by Bob Howard
He said, “If I had been stuck here, I would have found a boat, crammed it full of supplies, and made my way to Fort Sumter. It would have been a short term solution at best, but it would have been better than trying to fight my way off of the peninsula. Morris Island is right behind the Fort, but the tidal plains would keep people and the infected from sneaking up on it. If I thought of it, so did someone else, and whoever succeeded in taking Fort Sumter away from the infected dead would be just as dangerous.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth when a bullet hit the water not far from the bow of the Boston Whaler. The Chief cut the wheel hard to the right just as a second bullet narrowly missed us again. The sounds of the shots were barely audible, but we could tell the shooter was only taking time to adjust for our forward movement, and the Chief’s fast reactions had saved us.
We were dangerously close to shallow water when the Chief came out of his turn, but he was able to get us out of range of the shooter. Without having to discuss our options, we knew we had little choice but to take the detour.
When we had discussed this possibility while making our plans, we talked about trying to coast in at night, but that’s exactly what we would be watching for if we were guarding the mouth to the harbor. The Chief had told us that during the night we could expect shooters sitting in boats just waiting for someone like us to sneak in. Of course they could do the same at the mouth of the Stono River, but just like during the Civil War, the back door of the Charleston harbor was more likely to be ignored in favor of the shorter route straight through the harbor. At least that’s what we were hoping for.
We passed the jetties at the highest speed we could manage just in case the people guarding the harbor had boats they could send out after us. We also wanted to get more distance between ourselves and the destroyer parked back by Sullivan’s Island. We didn’t want to be around when they regained control of the ship just because we didn’t know what their agenda would be. They could have orders to limit traffic in the area, and we couldn’t afford to be turned back.
The coast of Morris Island was deserted. If people had made it to safety there, they had the sense to stay hidden, and there were no infected stumbling around on the beach. Folly Beach was not so lucky.
As we passed the Morris Island Lighthouse, we could see the beach ahead, and it was crowded with the infected. Whatever had gone wrong on the day when people began attacking each other and ripping flesh from other people with their teeth, it must have really gone wrong here. Hundreds of the infected dead were gathered around houses, so it was a fair guess that there were still people holed up inside.
We saw one beachfront house that was built on stilts two stories high, and people were sitting out on the deck of the house drinking beer just as if it was a typical day at the beach. When they spotted us cruising by, they raised their beer bottles in a toast to us. We waved because it just seemed like the polite thing to do, but we exchanged a look with each other that said, “Now we’ve seen everything.”
Only a few blocks later, it was quite the opposite scene but more of what we were used to. Another house on stilts, also surrounded by the infected trying to get in to the occupants, but when the people inside saw us passing by, they rushed outside holding up signs that said HELP US printed in big bold letters. I’m not sure what they thought we could do to help. Maybe they just hoped we would send someone now that we knew they were there.
The entire length of Folly Beach was dotted with the shapes of wrecked people who had become the infected dead. All we could figure was that the beach had been a busy place when the attacks began, or maybe there was a special event that had drawn an unusually large crowd that day. It was especially heartbreaking to see the children who were wandering aimlessly among the victims. It had become too easy to think of them as infected monsters, but seeing the children brought back their humanity, and I remembered these had once been people.
“The map shows a small island sitting in the mouth of the Stono River where it meets the Folly River,” said the Chief. “Let’s circle around behind it and wait for nightfall before heading inland.”
We reached the end of Folly Island about thirty minutes later. All four of us were quieter and more serious that usual. It seemed that we were all in a much darker mood than the last time we had gone out, and the good humor that had kept us going during the worst of times had disappeared.
“I take it I’m not the only one who’s a bit worried about this trip,” I said. My timing was never that good, but we were just passing the county park at the end of Folly Island, and the infected dead wandering around the dunes and sandy beaches had heard the sound of our engine. They began wandering our way, and the water was too calm to keep them on shore. It was sad to see so many of them walking into the water, but maybe it was a form of mercy too.
Jean reached out and put her hand on my arm and said, “We’re going to be fine, Eddy. We’re all a bit scared, but once we get back to Mud Island and get the boat shelter done, we won’t have a reason to leave for a long, long time.”
“Hey, Chief,” said Kathy, “maybe we should put a little more distance between us and the beach.”
The Chief must have been thinking the same thing, because he turned the wheel to the left without hesitating, and we became less of a distraction to the dead on the beach. The infected that had already spotted us were still taking a walk out into the surf, but the others seemed intent upon just wandering.
We passed around the end of Folly Island and entered the deep water at the mouth of the Stono River. The overcast sky and the green color of the water made it feel gloomy, which didn’t do much for my mood. I guess I was really starting to wonder when our luck would completely run out. When I thought about it, not much we had done outside of the shelter had gone really well. My friends had escaped from an infected ship, and then they found safety with me at the shelter, only to give it up to fly back into the crazy world we had all left behind.
When the plane was damaged and we had to leave it behind, we were lucky again. We could easily have been trapped in Georgetown. Only a few days later the horde of infected had probably swarmed down from Simmonsville. To tell the truth, when we saw them and their unholy parade going down Highway 17, it felt like we should have called off our plan to retrieve the plane.
The Chief went about a hundred yards up the river and then put the Whaler into a wide turn to the right. A small island that was really more of a sandbar with a raised center and scrub brush rose up in front of us, and a small cove was cut into the side facing the mainland. It would be a perfect place to wait for the sun to go down. The Whaler slid easily onto the sand, and we jumped over the bow to pull it forward.
“Shouldn’t be a problem to get a small fire going,” said Jean. “The temperature is dropping a bit, and I could use a little coffee.”
“That makes two of us,” said Kathy, “and what is it about riding in a bouncing boat on a cold day that makes me have to pee so bad?”
Kathy ran between me and the Chief and disappeared behind a sand dune so fast that the Chief and I just stared at each other for a moment. Jean was looking at us like she was trying to decide something.
Jean said, “Oh my god, I’ve been holding it so long that I forgot I had to go.” She dropped her backpack and took off for the dunes yelling to Kathy to wait for her.
The Chief asked, “Why do women always have to go pee together, and how long before she remembers the TP is in her backpack?”
We were still laughing when they came back around the dunes together, and maybe that was what we needed. I felt the weight of the world lift from my shoulders because we were a good group. We had each other’s backs, and we knew what we were doing. I felt like my down attitude was worse for us than all of the dangers ahead, and I mentally kicked myself for not getting my act together sooner. Hopefully, it was just in time.
We built a small fire and heated up our coffee. We had plenty of the food packs Uncle Titus had stored in the sh
elter, so we decided to eat while we had time. All of the choices we brought sounded appetizing, but they all tasted the same to me. I took one labeled beef burrito.
“Are you really going to eat that?” asked the Chief. He was looking at me like he couldn’t believe my choice.
“Yeah, why not?” I asked.
He got a big smile on his face and said, “Remind me to dig through that big movie library when we get back to Mud Island. I’ll see if there’s a copy of Blazing Saddles. The campfire scene made the whole movie worth watching.”
Kathy and Jean both got a good case of giggling fits, but I hadn’t seen the movie. “Is anybody going to tell me what’s so funny?” I asked between their bouts of laughter.
“No, Eddy,” said Jean, “it’s worth waiting to see for yourself. We’ll all watch it together when we get home.”
A splash in the water got our attention, and we all drew ours weapons. The sun was getting low, and shadows were starting to make everything look different. We didn’t want our campfire to be the only light for miles around, so we finished heating our coffee water and put it out. We also didn’t want to be stuck on this little lump of sand overnight, so we decided we would wait the last hour for darkness in the boat.
With our gear stowed again, we pushed off and boarded, then dropped anchor when we were over deeper water. To be less visible, we pulled down dark tarps from where we had them tied above the center canopy over the steering wheel. They blocked out the cold wind that was beginning to kick up, and we were able to rest before starting up river.
Just after darkness as we pulled up the anchor and started up the Stono River. A light rain started, and even though it was annoying to get water down the backs of our necks, it was one way to cover some of the sound we made. It didn’t take long for us to reach the first fork in the river, and we turned to the right to stay on course.
“That’s the Kiawah River up the left fork,” said the Chief. “Nice homes and beachfront property down that river, but they probably didn’t do any better than the rest of the islands. They have some security for the private property, but probably just enough to keep looters out when it first started. They would have let anyone onto Kiawah Island who lived there, and you know what that means. Someone inside would have spread the infection.”
The river snaked away in front of us, and we stayed as close to the shore as we could. The Chief didn’t want to rush because we were likely to find trouble around each turn as we approached the first bridge.
It took almost an hour, but we finally saw the first bridge ahead. We had switched to using our paddles and poles to ease ourselves forward, and the light was really bad, but luckily the shore of the Stono River was more like the big mudbank where we had left the plane. If any infected were out there where we couldn’t see them, they were likely to be stuck in the mud for a long time.
The rain was keeping sound from traveling too far. The advantage was that no one would hear us coming. The disadvantage was obvious, and we didn’t hear the voices until we were practically on top of them.
A flashlight glared into our eyes just long enough to blind us, but mercifully it was turned off just as quickly. A voice just loud enough to be heard said, “I only need to ask one question. Has anyone in your boat been bitten?”
We were all still a bit blind from the suddenness of the flashlight, but I saw the Chief had one finger on his lips and one pointed at Kathy. He knew someone had at least gotten a look at us, but the light hadn’t been on long enough for whoever it was to have done a complete survey. The Chief wanted Kathy to talk us through this one if she could. Maybe her celebrity was still worth mentioning this long after the world had ended.
Kathy understood and said, “No one has been bitten. How do we know the same is true about you?”
“You don’t, but it’s my job to make sure no one gets by who has been bitten,” the voice said from the darkness.
“Exactly how do you know for sure?” asked Kathy. “Do you have some kind of test?”
The owner of the voice laughed quietly. “No, there’s no real test, but we have a Psychologist over at the marina, and he told us when we ask the question out here in the dark, bitten people would be more likely to try too hard to convince us they weren’t bitten. People who hadn’t been bitten would want to know if we were infected. We wouldn’t know for sure until it’s too late, but we can’t shoot everybody who goes by.”
“That’s good to hear,” said Kathy. “What did you mean when you said over at the marina? Did you manage to save people? Did you find a way to seal off the marina?”
“All in good time if you don’t mind, Miss. The first thing we need to do is get you safely to the other side of the bridge.”
The voice moved closer, and we could make out the outline of a small flat bottomed boat with two men in it. Both were armed, but neither had their weapons pointed at us, which was a relief.
“I’m John, and my friend here is Dan. Our job is to escort people by the bridge at safe spots.”
“Safe spots? What does that mean, and how did you get stuck with the job?” Kathy asked. This was confusing to all of us.
John and Dan could see us a little better close up, and they knew they were seriously outnumbered and outgunned, but they both seemed relaxed. There was no doubt in my mind that they felt like they were in control, and they probably were from what they were saying.
Jean leaned a bit closer to Kathy and said, “Ask them if they are going to let us through?”
“I can hear you okay out here at night, little lady. That’s one reason I’m on watch so much. I grew up out here, and I know sounds that aren’t supposed to be here. For instance, I bet you didn’t know about all those biters less than twenty yards from here.” He gestured toward the shore behind us, and we all couldn’t stop ourselves from looking.
He chuckled again, “The answer to your question is yes, we will not only let you through, we’re going to help you get through. Like I said, it’s my job.”
The Chief kept his voice low and said, “John, there’s a guy up in Georgetown named Hampton. At least there was a guy in Georgetown by that name last time we went through there. Anyway, you remind me of him, and no matter how crappy things get, I hope we keep running into people like you and Hampton.”
The Chief pointed at each of us in turn and said, “Our spokesman here has been Kathy, the little lady is Jean, that’s Ed, and you can call me Chief. That’s what my friends call me, and right now I consider you to be a friend.”
“Pleased to meet all of you folks. Now, let me explain what we’re doing here. I’m going to escort you to the other side of the bridge. In return we only want to trade information about what’s happening out there. If you’ve been up around Georgetown and lived to tell about it, you might be doing a lot better than most people.”
“We’ll be glad to tell you what we know,” said the Chief, “but I’m confused about why we need an escort just to the other side of the bridge.”
“You won’t be confused in a few minutes, Chief. We’re going to go most of the way through at a crawl, so you won’t have any trouble keeping up, but stay right on my stern. If you get around to either side of me, you won’t like what happens. We’ll stop and talk for a spell after we get up by the bridge.”
They powered up a small trolling motor that didn’t make much noise, but it made enough to stir up something on the bridge. As we eased up closer to the bridge, the sound grew louder. We hadn’t really been able to hear the massive horde we saw marching down Highway 17, but this was what I imagined they would have sounded like if we had gotten closer. The sound was coming from the road that crossed the bridge, and it was getting louder.
John and Dan steered away from the center of the bridge toward one span to the right. In the dim light I could see that the center was clear of debris, so I was curious about why we couldn’t go through where the water was deeper. My curiosity was satisfied when the first body hit the water with a loud slap.
There was just enough light as we got closer to the bridge to see that the railing of the center span was gone. An accident during the mad rush to safety had opened up a forty to fifty foot section, and the sound of our boat motors was drawing the infected through the gap. The swarm of infected was every bit as large as what we saw on Highway 17, and they started following our sounds as best as they could until bodies were raining over the side.
The railing was still intact on the span where we crossed, and as we were about to reach the bridge, we saw John frantically wave his arm in a forward motion and increase his speed to maximum. The Chief didn’t need a second invitation and poured on the throttle. As we passed through, we heard some splashes behind us and knew it has been close. The railing above may still be intact, but with all of the pushing and shoving, there were bound to be some who went over the railing. It was just a good thing that the infected weren’t capable of climbing over it.
We coasted up to where John had come to a stop and pulled along side. The Chief tossed him a line, and then he gave both John and Dan a hand to come onto our larger boat. We all looked back in the direction of the bridge and saw it was still raining bodies.
“It’s going to go on like that for some time,” said John.
Dan, who had been quiet up to now added, “We’ve considered driving back and forth under the bridge to get them worked up so they’ll start falling off even more. Most of the time they do it on their own anyway, but when they hear a boat motor go by, they get really worked up.”
“This place is a natural disposal site for the infected, but why are they up there to begin with? Why don’t they cross the bridge and keep going?” I asked.
