by W. J. Lundy
He knew he would go if asked, even though it was the last thing he wanted. Brad wasn’t in the business of turning down the tough assignments. He was tired from his travels and just wanting to return home, but if Sean decided this was the right thing to do then he would get on board with it.
Having removed his boots, he lay back on the rack, planning to only take a time out before making his way above to check on the rest of the crew. The waters were calm here, the slow swells gently rocking the boat as it moved through the water. He imagined Brooks and Sean on the submarine hunched over maps, planning their next mission. The hum of the engine reverberated through the small berthing compartment. Brad rolled to his side and closed his eyes, just wanting to rest for a bit.
CHAPTER 11
Shane sat in a chair in the corner of the master bedroom. It was dark, but the moonlight lit the room in a shade of deep blue. The girl was sleeping soundly; he’d found blankets in a closet and spread them over the bed then wrapped her in them. Even though they’d slept the entire day, the girl drifted off quickly. Shane worried that it was from lack of food. He hadn’t found much to eat and the barge captain had taken most of his supplies as a form of payment.
When he thought about the precious food he had turned over to the man and then basically being forced to walk the plank, Shane had no feelings of remorse about tossing the grenade. Besides, they surely would have killed them as soon as they hit the water and the grenade was the only diversion he had. The moaning grew louder and distracted him from his thoughts. He lowered himself to the floor and looked through the small crack at the bottom of the window.
In this back part of the house, he could just make out the river. The light from the moon reflected back at him. He recognized the small path that ran parallel to the bank. It was there that he spotted a small empty boat dock. The moan came again, closer this time. Shane got lower on his knees and intently looked into the distance. Concentrating, his eyes adjusted and he picked up on their subtle movements.
Three figures were on the path near the river but they appeared to be facing the house and studying it somehow. Shane wished for his night vision goggles. They were in his pack but the batteries were long dead. His rifle only had iron sites; it was an older model and had treated him well, but he wouldn’t be able to see anything in the dark. He pushed the thoughts from his mind and focused on the figures near the path. He watched as the group separated; two continued on, while one turned and walked the small trail that led to the house.
Shane felt his heart rate quicken and sweat form on his back as the figure moved closer. He moved farther away from the window, concealing himself even more in the dark shadows of the room. He imagined the creature could see him, even though he knew it was paranoia, and he considered moving to the first floor to kill the thing before it could sound a warning to the others. Shane watched as it left the trail and disappeared close to the house. It was too close now for him to see, so he turned and moved back to the chair.
He lifted the rifle and let the handgrips give him comfort. Seated deeply in the chair, he listened. He heard the squeak of old boards as the thing stepped onto the covered front porch. There was a banging and scratching of wood, then the rattle of glass. The girl sat up, frightened by the sounds. Shane moved to the bed, sat beside her, and put his hand on her back, whispering that it was okay.
“It’s just checking the place out. Once it finds the doors locked, it’ll move on, Ella,” Shane whispered.
The noise stopped and Shane heard the creature once again plod across the wooden porch. He knew it was looking for a back door or an easy way in. Shane knew the things were lazy. They wouldn’t force their way into a home, not unless they knew prey was inside. If a door was open, or they found an easy entrance, of course they would venture in. But Shane had never seen them risk injury to themselves to break into an empty room. Maybe lazy isn’t the right word for it, Shane thought, maybe it was a deep sense of self preservation. Breaking glass and wood for nothing wasn’t a character trait of any animal.
The squeaking suddenly stopped and was replaced by a more solid pounding. It must have found the back door. Shane prayed that it was locked. In his haste to secure a hiding place, he’d neglected to check it. He heard it pound again against the heavy door; the wood rattled as it tugged and pulled at the doorknob. Shane heard a moan from below, still not the rabid moans of them on the hunt but more of a frustrated whine. Ella took Shane’s hand and pulled it to her cheek; he could feel her shaking. No longer hearing the thing at the door, he lowered himself onto the bed and lay next to the girl. He pulled the blanket over her and tucked her in tight.
He stared at the door, listening as the sounds caused his mind to drift. The house made tiny creaks and groans as most old houses would. Shane grew up on a rural farm where he was raised by his grandfather. His bedroom was not unlike this one, in the upper corner of a hundred-year-old farm house. In the days after his mother died, he’d spent many nights like this lying in bed listening to the house speak. He would imagine she was walking up the stairs, coming to get him to bring him home. But mother never came.
His grandfather was strict but not abusive. He raised him to respect hard work and to appreciate a job well done. He’d taught him how to hunt and fish, how to track an animal, and how to prepare it for the stove. He remembered going on long walks in the woods, his grandfather pointing out different plants and showing him how they could be eaten or used to treat a wound or an insect bite. If they had walked too far, sometimes they would bivouac in the open for fun and make their way back home at first light.
Later, when all of his friends were driving cars and chasing girls, Shane was home taking care of his grandfather as dementia slowly took hold of him. When his grandfather began to fall and could no longer stay home safely, the people from the state came and took him to a nursing home. Because Shane had just turned eighteen, he was allowed to stay alone until he finished school. Neighbors would check in on him from time to time, but those were still the loneliest days of his life. His grandfather passed away a day after he graduated from high school and a day after that, the tax man showed up to take the farm.
With nothing else to do, he enlisted in the Army, telling the recruiter he wanted to leave as soon as possible. The Army became his family; he suddenly had real brothers to call his own. Shane adapted to his new life and thrived. He never forgot the farm but the painful memories of the place faded from his mind. He was finally able to smile again and have hopeful thoughts about the future until one day, on a hot desert road, everything once again was taken from him—his new family, his health, and the Army.
Shane was lying in the same position as sunlight slowly filled the room. He pushed away from the bed, not really knowing if he’d slept or not. He felt as if his mind had never shut off. He was mentally and physically exhausted. His back was protesting, and when he stood, he felt the tightness in his muscles as he stretched. Shane moved to the window and looked into the yard. He stood motionless with an arm against the wall, silently watching, looking for any signs of them.
He heard the girl stir on the bed and turned.
“I’m hungry, Shane,” he heard her say.
He looked at the watch on his wrist; it was nearly 8am, close to twenty four hours since their last meal. Shane lifted his heavy pack onto the bed and dug through a waterproof bag where he’d stored their rations. There wasn’t much left: some crackers that had been crushed to dust, a small block of cheese, and more of the granola. He pushed the bag back into his ruck and zipped it shut.
“Okay, Ella, let’s see what we can find downstairs,” he said to her. Shane moved to the closet where he’d found the blankets the night before and pulled down a folded sheet. Shane looked back at her, helped her off the bed, and she smiled at him. “Okay, follow me.”
He slowly walked down the open staircase, stopping every few steps to listen. He knew the room was clear. He’d secured it the night before, but it always paid double to err on the
side of caution. He stepped onto the landing and looked into the kitchen. Bright light now filled the room and, scanning, he could see that it was empty. The old man still sat where he had left him. The body was slumped in a kitchen chair with its head melded into the countertop.
“Wait here,” he told the girl as she came up behind him at the bottom of the steps.
Shane moved to the old man and covered him with the bed sheet. He then put on his gloves and grabbed the mummified corpse under the arms and dragged it away from the counter. The chair stuck to the body and made a scratching sound as it slid across the kitchen floor. Shane twisted, lifted the stiff body, and dragged it down the hall into the living room. He let the body sit in the middle of the now well-lit room.
Shane quickly assessed the space. There was nothing here for him. He looked at the old woman in the corner; she had been dead for a long time, same as the old man. The room held the stench of death and decay. He found an old blanket lying over a sofa arm which he quickly retrieved and draped it over the old woman. He heard Ella call for him so he retreated from the space and moved back into the kitchen.
The girl was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. She looked up at him. “What are you doing, Shane?”
“Oh, nothing for you to worry about. Now, let’s see if we can get us something to eat,” he said as he reached down and lifted her up. Shane carried her across the room and sat her at a round kitchen table. “You wait here and let me see what these people left for us.”
Shane walked into the kitchen and opened a tall pantry that rested against a wall. It was nearly empty; a few mason jars filled with vegetables, a bag of flour, and a box of cornbread mix.
“Well, that’s no good,” he said as he moved toward a set of kitchen cabinets. Shane opened each door and drawer one at a time, finding dishes, glasses, and old cook books until finally, he moved across the room and opened a deep drawer next to the stove. He smiled when he looked inside then pulled out a nearly half-full box of corn flakes.
“Well, look at this, Ella,” Shane said, holding the box up.
She smiled back at him and giggled. “Can we have it?”
“Sure can,” he answered rooting through a cupboard for a couple bowls. He grabbed them in one hand and walked back to the table. He placed a bowl in front of the girl and filled it with the corn flakes. “Sorry there’s no milk. If they had a cow, I’d go milk her for you,” he said, causing Ella to giggle.
She reached into the bowl and grabbed at the cereal. “Mmm, it’s good. Are you gonna eat, Shane?”
“Nahh, I’ll let you have this. I’ll eat some of them nasty canned vegetables. I figure I’d do better at tolerating them then you would.”
The girl nodded in response as she ate. Shane walked to the old refrigerator, pulled a rag from his pocket, and used his left hand to hold the rag over his nose and mouth. He opened the door and looked inside. As he suspected, it was filled with rotting and molded food. But it also held several cans of soda and a few sealed bottles of water. He quickly reached in with his right hand and removed anything sealed then closed the door.
“Today is your lucky day, girl; you get a warm cola with your breakfast.” He used the rag to wipe the top of the can clean and then popped the top. He took a sip of the warm liquid then placed the can in front of the girl. As he turned to walk back to the counter where he’d placed the other cans and bottles, a yellow box on top of the refrigerator caught his eye. He stopped, then walked over, reached up, and grabbed the box.
He already knew what it was: several hundred rounds of .22 long rifle for the pistol he’d found the night before. He sat the nearly-full box on the counter and moved to the stove. He stood staring at the knob. This was the most luck they’d had in days, but would it continue? He turned the knob and heard the gas hiss. Shane smiled as he turned it back off. He dug though his pocket for his small disposable lighter; it was low on fuel but this would be worth it. He turned the knob back on and held the lighter to the burner. It quickly lit and Shane adjusted the flame until it burnt a bright blue.
“Now maybe those canned veggies won’t be so harsh after all. Heck, I can even make us up some pan fried cornbread,” Shane said to the girl with an exaggerated grin.
CHAPTER 12
The slamming of the berthing hatch woke him. He looked around the dark space and watched Nelson stumbling around in the dark. “Turn on the light if you need to,” Brad said, pulling himself up into a seated position.
“Thank you,” Nelson said as he reached up and felt for a switch before flicking on the light. Nelson kicked off his boots, quickly fell to the bed, and stretched out across it. “Damn, I’m tired. Kelli doesn’t ever give me a break. That woman is a hard charger to the core,” he laughed.
Brad chuckled with him. “She doesn’t mess around, that’s for sure. Hey, what time you got?”
“Oh, it’s nearly oh six hundred; we should be near the harbor in another few hours.”
“Damn, I didn’t plan to fall asleep like that,” Brad said, reaching for his boots.
“Why not? Ain’t shit else for you to do while we’re out here,” Nelson said.
“Yeah, I know, but I wanted to have a word with Gunner before we reached Charleston.”
“About the girl?” Nelson asked.
“The girl?” Brad said, unable to hide the shock in his voice.
“The sick one or whatever she is. Gunner said we’re going to go help—,” Nelson paused and took in a deep yawn. “Find her or something.”
“So everyone knows now, huh? What do the rest of the guys think about it?”
“Oh… I don’t know; most of us just want to get off this damn boat. Sergeant, you mind if I cut that light?” Nelson asked as he rolled to his side.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll get it on my way out,” Brad said as he left the compartment.
Brad stepped into the P-way and looked back toward the galley; the hatch was dogged open and the light was off. He turned and moved to the ladder that went up to the deck. He found Joey lying back in a chair, sound asleep, with his rifle cradled in his hands. It had been Joey’s habit to sleep up on deck when the weather was nice. The Marine didn’t like being below decks if he didn’t have to. Brad walked past him and climbed up to the bridge.
He got to the top deck and followed the rail to the wheelhouse, opened the hatch, and stepped inside. He saw that Gunner was sleeping in one of the leather captain’s chairs. Parker was behind the wheel while Kelli sat in a far chair sipping coffee. She looked at him and nodded nonchalantly. Brad walked behind them and found the coffee pot. He poured a cup and sat at an empty navigation table. Brad saw that the GPS monitor screen was dark green, and in white letters it read SAT NOT ACQUIRED.
“So, you know where we’re going?” Brad asked. “Would hate to get lost out here in the dark.”
Kelli looked at him and pointed far ahead in the hazy fog. In the early morning light, he could just make out the red navigation beacon of the submarine.
“It isn’t that difficult to follow a light; it’s so easy a Parker could do it,” she joked.
“Hey watch it,” Parker said without taking his eyes off the view in front of him.
Brad tapped the screen. “How long has the GPS been out?”
“It comes and goes,” Kelli said. “Satellites are still up there but with nobody to maintain them and the software, they’re going to start dropping.”
“How long for all of that to happen?” Brad asked.
“It’s a loaded question. I’m no expert but I suspect the very low orbit ones are probably already failing. The higher up stuff might last ten years, a hundred years, or even longer. Doesn’t matter though; with nothing on the ground to talk to them, they’re just floating boat anchors.”
Gunner snored loudly. His head leaned back then slumped forward without him waking up. Brad looked at Gunner and smiled. “So how long’s that stubborn fool been up here? Anyone remind him there are racks below deck?”
&
nbsp; Parker looked over at Gunner. “He’s been up here most of the night. Said he wanted to be close—you know, as long as Chief and Brooks are over on the sub…” Parker said.
“Always on point,” Brad half whispered to himself.
Brad heard heavy footfalls on the ladder. He looked over his shoulder and saw Joey walking toward the bridge with the British sailors following. Joey nodded to him through the window when they made eye contact. He pulled the hatch open and waved the sailors in ahead of him. He stepped through and closed the hatch behind them.
“Damn, it’s getting chilly out there,” Joey said.
“You’re joking, right mate?” one of the British sailors quipped back.
Joey shook his head and marched towards the coffee pot. “No man, I’m from Cali; this is too damn cold for me.”
“Fuck you, man!” Brad yelled jokingly. “You want to go back to Newfoundland? This is tropical compared to that rock.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Joey said as he finished pouring his coffee.
He moved across the room and leaned against a far console. “So anyway, Chief Richardson here was looking for Gunner,” Joey said as he pointed to Richardson who had been standing quietly behind them.
Richardson grinned at being acknowledged and used the back of his hand to smack Gunner’s chair. “This chap can sleep through a hurricane, can’t he?”
Gunner jumped forward in the chair and looked around him. “What the hell is going on?” he yelled, reacting to the slap.
“Oh good, you’re awake,” Richardson laughed.
“I am now,” Gunner growled.
“New orders, mate,” Richardson said, holding up the radio. “Skipper says we are a couple hours out from Charleston. He wants us to hold in place while the others join us. Then we will reconnoiter ahead on our own.”
