The Queen of the Dead

by Peter Meredith

  “You’re with me,” she told Stu and marched straight out the door. “We have a delicate mission to attend to.” It was all she would say at least to him. Once outside she paused to watch the Saber hauling the Floating Fortress back towards the island. She watched for all of two seconds before she began barking orders again. “You!”

  Mike’s friend George Parry touched his chest. “Me? My name’s George.”

  “Okay, George, I need you to get out to the Fortress. Take the smallest boat you have and tell Mike to pull it in close so we can unload the people. Just the people at first. Got it?”

  He started to answer but she had already turned away rousing up a few loitering kids. She chose the two oldest. “Get pistols from the armory. You’ll be going to the hilltop by way of the bridge, and as you’ll be running I’d wear sneakers.”

  “Running?”

  Stu wasn’t about to have a kid curl his lip at Jillybean, queen or not. He leapt at the boy and snatched him by his collar, yanking him close. “That’s the Queen you just sneered at, Jimmy. Is that how your mom taught you to behave?” The boy shook his head, afraid to look up. “Then what do you say?”

  “Sorry,” Jimmy said in husky whisper.

  Being still so new to her title, Jillybean hadn’t even batted an eye at the lack of respect and was glad Stu had caught it. Gravely, she explained, “It’s actually ‘sorry, your Highness,’ but we’ll work on that later. Now, the Corsairs are coming and we need you to hurry. Find Donna Polston. She’ll have a note for you to take.”

  The next couple of hours was very similar. Jillybean formed teams to accomplish every conceivable task and when the Floating Fortress began unloading, with the Saber going back and forth packed to the gills, the number of people rushing around made the small island feel like an anthill.

  It didn’t last as more and more the tasks took the people off the island. There was a great deal of nervous excitement coming from those people fresh off the barge. Everyone was afraid of the Corsairs, and the entire idea of a battle was dreadful, but most of them didn’t really believe it would happen.

  Real battles were so rare none of them had ever been in one. Besides, not only did they have the impervious-feeling Floating Fortress, they also had Jillybean, the “Mad Queen” who’d not only defeated the Corsairs before, she also cut such a strangely imposing figure despite not being even five and half feet tall, that they were reassured whenever she strode past.

  For the most part Jenn and Stu kept close to Jillybean, following her about as she dashed here and there, making certain her five hundred subjects remained constantly reassured and busy.

  If the two ever questioned why they weren’t allowed to do more to help she reminded them of their ‘important mission’ until both began to think there was no mission and that she was keeping them close by to make sure Eve didn’t slip into control when no one was looking.

  At one point that morning they ran into Diamond who was almost unrecognizable. As the Floating Fortress had been slowly drifting towards its certain destruction, Diamond had been busy re-becoming herself. She had worked laboriously on her hair, her makeup and her attire, becoming pitifully overemphasized from head to foot. From fifteen feet away, it was as though she had lost twenty years and might have been a teenager; from three feet away she gained back all twenty and added ten on top of it, especially around the eyes which were the desperate eyes of a middle-aged woman.

  She had sought out Jillybean and her determination to present herself bordered on violence. “Your majesty! It’s me, Diamond. You accidentally left me behind back on the barge thing.” She tittered even at her own remark.

  Jillybean was thrown into confusion by the sight of her. On what might have been the eve of battle, her make up, her curled hair and her exceedingly short miniskirt didn’t make sense and Jillybean’s mind see-sawed between dark and light, between cold attention to detail and nebulous uncertain thoughts that were mostly made up of questions without answers.

  “Diamond?”

  “Yes, that’s me.” This was followed by a tee-hee which threw Jillybean completely over.

  Jenn saw her eyes flicker, turning darker and darker. She moved quickly to Diamond’s side. “Hey, could you get us something to eat?” It was already ten in the morning and she couldn’t remember when they had eaten last.

  “Food?” The concept seemed foreign to Diamond and her small laugh was as uncertain as ever.

  “Yes, food!” Jillybean snapped. “You know what food is, right?”

  Diamond looked hurt and Jenn hurried her away as Stu went to Jillybean. “She’ll get us something, don’t worry. Let’s wait over here, out of the wind.” A cold, biting wind had picked up, blowing steadily from the north.

  “Didn’t I set up a centralized kitchen? I swear that was something I did. Yes, I put Miss Shay in charge of it because she has that mean lunch-lady kinda feel. That’s what Sadie says.”

  “Yes, you did,” Stu assured. “And you set up a schedule for eating and one for working and one for sleeping. The only problem is that you didn’t put yourself on any of these. You need to take a break, too, Jillybean.”

  As correct as he was, the idea bothered her. “I suppose, but not here. I can’t have my people see me sitting around doing nothing while they’re all working.”

  They went inside and soon enough Diamond and Jenn returned. Diamond looking very pleased with herself; she had managed to walk and carry a bowl of seagull egg soup without spilling a drop. She was such a simple, sweet creature that Jillybean begged her forgiveness for her rude behavior. She even kissed the ex-stripper’s cheek.

  Diamond went away with tears in her eyes.

  They ate their brunch in Gerry’s office where the cold wind rattled the windows and the tension mounted with each gust. “Go ahead, Jenn,” Jillybean said, “It’s okay to mention that the wind is a bad sign.”

  “It’s not the wind, it’s the clouds.” She pointed at the streaking white cirrus clouds, stationed at the top of the sky. “They’re going crosswise to the wind. Everyone knows that’s trouble for what lies beneath.”

  Jillybean blew out a soft despairing breath. “For once I agree with the signs. The wind will pull around to the east soon enough and if I’m not wrong, there will be trouble.” She could picture the Corsairs flying down on them, borne by that southern wind, and when it turned eastward it would blow them right through the mouth of the bay.

  She pushed aside her bowl, leaving only the rubbery remains of an overcooked egg. “It’s time we get going,” she said, gazing out the window as the Saber made yet another trip from the island to the moored barge. “It’s too bad we can’t leave the Saber behind. Moving those chains is not going to be easy without her.”

  “Where are we going exactly?” Stu asked. He had been silent almost all morning. This was the first time he had been able to ask a question before Jillybean could answer. Her mind had been zipping along at such a frantic pace that three times she had answered questions that were just forming on his lips.

  Jillybean paused on the way towards the door. “We’re going to go pick a fight.”

  “A what?” Jenn asked, hurrying to catch up as Jillybean strode out into the middle of the chaos. In spite of being almost the same size as Jillybean, Jenn felt like a child running to catch up with her mother. “A what? A fight? Why? With who? Don’t we have the Corsairs already to worry about?”

  “Yes, a fight. Can you go ask…who is the harbor master? That guy over there? Can you ask him to hold the Saber the next time she docks? I’ll explain everything to you on the way.”

  Before Jenn could say anything, Jillybean went to talk to a line of people. She looked very regal, shaking hands, offering reassurances with a calm smile, while Stu stood very close at hand, looking more or less like a rock-faced bodyguard.

  Jenn didn’t bother with the harbor master who was a useless old Islander with a protruding hernia that he always kept one hand on as he limped around. She leapt onto the Sa
ber even before it touched and for just a moment she lost herself in Mike’s beaming smile, matching it with one of her own.

  Then she remembered Jillybean’s words about picking a fight and the smile dimmed. As the boat was unloaded—food and ammo mostly—she told him about her morning including what Jillybean had said.

  “It’s got to be the Santas,” Mike guessed, unhappily. “Why would she want to pick a fight with them?”

  Gerry the Greek was left in charge and although everyone asked where they were going, Jillybean only answered with a cryptic: “On a very important mission. We’ll be back tonight.” Goodbyes were given and the four waved cheerily enough until they were out of sight, passing south beneath the remains of the Bay Bridge. Mike hadn’t asked where they were going and the fact she hadn’t corrected his course was proof enough that they were heading to the Santas.

  With a final look back, Jillybean went below and came back with her bag of pipe-bombs.

  They all stared as she tested the batteries on both the detonators and the receivers. Mike eventually began shaking his head. “What’s with the bombs? And why on earth are we going to pick a fight with the Santas? Are you trying to guarantee that we all die no matter what?” He felt justified that his tone was biting.

  It wasn’t a good time for biting, however. Jillybean shot him a look of such nastiness that it made him rethink his words. She was holding a bomb, after all. By the barest of margins, she was able to master the voice in her head, but still did not answer him.

  Jenn waited until the bombs had been checked and safely stowed before she said, “I think you owe us an explanation. You are putting our lives at risk.”

  “True, but did you not pledge those lives to me?”

  This stunned Jenn and Stu. They had no idea what their oaths truly entailed and both had the same thought: Have we pledged to become slaves?

  “I didn’t make any pledge,” Mike said, “and technically part of this boat should belong to me, at least until we turn her over to Gerry. I should be in on any decision that’s made concerning her. And you know what? Pulling this oath business makes me glad I didn’t make one. You can’t just…”

  “Order my people about?” Jillybean asked. “That’s what queens do, especially during times of war. And the Queen’s subjects must obey without hesitation. It’s the only way. But if you want me to release you from your oaths, I will.”

  Again, Stu and Jenn looked at each other. Their eyes locked, each trying to guess what was in the other’s heart. Stu shook his head on the tiniest arc. “I-I made my pledge. I won’t take it back at the first sign of trouble. If giving my life will help us win, then I’ll give it.”

  “Me too,” Jenn said, though without the same strength or conviction. She didn’t want to die, only it seemed inevitable. They couldn’t handle the enemy they already had and adding a new one made no sense. They would be sandwiched between the two, completely defenseless against one when they were fighting the other.

  Still, she had given her oath which she guessed meant something like an unbreakable promise.

  After her two word confirmation there was a long painful silence on board as they skimmed southward. She couldn’t look at Mike and neither could Stu. It was too awkward. Finally, he grimaced and said, “Okay I pledge, I guess. I was gonna do it before, but things got weird and people kept butting in and then there was a line and…” He trailed away adding only an unconvincing, “You know.”

  Jillybean waited, but when Mike made no move, she put out her hand so that he could reluctantly kiss it and make his oath. The whole thing felt weird to him, but once it was over he was able to relax and go back to sailing—what he did best—as Jillybean explained what she had in mind.

  “Even if my schemes are carried out perfectly and we manage to sting the Corsairs as they enter the harbor and we’re able to hurt them as they try to get too close to the island and the Fortress, they will still have a tremendous advantage in numbers. If they are led by a strong enough leader, ultimately, everything I feared will come to pass. We need a way to deliver a second blow that will leave them completely unsure of the situation.”

  “And you think the Santas will deliver that blow?” Mike asked, his skepticism very obvious. “They won’t. You don’t know them like we do. They’re skulking jackals. They’ll run the second they see all the sails.”

  This really was no surprise to Jillybean. “That’s why we will have to lure them out.”

  “Lure them out?” Mike asked with a sinking feeling. “Lure them with what? What do you plan to bait them with?”

  “I think you know,” Jillybean said, caressing the rail of the Saber.

  Chapter 38

  Although they were called the Santas, they did not actually reside in Santa Clara which was located at the far southern edge of the bay. They had moved years before to a spot a few miles north near the Palo Alto airport.

  The spot they chose hadn’t been ideal in the first few years of the apocalypse, then, gradually the bay had flooded, leaving a spit of land almost completely enclosed by water with only a single road leading back to the mainland.

  The water was deep enough to detour the zombies, while a great wild hedge of prickly bushes, that was now fifteen feet high and deeper still, ran completely around their little world. The hedge absorbed any light that might escape the covered windows of the once fine houses that made up the community. It had been a moderately wealthy community, though they were now a shadow of their old eminence.

  “What sort of people are they, exactly?” Jillybean asked as she spied the ramshackle docks that were completely crammed with black sailboats.

  Mike wore a look of irritated disgust. “They’re not real sailors, that’s for certain. They had a few boats back before. Maybe a dozen or so. Most of them were smaller than the Puffer. They must have come north to do some fishing and spotted our Corsair boats and took ‘em. Oh, look at that! That one’s still got its mainsail up! And that one is using a jib as a boat cover. ”

  “Yes, it’s an utter horror, but what sort of people are they?”

  “They’re sort of mixed up,” Stu said. “They’re slavers and gamblers and traders. Oh, and they have a few farms.”

  Jillybean made a hmmm noise in her throat. “So they’re opportunists. That’s good. Are you almost ready to go, Jenn?”

  Jenn had been crouched along the short flight of stairs, looking up as the first stars began to burn through the last of the fading sunlight. She had been hoping for a sign because although her job might have been the least dangerous, she was still frightfully nervous. “I’m ready, I guess.” She held up the pipe bomb in its waterproof bag.

  “Good woman,” Jillybean said, absently. It was now too dark for the binoculars to be much use and she had taken up one of the M4s that were topped with a night-scope. There was a party of eleven waiting for them at the one dock that could accommodate the Saber, while to the left and right there were small groups with guns who incorrectly believed they were hidden from sight.

  Mike made an abrupt tack that had the waiting Santas scrambling, hurrying back down the dock and then along the shore. With simple delight, Mike heeled to, going back the other way and laughed as the Santas reversed direction and ran back. “Go, Jenn.” There’d be no kiss goodbye this time. Ducking low, she went to the far rail and slipped over into the water with a light gasp.

  “Good luck,” he whispered as the boat left her, bobbing low in the water, her flesh bulging almost into knots by the size of her goosebumps.

  He then swung the boat further out into the bay before catching the wind just right and raced the last hundred yards to the dock. The Saber beat the huffing group of men to the mooring spot. Stu and Jillybean leapt out before the boat touched and then fended her off as Mike spun the wheel as if he were playing roulette and hurried to haul the boom around.

  In seconds, the Saber had snatched up the wind and was scooting away. Stu didn’t give it a second glance. He hitched the heavy pack and w
aited patiently as the group of men came up, guns at the ready but not pointed. There really was no need. The Santas had seen the single Corsair boat a half hour before and although it had caused a good deal of consternation, it had turned out to be just the one boat and not an entire fleet.

  “Whatchu want?” the leader of the little group demanded. He was a tall shadowy figure that exuded malevolence and the acrid stench of body odor.

  Stu matched his height but was so lean that his shadow was like a blade. “We want to speak to whoever is in charge.” Jillybean had insisted that he do the talking up front which for him was harder than making the pledge to her.

  “Who-da hell are you guys?”

  She had also coached him and the question was expected. “We’re the proper owners of these boats.” This of course implied they were Corsairs and anyone in their right minds would tread carefully when dealing with them.

  “Okay, yeah, sure,” the tall man grunted, expecting exactly this. He also expected haughtiness and belittling comments. Instead he only received the most uncomfortable stoney silence he had ever experienced. “I gonna hafta’ search you guys.”

  Stu handed over the bag, thinking the bombs would create more of a stir, however the man only let out another grunt. Neither of them carried any other weapon, though Jillybean had sewn a radio into her hood which she kept up while she was being frisked and only dropped it back when the man was done.

  “Dis way,” the man said, carrying the bag.

  Only six goons followed them to the largest mansion overlooking the harbor. The outside was in a miserable state and things did not get better as they passed through a living room that, because of its tremendous fireplace, doubled as a kitchen. The carpet in front of the grating was scorched while the ceiling was blackened and looked to be coming apart. The peeling paint hanging in strips was sooted over as was almost every surface, giving the room a cave-like feel. The soot combined with old grease formed a sort of ugly resin and it was this that seemed to be the only thing holding the rickety place together.