In his extremity, Randy was able to push the cloth out of his mouth with his tongue, past the length of rope. It hung at his lips like a wadded up bib. He began to plead for Bonnie’s life. “Please, she’s choking. Help her, just…please, just take the goddamn rag out of her mouth! Please! Can’t you see she’s dying? Can’t you see that? Take that rag out of her mouth and–”
John Smith knelt next to them with a look of deep concern on his features. He pulled the ropes that tied them back-to-back, yanking them upright to a seated posture. Randy heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you, tha–”
John shoved the rag back into Randy’s mouth and tied the rope tighter. Then he brought the gun up and shot Bonnie in the head.
Randy tried to pull in a breath and he nearly aspirated the cloth that was already halfway down his throat. He’d felt it; he’d felt Bonnie jump as the bullet entered her brain. Her head had bumped his, but not hard; it was almost a companionable knock, a friendly, billy-goat head butt. Now her dead weight sagged against Randy’s back, pulling him over again. He could feel the rush of hot blood that flowed between them. He looked at John Smith, his eyes wide in shock, all the color drained from his tired and puffy face.
“I’m sorry, but that was just too…that was just gross,” John said. “With the mucous and the…she peed her pants, are you aware of that?” John’s face had a look of mildly disgusted incredulity. He shook his head at Randy and then looked at Brian who sat, stunned and shaking, in the deck chair. He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sorry but it was gross. It was just gross. And anyway…” He turned toward the salon doors, head tilted, listening. “Oh ho…we have company coming.”
Lightning flashed again, reflecting in the blood that pooled around Bonnie and Randy. Thunder clapped like a judgment and Randy felt a corresponding burst in his chest that shot down his arm, numbing it. He couldn’t pull a breath. He greeted the pain with gratitude and smiled, closing his eyes. At least we won’t rise again, thank god, thank god for that at least, he thought and then: Wait Bonnie; wait for me, honey bunny, I’m right behind you. Then his heart stopped for good.
The rain rolled over ThreeBees, cold and stinging, as if the heavens themselves had been shocked into tears by John Smith’s actions.
Dr. Rafiq stood at the salon doorway, his face a frozen mask of horror as he took in the confusion of the scene before him. Candy, however, standing behind Dr. Rafiq with Samantha at her side, had her eyes trained on John Smith. The rain hit the deck and bounced back up to where she stood, splashing against her ankles and shins, making it feel uncannily as though someone was pricking her skin with small pins.
She reached to push Samantha behind her. She had assessed the situation in an instant, remembering John from Flyboy, understanding fully and without hesitation what he was. She wanted only to get Samantha away from him.
John smiled, seemingly oblivious to the rain that ran in rivulets down his face. “Hello, Candy! Dr. Rafiq!” He had to yell to be heard over the drumming. His eyes had developed a crazy spin that only Candy could see. “I have a proposition for you both.”
Sami started to step out onto the deck and Candy stayed him with a hand on his bicep. She looked up into his deep, mournful brown eyes. She loved him so much. He was the kindest, most thoughtful person she’d ever met. “Save Samantha,” she said and stepped past him and onto the deck, pulling the sliding glass door closed behind her.
She didn’t look back.
She walked the few feet to John Smith without acknowledging Brian, never glancing at the sad hump of Bonnie and Randy. She stood before John, arms crossed over her chest. The rain plastered her thin blonde hair flat to her skull and the delicate, white contours of her face were lit by another flash of lightning. Mascara and eye shadow combined in a blue-black slide under her eyes. She looked bruised. Damaged.
Her eyes twirled as busily as his.
“What’s your proposition?”
John took a small step back. “Don’t come any closer or I’ll shoot you.” Even though she was tiny, he felt crowded by her…almost…intimidated? She intimidated him? How was that possible? Why was that possible?
He licked his lips. “I want you and that doctor to…I’m taking you over to Flyboy and you have to fight…fight each other, I mean. Then I want you to…after you fight, you have to…”
She stared at him and then her eyes slitted, catlike. “I think I know…what you want to see…” She reached into her rain-soaked nightgown and lifted a breast into the deep v opening. She pinched her dark pink areola and it reddened instantly, rain slipping over and down her inflamed nipple. She stepped closer to him. “This?” she said and twisted again. “And this?” She slapped herself across the face. Hard.
John felt the warmth start across the area just under his bellybutton. When she slapped herself again, he felt an excited lift and fall, like being on a roller coaster.
Within seconds, she was up against him, her breast still out and painfully red, a bruise beginning on her cheekbone. And still the mascara seemed to have no end as it flowed down her cheeks like tears of blackest sin. She looked up into his eyes. She smiled emptily.
He flushed a deep red. He’d never felt flustered before, never felt anything even approaching…shame? Was this shame? Or was this lust? He wasn’t sure. Her eyes were so flat, so unflinching, unfeeling. It was like talking to a life size doll or…then he realized. He realized why she was both familiar and uncomfortable.
He leaned closer, squinting, staring intently into her flat but somehow twirling eyes. He was amazed in his own limited way.
“You’re like me,” he said, his voice full of quiet awe.
“Not exactly,” Candy whispered and she brought her knee up into his engorged dick.
He brought the gun up sharply even as he doubled over and caught Candy under her chin, splitting it and flinging her head back. She stumbled and toppled over onto her back, hitting her head. John Smith groaned, gasping, and brought the gun up again, straining against the pain in his groin.
The sliding glass door trundled back on its track and Sami stepped out, yelling. “No! Don’t shoot her!”
John smiled, grimacing, stuggling to stand straighter, ignoring the pain. The rain and sweat mixed together and ran down into his eyes, making him blink. He brought the gun up higher, shaking, but trained on Dr. Rafiq. “How about…I shoot you…instead?” John gasped out, his finger tightening on the trigger. Lightning flashed again.
“How about: no?” Maggie said from behind him and drove the iron horseshoe stake into his shoulder. He reared back, reaching for it, his eyes rolling to Maggie, bringing the gun around. Sami kicked him in the chest, toppling him backward over the rail.
~ ~ ~
They couldn’t find him. They’d looked, but then the storm had gone beyond a hindrance to dangerous. Then it had gotten even worse. It rocked the Barbra’s Bay Breeze fiercely at her anchor.
They huddled in the salon to watch the fury being flung down from above, not wanting to separate into the staterooms. They looked like survivors of a war. Maggie ran her fingers lightly over the cut on her forehead. Her lip was swollen, too. She put her head in her hands and breathed deeply, trying to chase the remains of the poisoned adrenalin from her system.
When she and Steve had gotten close enough to ThreeBees to see that John Smith was aboard, Maggie had pulled the jet ski around to the side of the boat. Under cover of the storm, she had swum to the back to see what she could do. The only weapons she had were the ones she’d carried from Flyboy–the horseshoe posts.
After it was done and Dr. Rafiq was seeing to Candy and Brian, Maggie had gone to the side and given Steve the all clear and he’d come around and then he and Maggie had driven the perimeter of ThreeBees. They hadn’t seen a single sign of John Smith.
“I think he sank. I think he’d been on the verge of changing anyway and…” She shook her head and pulled her sweater tighter around her. She’d never been so happy to have dry clothes. The skin on her h
ands and feet was still puckered from the overexposure to water.
“You think he was infected?” Candy asked from the short loveseat. She, too, was in dry clothes–a skin-tight, pink track-suit–with Samantha sleeping curled in her lap. Candy ran her hands over and over Samantha’s soft blond hair. Sami sat with his arm around Candy; he seemed unable to take his eyes from her. Brian sat nearby in a club chair. He stared out the window, his arms crossed over his chest. He hadn’t said anything since they’d gathered together.
“I think so. But I don’t know for sure. Not really.” Maggie rearranged the ice on Steve’s forehead and he smiled up at her from the long couch he lay on, then he closed his eyes again.
Dave had radioed from Big Daddy, saying he’d found no survivors and had finally packed it in; the storm was just too violent. He was glad to hear that Maggie and Steve had both made it back to ThreeBees, but even that good news was tempered by the losses they’d had today. They’d lost twelve people…thirteen if you counted John Smith. But no one wanted to count him. And, of course, it seemed certain now that they’d lost everyone on Flyboy.
Maggie stood at the salon door and looked out at the bodies of Bonnie and Randy although it hurt her to look at them. They were like lost children, huddled together, afraid of the storm. At least all the blood had washed away.
Then she glanced out the window at the vague, gray shape of Flyboy in the distance. All those sinkers, just wandering around over there…it made her sad and sick at the same time.
She shivered and turned away.
Chapter Sixteen
September 16, 2010
Dr. Rafiq looked at the board on the bridge then he glanced back at Steve. “We are ready to leave at any time. As soon as you and Maggie get back, we can go.”
Steve nodded and ruffled the hair on Samantha’s head then dropped a captain’s hat onto her head. She sat in a crew seat next to Dr. Rafiq and the hat was miles too big for her. It kept tilting over, covering one eye.
“You look more like a pirate than a captain, Sammy-girl! Where’s your parrot?” Steve asked her and she giggled, bringing her hands to her mouth. She was still much too thin, waifish even, and her nightmares were terrifying to everyone aboard ThreeBees. But Candy was changing all that. Samantha was better now than she’d been before, that much was obvious. Candy was just the person for the job of bringing a child through this new world, too. She had the strength, the resources. Steve knew that Sami was in awe of Candy and truth be told, Steve was a little in awe of her, too. Even though she also put him on edge. There was just something about her. Something off.
He wondered: once they got south, Florida or maybe even further…would he and Maggie split away from Candy and Dr. Rafiq and Samantha? Or would they wait until next season and when the time came to trek north again, maybe he and Maggie would have found their own ThreeBees by then. Or would everything change once they ran across other people? Steve didn’t know. And he was tired of thinking about it.
He looked out at the shore. It was deserted. They hadn’t seen any other survivors for the past month and had decided to pull stakes now, in September, to give them time to beat the weather by getting to a warmer clime.
He smiled at Dr. Rafiq. “Feeling pretty confident, huh? Those lessons paying off?”
Dr. Rafiq laughed and nodded. “Yes, we can sail this boat anywhere, now! Just please, providence, spare us any major storms until we are very good at it!”
Everyone had learned the fundamentals of driving the yacht; even Samantha was included in the lessons. And Steve had begun daily training in firearms. Also for everyone, although Steve kept a very careful watch on Samantha. He had been against teaching the little girl, but Candy had insisted in her implacable manner and Steve had relented. It still bothered him to watch Samantha shoot…but he guessed it might save her life one day.
Candy was also teaching Samantha how to fight, and Dr. Rafiq was trying to temper the nightmares by teaching the girl how to meditate. Together, they made extraordinary parents. Samantha would become an exceptional woman.
Steve shivered and his arms rashed out in superstitious goosebumps. It was as though a part of his brain was telling him that imagining a future would cause it not to be. He shook his head and smiled at Dr. Rafiq, but it was perfunctory. Now that the goose had walked over his grave, the day seemed a little darker.
He wanted to find Maggie.
Maggie and Candy stood together on the deck of ThreeBees, pulling in the last of the laundry. They had been very lucky so far with the weather, breezy and warm and very few storms…nothing as bad as the one they’d had the night Flyboy fell to the sinkers.
Candy saw Steve before Maggie did. “Samantha okay?”
“Yep, she’s with the Doc, she’s fine.” He smiled at her concern. She surveyed him levelly and then bent back to the sheet she’d been folding. The new white scar on her chin barely showed.
He caught Maggie’s glance. He knew that her train of thought was similar to what his own had been up on the bridge: there was no one more fitted to keeping Samantha safe than Candy.
“Want help carrying them below?” Maggie asked as Candy tucked everything into the basket.
“No, I’ve got it. Besides, I guess you and Steve better get going. There are only a few things left to see to over here and I can take care of them. Then we can head south.” She put her hand on her hips. “I guess that raft is long gone.”
“Brian and I couldn’t find a trace of it anywhere,” Steve said, slightly irritated. He didn’t know why Candy couldn’t get off the topic of the raft. It’s not as though they’d need it, they still had the rowboat if there was trouble. “Storm took it away would be my guess. It was pretty light, you know. Just a rubber life raft.”
“How is Brian doing?” Maggie asked, remembering that Steve had talked to him earlier today.
“He’s good; he likes being on Big Daddy. Although he did say he hopes we run across some girls his age at some point.”
“I think he’ll get his wish as we move south. We’ve seen a few boats heading that direction.”
Steve nodded. “Yeah, he’ll find a girlfriend. Get a boat of his own, someday.” He was staring moodily at Flyboy and Maggie wondered if a goose had run over his grave. He seemed a little down all of a sudden.
She also wondered at ‘a boat of his own, someday’. Is that the way it was going to be? Had it become a seafaring world? What about food? Crops? Things like that? Canned goods wouldn’t last forever and forays onto land would only get more dangerous as they cleared the shorelines and had to travel further in.
She shook her head. She wouldn’t think about it, now. Wouldn’t worry about it. She sloshed a gas can, listening to the contents. It was wasteful, what they were about to do. But it needed to be done.
It was the only decent thing to do.
Just like when they’d wrapped Bonnie and Randy in clean white sheets before sliding them into the water of the bay from the big rowboat. Steve had said a few words, officiating because Maggie had been too close to tears. Candy and Dr. Rafiq had not come along, electing instead to stay on ThreeBees. They hadn’t known Bonnie and Randy, really.
Maggie followed Steve’s gaze to Flyboy. Even thought the day was clear and bright, a pall seemed to hang over the formerly beautiful super yacht. She knew it was a figment of her own mind brought on by knowing the contents of the boat, but still…she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was haunted.
Maybe it is though, in a way, she thought. The ghosts on Flyboy are just slightly more substantial than the accepted definition of a spirit…in body, anyway. In mind, the sinkers are even less substantial than their ethereal counterparts. The walking dead seemed to have very little thinking brain and possibly nothing left in the way of souls. Maybe that soulessness contributed to the sinking.
Maggie hated the idea of someone coming across Flyboy, maybe at night when she was shrouded in fog, beckoning with her long, elegant white body. They would go aboard and step into a
nightmare they most likely hadn’t experienced since their own tragic story occurred back in June; back when everyone’s story had suddenly turned tragic.
And Carl, most of all. That hurt Maggie to think about. For she knew he must still be tethered on that deck, being slowly picked apart by seagulls. Straining against his chain as he struggled to catch one of the coldly intelligent birds.
Fire. Fire would put an end to all of it: the enticement to go aboard, and all the sinkers…Jade, Carl, even Adam…no one deserved that soulless life of hungry shuffling. No one deserved that as their ongoing epitaph.
There were only two jet skis tied up at the back of ThreeBees now that they were getting ready to move. They were the big ones, though. Candy was also teaching Samantha how to drive one.
Steve and Maggie got on one together.
“Big waste of diesel. We might end up regretting it,” Steve said and Maggie grabbed him around the middle and rested her face on his back.
“We’ll get a boat with sails, how’s that sound to you?” she said and squeezed again.
He marveled that she was still one step ahead of him. Then he became distracted by her arms, by the hug. It felt so good to be hugged by someone so warm.
He turned in the seat and she sat up, looking at him expectantly. She was smiling, but it was tinged with sadness for what they were about to do. He planted a kiss on her forehead and one on her nose.
“Ready?” he asked and she nodded.
He keyed the jet ski to life and they drove toward Flyboy, gas cans tied to either side of the jet. It was enough to get the boat started.
Then she’d burn.
All on her own.
Epilogue
A beautiful sailboat called SillySally sat idly at anchor, four people playing cards on her deck as twilight set in. They were on their way south from Maine and had been going slowly, trying as much as possible to enjoy the trip.
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