Elliot saw the smile on Jerry’s face in the periphery of the flashlight’s arc.
“Toilet paper!”
“Yes, my friend, and if you look up there,” Elliot pointed the beam of the flashlight, “there’s a first-aid kit, complete with sea-sickness tablets!”
“This is so good.”
“Just what the doctor ordered, huh?” Elliot had been waiting for some time to use that line.
“There’s one more thing.” Elliot went back to the mid-berth and opened one of the tiny closets. “Extra clothes, including underwear and socks. If yours are like mine, they’re about to peel off.”
“They are at that, and my underpants are—”
“Don’t mention it.”
With the need to visit the marine store no longer necessary, Elliot got them underway. He wasn’t as confidant as he made out and continuously looked left, right, then left again and checked instruments several times. The idea of running this boat on the open sea had him feeling apprehensive at the very least. As dark as it was from the cloud cover, the sides of Yaquina Bay were easily discernible in the beams of their flashlights. Some lights around the boat and at the helm went on when Elliot started the boat up, but he kept the cabin lights and the front deck light off. The entrance to the open sea was less than a mile straight ahead. Once through the heads, they would be behind the surf line. And if the wind stayed down, the Sundancer would be fine in these conditions. With the fuel they had onboard, Elliot believed Astoria was possible. He remembered the airport from when he came through in the helicopter—he also remembered who he came with.
“If we can get to Astoria in this, we’ll be doing fine.” Elliot raised his voice to be heard above the boat’s engine and the sound of the water as the boat cut its way through.
Jerry kept quiet for a few moments. He was aware that Elliot sounded more determined.
“What’s in Astoria that’s so special?” He knew Elliot had something in mind, otherwise he wouldn’t have mentioned the town as being so important to their success.
“An airport. A good-sized one.”
Jerry sat in the seat just behind Elliot. Like Elliot, he too had been busy thinking of ways to cover the distance faster. But unlike Elliot, he hadn’t come up with a plan.
“Sorry, I still don’t get your—”
“We have to take a plane, and you’ll fly it, there’s no other choice.”
Jerry didn’t protest at all. He was aware of the importance to get to this island. He understood Elliot’s urgency and wasn’t about to question it either.
These were extraordinary times which called for heroic measures if one was to survive. Jerry knew if they were to get to this island, it would be up to him to fly them there.
Or die trying.
“I agree with you entirely. There seems to be no other choice.”
Against All Odds 16
Elliot’s arithmetic didn’t stand up too well under stress. The distance from Newport to Astoria was over a hundred miles in a straight line by road. Now, they followed the same line, only a few hundred yards from the beach. Elliot knew they hadn’t hit anything—there was no tell-tale thud against the hull. He had put on the forward floodlights once they cleared Newport and would have seen something. So when the engine surged in volume then died, a mechanical problem was thought to be responsible. Elliot had pushed the boat hard from the beginning—the constant thump against the water’s surface couldn’t be good.
“What’s wrong?” Jerry came back up onto the deck; he’d been below making coffee in the galley.
“I have no idea. We were going along smoothly, then—” Elliot grabbed his flashlight and shined it on the dash. “Ahh, fuck!”
“What?”
“We’re out of gas,”
“So soon, are you sure?”
Elliot invited Jerry to look at the gauge himself as he slowed to a drift. He stepped out of the helm seat and grabbed the binoculars while Jerry checked the gauge.
“Yeah, you’re right. Have we got enough to get to land?”
“I think we should have, the engine’s still running and it’s only a few hundred yards. You can take her in now.” Elliot never took his eyes from the binoculars as he scanned the coastline. Nothing. It was far too dark.
“There!” Elliot pointed to shore, to a spot almost level with their position. “Street lights!”
“Are you shitting me?”
Elliot turned and handed the black, rubber-coated 10x50s to Jerry. “See for yourself.”
“Yep, that’s exactly what they are.”
“Twice.”
“Huh?”
“That’s twice you doubted me—and in the last five minutes.”
Jerry laughed, then gave Elliot a double apology.
Jerry grabbed the wheel and steered the stuttering Sundancer toward the street lights.
“Solar energy,” Elliot said.
“What’s that?”
The boat closed on to the shoreline breakers.
“Many towns use solar energy to power their street lights. I bet that what we have here.”
“Hope so, otherwise it means…”
“Yeah, I know.” Elliot didn’t want to cross that bridge just yet. “It’s probably the main highway—the 101—which will take us to Astoria.” Elliot did a quick check of the map.
After some addition, which involved his fingers, Elliot believed he had it. “We used up a whole tank of gas and should have made at least twenty-five miles. So that puts us at Lincoln City, that’s my guess. It’s the only town of any size around here.”
Before Elliot received an answer, the Sundancer shifted violently to one side and threw him into Jerry’s back. “What in the hell was that?”
“We’ve hit the surf line. It might be a bit rough but it will push us in to shore,” Jerry yelled above the sound of the waves.
“I hope you took those sea-sick tablets, because this was shaping up to be a doozy.” Elliot said as he grabbed a hold of the rail.
The boat rode up high then down low, as the waves pushed the boat around like a child’s toy in a bathtub. The dark didn’t help, and the forward floodlights darted around wildly—which was of no comfort.
“Hold onto the rail!” Jerry yelled.
Elliot could see Jerry no longer bothered with steering, and seemed to be doing his best to hold on as well.
“I’m gonna let the waves take us all the way in!” Jerry then confirmed Elliot’s observation.
Neither of them knew they were in less than two feet of water, the propellers would soon begin to drag in the sand below, just before the hull would touch the bottom. However, the hull hit a sandbar and the impact jerked Jerry from his seat and thrust him forward. He smacked his sternum into the steering wheel hard, cracking the bone.
“Jerry, Jerry, are you okay?” Elliot held onto the back of the helm chair as he reached for his friend.
The waves continued to push the boat into the shallow water well after the engine had ceased running. Jerry tried to sit back but lost his footing in the wet conditions and he slipped straight into the dashboard. “Oh, fuck!”
“What is it, your heart?” Elliot’s reaction was natural when he saw the former doctor clutch at his chest.
“No, no. I think I’ve broken a rib or two.” His self-diagnosis was premature, but not far off.
“Here, sit back,” Elliot helped him to the larger seats behind the helm. He could see Jerry was suffering. It looked bad, real bad.
“Can you make it to shore?”
“Not over the side, I couldn’t…”
“You can get off from the swim deck at the back, we’re practically sitting on the sand anyway. I’ll help you, come on!”
Getting Jerry down the steps and onto the deck in the dark proved quite a challenge—the confined spaces of the boat didn’t help at all. Once Elliot got to the swim deck, he jumped into the water first while Jerry held on to the rail.
“Take it easy, just put all your weight
on me.” Elliot reached up and caught Jerry just under his armpits.
“No, not there. It’s too painful. You have to grab me around the hips, here.” Jerry turned his back so Elliot could put his arms around without any pressure on his chest.
Jerry held the flashlight while Elliot lowered him into the water, which was freezing. The water came up to their knees with the residual rush from the waves taking it above every so often. Under normal circumstances in better weather it wouldn’t be any concern but with one man suffering from a cracked sternum, and the other starting to come unglued—it was cause for real alarm. In the dark with water so cold, a man’s testicles would bunch up into a tight knot and attempt to retreat inside the lower abdomen for warmth and the always present fear of foamers, the feeling of dread both felt was more than justified.
“We got to get you to the beach. It’s not far.” Elliot put an arm around Jerry’s shoulder, and inadvertently applied too much pressure.
“Shit! Careful, Elliot!” Jerry cried in pain. “You’ll have to grab me by the top of my jeans and hold me up.”
Elliot got behind and did just that, but with only fifty yards or so to go, it still took a good five minutes to get Jerry ashore. He eased Jerry down onto the sand and, as the adrenaline subsided, the onshore breeze took effect. Another level of cold on their already half frozen bodies.
“Jesus!”
“Where?” Jerry said, but sounded more like a groan.
“This isn’t the time for jokes.”
“All right, what is it then?”
“The boat. It looks like a fucking lighthouse.”
“Help me lie back.” Jerry started to feel the strain.
Elliot was more than a little worried. All he knew of chest pain and shortness of breath was a heart attack. “You sure it’s not a heart attack?”
“I’m a doctor, remember? I can assure you it’s not my heart. I cracked my chest when we came to a sudden stop. I hit the steering wheel right—” Jerry put a hand on his chest and winced in pain.
“What?” Elliot noticed the reaction.
“I don’t think it’s—broken ribs.” Jerry’s tone, however, didn’t sound optimistic.
“What is it?”
“I think I cracked my sternum.”
“What’s the treatment for that?” Elliot sounded nervous as he swept the flashlight beam along the beach and to the growth of brush up ahead. If they were confronted now, he knew he’d have to leave Jerry—if he wanted to live.
“Well, for a real serious case, it would require surgery. However, I don’t think this is that bad. It will still mean a ton of rest for it to mend.”
“Here.” Elliot handed his revolver—grip first and cylinder out—to Jerry.
“What’s that for? I’m not much good here on my back, y’know,”
Elliot stood back and cast a cautious glance along the beach, then to the brightly lit boat fifty yards away in the light surf.
“There’re six rounds in the cylinder, but…” he paused as he searched for courage, “you’ll only need one.”
Jerry showed he understood with a slow nod and rested the revolver in his lap. There was nothing else to say after that, and Elliot waded back into the water toward the boat, to get the weapons, packs and the medical supplies.
If there was to be an attack by foamers or mutants or whatever, then it would be best if it happened while he was aboard the boat. No equipment would be lost and he’d have time to push the boat into deeper water, past the surf line. He could drift, he was certain, for another two or three miles up the coast.
“Damn, how callous have I become?” he said aloud, knowing Jerry wouldn’t hear him over the sound of the waves.
They were horrid, inhuman thoughts—and not like him at all. But once the undead holocaust began, slowly, a little at a time he noticed, this hardline attitude developed. It was the instinct to survive.
As Elliot slugged through the water back to the Sundancer, he noted it was now higher than a few minutes ago.
Was the tide coming in or had a few bigger waves just hit? he wondered.
If it was the latter, there should be no problems. But if the former…
“Shit. The damn boat could float off!” Elliot forced himself through the more-than-knee-deep water to get aboard. He picked just one rifle—Jerry’s Remington—the shotgun, and the first aid supplies, and slipped them all into one backpack. Elliot was quite aware Jerry was no longer able to carry a backpack and he wasn’t about to carry two. He just hoped he would be well enough to fly the damn plane. Satisfied he had everything, he extinguished the lights and jumped back in the water. It was eerily dark without the glow of the boat’s lights and images of the shark from Jaws instantly came to mind. Elliot lifted the pack up to one shoulder so he could hold his flashlight with the other hand as the waves pounded him with each step. Up ahead, he could just make out the prostrate form of Jerry on the beach. It had taken half an hour in the Sundancer to get to this point, but they had spent at least that same amount of time getting Jerry to the safety of the beach. Elliot knew a lot more time would be lost dragging a seriously wounded man along with him. He would have to find a secure place to put Jerry in while he found a suitable vehicle on his own before they could continue their journey to Astoria.
But how far might he have to go before he found such a place, was the question on his mind.
“Jerry, how y’ doing?”
“I’m okay.”
Elliot didn’t like the way his friend sounded—obviously in pain, but also weak and cold. He would need to get Jerry inside, warmed up, and fast.
“Here, take these. I brought the first aid supplies back.” Elliot handed a bottle of painkillers to Jerry.
“Elliot, you know if I take any of these, I won’t be in any condition to fly a damn plane.”
“No, I thought they were just painkillers,”
“Prescription painkillers. Vicodin, and a strong dosage, too. They’ll be effective, all right, but it will make me drowsy.”
“Take the damn pills. If this is Lincoln City, then it’s a two and a half-hour drive to Astoria and we still haven’t got wheels yet. Take enough pills to get you by for four hours, we’ll address the situation again after that, okay?”
“You got it.” Jerry didn’t argue, he wasn’t able to. “Were you always like this, Elliot?”
“Like what?”
“Like, many years older than you are?”
“Yeah, I guess so. My dad was originally an engineer, but quit to pursue an easier life with a small business. My mom was a registered nurse and both encouraged me to read early—and not comic books.”
While Jerry consulted the dosage on the bottle of Vicodin by flashlight, Elliot took a closer look at the map. It wasn’t detailed enough to show buildings or houses, but it would at least allow him to see the nearby streets. If he could get Jerry through the brush without incident, he would be on a proper street and there would surely be structures nearby.
“I’m sorry, but we need to get moving. Can’t lay around here all day.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. You sound just like my dad when I was a teenager!”
“Well then, son, do you think you can make it?” Elliot continued the humor—it was far better than reality at this stage. “Should I try to get a stick to use as a crutch?”
“No, no.” Jerry waved a hand from his position on the ground. “I couldn’t put anything under my armpits, no way. You’ll have to get around behind and lift up from my back.”
Five minutes later, after many attempts and many more screams, Elliot got his buddy to his feet. They soon found a path that led from the beach to the street. To their left were the street lights. Out of place for sure, and somewhat frightening. There were stores on both sides of them and all appeared to have their front windows broken, the shattered remains clearly on the ground. None of these places would offer suitable protection, but there wasn’t anything else visible in the beam of the flashlights—and t
hat was a good seventy yards.
“Elliot, you’ll just have to leave me back in the bushes and grab the nearest car, not a truck. I wouldn’t make the step up.”
It was far from the safest of options, but the only one that made sense. They were off schedule and the pressure mounted. Elliot was never a watch person, and Jerry’s had come loose in the surf as they waded ashore.
No matter what, shit just continued to happen—unabated.
After helping Jerry to as comfortable a position in the bushes running along the street, Elliot left him with the shotgun and his revolver. Though he felt naked without his Magnum on his hip, he couldn’t leave his partner with just the shotgun. With all the noise they’d made and the lights of the boat, Elliot was certain if any foamers were nearby, they’d have paid a visit by now. He walked off in the direction of the streetlights, his flashlight off. When he got to a crossroad, he spotted a sign that pointed back toward the direction he came from. The sign read, “Lincoln City Beach Access.” That confirmed their location. Now all he needed was a car—any car. Further toward the streetlights, Elliot struck gold. A Lincoln County Sheriff’s Ford SUV in the parking lot of a bar and bistro. He wasted no time and sprinted to the SUV, checked inside for any unwanted guests, then gave the street a good close look up and down through the sights of the Remington. Satisfied he was alone, he jumped in, put the rifle down in the passenger side, and prepared to hotwire the vehicle when he noticed the keys were already in the ignition.
“Well, could be possible, I suppose,” Elliot commented on his good fortune. Most people, even lowlifes, wouldn’t think of jacking a cop car in a small town. The sheriff’s vehicle started instantly and Elliot went to put on the emergency lights only, but instead got the headlights—full beam.
Like a deer in the headlights a deputy sheriff stared back at his vehicle from the side door of the bar with blank, all-white eyes. A bloody scar on one side of his face with a strip of torn skin hanging below his jaw-line, further verification the officer was no longer resided with the living. Elliot needed his revolver, the Remington would be too long to maneuver in the front seat of the vehicle. The sinewy and stained remains of the deputy let fly with a stream of foamy spew onto the hood of the SUV then charged toward it.
Beyond the Brink_Toward the Brink IV Page 29
