Tenants Harbor is a typical New England seaside town and a great place to spend your summer vacation, go sailing, play golf, check out some galleries, and eat lots of seafood. Now it was teaming with the undead. Under full sail, our entrance did not go unnoticed. They quickly rushed to the shore and crowded the docks, climbing over each other and pushing those in front into the water just to get a good look at us. They reached their arms and fingertips as far as possible, eyes almost pleading. There were hundreds of them with more coming. The crowd let out a collective muted roar, as we got closer. I had never seen so many in one place and shuddered at the thought of what Portsmouth or Boston would look like. The wind shifted and the stench was unbelievable. Out of the crowd, I noticed one in particular. She was tall, blonde and would have been SI swimsuit beautiful in real life. She wore the remnants of what looked like a wedding gown, soiled and torn. One breast exposed and stumbling on high heels was both an erotic and depressing sight. It jolted my brain and I realized that I would probably never make love again. I tried to think back to the last time, a couple of years ago, for the life of me, I just can’t remember her face.
We had agreed upon a carefully planned routine for a boat we wanted to board. First Robert would sound the bullhorn siren to announce our presence. We then hailed the vessel to see if any of the living was on board. Armed and ready to go, we would circle the vessel checking out all angles. Once it looked like the coast was clear, we would approach along side, I leap on, shotgun at the ready, and Robert would pull away. The plan is that if I ran into anything I thought I couldn't handle, I would jump into the water and swim for him. Once things looked safe, I would signal him to come along side and tie off. Both of us, would them go below and check things out. We would initially make a lot of noise to get any creatures inside excited, then wait, and listen. Closed locked doors were always the worst and I fired a few rounds opening them. You just didn’t know what would come charging out or just be sitting in there waiting. Once the boat was cleared, we went shopping.
The raids were a great success. We got plenty of gas, batteries, food, water, and Dewars. We also stocked up on non-essentials like flares, clothing, books, toiletries, and just about anything else we thought we needed. With only the two of us, space was not an issue. We only encountered two zombies, both quickly dispatched. They were aboard a large yacht where we enjoyed a late breakfast, showered, and scored an additional shotgun and ammo. There was still more boats to raid, but we had plenty and were ready to move on. Robert thought it was a good idea that once we found a semi-permanent ‘home’, a database should be compiled of all boats and locations that we had visited, what we took and what was left behind. Great idea, but with the lack of electricity and the scarcity of batteries, we would have to do it by hand. So much for the Excel refresher course I took at night last semester.
As we made our way out of the harbor, another sailboat appeared in the distance heading north. Robert fired a flare but she tacked away. Since heading north was not in our game plan, we did not pursue, but headed south to Monhegan Island.
When not listening to Robert or playing with string (it’s a knot thing), I monitored the radio and scanned various frequencies. There was, surprisingly, a lot of activity. We got a few French speaking groups out of Nova Scotia, a bunch of rural Maine, and a few New Hampshire communities were still with us and EAS was running, although it was the same crap from last week about staying indoors and obeying state and federal authorities. We also connected with a few other boats. The general gist was that if you were rural and alert, you might have a chance, anywhere near a population center and you were SOL. No one really had much current information and everyone told the same story about how this all happened faster than expected. A few were actually waiting for rescue believing that there was still a government, that somebody out there cared and was going to save them. Some of the groups we talked with were in short wave contact with Europe and the Caribbean, but they were in the same situation as the U.S., fucked. We also caught some rumors about naval activity south of us and about something that was happening on Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket. Each group had its own idea of how to save themselves. Like us, some were heading south, some north; ‘embrace the cold and freeze the fuckers’, others staying quiet and staying put. Two of the communities in southern Maine were going nowhere. They were under siege.
We made contact with a fishing boat, the Queequeg, about ten miles, and her captain, Josh, who informed us that Monhegan was a complete loss.
“It looks like most of the village has burned. Some small fires were still going and lots of smoke inland. From the amount of boats, my guess is a whole bunch of people had the same idea we had. The harbor was packed and there are wrecks all around the island. Over.”
“What about shore activity? Over.”
“Plenty of them on shore. Seeing is believing. We counted over two hundred in the village area. Couldn't get anywhere near land without attracting their attention, under power we are anything but stealthy. We’re not well armed and made no attempt to land. It's that bad everywhere? Over.”
“It’s worse on the mainland, Josh, a real shit storm. What about the moored boats? Is there anything to interest us?”
“Sorry, Robert, but between the Queequeg and some others, we seemed to have picked the harbor clean. Might be worth a visit, your needs are different from ours. Did see a couple of sailboats in the distance but they wanted nothing to do with us. We are a bit screwed when it comes to fuel. Plenty of food, but hell, man, we're a fishing boat!” I was relieved the ‘over’ game had stopped.
“I guess we’re back to putting our thinking caps on. So, where to now, Josh?”
“Well, we were in the George's Banks when things really took off, sat tight for a while and followed the news over the satellite and radio. We all thought maybe it would blow over like the yearly flu or that the US would figure out how to deal with it. Monhegan woke us up and well...the crew took a vote. It was unanimous. We are going home.”
“Where's home?”
“New Bedford,” Joshua said quietly in that classic Massachusetts accent.
We looked at each other in disbelief, are they insane? New Bedford is a famous old whaling town tucked between Providence and Boston. New Bedford is suicide.
“You sure? It’s going to make the island look mild. There's nothing left there for you and your crew, Josh. Do you really want to see what happened to everyone you loved?”
“Yeah, well, we talked it over and over. We have to go back...it's our home.” You could tell from his voice that we could say nothing, because they had made up their minds and I hoped, found some peace in the decision. Like the woman in the grocery store, I could not help them.
“How about you, Robert?”
“We’re heading south, maybe find a small Caribbean island, and try to wait this thing out.”
Josh laughed, “Sounds a hell of a lot more comfortable than North! Good luck.”
“God speed, Queequeg.”
“And to you, Providence. Over and out.”
“Damn,” Robert stared at the radio. He shut it off and we stood there in silence for a minute.
He cocked his head and looked at me. “Queequeg?”
“Moby Dick,” I answered.
“Never read it.”
“Don't worry, most people haven't, unless forced too.”
“Were you forced?”
“No.”
“I could have guessed that one.”
Why would you go into a certain death trap? I know we all have to handle what had happened in our own way, but they hadn't seen the complete devastation and horror. I prayed that as they got closer, the shit would really sink in and they would change their minds.
“So, what's next on the agenda? We've still got lots of…”
“Hold on a second, John, I got something on radar! It’s big, not industrial.”
“How far?”
“About twenty-five miles east, they might be heading for the is
land. Looks like we both had the same brain fart.”
“Well, misery loves company.”
“Let’s check her out!”
Our spirits were up after Tenants Harbor and the prospect of actually meeting people made everything all that much better. The wind picked up and the day cooled down. We yakked away the next couple of hours telling stories and lies. I fed Robert cold beers and me cold Cokes. A gull overhead, the smell of the sea and the sound of the boat ripping through the water are nothing short of magical. It is hard not to imagine that this was just a normal great day, two friends, a wonderful boat, and a whole ocean in front of us. You could almost relax.
As we got closer, we could see that the boat was a nice motor yacht, and by nice, I mean ‘frigin’ big. Robert said it was custom built and could easily hold twenty in style, not including staff. It was the kind of thing the villain usually has in James Bond films. As we got closer, the tension mounted. She had not responded to any of our hails and never attempted to change course or speed. We saw movement on board and it definitely looked like the living. We were not expecting a big welcome, but a hello would go a long way to making us feel less nervous. She could clearly see us and we stayed a very healthy distance off her stern. Eventually, I could see at least two on deck, scanning at us through large binoculars. It looked like they were wearing some kind of uniform. After ten minutes, still nothing! I mean if they were concerned, they could take their helicopter and check us out.
“What the hell? I don't think they are infected and they can clearly see that we aren’t. You would think they would at least want to talk and see what's up, trade info.”
“John, you don’t watch that much television, do you? My guess is that anyone who can afford something like that, does not wish to slum with our likes. Why take the risk? We have nothing they want.” He took one long look at the behemoth.
“Let's get the hell out of here.”
We tacked away from her and headed west, back for the coast.
“Call me naïve, but THAT is fucked up!” I looked up at Robert, “The world has gone to hell in a hand basket and we are still dealing with this shit!”
Robert gave me that fatherly stare, “Why take the risk? And yes, you’re naïve.”
We anchored at sundown in some nondescript cove and crashed.
June 1st
I woke up with a massive dehydration headache and feeling shitty. The days in the sun were taking their toll. After passing several harbors and lots of boats, we came upon a very interesting prospect. It was a lighthouse sitting on a small island about maybe fifty yards from shore. It was larger than Molly’s Rock, and even had a few small trees and in patches, a real lawn. The whole island was surrounded by fifteen to twenty foot cliffs, but on the lee side, the cliffs dipped to maybe five feet, and there was a small dock. The only real issue was that almost directly across from this dock, was the small village of God’s Haven. It's a place you go in the summer to experience the “real” old New England and take lots of photos of this lighthouse. A small cove for sailboats with a traditional old school Maine town built on a hill that winds down to a long wooden wharf lined with restaurants and souvenir shops. It was also a jumping off point for whale watching tours. And yes, there were zombies. They saw us and flooded down to the dock. In five minutes, we had forty with more coming from deeper in the village.
We were coming up on low tide and we decided to see if the channel offered any real protection, and we would sail through. Time for us not to repeat our last fuck-up. Sure enough, it was plenty deep with a fast current that even at low tide, and would offer us a decent barrier. As we passed the wharf, the undead were whipped into a frenzy. They made a collective roar and reached out almost pleading for us to come closer. As the crowd followed the boats progress, two fell into the water and just disappeared, we never saw them surface.
Robert had a big smile on his face. “This could be a real winner!”
We were tired, Robert more so since he had done all the sailing and planning. We dropped sail and decided to motor around it one more time, nice and slow. We gave several bullhorn blasts and hails, but nothing answered from the lighthouse. The building itself looked to have been made sometime in the nineteenth century and was in very good shape. The tower was about seventy-five feet high with a twenty-five yard covered pathway leading to a beautiful two-story house. All the buildings were painted in white with red roofs, with the exception of the tower whose top was black with a large metal walkway encircling the light itself. Everything was freshly painted and the dock and stairs well maintained. I had seen an automated light on the way in and assumed this place was preserved for either historic reasons or a private residence. Either way, we were going in.
This was a gamble, as there could be a dozen zombies inside the house and tower, although this seemed unlikely. If we were going to investigate, we had to go one hundred percent. Still, far too little time had passed not to have that déjà vu feeling. We quickly tied off and went up the stairs and still no sign of trouble. At the far side of the house was a small modern windmill, something I hadn’t noticed during our circumnavigation, things were looking better and better. Nice day. The tower had only one door and it was closed. Better day.
“Ever seen one open a door?” Robert asked.
“No. You?”
“Not yet. John, let’s hold up here for a second.” We were midway between the tower and house. I went to one knee and just assumed nothing was coming up my backside, Robert pulled out his binoculars.
“Okay… Lots of the blinds have been pulled upstairs. Morning sun is giving me excellent light.” Robert continued his scan for at least another minute, while I tried to relax and control my breathing. Please let this fucker work out.
“Looks good, front door is closed. Okay, nice and easy.”
The house was made of wood with glistening white clapboard. Two stories, a small porch and a well manicured yard. Very tasteful, very nice, very expensive. This place did not give the ‘historical society’ vibe. Part of the yard was segregated by a white picket fence and had a small flagpole still flying the stars and stripes. Jackpot!
There was a large window to the right of the windowless main door. Reflection from the sun made it difficult to see inside. Feeling a bit giddy and positive that we have this in the bag, I moved on to the porch and listened. After about a minute of silence and without really thinking it through, I cupped my hands and put my face to the glass.
Okay, stairway, no movement, a couple of doors, no movement, and… “Shit!” I screamed and fell back, dropping the shotgun and popping my glasses off. Within an inch of the glass was the face of a large obese woman. She had that grey waxy look, long stringy greasy hair, bulging blank bloodshot eyes, and bloody drool oozing from her nose and the corner of her mouth. It fucking freaked me out. Our face had to have been no more than three inches apart.
“Oh fuck, there's one in there!” I was shaking and hyperventilating.
Robert, from a more reasonable distance, looked in.
“I don't see anything.”
“Oh, she’s there!”
“Could she be alive? It didn't attack.”
“Nooo, I don't think so.” I had recovered my stuff and trained the Mossberg on the window.
He took a long look at me. “How are you doing?”
“Great, you know without a couple of millimeters of silica, I would have been locking lips with one of the undead, and not one of the better looking ones.” I was still breathing heavily and more than a little embarrassed by my reaction. But hey, give me a break, that was close.
“Okay, you know the routine. I'll get the door and you get the zombie.” My heart still raced.
“How about I get the door and you get the zombie? Spice things up a bit.”
“Sorry, son, but you're the one carrying the big stick. Be careful,” he laughed.
Robert went up to the door. The hinges indicated that the screen door would open outward and the main door in
ward. I stood about twenty feet away, shotgun at the ready. Robert pulled the screen door open and secured it with a convenient hook. It was well oiled and it did not make a sound. Robert glanced over to me and I gave him the thumbs up. As soon as he twisted the knob and pushed, he would quickly back off to avoid catching any of my blast. This all assumes the door is not locked and the zombie will come out.
“Okay, John, on three. Ready? One, two, three.”
He slowly turned the knob and pushed.
The door soundlessly swung inward and nothing. Wow, twice in a row, what’s going to happen this time? The inside is dark and from our angle all we could see is a small foyer with steps leading to the second floor. So we waited. After about a minute, the sun started to get really hot and the back of my neck was itchy.
I looked over to Robert and mouthed, “Where the hell is zom…”
With a gurgling roar, out charged two-hundred and fifty pounds of naked pissed off zombie. At about five-five she looked almost spherical. She charged at me with cartoon-like strides. The sight was surreal and I waited a second longer than I normally would, so she was really close to the barrel when I fired. The shot obliterated her head. I mean there was nothing left! Just like in the movies.
“Holy shit!” I yelled.
Robert was in his firing stance and edging to get a better shot should something else come through the open door. He glanced over at the corpse.
“Whoa! Holy Cow! That’s a keeper. Hey, where the hell do you think Mister Orca is?” he yelled.
“I don't see any movement inside. Let’s give it a second.” I dropped to one knee to give me a better stance and regain my composure. I didn’t look over at the human whale, but was sure there had to be more. It was just then that I realized I had almost never seen a zombie alone.
After a good minute and no sound or movement, I stood and went to the open door.
Robert was a few yards behind me scanning for threats other than from inside the house. The place gave off a slightly rotten smell. Not too powerful, but it definitely had a zombie funk.
Brutal Planet: A Zombie Novel Page 5
