to the galley. The fridge there was empty except for several one gallon bottles of water, some frozen butter and two cans of unopened orange juice. In the pantry, there were canned foods and everybody's favorite—jerky. Some rotten fruit was found, which would be tossed, along with a few other perishables. But Elliot then moved his flashlight further along.

  “This way if you will, Mr. Reihne,” Elliot said in his best formal voice. “Here we go!”