by Bob Howard
“Because they can see the marina,” said John. “When everything went down on the first day, we were like everyone else. We thought we needed to get to our boats and get to sea as fast as possible. We were wrong, though. All we needed to do was disconnect the slips from the mainland.”
“It’s too dark to tell from here, but do you see the main building at the marina?” asked Dan. He pointed toward the dark shadow of the building. “It’s on stilts, and all of the slips are connected to it by floating walkways. The only thing connecting the whole mess to the mainland are three walkways, and all three have been removed.”
John picked up the rest of the story as soon as Dan took a breath. I got the impression that they were both looking for fresh audiences to explain this to.
“About two hundred yards past the end of the bridge you finally come to the exit from the highway that lets you drive down to the marina. The beggars aren’t smart enough to figure that out, so they just keep going back and forth on the bridge. Those that accidentally find the turn and wander down to the marina walk right into the water and get washed away,” said John.
True to form it was Dan’s turn again. “We keep a watch on the docks just in case one gets lucky, but so far none of them have figured out how to get up onto the walkways after they walk into the water.”
“How many people managed to survive on the boats?” asked Kathy.
“We did a head count last week, and we had four hundred and eighty men, women, and children,” said John.
“Wow,” said Kathy, “that’s more than I expected, but how do you feed everyone?”
“That’s not a problem yet, but we know we can’t live off of what we have forever,” said Dan.
The Chief looked like he was trying to process that last comment from Dan, but something wasn’t quite right. Almost five hundred people had survived for over a month on what?
“John, how have you been feeding that many people for so long?” asked the Chief. Even in the darkness I could see the Chief shifting his hand toward his holster. He did it so casually that it registered with me, Kathy, and Jean, but our two talkative friends didn’t seem to notice. Either that, or they were good at hiding any reaction.
John answered, “Well, we had a bunch of supplies on the boats, but no one thought it would go on for so long, so no one rationed. Then we started sending people across into the restaurant next to the marina, and we got a pretty good haul from there.”
“The shark fishing and crabbing is pretty good around here, too,” said Dan,” and when the tide goes out we still get some shrimp even though the weather is starting to get cooler.”
I was willing to bet Jean was going to toss her cookies in the boat because she had one hand over her mouth.
“Crabbing?” she asked, though her hand made it sound pretty muffled.
“Sure,” John said, “and we don’t even need to use bait or traps. We just hook those stupid biters with a long pole hook and pull them up. They’re usually covered with blue crabs, so all we have to do is pick them off. Some of the guys got the idea of putting a rope around the same biters and dropping them back in. That way they don’t have to hook a new one each time. The crabs also seem to like the ones that have been in the water longer.”
Jean couldn’t hold it in, but she did manage to keep it in until she was hanging over the stern.
“Don’t lean over too close to the water,” said John. “They bob back up to the surface sometimes.”
“We won’t be staying for supper,” said the Chief, “but we can tell you what we know about the rest of the world before we move on.” The mention of supper with them brought on a new round of gagging from Jean.
“Is she all right?” asked John. “You sure she hasn’t been bitten?”
Kathy said, “She’s fine. Probably just had some bad crab.” Jean went for round three. “We really appreciate you escorting us under the bridge. We probably would have had some unwelcome guests if not for you. I’m wondering, though. How does everyone feel?”
Our guides probably didn’t connect the dots because they said they felt fine. “No one has been bitten,” said Dan, and he looked at John as if he expected confirmation.
We spent about an hour telling John and Dan about the Naval Weapons Station, but we didn’t give away any details about the plane or Mud Island. We told our stories as if we had gotten our information from other survivors. The Chief was visibly more relaxed, but it took a long time before his hand wasn’t sitting on the butt of his gun.
I spent part of the time helping Jean get over her nausea by feeding her crackers and water, but she whispered something about payback being a bitch, and she was good at payback. I was pretty sure she meant Kathy and not me.
Before parting company we asked the men what they knew about the two bridges up ahead, and if they knew anything about what was happening over in the Charleston harbor. They said the Wappoo Creek draw bridge had been raised to prevent more of the infected from coming onto James Island, and it had never been lowered back down. The biggest problem according to them was clean water, but we had a feeling their biggest problem was the going to be the long term effects of eating crabs that had been eating the infected. They were nice enough people, but neither of them had a clue about the food chain.
John told us that more people had come through from the harbor rather than from the ocean as we had, and most said to stay away from Fort Sumter because it had been taken over by some survivalists that felt like the only way to live through an apocalypse was for everyone else to die. We told them that was why we came in through the Stono River, and that we narrowly escaped the mouth of the harbor. They said they would be sure to warn everyone who came through.
They both agreed we wouldn’t have any trouble at the drawbridge because there wasn’t any need for it to be guarded. The last bridge was a very high fixed span, and there wasn’t any reason to expect either shooters or bodies dropping down from above. No other travelers had reported problems there.
We started for the Wappoo Creek at about ten PM and feeling a little better about making it to the harbor. We still didn’t know how bad it would be when we reached the spot where the Ashley River and Cooper River met, and where we would have to pass by the cruise terminal. I was sure that was on all of their minds as I studied my three companions.
“Chief? What were you thinking when you asked John how they were keeping so many people fed? I saw you getting ready to pull your gun if you had to,” I said.
Kathy said, “He was thinking they were eating the infected, which is just one step away from eating the uninfected.”
“Which reminds me,” said Jean, “bad crab? Seriously?”
“You looked like you needed to be cheered up, Jean. I was only trying to help,” said Kathy.
If there was one thing our little group was really good at, it was looking innocent at someone else’s expense. Kathy was keeping a straight face, but the Chief was about to bust a seam because he was holding it in so hard. He was pretending to focus on steering the boat, but I saw him wiping the back of his hand across his eyes.
“So, Chief, is Kathy right about what you were thinking?” I asked.
“Partially,” he said. “I was thinking they had already gotten around to eating long pork.”
“Long pork?” I asked. “What’s that mean?”
“Cover your ears, Jean,” he said with a smile aimed at her. Jean didn’t smile back.
“That’s what cannibal tribes call people, Ed.” He said it so naturally that I was wondering if he was pulling my leg, but when I looked at Kathy, she nodded her head as if confirming what he had said.
I was ready to move on from that particular conversation, but I had one other thing nagging at me, so I directed the question and statement at both Kathy and the Chief.
“I noticed that neither of you told John and Dan about what they could expect to happen from the inside,” I said, “you know, like you did with Hampton.”
“You me
an loved ones not telling the others if they were bitten?” asked Kathy. “It would be even worse here, Ed. This group would be likely to dangle you in the water as crab bait if you got bitten.”
“I don’t give them another month,” said the Chief. “Jean, you’re a medical person. Did you see anything useful about the effects of eating crabs that had been eating the infected?”
“If I hadn’t been so revolted by the thought, Chief, I might have asked them some questions and maybe would have checked their vital signs, but I didn’t see anything obvious.”
“Are you serious?” asked Kathy. “You would have checked their vital signs? What would you have expected to find?”
“I couldn’t say for sure, but before the infected would die, they would get flu-like symptoms, so I would be interested in knowing if any of them have been experiencing swollen lymph glands, fevers, and all the usual things. Honestly,” she said, “what really scares the hell out of me is that mutations of viruses occur exactly like this scenario.”
I had been more of a spectator up to this point in the conversation, but the implications weren’t lost on me.
“Are you saying the people got infected by being bitten, they died and then were eaten by the crabs, which were eaten by unbitten people, and now they will be able to spread the virus without biting someone?” I asked.
“That’s a possibility,” she said. “The proof is in the very existence of the infection.”
The Chief said, “You lost me, Jean.”
“Okay, let me explain it like this,” said Jean. “Eddy, where did you see your first infected person, and knowing what you know now, how could you tell they were infected?”
“That’s easy,” I answered. “It was outside a fast food place in Surfside, and knowing what I know now, I know the person was infected because she was trying to bite everyone.”
“How did she get infected?” She asked.
“I assume she was bitten by someone. Are you saying she might not have been?”
Kathy answered for her. “The infection had to begin somewhere, Ed, and the question would be how did the very first person who was infected manage to get infected?”
Jean took it the rest of the way and said, “Patient zero may have gotten it from a bite, but what if the bite came from something like a blue crab? I mean, most people can wrap their minds around something like a monkey bite or some other kind of wild animal bite, but what if it was a blue crab. Now we have people eating crabs that weren’t previously infected, but those crabs been chewing on infected tissue. We don’t know how this infection will react to being metabolized.”
If I had been drinking, Jean had just invented a way to counteract the alcohol, because I couldn’t have become more sober.
“We’re coming up on the Wappoo Creek drawbridge, folks.” The Chief’s voice was low but we heard it loud and clear. We had already seen some surprises we hadn’t expected at the last bridge.
The Chief said, “Everyone keep low and as close to the bulkheads as possible. If someone sees us, I don’t want them to know how many guns we have.”
The Boston Whaler was barely coasting forward as we approached the open drawbridge. It was eerie to see the two sections of the bridge pointing toward the sky. It was still overcast, but the light from the moon was filtering through just enough for us to see shadows moving on the fixed spans. There were just enough of them for us to tell they were likely to be infected. Besides, there wasn’t much reason to post a watch on an open bridge that had the infected dead on both sides. That would be a good way to get yourself trapped.
It didn’t appear that we had to worry about uninvited guests dropping in because the railings were intact on the side we were approaching, but even if they were down, we were going through the middle. There was zero chance of the infected coming over the open spans.
Kathy said in a whisper, “Chief, it looks like there’s a gap between the railing and the raised span on each side, but I think something’s blocking it.”
We all looked for what Kathy was talking about and saw it was true, but it became obvious as we approached that the gaps were blocked by bodies of the infected dead. The arms and legs of some were still moving.
The Chief said, “I have a theory that seems to make some sense. The bridge must’ve been crowded with the infected when someone raised the thing. Imagine how many of them went sliding back down into a big pile at the bottom. You could fit over two hundred on each span, so they were probably deep enough to keep the ones on the bottom from walking away.”
I pictured the bridge operator trapped in the tower over the first fixed span on the right. He or she probably knew there was no way to leave the tower once they were inside, but payback was probably very satisfying. If it had been me, I would have raised the bridge, dumped the infected in a big pile at the bottom, lowered the bridge, waited for the center spans to fill up again, and then raise it again. I would have done it to my heart’s content, or maybe even until there was a chance to escape.
I quietly told Jean what I was thinking, and she got a little giggling fit the way she did from time to time.The Chief and Kathy wanted to know what she was giggling about, so she passed it along to them. Before it could get stopped everyone was trying not to laugh. If anyone would have been listening, they would have wondered about the four survivors coasting under the bridge and choking back laughter.
“Ed,” said the Chief, “you are one sick individual sometimes, but that’s probably why you’re alive today.”
It felt good knowing that my friends appreciated my sense of humor, although it was a bit warped, but it also felt good that I was probably right about what had happened on the bridge. I silently hoped that the same scenario had played out at every drawbridge in the country, or the whole world.
As we passed under the bridge, we kept our eyes on the other side. We would know in moments if the infected had a way to drop in from above, but even if they could, they wouldn’t land in the center. If we had not been watching, we probably wouldn’t have noticed the rope ladder hanging from the tower down to the water. It was a relief to know the bridge operator had possibly escaped to a boat waiting below the bridge.
We passed a boat landing on our left and Kathy pointed out the number of trailers that would be just right for our purposes. The Chief agreed and said he had seen even more trailers at the boat landing just south of where we had left the plane.
A familiar groan came from the mass of parked vehicles at the boat landing, and soon it became a chorus of groans. They emerged from the darkness around the cars and were drawn to the low rumble of the boat motor.
Even as their numbers grew, we were drifting away from them, so we watched without compassion as they walked down the sloped concrete of the boat landing and stepped into the swift current of the water that passed under the bridge. John and Dan had said it was swift at this landing, but that was almost an understatement. As the infected entered the water, they appeared to be knocked down and yanked under by some unseen force. Each groaning infected dead was there and gone in a split second.
I think we were all surprised when the Chief put the engine on idle and dropped the anchor. He brought us to a stop about ten yards from the landing.
“We might just be helping someone else to stay alive,” he said. “Remember what Dan said about driving back and forth under the bridge just to make more of them fall off? Well, he may be crazy for eating the crabs, but he wasn’t wrong about eliminating as many of the infected as possible. If we sit here for about thirty minutes, it might clear this boat landing.”
Thirty minutes later the boat landing was quiet, and we had done our part to help get rid of some of the infected. Even though it was a drop in the bucket, it felt good to fight back. It would have taken a lot of bullets and head shots to dispose of that many infected dead.
The Chief raised the anchor and pushed the throttle forward, and the third bridge before reaching Charleston harbor came into view. It seemed like a skyscra
per compared to the other bridges because it was so far above us, and it wasn’t going to be a problem for us unless the Chief drove us into one of the massive supports.
We watched it pass by above without incident, and the Chief gave us even more speed as we rushed toward the Ashley River. It was dark enough due to the overcast sky hiding most of the moon for the Chief to give us more speed than before. It wasn’t long before he put the Whaler in a long turn to our right as we reached the deeper water of the Ashley River.
“I need everyone keeping their eyes forward,” said the Chief. “The river is wide enough for us to be less worried about shooting us then before, but I don’t want to run into a survivor who may be anchored out here. We may piss them off by throwing out a big wake, but that would be better than cutting them in half.”
I was thinking more along the lines of us being a bug on the windshield of something big that could be anchored in the river, but I didn’t say it out loud. I just got myself in a position to see up ahead.
The Chief began his second sweeping turn, but this time it was to the left as we reached the mouth of the Cooper River. Even in the dark I could tell that the island coming up on the right was the one where hundreds of people had landed by Castle Pinckney as they escaped from the marina at Patriots Point.
There were no dark shapes wandering around on the narrow island as we sped past as quickly as we could. The old Civil War fort had never been restored, so it was not an attractive place for survivors to fortify, but it was surprising that no one was at least standing guard on the harbor from that spot. We had to pass far too close for comfort, and we all expected to be shot at again.
The cruise terminal came up on our left, and the sight of the dock had a visible effect on my companions.
“We’re home,” said Kathy. She tried to make it sound like humor, but her voice was empty of any joy. All of us were reliving that day when Kathy had barricaded the infected from entering the terminal long enough for the ship to escape. They were all hopeful at the moment the big cruise ship had pulled away from the dock, but they knew now it had been a horribly doomed effort.
