Oh dear god that’s a bone protruding from his shoulder, and I’m pretty sure it’s not his. That’s an elbow, he snapped someone’s elbow in half.
One of the little runts topples over the edge, sizzling and smoking like an Applebees skillet. Do they still make those? Man, I could go for a fajita right now. Noah, zombies!
Another one hangs onto his half eaten classmate for dear life, clawing at his barely there leg that looks like it was mauled by a pack of his neighbor’s pitbulls. The weight is too much for the mangled thigh to sustain.
His leg breaks off, plummeting into the ocean with the other kid still clinging onto it like it’ll somehow save his life. His unlife? Clearly the little bastard isn’t alive. And now he’s dematerializing in the saltwater just like those who fell before him. I’m not even gonna pretend to know why, but I’m not arguing with it. All I know is that from this day forth, we’re praying to the salt god, whoever the hell he is. She? There’s gotta be a Greek god of salt somewhere in mythology. Someone build that chick a church.
“Noah, the rope! We’re tied down.”
I bring my blade across the thick line like a badass ninja…
But nothing happens. There’s too much give. It just kind of flops to the side. I think I managed to sever a few strands. Probably easier to just untie it.
Dammit, not enough time! They’re trampling over their fallen comrades in a mad dash to devour me. Clearly these booger munching rug rats were not trained in the art of the fire drill. And the broken elbow sticking out of One Eyed Willy’s shoulder just went through someone’s foot. Where are this girl’s shoes? She just stepped right on it.
The bone pierces her little foot and sends her crashing into the kids running beside her, twisting and snapping her leg in the fall. I can’t watch this. I know they’re not human but all I see are these poor little kids who came here to have fun on their end of the year class trip.
The fishing boat pulls away from the dock, with me on it this time, not like the island when I had to make a jump for it. This way feels much safer. I’d feel even safer if we were traveling at something more substantial than a snail’s pace. Can’t we punch it into lightspeed or whatever it’s called on a barnacle covered fishing vessel? I’m considering jumping overboard and helping push us along. If we don’t pick up speed…
Too late, here they come.
The first two kids leap off the edge of the landing. I’m not worried about the smaller one, she’s too little to make the five foot jump but the older kid, he’s got this. He’s coming in too fast. All I can do is get the hell out of the way.
His shins clip the edge of the boat with a sickening crack. We must be picking up speed. A millisecond slower and he would have stuck the landing like I do every time I make a death defying leap. Shut up, okay, let me have this one. I stick my landings. All of them.
The sudden impact propels his body forward with so much force he can’t avoid the giant wooden box that seems to take up half the boat. This must be where they store the fish or lobsters or mermaids or whatever it is they reel in on this rig. He catches his face on the corner of the storage compartment at such a high speed, it snaps his neck back, bashing in half his skull.
His crumpled body convulses, caught between the edge of the boat and the giant fish box, that’s now its official name. His back must be broken, the fall bent his spine, folding him up like a taco. Mmmm, taco.
He might as well be in fetal position, except he’s bending in the wrong direction. The bones of his prepubescent body grind and pop as he contorts himself back into some sort of striking pose. The head atop his limp neck dangles freely while he slithers to his feet despite the arched spine that gives him a human pretzel-like appearance.
He’s wiggling his way towards me, his face a bloody, discombobulated mess after using it to take the brunt of the fall. I don’t even see how he could possibly take a bite of me, his jaw is shattered beyond recognition. What’s he gonna do, lick me like a popsicle?
Another flying child crashes against the back of the boat, bouncing off and meeting his demise in our wake. Ha, see, I know that nautical term. The waves generated from our motor. I think. Don’t quote me on that. Either way, the little fucker didn’t make it.
Wiggles here continues slithering backwards like he’s trying to do the worm in reverse. His body’s too broken to fully stand but it doesn’t stop him from clawing his way up the side of the fish box in an attempt to reach me.
A commotion from the dock draws my attention away from the crumpled contortionist. One Eyed Willy bursts free from the pig pile, probably sick of the endless stream of kids trampling his back. His sudden movement sends a number of them tumbling over the edge. It doesn’t matter anymore, we’re too far out. There’s got to be fifteen feet between us now. Anyone who attempts the jump is getting nothing but water.
Wiggles somehow makes it to his feet, using the edge of the box to prop himself up. He slides his broken body along the railing, shuffling backwards, the mangled mess of his upside down facial features slowly inching their way closer. I can see him trying to bite down but his jaw is completely detached. It’s accompanied by a small clicking, his broken bones grinding against one another. No matter how hard he tries, he’s not biting anything. But do you think that’s enough to stop him?
I bring my sword down across his exposed throat, sending his head rolling into the waves. A cascade of infected blood gushes out of his neck, spraying the side of the boat before scorching the water. A steady stream of smoke rises from the ocean surface until the river of liquid turns into a sporadic trickle.
A small nudge tips the headless corpse overboard where it boils on contact. Something about the open wounds, the blood, it doesn’t mix well with the saltwater. But why? I know when I have cankers in my mouth, I put some salt on my finger and hold it against the open sore. It hurts like hell but it fights the infection and eventually wins.
Is the salt fighting the infection? That doesn’t even make sense. Does it? What did Felecia say about saline? It’s equal parts water and sodium. Is the influx of salt somehow overpowering the disease or whatever it is we’re dealing with here? Can it really be that simple?
“I found the light,” Felecia squeals excitedly, illuminating the coast. “Ha, take that you stupid Fletcher twins, this regatta’s mine!” She turns to face me, her smile a spotlight all its own. “Next stop, the marina.”
CHAPTER 14
Felecia maneuvers us between yachts and sailboats like a pro. Is there anything this girl can’t do? She really meant it when she said she could drive a boat. I think I’ve been staring in awe for so long now that my eyes are crossed. The way she squints with determination every time she has to steer around an outcropping, it’s the sexiest, yet cutest thing I’ve ever seen. She knows I’m staring but she just lets me, sending me a smile every now and then.
A large part of me doesn’t want to step off this boat. We’ve finally found someplace safe, where we can rest, and not fear for our lives every second. And what do we do? We leave it for the chance at finding something better. But is there anything better than this? Because the way the world is going, back on land, I don’t know if there’s going to be anywhere safer.
Are we making a mistake? Should we let the others think we died and finally break off on our own, like we should have done from the start? Is this that moment there’s no coming back from? If we make it to the hospital, and go through with this, if we succeed, it changes everything. That is, of course, assuming we make it through Sonny Valley, onto the helicopter and across the entire country before it’s abandoned. Is this race against time worth it? This plan just seems so far-fetched, all to lead us to a future that may not exist when we get there.
“This is our opportunity,” I blurt out of the blue, not entirely sure if I meant to utter the words out loud.
Felecia should flash me a raised eyebrow that tells me I’m insane, but her look tells me something entirely different. Understanding.
&
nbsp; “Load up,” I continue, though I’m not sure I need to go on, “hit the open water and never look back. Just you and me.”
“We probably should, shouldn’t we?” Her breathy whisper makes me have to lean in to hear her, as if she doesn’t want the others to know what we’re discussing, despite being the only two here. “I just don’t know anymore. I feel like, as a group, this is the first time we actually have a chance. With that psychopath Norwood on our side, we finally have a fighting chance. I’m just worried that, we go through all of this, get to New York to board that plane to England, and there won’t be anything left of it. Is it a chance we’re willing to take?”
The side of our boat bumps against the dock as we stand in silence, weighing two options, neither of them ideal, both equally impossible. Yet, all we seem to do is the impossible. Every situation that should be our last, isn’t. There isn’t much more these undead assholes can throw at us that we haven’t already overcome. We can make this cross country trip, I know we can. The question isn’t whether or not we can make it, it’s whether or not anything will be left when we get there.
“When we were leaving the island,” I say, interrupting the steady clunk of the boat banging off the wharf, “you said it’s always the assholes like that who survive. You’re right, if we stay, even on the water, we’re gonna have to deal with guys like them, like Buckley. The guys who are willing to do despicable things. Things I’m not. There won’t be any good people left because they’ll be dead. Guys like that will make sure of it.”
“We’ve come this far. And with what we know now, as much as I hate to say it, I think we have to get on that helicopter. We’ve been saving each other since this all began, now it’s time to save the world.”
For some inexplicable reason, we shoot each other a grin and both go for a fist bump. And you’re making it explode Noah, as if the fist bump weren’t an awkward enough choice as it was, now you’re blowing it– oh no, nope, it’s okay, we’re cool. She’s going for the exploding fist bump as well. If two people are doing something corny, it means it’s not corny. Majority rules. Besides, with all the crazy shit we’ve successfully pulled off, I think we can blow up fist bumps whenever we damn well please, pretty sure we’ve earned the right.
I hop over the starboard, that’d be the right, she taught me some lingo, and land on the wooden planks of the marina in style. Oh yeah, stuck the landing too. That time sleeping on Sex Island has done wonders for my body. Sure, every muscle hurts but it’s that good kind of hurt, like after a workout, or so I’m told. I haven’t hit the gym since Buckley graciously removed me from the track team so his son could be number one.
Man, I hope Neil and his little brother are alright. Now that all’s said and done, I can’t believe we left them on the island. Are we horrible people? It’s not like we wanted to, but we didn’t have much choice. They could have been anywhere. Neil never would have made it, not with what we had to endure in Bayport. Not after the beating he took from his best friend.
What the hell is happening to friendships in this apocalyptic wasteland? The world ends and we all of a sudden hate each other. Neil and Blake. Me and Paul. Tyrone and Darius. Shane and Doug. We’re literally killing each other, as if all those sleepovers and fun times meant absolutely nothing. Were we only friends out of convenience? How can something that should bring two people closer together divide us all like it has?
Felecia hops down after me, landing like a ninja who robbed a knight and a Navy S.E.A.L and couldn’t decide which outfit to wear so said screw it and went with both. And holy hell is it the sexiest look I’ve ever seen.
For a girl who should be dead, her movements are musical, like a dance set to the sound of the wind. She shows no sign of her broken ribs slowing her down. If I didn’t know, I’d never suspect the ordeal her body has been through. We’re just gonna go on believing that the kisses I planted on her belly magically healed her.
It’s official, I prefer nice sturdy wooden docks over the unstable metal floaty ones. Aside from the fact that I’ve been on the boat so long that my legs feel like the ground is still wobbly, I don’t have to fight to stay vertical.
This is how walking should be. I don’t feel like I’m in the spinning tunnel in those carnival funhouses, which gives me a moment to also appreciate the fact that this pier isn’t crawling with seaside corpses. I do see a few wandering around, and I’m sure a few more hiding in the shadows, staring at their hands, waiting.
“Noah, that pickup over there, it’s a work truck for the marina. How much you wanna bet they leave the keys in it? See, trucks are a lot like boats where you need a key to start them.”
“Oh ha ha, aren’t you just hilarious?”
“I like to think I have my moments. Please don’t make fun of me for any of the dumb or embarrassing things I’ve done, like puking on myself, or that god awful muumuu. It wouldn’t be polite to tease a girl who has a bite taken out of her arm.”
“Can we call you Fe-teeth-a now?”
“No, we cannot. Feteetha killed the infecth,” she laughs. “It’d sound like we had major lisps. But I will accept Chewbacca.”
“Why couldn’t your name be Rebecca? Then you could be Chewbecca.”
“Aw man, my mom really missed the boat on that one, it woulda been perfect.” She scrunches up her face and giggles, and all I can picture is the eight year old version of her who wanted to ride bikes and play dinosaurs. “Now I kinda like Feteetha. Feteetha killed the infecth. When all’s said and done, that’s how I’m gonna be remembered. That shall be my catchphrase. Make sure they write that on my tombstone.”
“I would, but, I’m pretty sure you’re impervious to death. Otherwise that bite would have killed you. How’s it doing anyway? Does it hurt?”
“Kinda,” she shrugs. “Not like, hurt hurt. It’s weird, I can feel the wind blowing into my arm. Like, into the hole and around the hanging flap.”
“…And now I’m gonna barf on your shirt. That’s disgusting.”
“Oh you’re one to talk? You got your foot stuck in some old guy’s stomach in a weird yoga pose until he showered you with his organs. And I’m the gross one?”
“Hey, the freaky things I do with dead bodies is between me and them, and as long as we’re both consenting parties, it’s no one else’s business.”
“You know who didn’t consent? That creepy dude who got the sword rammed up his butthole, that was not consensual. You pretty much raped him with…”
Shit, rape. I think with everything going on around us, we kind of forget that we had lives before this. They seem more like dreams than memories, like they belong to someone else. That disconnect is what allows us to fight through the world we now live in. But those memories are real. They’re ours, no matter how foreign they feel in our current state.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know how they could do that to you. I just, I can’t help but feel responsible. They were my friends. My best friends.”
“Were,” she says, stopping in front of the truck to stroke my face with her soft palm. “They were your friends, and they weren’t you. I don’t know if Paul was there. I just, when I saw Blake and Shane together, I knew. It was like a flashback or repressed memory or something, I don’t know who else was there.”
“He was there,” I say, unable to look her in the eye. “He was at that party, I know because it was the night his girlfriend kissed me and told me her secret. He was there with Shane, and he hasn’t been himself since that night. If he wasn’t involved, he still knew. And he didn’t do anything to stop it.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore, last month was a lifetime ago. Right now we need him, no matter what he’s done.”
Alright, are we going to acknowledge the fact that there’s a gruesome looking carcass approaching us at full speed? He must have heard us talking and pulled himself away from his imaginary phone long enough to come running.
Without warning, Felecia spins around and slices our uninvited intruder’s head off with o
ne fluid swing. His body continues running, crashing into the side of the truck so hard he dents it before bouncing off like this is a game of human wallball.
“Do you mind?” she shouts at the headless infect.
And apparently he does because his head just hit the ground a foot or two from Felecia’s feet. How long was that thing airborne? We probably should have been timing it.
“Oh my god, we’re trying to have a conversation here.”
She punts the rolling head out of anger and I’m not missing it this time, I want to see how far this thing goes. With a kick like that, I’m guessing she played soccer at some point in her life, ya know, other than gym.
Okay, where the hell’s the head? I don’t see it. Am I looking too close, did it hit the water already? I don’t see any ripples.
“Oh great. Noah,” Felecia whines, her voice frail and– it’s stuck to her foot. Her boot is wedged firmly in his neck hole. “I got stuck.”
“I’m not helping you get it out until you admit that you are now officially the gross one in this relationship. You stuck your foot inside some poor guy’s head.”
“I’m aware. Just get it off. I can feel it all warm and gooey through my boot.”
I step down on Felecia’s makeshift soccer ball and hold it in place while she tries to wiggle her foot free, but it’s really in there. If not for this little mishap, I have a feeling it would have sailed right across the horizon and landed somewhere in Hawaii.
“I think you’re gonna have to pull it off,” she whimpers.
“I don’t wanna touch it. If we just leave it, maybe it’ll fall off on its own.”
“Noah, it’s not a loose tooth. I have a human head stuck on my foot. Just yank it by the ears or something. Isn’t this what boyfriends are for?”
“No, no, we remove spiders. We’ll massage your feet after you wear heels. We’ll even hold your hair back when you’ve had too much to drink. But pulling your foot out of someone’s skull, that’s taking things to a whole other level.”
Blood Type Infected (Book 4): Betrayal of Hope Page 9
