by Bob Howard
The group was in agreement that we needed to see what was happening along the coast. There were more infected dead than usual, and they couldn’t all be coming from the sunken Mercy ship. While we were at it, it wouldn’t hurt to see if we can tow a buoy back from Georgetown to here, and we can place it over the wreckage of the ship.
It didn’t take long for us to exit from behind Mud Island at the southern tip, but we slowed our progress just enough to be sure the two Navy ships had not decided to stay in the area.
Everyone was concentrating on the shoreline, watching for the infected. The story was the same everywhere. The infected were drawn from the trees by the sound of our twin engines, and we watched as they walked into the water as easily as if it had been a paved road. The blue crabs would undoubtedly be harvesting the dead for weeks.
There was no need to talk, and we were all too fascinated by the large numbers of the infected. The only time anyone said anything at length was when Hampton speculated that it was like a rebound. So many thousands of the infected had moved toward Georgetown only to find they couldn’t go further than the river. Some still tried to walk out onto the mud flats and were inevitably stuck when the mud sucked on their legs, but plenty of them just turned around and began walking back the way they had come.
Highway 17 to Georgetown was once again a parade of the infected, but they had become so spread out along the banks of the river at Georgetown that thousands had left the road and begun going north through the trees along the intracoastal waterway. Thousands more had turned west, only to find themselves hemmed in by the river as it meandered north toward Myrtle Beach. Some tried to cross the river on that side, some bounced back and joined the unholy parade on Highway 17, and some crossed the highway walking straight toward the coast.
Whichever way they chose to go, everyone was getting their fair share, and there was no reason to expect that the migration wouldn’t repeat itself as the infected dead met with obstacles toward the north that would turn them around and send them back to Mud Island.
Hampton tapped Bus on the shoulder and pointed at something in the distance. Then he pointed further out toward the ocean.
I followed the direction he had pointed first and saw a lighthouse. Hampton turned to the rest of us to explain as we felt Bus turning the boat to go further out to sea.
“That’s the North Island Lighthouse. When you can see it from the ocean, it means you’re approaching Winyah Bay where the Great Pee Dee and Waccamaw Rivers meet. You need to watch out for the jetty that extends from the tip of land south of the lighthouse.”
Bus steered them far enough out to sea to go around the jetty and then head back toward the mouth of the bay. As we approached the stretch of beach where the jetty touched land, we were amazed by the number of infected that were walking out of the trees. The only explanation had to be that they walked into the rivers and were carried by the current, eventually washing ashore on the narrow strip of land near the lighthouse.
Hampton said, “Those infected will never come north again. This spit of land is totally surrounded by water, and they’re going to be a food source for blue crabs for the next ten years or so.”
The thought that there was a nature preserve that was fully stocked with the infected was not particularly reassuring, but at least they couldn’t get out without becoming fish food.
We couldn’t hear them over the sound of our engines as we went by, but if Bus had cut the engine power, it was obvious that we would. They crowded out onto the shoreline and walked senselessly into the deeper water, disappearing as they tried to reach for us.
Jean checked in with Molly to give her a progress report, and Molly said she had received a message from the Army at Fort Sumter. She referred to them as “our friends in the hotel” just in case the Navy heard the broadcast.
They all wondered what it meant when Molly told them the Army said the Chief was going to go into professional landscaping when this was all over. There was something about a weed-whacker, but we all knew the Chief well enough to know it had to be one of his crazy stunts. If the Navy was listening, they undoubtedly thought it was some kind of code.
Jean asked Molly to relay that there were more tourists out celebrating the good beach weather than usual. She figured the Navy wouldn’t have a hard time figuring out that one for themselves, but there was no sense in giving away their position by saying it openly.
Bus had cut their forward speed down to a slow pace as they entered Winyah Bay. There were shoals and debris in the water that could sink a power boat that was carrying seven heavily armed adults. Their weapons and ammunition weighed considerably more than fishing gear, so they were drafting deeper than normal.
Georgetown came up on the port side, and Colleen instinctively laid one hand on Hampton’s left shoulder. He appreciated the gesture and brought his right hand up to cover hers, but he didn’t take his eyes off of the town.
There was nothing moving in the ruins that lined the river near the base of the bridge they had partially collapsed, but what disturbed us all the most was the ropes that hung from the remains of the bridge. A row of struggling but obviously dead corpses hung from the ropes, the nooses tied tightly around the necks. One rope was empty, and they could only assume that the head had detached from the body. The combination of decay and struggling had eventually separated the head from the heavier part below the noose.
“Guys,” said Jean, “how long would it take for the infected to wiggle around until that happens?”
Being a doctor, Bus was the best qualified person in the boat to give an opinion.
“Not too long,” said Bus. “Weather conditions could speed up or slow down the process some, but I would have to say a week at the longest.”
“You’re saying those are recent?” asked Tom.
Bus nodded and cut the engine at the same time. He let the current grab the bow and turn them around to face back the way they had come. Everyone felt the danger at the same time, and I felt the hair on the back of my neck bristle.
Everyone in the boat followed Tom’s lead and got lower while aiming outward toward the ruined building.
“Anyone able to get binoculars on those signs up on the bridge above the bodies?” asked Jean.
“I’m checking them out right now,” said Cassandra. “They say something about being infected and keeping it secret. One says for strangers to keep going or die.”
Bus restarted the engines and hit the throttle at the same time. Shots rang out that were just loud enough to be heard above the roar of the engines, but Bus had timed their escape perfectly. Bullets peppered the water where they had been, sending up small plumes of water.
Hampton gazed longingly at the town where he had grown up, but it also appeared that something had been resolved. He had expressed guilt over the way he had left Georgetown, and he even speculated that he might have made a difference if he had stayed to help his neighbors.
Now he could see for himself that his hometown had fallen along with all of the other towns and cities. Worse, it had fallen from within because people tried to hide their bitten family members until it was too late.
“What about the buoy?” Cassandra yelled over the sound of the engines.
Hampton moved closer to her so he wouldn’t have to shout.
“Did you see those whitecaps on the surface about a hundred yards from shore at the tip of the land? It was near where the jetty touches shore?”
Cassandra had spent enough time on the Mercy ship to be aware of changes in the water color. When whitecaps appeared on the surface of water that someone might expect to be deep, it meant someone was going to run into a reef or a shoal.
“I saw it, but I didn’t see any buoys that warned of a fishing bank.”
Hampton smiled at her because he was pleased that she was so smart about the sea. It could help keep them alive.
“Did you notice there were two on the other side by the shoals? One of them broke loose from its mooring line an
d drifted over there from the fishing banks. We can retrieve it and take it back to Mud Island.”
******
There are beaches that are real tourist traps, and there are beaches that are just traps. The beach on the other side of Winyah Bay was nothing but a couple of miles of beach that ran along a useless strip of land. Water-locked on all sides, it couldn’t be developed, and the curve of the landscape caused the rivers to dump fine silt along the bottom.
The fine silt had created an attractive beach, but the infected dead that were carried out to sea on the current were also being stranded on the uninhabited beach. Some were stuck in the muddy bottom, but some found their way ashore.
Mother Norton Shoal extended unseen into the bay, and one of the two buoys was intended to warn boaters that the bottom tended to rise up rather quickly. Hampton didn’t warn Bus soon enough.
Bus had been listening to what Hampton was saying about the buoys and had steered straight toward the closer of the two. When the boat drove into shallow water, the luckiest members of our group were the ones who were standing. They were the ones who were thrown over the front of the boat without hitting the windshield.
Bus had taken the worst hit because he had gone straight into the steering wheel. He was unconscious from what I could see, and the blood in my eyes made me wish my head didn’t hurt so much. I’m not sure what I hit, but it was something hard.
I searched around for Jean and didn’t see her in the boat. Cassandra was up on the bow and unsuccessfully trying to push herself to her feet. One of her arms wasn’t cooperating. Tom and Hampton were getting untangled from the back of the seats where they had literally slammed into each other. Both were getting up, but they were clearly stunned.
Colleen was also missing from the boat, and I could see the panic in Hampton’s eyes. I must have had the same expression on my face, and I began wildly spinning around in all directions trying to find Jean.
A shot rang out from the bow. Cassandra was up on one knee and carefully aiming her M4 toward the beach. One glance in that direction was all I needed. Someone had rung the dinner bell.
I climbed past the slumped body of our doctor thinking that someone should help him, but I had to find Jean. I went over the center console where the windshield used to be and stopped next to Cassandra. I could see Jean’s body in the dark water about twenty feet in front of the boat. She was on her back, face up, and with her arms spread wide like she was trying to make a snow angel, but she wasn’t moving. A few feet to her right was Colleen.
Both of them were in water no more than an inch or two deep, but when a boat throws its passengers, it’s anything but graceful. It’s more like being inside a clothes dryer set on a high speed tumble.
As I jumped from the bow, Hampton reached my side and made the jump with me. The sand had been solid enough to stop the boat, but it sucked at our feet and slowed our progress as we fought desperately to reach the women.
More shots came from the bow as Cassandra realized she would be the only one covering us. Tom was easing Bus away from the seats and the steering column and trying to stop the flow of blood from a nasty cut on his forehead. He was breathing, but he was going to be in a world of hurt when he woke up.
I made it to Jean and saw that she was conscious but not really aware of anything. She was so short that I was able to scoop her up and start back for the boat in one motion. My skin crawled when I saw the blue crabs that had already converged where she landed.
"Hampton, watch out for the crabs. They’re everywhere,” I shouted.
Hampton didn’t hesitate when he got to Colleen. He didn’t waste any time getting her out of the water away from the bottom feeders that had smelled fresh meat.
On the beach the number of infected had grown, and they were coming from every direction. The trees must have been full of them because there were too many to shoot.
After Cassandra helped me to lift Jean into the boat, we both helped Hampton with Colleen. We laid them next to Bus and covered them with blankets to keep them warm.
“We have to get Bus back to the shelter as quickly as possible,” said Tom. “At the very least he has several broken ribs. We won’t know about internal injuries until we get him stabilized. If we’re lucky, he’ll wake up and be able to tell us what to do. How’re the women?”
“I think they just got banged up,” I said, “but they’re in no shape to help fight that horde coming onto the beach.”
We all turned in that direction and saw just how bad it was.
“Come on,” said Tom. “We need to get off of this sand. They’re going to be able to walk right up to us.”
“I think there’s a hole in the bow,” said Cassandra.
“More good news,” said Hampton. “Let me check the hull.”
Cassandra stayed with Bus, Jean, and Colleen while the rest of us went over the bow for a second time.
“The tide’s coming in,” said Hampton. “At least we have that on our side. With just a little more water under us, you two should be able to lift the bow just high enough for me to see if we’re taking on any water.”
I don’t think Tom and I got the boat more than an inch or two off of the sand, but it was enough for Hampton to see a nasty dent in the keel. He said it would need to be repaired, but he thought it was solid enough to get us across to the lighthouse.
“Why would we go to the lighthouse?” Tom and I asked at the same time.
Hampton shook his head and said, “The boat went far enough into the sand to drag the motors. I’m going to bet one or both have a broken propellor. If only one is broken, it’s a fair guess that it won’t start.”
The three of us froze only long enough for it to sink in that we were hearing moans behind us. We pushed with everything we had, but the boat seemed to slide much more slowly than we needed. Cassandra was back on the bow and picking off the infected that had come the closest.
If the tide had been going out instead of coming in, we wouldn’t have gotten the boat free in time. As it slipped away from the beach, we scrambled onto the bow and reached for the paddles. The bottom still seemed to be too close as we pushed away, and the infected dead in the lead began reaching for the railing around the bow.
Once again Cassandra demonstrated her skills. Instead of wasting bullets, she was swinging her machete, and the dead were losing fingers. We slid backwards from their grasping hands, and the infected began falling forward on their faces.
As we coasted on the surface of the water, infected dead that had been in the second row of the advancing horde began stepping on the bodies that had fallen in their path. For a moment they had an effective bridge and gained on us again. Suddenly, the bottom dropped away, and they were falling into water that was over their heads.
Hampton was by far the most skilled boat mechanic we had, so he climbed over the stern onto a step between the engines to see how bad it was. It was bad.
“Both propellors are bent too much to use, and the repairs would be a waste of time. It would be far easier to just get a new boat.”
“That’s the long-term fix,” said Tom. “What’s the short-term goal?”
I said, “We need to find a safe place to spend the night. I don’t think we should move Bus around too much until we know how bad it is.”
“The radio’s busted,” said Cassandra. She held up the microphone and clicked it a few times for effect.
Jean was sitting up in the bottom of the boat, and Colleen was trying to do the same.
Hampton handed his paddle to Tom and said, “We need to make it to that lighthouse, but we need to be really quiet about it.”
We tied our lines to a small dock near the lighthouse just as dusk settled over the bay, and we had a choice. We could either try to reach the lighthouse in the cover of darkness, or we could wait in the boat until dawn. Bus was only breathing in shallow, raspy breaths, and we didn’t know if we could wait that long.
CHAPTER TEN
PAINTING THE BIG plate glass
windows had been hard, but it didn’t need to be pretty. It only needed to block out their light. He studied his handiwork and it occurred to him that he had come a long way. They had all come a long way.
It had taken several days of hunger and fear before they had been able to face reality and venture a second time from the plane. Eventually, it sank in that they had to try.
Garrett Carson had tried to stop thinking of himself as a pilot. He didn’t like to think about how he had been called upon to carry the President of the United States to a place of safety, and he especially didn’t want to let himself think about how POTUS had left him and his flight crew to die.
Thinking about it wouldn’t change the fact they had their fifteen minutes of fame as Executive One, and then they had what seemed like a lifetime of exile to this waiting room, and eventually to the concourse where they had been forced to make a home.
He tried even harder not to think about his wife and three children in Arlington, Virginia. At fifty years of age, he had always been healthy because he liked to work out on layovers. It made him fit the part of an airline pilot, and more importantly, the man in charge. He had been one of the youngest pilots in the commercial airline business when he had started, so he had been looking forward to retiring to a quiet piece of property in the country.
The kids were all in high school and ready to get out on their own. His daughters were both thinking of college, but his son had his eyes on the military. He was the youngest, so he had time to decide, but he knew he wanted to be in the cockpit of a fighter plane.
Trying not to think about the decisions his kids were making only caused him to think of them more, and thinking of them more made him think about getting out of John Glenn International Airport. That made him think even more about how POTUS had gotten him stranded there in the first place. It was a never ending vicious circle.
Garrett’s thoughts were interrupted by the return of the first group of scavengers. They had agreed to meet in the waiting room at the concourse exit that led back to their home base in the 737. The plane was comfortable enough for seven people, and the door was strong enough to guarantee no surprises in the middle of the night. Besides, he doubted he could convince any of the others to sleep in the airport.
