by Jason Brant
Lance stayed low as he approached the middle of the boat. He glanced in the windows as he went past, making sure that nothing had managed to get inside. The outlines of Eifort and Brown’s beds remained undisturbed.
Cold, sharp metal pressed against his unshaven throat.
Lance’s blood pulsed through his ears. He sucked in a wavering breath.
“Don’t make a sound, asshole.” The voice, gruff and whispered, came from beside Lance’s ear. “Drop the knife.”
Lance tossed it to the deck a few feet ahead of them. It clattered and bounced.
The man’s breath was foul, like he’d just woken up and hadn’t brushed his teeth yet. Lance hoped his own breath wasn’t as pungent when he was with Cass.
“Where’s the woman?”
Lance didn’t respond.
“Answer me or I swear to God I’ll cut your throat.”
“You told me not to make a sound.”
The man paused for a second. “Fine. Don’t make a sound except for answering my questions.”
Lance waited.
“Jesus Christ,” the man hissed in his ear. “Where is the woman? The one with the axe.”
“Sleeping.”
“Bullshit. I saw the two of you come out the back door. Where is she?”
“You’re seeing things. I was the only one who came outside.”
The blade pressed against his neck even harder, the edge biting against the skin covering his windpipe. “Don’t lie to me, or—”
“Let him go.” Cass’ voice came from behind them.
The man spun Lance around so he faced Cass. The knife stayed at his throat.
“Drop the axe.”
“Let him go, or I’ll cut your fucking head off.”
Light from the moon caught the blade of the axe.
Lance wanted to gulp, but he feared the motion might force the knife through his flesh.
“Don’t make me cut your boyfriend’s throat.”
“What’s going on?” Eifort asked from inside. “Are you guys out there?”
The lights in the dining room came on, stinging Lance’s dark-adjusted eyes. Eifort spotted their standoff and grabbed her unloaded rifle from the corner, running outside. Brown’s head peeked out from under a sheet, confusion on his face.
“If you release him now, I’ll let you live.” Cass stood a handful of feet in front of them, legs spread, shoulders tense.
The man laughed. “You think I’m a fool?”
Eifort came up behind them, shouting for him to drop his knife. Lance knew she was out of bullets, but he hoped she could fool his captor.
“You can’t win this. There are four of us and just you,” Cass said.
More laughter rumbled from the man’s chest, deep and long. “I don’t have to win—I just have to wait a little while longer.”
Cass’ eyes narrowed, barely visible in the darkness. “What are you—?”
An explosion rocked the boat, bathing the area in blinding light.
The Duchess shuddered with bone-rattling violence.
Lance felt the blade slice through his skin. Warmth ran down his neck as the man released his grip, shoving him to the floor.
Cass stumbled backward from the explosion, falling to the deck with a jarring thud. Brown screamed something unintelligible from inside.
The man leaped over the railing of the boat and disappeared into the water with a splash.
Heat baked Lance’s back as he pushed himself to his knees, his fingers exploring the gash in his throat. He took a deep breath, expecting his lungs to fill with blood.
Panic overtook his mind as he staggered to his feet.
His breathing came naturally, labored only by the fear that encompassed him.
Shadows danced across the boat from a fire raging at the bow. Waves of dry heat intensified by the second as Lance pressed against the side of his neck, feeling the sticky flow of blood running down his forearm.
Cass got back to her feet and scrambled over to him. She struggled to pull his hand away. “Let me see it!”
“Where is he?” Eifort ran up behind them, hollering.
“He jumped over the side,” Lance said. He thanked God that he could still speak, that he wasn’t drowning in his own blood.
“What?” Eifort yelled again. “I can’t hear you!”
Lance repeated himself, but Eifort cut him off with more shouting.
“My ears are buzzing!”
Doc Brown came around the back of the boat, his brow furrowed. “What the hell is—? Lance! What happened to your neck?” He brushed Cass aside and examined the wound on Lance’s throat.
The boat listed forward several degrees, skewing their balance.
“We need to get off the boat!” Cass disappeared around the back of the Duchess.
Eifort peered over the railing, examining the black water below. “Does anyone see that piece of shit?” Her loud voice carried over the water.
Splashing sounds from a few dozen yards away told Lance the man was swimming away from the sinking ship.
“Tilt your head back.” Brown lifted Lance’s chin, getting a better look at his bleeding neck. “It missed your carotid.” He grabbed Lance’s hand and pressed it back to his wound. “Keep pressure on it.”
Lance nodded and closed his eyes for a moment, fighting to regain his composure. He leaned against a window, feeling the boat list as he stood there. After several deep breaths, he opened his eyes to see Cass running toward him with several life preservers in her hands.
“Put these on!” She gave one to all three of them before quickly wrangling her arms into her own, letting it wrap around the axe on her back.
The fire at the front of the boat spread, flames towering above the upper deck. Its intensity illuminated the area around the ship, bouncing light off the lolling water.
Lance worked his arms through the life preserver as his eyes scanned the river for their attacker. He couldn’t hear him swimming anymore and wondered if the man had made it to land.
The Vladdies on the shore howled and cried at the light provided by the fire. They remained unseen, but their voracious shrieks hinted at their vast numbers.
Eifort continued to holler. She dug her fingers into her ears as if she expected that to make her hearing return. After running back to the dining room for a few moments, Brown reappeared with Lance’s backpack, several sealed Ziploc bags with medicine inside, the boxed tent, and the fishing rods.
The Duchess took on water at a rapid pace, the front end submerging into the river. Some of the flames extinguished with a hiss, cutting the light in the area by a third.
Cass grabbed the tent from the doc and jumped over the side. Eifort, still confused and screaming about her ears, followed Cass’ lead.
Brown handed the fishing rods to Lance and then plunged into the water. The boat sank several more inches as Lance stood on the side and watched the front continue to burn.
It was dark and they were about to lose their safety net. As he jumped into the icy water below, Lance hoped they could survive the night.
Pangs of anger flowed through him. They had a good thing going, only to have some asshole ruin it in the blink of an eye. Lance understood that the new world they found themselves in would always be hard, merciless. What he couldn’t wrap his mind around was the constant fight with the living, as well as the infected.
Survival of the fittest was in full swing.
He swam away from the sinking Duchess, struggling to make much progress because of the life preserver and fishing rods. He caught up with the other three about twenty yards away from the flaming ship. They floated in a small group, watching as the boat sank.
“Can someone please tell me what happened?” Brown inspected his Ziploc bags every few seconds, ensuring their seal didn’t break.
“Some asshole climbed aboard, bombed the ship, and cut my throat.”
“What? Who?”
“I didn’t even see him,” Lance said. He took his hand
away from his neck and saw that he was still bleeding. He continued to apply pressure.
“I think he was one of them—the Minutemen.” Cass stared at the destroyed boat. “He planted that bomb before we found him and it went off without him using a detonator or anything. His whole plan was to blow up the ship.”
“What?” Eifort shouted. “I can hear you a little bit, but I can’t understand what you’re saying!”
Lance ignored her. “But why? I understand that these guys are nuts, but why are they dogging us like this?”
“I don’t know. Then again, they’re the ones who used that particular ship last week. Seeing us on it might have told them that we took their man out.”
It took nearly thirty minutes for the upper deck to disappear under the surface, cutting off the last bit of light supplied by the fire. The night grew quiet again, except for the occasional howl of the bloodthirsty monstrosities on land.
Ralph’s lined face filled Lance’s mind. The bastard and his minions continued to pop up, even as Lance and his friends moved further away from the city. They would have to do something about the Minutemen at some point, whether they wanted to or not.
The first light of the morning touched the horizon a short time later.
“Now what are we going to do?” Lance asked. He could barely see the outlines of the others as they floated in the Allegheny.
“We could look for another boat,” Cass said.
“Why, so they can blow it up again?”
Brown nodded. “We need to get as far away from here as possible. Those psychopaths aren’t going to leave us alone.”
“Greensburg?” Eifort’s voice had lowered in volume, but still came too loud for normal conversation.
“That’s where I’m going,” Brown said. “I understand that you don’t like the idea, Cass, but I need to go where my services are needed. A place with a lot of survivors will need doctors. Besides, I feel that we need to band together if we’re going to survive much longer. We need to rebuild, to secure our borders.”
Lance checked his hand again and found the bleeding had nearly stopped. He washed his palm in the water.
Cass sighed and looked at Lance. “You still want to live out in the mountains?”
“Yeah, I think so. If we can’t stay on the water because of those assholes, what else would be safer? If we find a secure building, they’ll bring it down on top of us. Anywhere around here feels like it would only be a matter of time before they find us.”
“I hate to ruin the party,” Eifort shouted. “But how are we going to survive out in the woods every night? Those things are out there. There’s no way we can make it to Greensburg in a day.”
That was the million-dollar question that Lance continued to ask himself.
“I don’t know. All I can say for certain is that we aren’t safe here. If the Vladdies don’t get us eventually, then those militant assholes will. My hope is that there are less of the infected in the middle of the state because the population was so much lower.”
Lance hated the idea of putting their lives on the line with only a hope. But what other options did they have?
The shrieks died away as the sky lightened over the following hour. By the time the shore became visible, the Vladdies had retreated to their underground hovels, leaving the day to the newly infected.
The four of them swam to land before the sun broached the horizon. They dropped their life preservers to the rocky shore and clomped their way to the first street, wringing their clothes out.
Brown inspected Lance’s cut again. He hurriedly cleaned the wound and slapped a bandage on it from one of the sealed bags. Lance watched for the remains of their midnight attacker, hoping the beasts of the night had taken care of him.
They’d never heard the man scream, so he assumed the bastard was still out there somewhere.
Cass and Eifort began inspecting vehicles for keys. They hit pay dirt twenty minutes later, just as the first of the daywalkers appeared in the parking lot of a small grocery store. A gray Silverado straddled the sidewalk, its doors open.
The truck had half a tank of gas and four-wheel drive. Everyone climbed inside—Lance and Cass in the front with Brown and Eifort sitting behind them. Lance cranked the ignition as a small group of infected wandered out of the grocery store and staggered in their direction.
He backed into them as he swung onto the road. The truck bumped over their distorted bodies, leaving bloody tracks in their wake.
“Does anyone know how to get to Greensburg?” Lance turned right onto Freeport Road.
“Go east.” Cass buckled her seat belt and leaned her head against the rest.
“No shit. All roads don’t lead to Greensburg though.”
“Just drive, Lance. Just drive.”
They were forced north for several hours due to destroyed bridges. Multiple roadblocks and traffic jams clogged the streets, slowing their progress. On several occasions, Lance had to put the car in four-wheel drive and climb over a bank to get around accidents.
An intact bridge finally appeared just before the town of Freeport, crossing over the Allegheny River. They were far enough away from the city that the military hadn’t destroyed it. Cass had to get out twice to start a car and drive it out of the way so they could get across.
After crossing the bridge, they drove along 356, a small, rural road that ran to the southeast. Lance followed a small compass built into the roof above the rearview mirror, doing his best to maintain the same direction, hoping to see signs for the city.
Their theory about seeing less of the infected proved true. Within an hour of crossing the bridge, the amount of daywalkers lessened considerably. By noon, they only spotted a handful as they passed through a small village of farmhouses and recently tilled fields.
Lance drove at a slow pace. He wanted to keep an eye out for safe places to stay. Getting in an accident while they were so exposed wouldn’t be the best of ideas either.
Eifort and Brown dozed in the backseat, the occasional snore making Lance smile. Cass stayed awake beside him, eyeing the countryside as it rolled by her window. She appeared tense to Lance and he couldn’t blame her. Without the boat, their night would be interesting to say the least.
They barely talked as they drove on, their dour moods hanging in the air between them.
The fuel-indicator light came on as they approached a church on the right side of the road. The signs indicated it had been Presbyterian. Half a dozen homes stood on the opposite side of the highway, quiet in the still afternoon.
Lance pulled into the parking lot, easing up to a few empty cars. Cass roused Brown and Eifort before stepping out of the truck.
“Let’s see if we can siphon some gas from the cars,” Lance said. “I’d rather keep the truck because of its size and power.”
“We’ll need a hose and a gas can.” Brown stretched and peered around the small neighborhood. “One of those houses might have some.”
Cass started across the road. “I’ll go look, you guys check the cars and see what we can use.”
“Hold on, I’m coming with you.” Lance jogged after her, wincing as the tender flesh of his sliced neck stretched. “We shouldn’t go by ourselves anymore.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
Lance caught up to her as she approached the driveway of the first house. He grabbed her arm so she would face him. “What’s wrong? You seem extra pissy.”
“Nothing. Let’s get this over with.”
“Talk to me, Cassie.”
She stopped and glared at him.
“I’m just joking around.” He raised his arms in mock surrender.
Her face softened a bit. “We almost got killed back there. What if he’d managed to cut your throat?”
“Are you saying you’d miss me?” The appearance of her softer side took Lance off guard. It was a rare occurrence to see her show any kind of vulnerability.
“I’m serious. Brown wants to go and find people, but
I think that humans might be the most dangerous things we can be around right now. Don’t you understand? People are willing to kill for food, water, and guns. If we have something they want, they’ll murder us and take it. People are too unpredictable.”
Everything she said was true. A man had just blown up their boat and they didn’t even know why. The Vladdies had clear behaviors and a singular objective. The survivors, however, behaved irrationally.
Particularly those calling themselves the Minutemen. Those led by Ralph, the prepper from hell.
“I don’t disagree with anything you’re saying. But he has a point. How long can we survive by ourselves? Don’t you think we’ll have strength in numbers?”
“No. Too many people in one place always leads to some of them doing stupid shit. There will always be one idiot who trips over a cable and disables the electricity or opens a door to take a piss and lets the horde in. We can survive better on our own.”
She stalked up the driveway, head panning back and forth as she looked for daywalkers. Lance followed her, chewing on what she’d said. She grabbed the handle to the two-car garage door and lifted it open, the wheels on each side clacking on the way up.
A red 1972 Corvette Stingray was parked inside. Cass ignored it as she walked by the driver’s side, scanning cluttered shelves and a workbench for a hose.
Lance gaped at the car.
“Holy shit. That’s a thing of beauty right there.” He ran his hand across the hood. He’d always wanted a car like this, but never could have afforded it in his past life. The idea of searching the house for the keys occurred to him.
“Boys and their cars,” Cass mumbled as she rooted through a box on the floor. She found a length of garden hose inside.
“This isn’t a car—it’s work of art. I thought you’d appreciate it, since you’re a failed artist.” Lance leaned against the fender. “Wanna go for a ride, pretty lady?”
“I want to find a gas can so we can get the hell out of here.” She walked around the back of the car and searched the other side.
“Sometimes you’re a real pain in my ass.” Lance looked in the window at the leather seats inside.
“Says the guy who is dicking around with a car.” She opened a cabinet in the back left corner of the garage. “Here we go.”
