Blood on the Sand (Z Plan)

by Lerma, Mikhail

  His legs were cramping and he was starting to feel tired. His stomach growled angrily. The Freedom Runner’s engine was starting to sound rough anyway, so he decided to call it a day for now. He went down to eat, not bothering to drop the anchor. He didn’t even look at the package or warm up its contents. He just ate it quietly. Since his pillow and blanket were already in the drive cabin, he curled up on the floor and slept. Nightmares prevented him from getting any real sleep. He tossed and turned until he gave up on the notion of rest. He stood up and stretched. It was almost dark again, so he turned on the vessel’s lights. He grabbed a fuel can and proceeded to fill the tank. Once it was full he went back to the console.

  Again he sailed west. He looked for any other ships while he traveled. So far it was just him in the vast nothingness. Cale was beginning to feel strained. He wanted to sleep, but didn’t want to be haunted by nightmares. When he wasn’t actively doing something it gave his mind time to think, and thinking only brought back the horror.

  “Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale…” he started to sing, “A tale of a fateful trip. That started from this tropic port, aboard this tiny ship.”

  He continued to sing the theme song to Gilligan’s Island, trying to remember the words as he did. He managed it perfectly, eventually singing the song again and again, word for word. It was the only sea faring song he really knew. He remembered watching Gilligan’s Island with his grandmother. She always thought Ginger was so beautiful and that the Professor was the best looking man since her husband passed away. His grandmother was silly. As a child he had difficulty saying ‘Grandma’ and instead called her ‘Greyma’. She loved it though. It became her official title after that. Sadly, she’d passed away a few years back. Now Cale wasn’t sure if that was sad or lucky. He was glad she’d never see the horrors of this new world.

  Cale fell silent after a few hours of singing. He was all sung out. He gave into the temptation to lie down, and fell asleep. He didn’t care about drifting in the open sea, so he didn’t bother to drop anchor. He went a number of days simply sailing, eating, and then sleeping. Cale noticed that the engine wasn’t running as smoothly anymore. He located the engine compartment but could see nothing wrong with it.

  “Shit.”

  He wasn’t much for engines, let alone boat engines. He re-sealed the compartment, unsure of what to do. He went back into the drive cabin and checked the map. There was no telling where he was now. He only had the compass to go by. Cale decided to just keep at it. Eventually he’d find something. Or so he hoped. The days and nights blurred into one another, and without anyone to talk to, Cale didn’t pay much attention to the time or date. Every day was exactly the same. He’d wake up and eat a cold MRE, start the engine and continue west.

  He wondered if the compass was broken. He also wondered if, because he wasn’t dropping the anchor, maybe the current was taking him back east while he slept. Maybe every day he was sailing the distance he had lost. This, of course, was a ridiculous notion. He was starting to see land to the south. It was northern Africa if he was reading the map right. Cale adopted a southwestern route now, just in case he needed to switch boats. The Freedom Runner had been running funny for the last five days or so.

  Now with a new heading, he ventured toward the continent where the infection had started. Unfortunately the Freedom Runner gave up. The engine compartment billowed smoke.

  “FUCK!” Cale shouted.

  He was dead in the water now. He tried to figure out what went wrong, well into the night. Once darkness fully came, he went back inside. Maybe tomorrow the current would bring him closer to Africa. He could only hope.

  Imaginative Things

  Cale awoke from another nightmare. Covered in sweat he sat on the floor of the drive cabin. The sun had long been up. At least he was sleeping longer. Cale went out on deck and relieved himself over the edge. The air was pleasant. Not too hot or cold, it was just the right temperature. He looked to the north; there was nothing but open sea. But something caught his eye. A fountain of water shot up from the surface, spraying into the air.

  “What the hell?”

  He scanned the water hoping to see another. After a few minutes, there it was again. It was closer this time.

  “What is that?” he said out loud.

  Just below the surface he could see a large creature was headed right for him. A very large creature. It breached the surface and sprayed again.

  “Oh,

  my God!”

  It was a whale. What kind he had no idea, but there it was, only ten yards from the boat. It was massive. Cale marveled at the aquatic animal, but was terrified at the same time. If it wanted to it could easily ram the ship and sink it. Cale watched as more came into view under the surface. It was a whole pod of whales. This was a truly amazing moment. They circled a few times but then went north, before disappearing. He was still in shock. This was the first time he’d seen anything in days now. The pod was completely unaffected by the virus that plagued mankind. Cale was jealous of them. He turned now, to look to the south.

  He was unhappy with what he saw. He was further away from land than the day before. Slowly, the current would take him back out into the Mediterranean. Cale decided to drop anchor. He wasn’t even sure if it hit bottom, but at least it was in place. Back in the drive cabin he looked at the maps once more, still unable to pinpoint his own location. He had a couple of guesses but couldn’t be certain. He was great at land navigation, but this nautical navigation had him stumped. It didn’t help that he was in a daze, as he trekked forward, never once caring to check the map or plot a course. ‘Westward’ had become his foolish battle cry.

  Cale stared at the map a while longer. He looked out the window over the sea. The radio caught his eye. He could always radio for help; maybe someone was still out there. Not that it would do him any good. He’d need coordinates so they could find him, coordinates he didn’t have or know how to acquire.

  “This is just fucking fantastic,” he said angrily.

  He’d come all this way, only to end up dead in the water. He had plenty of food and water, and so could hold off starvation and dehydration for quite some time. If rationed properly it would be more than four weeks. Despite its futility, Cale decided to radio for help. He turned the radio on and its digital dial lit up. He fiddled with the knobs, learning each one’s function. The larger one controlled the volume, and the smaller toggle altered the frequency. The illuminated numbers changed as he turned the dial. They climbed numerically as he adjusted it clockwise then came down when reversed. A piece of paper was taped to the wooden panel above the radio. It had the emergency frequency on it. Cale turned the dial to 7.085MHz and began transmitting

  “This is the Freedom Runner in need of assistance. I repeat; I need assistance.”

  Cale wasn’t sure what the proper radio etiquette was but continued on.

  “This is the Freedom Runner calling any available ship or station. My vessel is dead in the water and I need assistance.”

  He let off the transmitter and waited for a response. Two minutes went by and he tried again.

  “This is the Freedom Runner, my location is unknown but if you can hear me please answer!”

  He was beginning to become frustrated. All that responded to his hails was the sound of static.

  “Dead air,” he thought.

  Everything was dead now. Why should the radio waves be any different? Cale persisted in calling and listening for the rest of the day. As the sun went down he tried to start the engine again. It whirred, but didn’t turn over. He turned the radio’s volume to maximum, and bedded down in the drive cabin for the night. He left his craft fully illuminated as he slept, hoping someone would see it.

  The next day proved fruitless as well. Cale attempted to start the boat with the same result. Again, he radioed his distress call. Again, it went unanswered. He’d found a flare gun with four flares. That night he shot one into the sky hoping to attract any attention he
could. With three flares left, he decided to save them in case of a true life or death emergency. He was scared to turn off or even leave the radio. It would be just his luck that someone called when he was out of earshot. Each day, his message became more and more desperate.

  “Is anybody fucking out there? Please respond. I’m an American and I need assistance. Hello?”

  He’d wait a couple of minutes then improvise a new message. Saying the same thing over and over again was starting to wear on him. Soon he found himself singing over the radio.

  “Just sit right back and you’ll hear a fucking tale…” he’d sing off key, “a tale of a doomed fucking trip.”

  He parodied his way through most of the song and then made up others. He was starting to stink now. He’d been relieving himself over the side of the ship, but never leaving the cabin to shower. His own stench caused him to gag on occasion. He could feel a darkness looming over him. He was never going to make it home. He’d never get to see American soil, or his wife, or daughter again. Those who’d died were the lucky ones. They wouldn’t be tormented in an eternal purgatory. He used to love the water, but now its constant splashing and motion made him want to kill himself.

  He looked at the flare gun he’d left on the counter. He’d left his 9mm below deck and didn’t want to fetch it in case someone called. He hadn’t entirely given up hope yet, but he wondered if it were possible to kill himself with the flare gun. As he thought, he remembered a movie he’d seen a long time ago, definitely one of his favorites. Five kids sitting in a school library on a Saturday as punishment for their individual ‘crimes’. The ‘geek’, what was his name? Brian, was it? Yeah, Brian. He was in trouble for taking a flare gun to school. He was going to kill himself with it after receiving a ‘B’ in one of his classes.

  Cale laughed. He was startled at the sound. It didn’t sound like his laugh, but he laughed some more. Soon he was laughing hysterically and rolling on the floor. He was out of breath, and his throat was sore after a few minutes of his laughing fit.

  The cabin grew quiet. He stared at the reflection of the sunlight hitting the water, and dancing across the ceiling. He didn’t know what time of day it was, or even what day it was. It was like time had stopped, leaving him frozen in this moment, and forever doomed to repeat the day over. The light bulb above him flickered. Soon the boat’s battery would die. Then the radio would die, followed by his own death. He was sick of fighting now. He just wanted it to end.

  The radio crackled. It was still only static. Cale fell asleep. He dreamed that he was at home watching a movie with Lauren. They cuddled, and his hands were placed on her pregnant belly. He could feel his daughter kick inside. He smiled at the soon to be mommy and she smiled back. Her long brown hair hung loosely. It smelled of lavender. Her brown eyes stared deeply into his. This was the most comfortable he’d ever been. His daughter sent another barrage of kicks at his palms. She always did, when he felt for her. It was like she knew he was there. He was going to spoil the crap out of his little princess.

  The television volume shot up and the channel changed to static. He was partially sitting on the remote. He fumbled with the controls trying to change it back, or at least mute it. But it only grew louder.

  “SHUT IT OFF!” his wife shouted.

  “I’M TRYING! THE DAMN THING IS BUSTED!” He had to yell so she could hear him over the television.

  The numbers looked odd. He analyzed the buttons and couldn’t make sense of them. The remote was filled with arrows pointing in various directions. He stood up and crossed the living room to turn it off manually. He clicked the button, but it didn’t power off. He pushed it again and still nothing happened. What was going on? He looked at the static on the television. The sound started to clear. He could hear a voice now. It sounded like gibberish. Cale couldn’t make out what was being said. He looked back to Lauren on the couch. She wasn’t there anymore. Neither was the living room he’d been in. He was back in his room in Iraq. Zach was sitting there, looking confused.

  “Cale what the hell are you doing?” he asked.

  “I can’t get this damn thing to work.”

  “It’s a radio buddy. Just turn it down.”

  Cale wasn’t sure what was going on, but slowly he stirred on the floor of the drive cabin. He sat up and stretched. Static continued to play over the radio.

  “Fuck,” he said.

  It was a hell of a dream. He stood up, and looked out the windows. Yep, he was still alone out here. Cale slipped back into depression instantly, remembering his situation. He listened to the static a while longer. Then he headed for the door to the lower level. If he was going to commit suicide, he was going to be clean, and he was going to do it in the comfort of his own bed.

  For a moment, he thought he heard a voice behind him as he left. He was hearing things. He was convinced he’d finally gone over the edge. Once at the bottom of the stairs he heard it again, much louder this time. He paused in the narrow passage way. The ocean rocked the boat back and forth causing him to bump into the walls. There it was again. Someone was hailing him. He ran back up, hoping he wasn’t imagining things. He still couldn’t understand it all, but he heard the words ‘Freedom Runner’. The transmission repeated and he was certain this time the operator had said Freedom Runner. Cale snatched up the transponder and began broadcasting.

  “This is the Freedom Runner. I need assistance. My vessel is stranded in the water. Hello, can you hear me?”

  The man responded again, but he didn’t understand. He was speaking a different language.

  “I don’t understand. I’m an American. English? Do you speak English?” he was frantic.

  There was silence for a moment. Cale held his breath, waiting for an answer. Then a voice came back in response.

  “Freedom Runner this is Amun of the Egyptian Armed Forces. We read you loud and clear. Our operator wasn’t familiar with English.”

  “Oh thank God! I’m stranded on a boat. I don’t know where I am.”

  “Please remain calm. We know where you are.”

  Cale wasn’t sure how they knew. Maybe they had radar or something. He didn’t care, he was about to be rescued. He was going to see real people.

  “We can see you right now and we’re moving in to extract you? Are you alone? And are you ill?”

  They could see him. Cale looked out over the water. There was nothing out there in any direction. He looked to the sky, maybe they had aerial surveillance. But a quick scan of the sky revealed he was still alone.

  “How many are aboard, and are any of them carrying the infection?” the man repeated.

  “Na---no,” Cale stuttered back. “I’m alone and I am NOT infected. I repeat NOT infected.”

  “Good,” the man said.

  Cale stood on the deck of the broken Freedom Runner, and looked out over the Mediterranean Sea. There was no one in sight. He was scared he’d just made the whole thing up. Was he insane now? Insane like the rest of the world? Not far off the stern, something broke the surface of the water.

  “Whales again?” Cale speculated.

  This thing was larger than a whale, and it was made of metal. It was a submarine! It all made sense to him now. The large vessel paralleled his, but dwarfed it in size. Sea water ran down the sides of the sub. A hatch opened and armed men filed out of the large metal structure. They stood on top of the submarine’s deck with weapons pointed at Cale. Cale loaded the flares and shot them into the sky in celebration. He whooped and hollered as loud as he could. A man with a bull horn exited the hatch last. It crackled loudly as he prepared to speak.

  “Please follow all of our instructions precisely. We’re here to collect you.”

  Epilogue

  She and her daughter had been part of this community for the past four weeks, since back when the government was still calling the shots. They now resided in what used to be a storage facility. It worked out great with its high fence and the two large buildings located at the center. Only one of
these buildings originally had climate control, but with new survivors pouring in, they’d engineered a way to run ducts through the facility, effectively manipulating its climate as well.

  Lauren and Marie shared unit 215 with two other single mothers and their children. Marie was the youngest however. Her birthday was in two months. She had been going to throw her daughter a party at her family’s house but wasn’t even able to make it there for Christmas. The snow on the ground came in handy. Most of the infected couldn’t move because they were frozen. Some of the more well-clothed ones were still animate though.

  The improvised heating system worked exceptionally well. Most nights Lauren was unable to sleep because she was too hot. She wasn’t able to sleep nude as she was accustomed to, because of the shared space. Marie didn’t seem to mind it though. The facility was kept secure by roaming guards. They patrolled the perimeter with crowbars and shovels. The weak spots were covered up with moving trucks. They’d parked them in front of holes in the fence and blocked off the undersides of the vehicles.

  Given the snow fall, it was uncommon to see the undead. They’d all hoped the government would have recovered by now. The last Lauren had seen of the President, he was at a press conference trying to keep the peace. It wasn’t long before the cameras captured infected people busting down the doors and ripping the President and his cabinet members apart. She wasn’t fond of the president, but she didn’t feel he deserved to die like that. Or maybe he did. It was because of his order that Cale, her husband, was shipped off to war.

  She often thought about him and cried. He was most likely dead, since the infection had started in Africa and worked its way north. Before they knew it the infection had crossed the Pacific and the Atlantic, and it became a global pandemic.