The Infected Dead (Book 1): Alive for Now

by Bob Howard

  Jean said as we rushed past the dock where the triage tent had been set up, “We had to try, you know. We couldn’t have lived with ourselves if we hadn’t. It turned into a terrible nightmare for everyone but us, but it was either that or die right here at this dock.”

  By the time she had finished speaking, we were past the dock and the Chief was aiming for the channel under the Ravenel Bridge, the main connection between Charleston and Mount Pleasant. There were lights on in the USS Yorktown parked at Patriots Point, and it was tempting to investigate, but it was also dangerous. In this new world, we couldn’t know if other survivors would be like Hampton and Ward, John and Dan, or the unknown shooters who we were forced to avoid going past Fort Sumter.

  We passed under the massive bridge and watched as the lights on the Yorktown receded in the distance. I think we all had a longing to rejoin society, but the cost of admission could be too high.

  Jean squeezed my hand and asked what I was thinking. I told her I was wondering how long everyone was going to survive. Hampton’s group would probably be overcome by infection from within because someone didn’t admit to being bitten. John’s group would probably die from within because they were eating the crabs that had been feeding on the infected, and the people on the Yorktown, whoever they were, would probably be attacked by another group of survivors because they were too visible. It would be too easy for rival groups of survivors to think someone else had it better, and they should take what the others have. The group holding Fort Sumter sure seemed to feel that way.

  “We may have the best thing going for us because of you, Eddy,” she said.

  “We might,” I answered, “but we should stop leaving Mud Island until things settle down. If we get back in one piece, I’m not leaving again for the rest of my life.”

  “I think your Uncle did a good thing by building the shelter on Mud Island, but I don’t think he had this type of apocalypse in mind,” she said. “I think he was thinking more of a war, collapse of society, or a really big natural disaster. The boat, the plane, and the houseboat weren’t necessarily supposed to survive the destruction, so he didn’t provide for their protection. If he would have thought of it himself, he probably would have done what we’re planning to do.”

  We looked up ahead and saw that we had reached the Wando River. That meant we were probably going to reach the Paradise Boat Landing in just about two hours if all went well, but we still had two more bridges to go. One of them was another monster that was high enough for big shipping traffic to pass under, but the second bridge could be the worst one we would deal with.

  None of us had any first hand knowledge of the last bridge, so we had to rely completely on the maps. They showed that the bridge crossing at Highway 41 was low, narrow, and easily a good place for an ambush. At the river’s highest stage, it was barely twenty feet from the surface of the water to the pavement on the bridge. There was a low concrete railing, but pictures showed it was such an odd construction that it literally begged someone to fall over it whether they were the living or the infected dead. There would be no way to tell which we would encounter on the bridge until we arrived.

  When we were planning this impossible mission to bring back the plane with the trailer strapped to it’s belly, we had managed to connect to an internet server that was still running long enough to find some digital maps and photos. We zoomed in on this bridge and decided there was no way we were going to try to go under at the middle. The Boston Whaler didn’t draft too deep, so the plan was to tie off at the last private dock to the north of the bridge. We would wait for the next high tide, inflate a raft, and then tow the Whaler under the first span closest to that shoreline.

  “How are we doing time wise, Chief?” I asked.

  He checked his notes and said, “High tide is at three o’clock, Ed, so we should only have about an hour to wait after we find our target dock.”

  “That’s not bad timing,” said Kathy. “We should have time to talk about Plan B.”

  “I think we did Plan B when we were forced to use the back door to Charleston harbor. Are you thinking we need a Plan C,” Kathy?

  “I’m thinking I don’t want to drive the boat back out the way we came, Chief. We know what to expect in some places, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t some things we missed. There could even be patrols on the water that were just at the right place at the right time as we crossed the harbor. I think it’s too risky because of the distance.”

  The Chief looked like he was mulling it over when Jean asked, “Is there a way to get the boat from this river to the ocean if we drove it on a road? There’s going to be plenty of cars at the boat landing. We can strap a trailer to the plane for you to fly out, and we can load the boat on another. If we can get it to the ocean, we would be pretty close to Mud Island.”

  “You may be on to something, Jean. When we get to our dock, let’s take a close look at the maps and see.”

  I asked, “What about the cars, Chief? Any worries about them not starting?”

  “No, I’m not really worried about that, Ed. Have you ever seen someone jump start a car from a plane engine?”

  I had to admit, I hadn’t ever thought about that, but I wasn’t sure if the Chief was kidding or not, so I just smiled. The Chief had that look like the trap was set and he was just waiting for me to take the bait.

  We followed the twists and turns of the Wando River until we spotted the last bridge up ahead. It appeared rather suddenly as we came around a large bend in the river. The Chief kept the boat in the center of the river until we were past the Charleston City Boatyard, and then he steered toward the last of seven private docks that jutted out into the river.

  I checked the time and saw we had close to an hour to rest as the Chief tied the mooring line from the boat to the dock. It was a very long dock, so we weren’t concerned about any infected dead or living people using it to sneak up on us. Even so, I climbed up on the dock and laid down with a rifle pointed straight down its length to the shore.

  Behind me the Chief and Kathy huddled under a makeshift shelter in the center of the boat and spread out the maps. The camouflaged tarps they were using would block the light from their flashlights. I would have been happy to have Jean laying next to me on the deck, but she took up a position by my feet facing back out over the boat toward the water. From her spot she could keep an eye on the water on all sides of the boat.

  After about thirty minutes Kathy and the Chief emerged from their shelter and climbed up on the dock with us. The huddled close to us and whispered that they had a plan that would get us home by that afternoon.

  ******

  By three AM the tide was high enough for us to leave the dock. We were all a bit rested, but none of us had been hungry enough to bother with a meal. The Chief had inflated the raft and positioned it just a few feet from the bow. We started quietly forward with Jean steering the Whaler since she was the lightest of the four of us. We didn’t want it to draft any deeper than it needed to. As a result, it was skimming nicely along the surface.

  I was using a long pole to push down on the muddy bottom below us, and the others were paddling. There was a deep groan from somewhere in front of us, and we all froze. The Whaler drifted up to the raft and gave it a slight bump. We all listened and willed our eyes to see just a little bit farther into the darkness.

  “There it is,” I said. “It looks like just one at about ten o’clock, and it looks like it’s stuck in the mud.”

  Everyone spotted it, and we started forward again, being careful not to let the boat drift sideways toward the infected. It continued to groan and to reach for us. It had this pathetic look on its face like it couldn’t believe that we wouldn’t come closer.

  As we approached the bridge, the Chief made a quiet sound to draw our attention to him. He pointed toward the center of the bridge and mouthed one word, “Watch.”

  It was totally dark, and it was at least one hundred yards to the center of the bridge, but we
strained our eyes in that direction and waited. After what seemed like forever, there was a reddish glow that arced upward, grew brighter, then arced back downward. Someone was smoking a cigarette. We had seen him lift in from hiding down by his side, take a drag, then quickly put it back down again.

  I had read somewhere a long time ago about soldiers in combat who didn’t believe smoking at night was as dangerous as others led them to believe, and once in a while, someone would test that theory. It was such a sure way to give away your position that the kill shot was usually to the head. All the shooter had to do was wait for the cigarette to glow brighter, and that meant it was between the smoker’s lips.

  The Chief whispered to us, “The glow of the cigarette will mess with his vision more than he realizes. Just try not to bump into anything like the hull of the boat.”

  He signaled for us to start forward again, but we kept a close watch on his position. He must have been trying to stay awake because he lit another cigarette as soon as he finished the other. The lighter seemed so bright in the darkness he might as well have shot off a flare.

  “Did you see that?” whispered Kathy.

  We all stopped and waited so she could tell us what she saw. “Look under the bridge,” she said.

  We could’t see it well, but there was something unmistakably different about the light coming through directly under the middle span. There wasn’t much light anywhere, but there was none under the middle span.

  “Does that look like a cargo net to you guys?” she asked.

  “Wow,” I said. “We guessed this one right, didn’t we.”

  As we passed under the span closest to shore, the canopy over the steering wheel cleared the underside of the bridge by mere inches. We all held our breath hoping we were right about how high the boat would be riding, but on the off chance we could see it was going to be too high, we were all prepared to climb on board at the last moment to make it draft deeper.

  Once we were back out in the open, there was a moment when light reflected off the water between the bridge and the far shore, and we could see the net more clearly. If we had tried for the middle, we would have been caught in that heavy cargo net, and there would have been no chance to get free.

  The Wando River made a ninety degree turn to the left about one hundred yards past the bridge, and just to be safe, we continued to float using paddles and poles until we had made the turn. Starting the engine any sooner would have been an open invitation to get shot on such a quiet night.

  After the turn, the Chief signaled for us all to get back into the boat. He quickly deflated the raft far enough to bring on board and dragged it over the stern. We had already given up one raft when we had set it adrift after returning to Mud Island the last time, and we didn’t know if we would need this one again.

  “We have less than five miles until we get to the boat landing. We’re going to go right past it to the plane and drop me off,” said the Chief. “You guys will go back to the boat landing and look for a vehicle that starts and a good trailer to use to haul the boat across to the ocean. Also, try to find a smaller trailer for us to use on Mud Island. Everyone know the plan?”

  We all nodded, and the Chief started the boat. If anyone heard it at the bridge, they would hopefully be well upriver before he could raise the alarm.

  The next five miles of out trip went by fast, and by four AM we were passing the boat landing. Unlike the boat landing on Wappoo Creek by the open drawbridge, there was no crowd of infected dead. We cruised past the parked cars, boats, and trailers and came to the dock where the plane sat waiting for us. We all felt our spirits lifted by the sight of the Otter and realized two things were true. We weren’t totally sure the plane would still be here, and the thought of making it back to the plane seemed more like an impossibility than a probability.

  “Is it just me,” I asked, “or did anyone else think we had a snowball’s chance in hell of making it back to this spot?”

  I looked around and saw that my companions were smiling at me. That was all the answer I needed.

  “We have work to do,” said the Chief. “The faster we get it done, the faster we’ll get home.” He already had his hands full of the gear he needed for the repairs. “This repair is so easy, I may be back for you before you can get a car running, so make it quick.”

  We made a quick scan of the mudflats around the plane and saw that they were as wet and unforgiving as they had been before. There were still infected dead stuck in the mud from our last visit, but they were slumped over where they had become stuck. In the darkness before the dawn, we couldn’t tell if they were still able to move, but the ones nearest to us had been mostly eaten. Blue crabs clinging to one brought back bad memories, and Jean turned away. She had seen worse things as a nurse, but it was the thought of people eating the crabs that got to her.

  We decided the Chief was safe where he was. He was working by flashlight in a part of the engine where the light couldn’t be seen from shore. As for the infected, they had a hard time walking a straight line, so it wasn’t likely one could reach him while he’s standing on a pontoon of an airplane.

  Kathy, Jean, and I spun the boat around and headed back for the boat landing. Since Kathy was the best shot, she was armed with a Glock and would stand watch over me while I found a vehicle I could start. Jean would tag along with a flashlight if one was needed.

  In a matter of minutes we had the Whaler tied to the dock next to the ramp of the boat landing and were sprinting toward the rows of parked cars. Our plan was simple. We would check every vehicle with a trailer attached to it to see if the keys were in the ignition. If we were unlucky, Kathy had a screwdriver and would break the ignition switch to start the car. We preferred finding keys because there was always a chance that the electronics of the car would get messed up when the ignition switch broke, and we didn’t want the car to cut off and refuse to start again.

  It was Jean who got the idea that we should check the vehicles that were facing away from the water with the trailers facing toward the water. Her logic was that the boats had been off loaded, but the vehicles weren’t parked yet. There were also several with their boats still on the trailers.

  The first vehicle was a new Silverado with the extended crew cab, and we couldn’t believe our eyes. The keys were in the ignition. We all looked at each other and smiled.

  “Jean, you’re a genius,” I said.

  She answered, “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you guys for weeks. I’m not just another pretty face.”

  I gave her a big kiss, and Kathy rolled her eyes before jumping into the driver seat and turning the key. The engine burst into life, and Kathy only kept it running long enough to see if it had enough gas.

  “It doesn’t get any better than this,” she said. “It has a full tank.”

  I asked, “Hey, is there any reason not to take the boat too?”

  “None that I can think of,” said Kathy. “If we can find another vehicle that starts and doesn’t have a boat on the trailer, we could keep the Boston Whaler. You know why your uncle picked a Whaler don’t you?”

  I thought back to the first day I saw it and remembered that I was too happy to have the boat. I never gave a thought to why he picked that type boat, but now that I had spent so much time in it, I knew it was because of the shallow draft. It was great in these coastal rivers.

  “I think I have an idea of why he picked it, Kathy. Some of these really comfortable cabin cruisers could only travel right down the middle of the rivers where the water is deep. This one on the trailer probably has to go under the bridge at low tide.”

  “Exactly, but it would be better out on the ocean if we were having to make a run for it. It’s got about twice as much speed as the Whaler. The biggest advantage would be as a decoy. If we have it parked next to the houseboat, no one would even think to look for the other boat.”

  “Ok, Jean work your magic again. Where’s our next winning vehicle?” I said.

  Our ne
xt winning vehicle had a body on the ground next to it. When this guy went down, he must have been really swarmed because too much of him was eaten for him to get up and join the others. Jean checked his pockets and fished a set of keys out of the grisly mess.

  A quick check of the F-100 next to the body showed that the guy hadn’t made it too far, either. His boat wasn’t on the trailer, so odds were that he had put it into the water and gone back to park his car. I looked at what used to be a man and wondered if it had all happened that fast, or if he was so obsessed with obeying the rules that it didn’t occur to him to just drop off the boat and leave the truck and trailer on the ramp.

  “Whatever,” I said. The key fit, and the truck started just as easily as the Silverado. It had three quarters of a tank of gas, which was more than enough to get us where we needed to go.

  Jean jumped in with me, and I backed the trailer down the ramp until it was submerged enough to let the Whaler slide onto it. I didn’t use the headlights, but the back-up lights and brake lights seemed unnaturally bright against the darkness. I put on the emergency brake and killed the engine.

  We all made a mad dash for the Boston Whaler and got it started while Jean threw the mooring line from the dock. Then she turned and ran back to the truck as I jockeyed the Whaler into position.

  Kathy was with me in the boat getting ready to jump off as I slipped the boat over the submerged trailer, and it was a sick feeling when I glanced toward Jean and saw that she wasn’t alone.

  Less than ten feet behind her were three nightmare figures lurching with outstretched arms in her direction. I was in no position to help because I was having to hold the boat in a straight line. Kathy was on the wrong side of the Whaler and was looking down into the water for the right place to land when she jumped. She would never see Jean needed help in time.

  With only a faint light of sunrise behind Jean and the three infected, I knew I was going to watch her die. I was so sure of it, that I didn’t even understand what happened next or what the sound was behind me.