The Infected Dead (Book 1): Alive for Now

by Bob Howard

  ******

  Over the next two days, we laid out our plan as with much more care than anything we had done so far, and every aspect of it was dangerous. Getting to the cars for the gas cans was definitely going to be a daylight operation, and we decided we would half empty the cans rather than to try to carry full cans of fuel through the dense brush. They were heavy, and we needed the Chief to help with any infected dead on the beach. We could always refill them from our vast supply of fuel provided by Uncle Titus.

  Kathy, always the strategist, suggested that we might be able to buy some time by creating a diversion. We decided to at least try to move the Jeep half way to Highway 17 and set it on fire. We would all hide inside the Suburban for at least an hour to allow as many of the infected to be drawn away from the trees as possible, then we would make a break for the island. We were hoping there would be enough distraction to the noise and fire that we could slip right past any that were still inside the trees when we made our run back to the island.

  Jean contributed to the planning by suggesting that we carry along anything we could find to blacken the insides of the windows of the Suburban. The plan wouldn’t work so well if we found ourselves trapped inside the Suburban with infected dead crawling all over it. We settled on the lightest and fastest method to cover the windows, duct tape and black plastic garbage bags, which we had in large supply.

  We dug through the cases of supplies in the lower levels and found spray paint. The Chief commented that Uncle Titus must have just walked into a hardware store and said, “I’ll take everything.” There were several shades of brown and green, so we all got busy painting everything above the waterline of the Boston Whaler including the chrome. It was quick work because it didn’t have to be pretty. We used colors with a flat finish so there would be no reflection, and the end result was a well camouflaged boat.

  The Chief spent some time up under the dash of the Whaler installing a hidden dead switch. If they had to incapacitate the boat again, any of them could do so in a hurry without swapping wires around.

  Evenings and nights inside the shelter were comfortable but serious. We got plenty of rest and food so we could be as healthy as possible for what was sure to be a difficult trip. Each of us had plans to think of, and mine was the redesign of the southern hatch over the emergency exit. I had to make it big enough to hold a boat and trailer, and that meant a lot of work.

  Jean came to my rescue when she reminded us all there was a gas powered garden tiller in the barn back at the farm by the plane. The tiller was small enough to bring back in the boat or the plane. The Chief said he didn’t think the Otter would have any problem with the weight of the boat trailer and the tiller if they had to do it. It depended on the size and weight of the trailer.

  As Jean pointed out, the tiller would be able to chew up the beach easily enough for them to cut a ditch from the water to the trees and then dig out the underground garage where it would be hidden. We agreed that we wouldn’t wait a single day when we got back before beginning construction, and with that agreement came a sense of optimism. We were planning proactively on the determined assumption that we would all make it back together.

  As we planned our strategies, we gathered together enough supplies for a trip that could take up to a week. We decided that we would leave at sunrise and travel straight out to sea until we were far enough out to not be heard from the shore. The last thing we needed was to be shot at by crazy people who would shoot at us for no other reason than to shoot at people who have a boat.

  We also decided that if we saw anyone else on the water, we would try to keep plenty of distance between us. If we had to, we would drop anchor and wait until nightfall and then sneak by under the cover of darkness. If the weather was on our side, we could go south or go further out to sea. We would only travel a straight line if we were able to.

  Over supper of the second night, we laid a map of the coast out on the table. The only way to reach the plane by water was to go back to Charleston harbor. The map showed a direct route down Highway 17 would only be about seventy miles. On a day with no traffic, they could be there in just over an hour, but by water they were planning on no better than two days.

  If they reached Charleston harbor without incident, they would still have to navigate the area that had become a virtual nightmare in the first days of the attacks. The harbor had been clogged by hundreds of boats of all sizes, and there was no guarantee the harbor was even clear. If it wasn’t, they would have two choices. They could go back to Mud Island, or they could travel an additional twenty miles further down the coast and come in the back door to the harbor.

  The Chief showed them on the map that they could pass Morris Island and Folly Island then enter the Stono River. From there they would follow the snaking Stono River until it met with Wappoo Creek. Despite its name, it was wide enough to move barges, and they would be able to follow it all the way to the Ashley River. From there it was only a matter of minutes before they would pass Castle Pinckney.

  I thought back to the news broadcast from the Atlantic Spirit and shuddered when I remembered the people stranded there. I couldn’t imagine the desperation they must have felt as I watched from the safety of an island barely an hour away on any normal day.

  “The obvious downside of this detour is that we will be much closer to shore for a long time,” said the Chief. “Anyone with a rifle and the urge to shoot someone will have an easy target to hit.”

  “Chief,” Kathy said, “I grew up in Charleston, so I learned about the Stono River when we studied the Civil War in high school, and there are some choke points, but most of it is wild. It was the only way to get into the harbor without going by the Union blockade, but it was never really developed because of the marshes. Where it isn’t wild, it’s not heavily populated, and where it is populated there will be plenty of infected dead. Most of the area is too rural for any chance there was a successful resistance to the spread of infection.”

  The Chief asked, “What about these bridges, Kathy. I count three. Are we likely to have any problems getting by them?”

  “The first one is a low draw bridge that they converted to a fixed span when they quit using the Stono River for heavy traffic,” she said. “The only really deep place to cross under the bridge is at the middle, and it is pretty narrow through there.” She put her finger on the map to show us where it was. “When we go through here, anyone above with a gun couldn’t miss, so we would need to go through at night.”

  “Any chance of going closer to shore?” asked Jean.

  She moved her finger toward the eastern shore and said, “The map shows it gets muddy here, and we could get stuck if we’re not careful. Also, the current in the Stono River gets kind of strong. If we try to go through off center, it shouldn’t be by too much.”

  She shifted to the other side of the river to a point just above the bridge. “Over here is the Stono Marina. They have enough slips for about two hundred or so boats. I would guess the only boats that got out in time were the people who thought a little more quickly than the average person. Most of the boats would be power boats because they don’t dredge the Stono, and sailboats draft to deep. That’s why I’m worried about the center span. If too many tried to get through at the same time, this could be blocked.”

  The Chief said, “Okay, so let’s plan on going through one span off from the center. We need to take along paddles and long poles in case we have to go through really quiet. What about the second bridge, Kathy?”

  “That one is in the Charleston City limits, so I did some ride-alongs over there when I was in training. That one is very narrow, but it’s much higher. We still need to go under it at night, but we have two things in our favor. The current is really swift in the direction we will be going, and the bridge is much higher. If we have any luck at all, the drawbridge will be open. If we can ease up to it unseen, we will be relatively safe while we’re under it. We need to be careful here.” She put her finger on a spot just
before the bridge on the right bank. “There’s a restaurant with a floating dock right here.”

  “After we pass under the bridge, there’s a boat landing on the opposite bank. The good news is that current again. It’s so swift there that it would be hard to get blocked. The third bridge is a high fixed span bridge with plenty of room under it. It’s called the James Island Expressway, and I’m going to guess that it’s a mess because of evacuation day.” She ended her explanation by dragging her finger out of Wappoo Creek and down the Ashley River to the spot we all knew would pass by the Charleston cruise ship terminal.

  “That’s one place I never thought I would see again,” said Jean. “Do we have to go by there? Couldn’t we use the other side of the river?”

  The Chief said, “We can give it as much room as possible, Jean, but I want to avoid the Yorktown if possible. If any place was likely to seal itself off it was there. They would have been low on supplies, but they would have the proverbial high ground. With weapons, they could have turned it into a fortress by now. I don’t want to find out how anyone there treats strangers.”

  “So,” Kathy said, “it’s either the short way into Charleston harbor, or the long way around. All we have left to do is make the trip.”

  ******

  At sunrise just a few days before the end of October, we left Mud Island again. I was sure Uncle Titus was spinning in his grave. This time we crossed over to the mainland dock armed to the teeth. We decided speed was more important than stealth, so the plan was to give head shots to any infected dead we ran across. We also had the added bonus of two silencers the Chief found in the armory. He and Kathy were the best shooters, so they equipped the silencers and took the lead. Jean and I would shoot only if we were outnumbered.

  After we tied the loaded boat to the dock we hit the bushes at a run. The leaves had thinned considerably, so we could see farther than before. When we spotted some of the infected, we steered closer to them and took them out to eliminate their threat on the return trip.

  A few minutes later we reached the Jeep and the Suburban. There was a moment of panic when I couldn’t find the keys to the Jeep, but I sheepishly fished them out of a deep pocket. I got the jeep started and turned around for the short trip toward Highway 17. Kathy and Jean made short work of covering the windows of the Suburban from the inside, and the Chief came with me to provide cover on the way back.

  At about the halfway point I stopped the Jeep, and we jumped out to douse it with gasoline. We could see Highway 17 from where we stopped, and what we saw was enough to make us rethink the diversion part of the plan. Highway 17 looked like the straight road across the Naval Weapons Station. It was wall to wall with the infected, and they were walking along Highway 17 as if they knew Georgetown was only a few miles away. There must have been thousands of them.

  “What do you say, Chief? Plan B sound good to you?” I sounded like I was out of breath, but it was just a really bad case of nerves.

  “Sounds very good to me, Ed. If we light this candle off now, we could get stuck hiding in the Suburban. There are a few that spotted us already, and they’ve broken away from the pack. Let’s get back to the girls.”

  We got back in the Jeep, and I tried to keep calm as I backed the Jeep away from the horde of undead on the highway ahead. When I had enough distance, I did a three point turn and drove back to the Suburban. The Chief jumped out before I even quit moving.

  “What happened?” asked Kathy. “How come you didn’t blow up the jeep?”

  “Too much company up that way,” he answered as he grabbed two full cans of fuel. “We don’t even have time to empty these. We’ve gotta go now.”

  I grabbed two more cans of fuel, which I found were much heavier than they looked when the Chief carried them. “Sorry about the wasted work on the windows, ladies, but every infected dead in the world is packed onto Highway 17. They saw the Jeep, and some of them are on their way. We have to take our chances with whatever we run into on the way back to the boat.”

  We made it back with better than a dozen infected dead trying to keep up with us. As we cleared the trees and ran across the beach, Kathy turned and delivered four well aimed shots to the heads of the nearest ones. Then she jumped into the boat with us.

  The Chief already had the fuel cans stowed and the engine on. I cast off the mooring lines, and once again, we were on our way toward the southern tip of Mud Island and the open ocean beyond.

  The Chief had the engine powered up as if we were still being chased. As usual, some of the infected had walked right out into the water and disappeared. We rounded the southern tip and passed the jetty on the left that had caused the trawler to wreck on the beach. Once we cleared the end of the beach, the Chief only made a slight turn to the Southeast. We needed to be at least a couple of miles offshore to keep from being heard by someone with a rifle.

  As we made the turn, I looked back at Mud Island and wondered if we would make it back this time. We had decided not to restock the houseboat. On the off chance that it was occupied again, this time the occupants would be forced to move on in search of supplies and be less likely to stay around. It might be a good stopping off point, but it wouldn’t be as tempting as a long term residence.

  The sky turned gray, and the wind was much colder than the last time I had taken the boat out. The biggest difference, though, was not the weather. We were a slightly more seasoned group, and we looked the part. If anyone saw us, they would either consider us to be a threat or rescuers. A camouflaged boat with four well armed people dressed in military style clothes would not be a welcome sight to some people. We just had to be careful.

  We cruised down the coast, occasionally spotting movement on shore through our binoculars, but never anything that looked alive. The infected we saw on the beaches looked tired, if that was something they experienced. They mostly appeared to be wandering aimlessly, as if they forgot where they were going. If this was a normal world, I would have wondered how someone in a business suit came to be walking along a desolate beach on a barrier island. Since this wasn’t a normal world it was obvious that people who looked out of place were people who had tried to escape, only to meet a terrible death without a clue of how to save themselves.

  In some places we saw huge flocks of sea gulls feeding on bodies that washed up on the beaches. There were a few sharks, but not as many as we expected. They were probably in warmer water because they were already well fed. I constantly told myself how lucky we were, and I constantly thanked my Uncle Titus for making sure I wouldn’t be one of the people wandering around somewhere.

  Bulls Bay came up on our right as we made our course correction around Cape Island. Bulls Bay was famous for its oysters, but I didn’t think I would ever eat one again. To me the water was tainted now. Poisoned by the shear numbers of infected dead who had disappeared below the surface. I was grateful that I couldn’t see any of them mired in the oyster beds that were above the waterline.

  “There’s a Navy ship ahead just off the port side,” said the Chief. “It’s further out than we need to be, so they may not bother us. Someone keep some binoculars on them and let me know if they look like they’re interested in us.”

  Jean asked, “Any chance they won’t see us, Chief?”

  “They already do,” he said. “If we see them, they could see us before then.”

  Kathy laid across the bow with her binoculars aimed toward the ship. “Destroyer, I think,” she said. “One of the new ones that doesn’t have all those masts and antennas.”

  “Can you tell if they are making way or if they are anchored?” asked the Chief.

  “So far I would have to say neither, Chief. They look like they may be just drifting.”

  That brought all four of us out of whatever private thoughts we may have been thinking. The Chief throttled back and just let the boat coast for a bit. We all trained our binoculars on the ship. It was pointed toward the coast and roughly parallel with the Isle of Palms. The sight of a totall
y still warship bothered all of us because it represented the power of our country, and it seemed that power was gone. There was no doubt in our minds that there were still some ships out there that were carrying on to protect our territory, but seeing even one just sitting still was symbolic of what had been lost.

  Kathy studied the ship and said, “The way the decks are laid out on the new warships, there wouldn’t be any infected dead walking around where we would see them. They would have all fallen overboard by now.”

  “Hey, guys,” I said. “I think we’re forgetting something. The Navy wouldn’t let one of it’s ships get taken over and then leave it just floating out here. Just think about all of the classified weapons on one of those ships. The Navy would want that back.”

  As if on cue, a Zodiac came around the stern of the destroyer, but it didn’t turn in our direction. Instead, it appeared to be circling the destroyer from only a few feet away. We watched with fascination as ropes were launched from the Zodiac and armed soldiers climbed to the modern deck that looked more like a floating spaceship than a warship.

  The scene playing out on the ship was not something we would see every day, but it was our opportunity to get by without drawing their attention. The Chief pushed the throttle forward again and turned toward the coast. We were passing Sullivan’s Island, and we could see the mouth of the Charleston harbor ahead. In minutes we would know if we could take the short trip or if it would be the detour.

  Kathy kept her binoculars aimed at the destroyer just in case they decided we were more important than their current mission, but the Navy had probably seen plenty of small boats since the chaos of that first day, and they didn’t pay any attention to us.

  Fort Sumter came into view, and the Chief eased as close to the channel marker on opposite side of the harbor mouth as he could. I started to ask him why it mattered, but he anticipated the question.