I dropped to one knee and drove my knife into the top of the zombie’s skull. Her jaw dropped open. Her head fell back. A dark cloud spread through the water around her. She let go of the dock and sank out of sight.
I got to my feet again, but when I put my weight on my left leg, pain ripped up my calf. I hissed and shifted my weight again. Carefully, I checked my ankle. The flesh was tender and bruised, but the zombie hadn’t managed to break the skin. Nothing seemed broken. I took four deep breaths and hobbled down the dock.
An engine roared to life behind me. One of the bigger boats, a sixty-foot-long luxury yacht with Elisa painted on its bow, was pulling away from the dock. The cockpit was high above the deck. The pilot was struggling with the controls. The boat veered left and scraped along the edge of the dock. The pilot’s eyes widened. He swung the ship hard right. The bow curved away, heading straight toward a small motorboat moored a few feet away.
A woman climbed up into the cockpit. She grabbed the pilot’s shoulder and shouted something at him, pointing back down toward the boat’s deck. He shrugged her off. The Elisa’s bow caught the stern of the motorboat. There was a grinding, tearing sound. The smaller boat twisted and lifted up out of the water.
The pilot turned the steering wheel hard again, and the boat swung back away from the dock. Free of the Elisa, the motorboat crashed back down into the water. The stern was cracked and broken, and it began to sink. The Elisa’s engine roared and it accelerated toward open water.
I heard the slow thump of heavy feet. Ahead of me, two zombies were making their way down the next walkway. One of them had almost reached the dock. Past them, bobbing gently on the water was the boat we’d used on the “floater” run. Eduardo must have recovered it. The front was scraped where Fitch had crashed, but otherwise it looked intact. There was no sign of Eduardo, but I figured I could work out how to pilot it myself. Ignoring the jagged pain in my ankle, I hurried toward the boat.
The zombies reached the dock before I could get past, but only just. I shoulder charged the first. He fell back, bouncing off the side of the walkway and into the water. The second zombie was bigger and heavier but moving slowly. I slid to a stop a few feet short of him.
He began to turn away as though he hadn’t seen me.
I shouted, “Hey!” and waved my arms at him.
The zombie turned. His mouth and both his eyes had been sewn shut. He moaned. The stitches sealing his lips tore and black blood seeped down his chin.
I banged the handle of my knife against a metal post holding a life preserver. The zombie tilted his head at the sound and began moving toward me. I crouched slightly and checked Eduardo’s boat. Still there, still no movement on the deck.
I waited until the zombie was within a couple of feet then ran forward and drove my knife into his neck. The tip struck bone. Blood poured down the knife and over the zombie’s chest. I twisted the blade and pulled it free. The zombie staggered back. I kicked him in the stomach. He went over the side of the dock and into the water.
An engine roared. The Elisa was bearing down on me. The woman I’d seen earlier leaped, screaming, from the lower deck. Arms whirling, she plunged into the water. A second later, a zombie followed her. He slammed face first into the water and disappeared.
The Elisa clipped the side of a yacht. It was a sailboat and its mast collided with the Elisa’s upper deck. It punched through the windshield, shattering it, then splintered like a piece of match wood. The impact shifted the Elisa’s bow, but it was still coming straight at me.
Head down, I ran for Eduardo’s boat. Hearing a shout and a cry of pain, I looked up in time to see the Elisa’s pilot grappling with a zombie. Then the two of them fell to the cockpit floor, out of sight.
The Elisa slammed into the dock. The concrete beneath my feet shifted, tilted. I staggered sideways and collided with the side of a boat. I pushed off it, straightening myself up, but as I started running again, my feet caught on the line tying the boat to the dock. I tripped. My fingers caught another rope, but it was wet. I lost my grip and plunged into the water.
Chapter 48
Cold Black
The chill of the water forced the air from my lungs. Iron bands locked around my chest. I twisted, trying to right myself, then kicked out. The water was dark, disorienting. I was struck with the fear that I was swimming deeper.
My vision shifted. Blackness seeped in at the edges. Was it lighter above me? I couldn’t tell but kicked again anyway. I barely moved. The canvas bag. I slipped the strap from my shoulder and let go. The bag dropped away from me, disappearing into the darkness. At least I knew which way was up.
Stars burst behind my eyes. My lungs burned. Even with the bag gone, the leather jacket was weighing me down. I started to pull it off then felt the hard corner of my toolkit dig into my ribs. The shadow whispered to me, and I pulled the jacket tighter around me.
I swept my arms down, straining my face toward what I hoped was the surface.
Darkness closed in around me.
My lungs tightened.
The temptation to take a breath was almost overwhelming.
Then I broke through the surface.
I gasped, sucking in lungful after lungful of the oil-tainted air. My eyes filled with water. I blinked it away.
The Elisa had torn through part of the dock, separating it from the rest of the marina. The concrete walkway was sinking. Flames flickered inside the Elisa, but there was no sign of life.
Eduardo’s motorboat was still there. I had no idea if it would be dragged beneath the surface by the sinking dock and no desire to find out. I pulled in another gulp of air and swam toward the boat.
The side of the Elisa exploded in a burst of light and sound. Burning chunks of fiberglass arced through the air and landed, hissing, beside me. I ducked beneath the surface. A piece of metal sliced through the water beside my ear.
Desperation and adrenaline powered my arms as I swam. I kept my head down until my lungs burned again, then surfaced, gulping greedily at the air. Pockets of burning wreckage dotted the water around me, but the rain of fire had stopped.
I grabbed hold of the edge of the slowly sinking dock and pulled myself out of the water. As I struggled to my feet, a hand grabbed my calf. I turned, ready to punch the zombie in the face.
The woman from the Elisa stared up at me. “Please…” she said. Her voice was ragged. There was a cut above her eye. Blood mixed with the water running down her face.
I pulled my leg from her grip. Panic filled her eyes as she started to slip beneath the water. She grabbed the edge of the walkway. Grunting with the effort, she began pulling herself up and out of the water.
A shape rose up out of the depths behind her, the indistinct shadow coalescing into the form of a zombie. His hands darted out of the water and fastened onto the woman’s shoulders. She didn’t have time to scream before she was gone, dragged back down into the depths.
The dock rocked beneath my feet. The ocean had already claimed most of it, and it was sinking more quickly than ever. My boots were filled with water and my feet felt like blocks of ice. At least the cold had numbed the pain in my ankle.
I reached the motorboat and grabbed the rope holding it in place. The shifting of the dock had pulled the rope taut, and the boat’s bow was tilting down toward the water. I’d lost the kitchen knife during my unplanned swim, and the rope was too thick to cut with a scalpel. I struggled to loosen the knot, but my hands were too cold. I screamed in frustration.
The dock groaned beneath my feet. One end was completely submerged, and the other was almost level with the top of the motorboat’s windshield. It was enough to slacken the rope. I pulled on it, dragging the boat closer until I was able to lift the loop over the mooring. The rope slipped through my hands and into the water.
The boat began to drift away. I threw myself onto it, landing heavily. Fresh pain shot up my leg. It gave way beneath me, and I crumpled to the deck. My shoulder slammed into one of the seats. I
cried out and rolled onto my back, not sure whether to clutch my shoulder or my ankle while the pain of both injuries threatened to overwhelm me.
Closing my eyes, I took four deep breaths. The scent of burning fuel wafted over me. The idea that it might be the boat that was on fire occurred to me briefly, but I was in too much pain to care. I closed my eyes. Maybe a fiery death wouldn’t be such a bad way to go out.
The boat rose and fell with the water. Sirens and the occasional crackle of gunfire sounded off in the distance, too far away for me to care about. A wave splashed against the side of the boat. Ice-cold droplets of water rained down on my face. The cold cleared away some of the lethargy that had gripped me. I rolled onto my side.
My shoulder ached but it was nothing I couldn’t ignore. My ankle was in worse shape. I’d twisted it when I’d landed and exacerbated the damage the zombie had done. Carefully, I rotated my foot. It hurt but not so badly that I thought it was broken. I pulled myself upright and hobbled to the front of the boat.
I’d drifted about twenty feet from the marina, and the current was steadily pulling me toward the open ocean. A few people moved about on the shore, but they were too far away to tell whether they were the living or the living dead.
I sat down in the pilot’s seat and breathed a sigh of relief. The key was in the ignition. I turned it to the on position and eyed the array of controls. There were a dozen switches, lights, dials and levers. Other than the ignition, the starter button, the throttle and the steering wheel, I didn’t know what any of them did. I silently berated myself for not paying more attention to Eduardo when we’d been out hunting zombies. I’d just have to hope I didn’t need any of the more obscure controls.
I pushed the starter button. The engine roared to life, and the boat coasted forward. I turned west, toward the ocean, and gently pushed forward on the throttle. The engine sputtered and whined for a moment, then the boat accelerated away.
There were two bridges to get past before I’d be out into open water. The first, the Granville Street Bridge, was coming up fast. A ragtag convoy was making their way slowly across the bridge. The front two vehicles were military trucks. Soldiers stood in the back, rifles at the ready. Then came three long, yellow school buses. The engines sounded rough, and their exhausts were spewing thick black fumes. An ambulance and another military truck brought up the rear. The convoy was moving slowly. Every now and again, a shot rang out as a soldier in the front truck picked off a zombie somewhere ahead of them.
As I passed beneath the bridge, I heard shouts and the screeching of poorly maintained brakes. Scattered gunfire broke out. By the time I was past and could see up on the bridge again, the front truck had already been overrun by zombies. The buses were trying to reverse, but they were getting in each other’s way.
A group of soldiers jumped from the rearmost truck and ran along the bridge to help. One of the buses reversed and hit a soldier, pinning him against the side of the bridge. More gunfire. More screams. I turned away and urged the boat forward.
The Burrard Bridge was just up ahead. Flashes of gunfire came from the downtown side. A helicopter was hovering above the center of the bridge. A gunner sat in the side door, spraying bullets left and right.
Whatever effect they were having, it wasn’t enough. Zombies were swarming toward the city. There was a flash and the bang of an explosion. Bodies flew through the air. The firing on the bridge increased, but it had little effect. Every time a zombie went down, two more took its place.
The sight of soldiers brought back images of Fitch trying to escape. I had visions of a sniper seeing me in my little boat and blowing my head off, but I figured they had more important things to worry about.
Two more explosions went off, sending fresh body parts spiraling through the air. A zombie landed on top of the fencing along the side of the bridge, impaled on the decorative spikes along its top.
Then the helicopter peeled off. It swept around and headed back toward the city. The gunfire slowed, then stopped.
I realized why. They were going to blow the bridge. Indecision gripped me. I was almost beneath it. I might be able to turn the boat around in time, or I might be right beneath the bridge when the soldiers triggered the explosives. Even if I turned around in time, once the bridge had been destroyed, I’d be trapped on the wrong side.
I slammed the throttle forward. The engine sputtered again then caught. I was thrown back in the seat as the boat launched forward.
I was almost clear of the bridge when the explosives went off.
Chapter 49
Plans
The first explosion almost knocked me off my feet. I leaned forward, jamming the throttle harder even though there was nowhere left for it to go. Chunks of concrete and other debris rained down around me. Smoke and dust hung in the air. A jagged chunk of stone smashed into the bow of the boat with a crack and bounced into the water.
More charges went off, the sound reverberating off the bridge. Something bounced off my arm, and I muttered my thanks to my jacket for its protection. A piece of metal fencing fell into the water a few feet ahead of me. I spun the steering wheel right. The boat leaned dangerously, and I had to grab hold of the console to stop from falling. Metal clanged off the hull, but I was past.
I straightened up as the third explosion tore through the bridge. It was the largest of the three charges. More debris pummeled the water around the boat. Several chunks landed with heavy thumps behind me. There was a crack and the sound of breaking concrete and the bridge collapsed.
The water around the boat rose, and the front tipped forward. I fell into the console, smacking my jaw on the instrument panel. Blood filled my mouth.
The boat was carried forward. I wasn’t sure whether I should ease off of the throttle and let it settle, try to turn against the waves or just leave be and ride it out. In the end, I just pointed it toward open water and hoped for the best. More debris fell around the boat. A chunk of burning plastic crashed into the deck beside me. I grabbed a fire extinguisher and blasted the flames before they could take hold.
Gradually, the swell died down, and I was able to look back toward the bridge. Whoever had wired the explosives had left nothing to chance. The bridge was gone completely. There were no chunks of concrete or strips of road protruding from the waves. No mangled remains. Just a patch of foaming water and a cloud of slowly dissipating dust.
The boat’s engine spluttered and there was a thump from somewhere under the hull. I eased off on the throttle.
The city was on my right. A handful of buildings were on fire, sending plumes of smoke up into the sky. The rest of the city was bathed in darkness. Cali was out there somewhere. Infected. Unless someone had killed her. I felt a brief pang of sadness, then the shadow rose up inside me, urging me to push those thoughts aside. I had other things to worry about.
My supplies were gone, so I had no food and no water. The boat’s fuel gauge read three-quarters full, but I had no idea how far that would get me. Even if I had, I didn’t know where I was going. There were a few small islands just off the coast, but they’d be inhabited. I wanted to be alone.
There was a small compartment beneath the console. I opened it and found a medical kit, a crumpled carton containing a single cigarette, the boat’s operating manual, and some old fishing magazines.
The medical kit was basic, just a few cloth bandages, Band-Aids and some antibacterial gel. There was a half-full canister of over-the-counter pain killers, though. I tipped out four and swallowed them.
The operating manual went into excruciating detail about the maintenance schedule I should be following, but there was more practical information, too. Now I could find out what all the various controls meant. The magazines were less useful, but I found a map tucked in among them.
I cut the engine and laid the map out on the deck. It covered about an eight-hundred-square-mile area west of the city. There were dozens of islands. Some had towns and ports, but others were too small or too inaccessib
le. One of those would be the perfect place for me to shelter. I might even be able to find food.
I grabbed the operating manual again and found the specifications section. According to the manufacturer, a full tank of fuel gave the boat a range of 250 miles, under perfect conditions. I halved the distance to take into account the lack of fuel and whatever perfect conditions might mean and went back to the map.
There was a cluster of islands in the top corner of the map. They were small, with no indication that they were inhabited. I checked the distance. With luck, they’d be in range.
I tapped the map, nervous. Part of me wanted to head to the nearest habitable island. Surely everyone would have evacuated? If they hadn’t, the shadow and I could deal with them. Where there were people, there would be food and something to help with the pain in my leg. There was no navigation computer in the boat, and it would be easy to get lost. It was the safest option.
I checked the map again. There were plenty of other islands that would act as landmarks, at least until the last few miles. I felt the shadow twist inside me. I pressed my hand against the toolkit in my pocket. The feeling of it there brought a surge of confidence. The uninhabited island it was.
I folded the map to make it more manageable and slipped it into a holder on the console. Then I started the engine and pushed forward on the throttle. The engine whined, coughed, and ground to a halt. I pulled the throttle back and tried again. There was a harsh clanking sound. Hurriedly, I turned the engine off.
Despair washed over me. I sat in the chair, my shoulders slumped for maybe four minutes before I could bring myself to move. I tapped the fuel gauge. It still read three-quarters full. The engine had been working. It was responding to the throttle, but something was stopping it from running properly. There was probably just something tangled up in the blades, a piece of rope maybe.
Serial Killer Z: Shadows Page 25
