Adrift

by Trimboli, TJ

  A crowd had begun to form, all whispering amongst themselves about this man’s omens. The second he said mosquitos, it had all come flooding back to Bobbi. This man was the one harassing Becky the other day. She reached a comforting hand out to the man resting it on his shoulder. “Sir, listen to me. Everyone listen to me. Mosquitoes do not fly out in open water and even if they did, the idea that they could transmit the disease to us is ludicrous.”

  The man pushed her hand off him. He turned to the crowd that had formed. “It’s not. It can happen and it will happen. I was an entomologist back before all of this. It’s happened all throughout history. Mosquitos have transferred malaria, Dengue, West Nile Virus, Encephalitis, and most recently the Zika virus. Whatever the mutation was that caused everyone to become zombies, the one thing that’s for certain, is that it’s now in their blood and blood can be transmitted—by mosquitoes…”

  He went on and on but Bobbi simply tuned him out. She gazed out at the crowd that had formed and they were hanging on every word this man said. If he continued, she knew that word would spread and within the hour, there would be a panic. She had a decision to make, one she did not find herself hoping to make. She kicked at the man’s hamstring sending him to his knees.

  The crowd gasped.

  Richard immediately took control of the crowd. “People please. I need you all to relax and do as the Sheriff asks.”

  The crowd looked tense but they made no attempts to move.

  With this under control, she leaned in to whisper into the crazy man’s ear, “Listen to me very carefully. Unless you want to be put to trial—”

  The word sent the man into a frenzy. “No please. Not the trial. You wouldn’t!” He bellowed.

  “Then listen up. Regardless of whether those fuckers can fly out to open water, you will assure these people that nothing of the sort could ever happen. People on this ship are on edge as it is and we don’t need your inane ramblings to put them over the edge. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for another Night Riot would you? That would be automatic grounds for the trial.”

  The man broke down into tears. “I’ll be good. I promise. Don’t arrest me, please. I made a mistake.”

  Bobbi looked up at the crowd. “Did you hear that? He made a mistake.” She grabbed him by the collar, lifting him up onto his feet. She pushed him forward waiting for him to speak.

  He looked at her terrified, this was a side of the Sheriff they were not use to seeing. “I’m sorry if I scared anyone. I—I’ve just been so lonely since m-my wife died I-I thought if I made up a crazy scenario about the mosquitoes people w-would listen to me. They’d follow me and I wouldn’t be so alone…but it was a lie. I lied. Mosquitoes can’t swim over open waters.” The crowd let out a collective sigh of relief and dispersed.

  The man turned to Bobbi. His eyes were red and snot slid down his nose.

  She felt sorry for the man but stood by her decision, much as it pained her to do so. She stared the man down until he went on his way.

  Richard nodded his head in approval to her. “Good job kid.” He patted her on the back.

  Bobbi released a heavy sigh. “Just lead the way.”

  They made their way down several flights of stairs bringing them to level five; the entertainment floor. It looked exactly as it had in Bobbi’s dream only now, the sick and dying had made the level their home. Dozens of men, women, and children all sprawled on top of one another coughing and wheezing their way into the ground.

  Bobbi did her best to follow Richard’s exact movements. They stepped over the sick as best they could, it was like traversing over hot coals. Everywhere you stepped was dangerous. She stared into the eyes of every single person she passed, heartbroken. There was nothing she could do to protect these people. She had a gun and a badge and yet she’d been helpless to stop the death around her. Up ahead, a tall man helped a meek old woman slowly sit onto the floor.

  Shit.

  She moved as quickly as she could to hide behind Richard but it was too late, the man, or Joe as she knew him, had spotted her.

  He stood up leering at her and smiled.

  Bobbi didn’t return the favor. She simply hung her head down continuing on her way.

  Joe frowned watching her as they made their way past him towards the church.

  Richard stopped turning to witness the proceedings. He peered at Bobbi grinning his devilish smile. “Something happen between you two I should know about?”

  “Not if you don’t want your teeth kicked in.”

  “Ooo…Have I struck a nerve?”

  “Can we just get on with it already?”

  “Alright, alright. We’re almost there. It’s dead ahead.”

  Bobbi took one last look back at the good doctor, leaving the entertainment level with Richard.

  He led her towards the auditorium but didn’t go in. Instead, he turned left towards the church.

  Fantastic.

  They went inside.

  Inside, she stood staring at the horror before her. At the altar stood a large cross that would normally depict Jesus Christ. Today, Christ had been replaced with the bloodied corpse of the residing pastor. Bobbi pulled out a bandana covering her nose from the smell. Flies swatted around the body. The priest hung there naked, shaved from head to toe with the exception of his eyebrows. Behind him, someone had taken his blood and written a message on the wall.

  NO FOOD.

  NO HOPE.

  NO GOD.

  A culprit immediately sprang to mind. “Kendra,” she muttered.

  “I thought so too.”

  “What changed your mind?” she asked.

  Richard nodded over to the corner of the room.

  Having been so pre-occupied with the pastor, she never even noticed the state of the room. She scanned the room to see the devastation left behind. The pulpit had been knocked over, splintering it in two. Many of the pews had been tumbled over, stained with blood. Pages of the various bibles were thrown about sticking to every surface imaginable. Now she saw him, in the corner of the room. One pew had managed to stay upright and in it sat the body of a man in a deep slumber. A bottle of half drunk whiskey rested in the man’s lap. He was in a deep, dark, drunk coma. His beard had started to come in thick and heavy but that didn’t prevent her from I.D’ing the man that was her husband.

  Mother fucker.

  She sauntered over to him, he stunk of booze. Though it would be a step up from the smell of death smothering the room. She shook him. “Trent. Wake up, Trent.” He looked and felt as stiff as a board. Could he be dead too? His mouth hung wide open. She placed her hand in front of it. She felt his labored breathing. Not just yet. She shook him even harder.

  He awoke with such ferocity, Bobbi almost went tumbling over.

  Trent instinctively reached out wrapping his hand around Bobbi’s throat squeezing with all his might.

  Bobbi fell to her knees gasping for breath, trying her best to say his name.

  Richard ran over to Trent wrapping his arms around him.

  Trent was too strong and easily broke out of the hold. He arched his head back knocking into Richard’s nose.

  Richard fell back.

  Bobbi could get no air.

  Trent kept breathing a mile a minute. He stared at Bobbi, his eyes were as vacant as a cheap motel on a thruway. It took him a few seconds but he finally came around, seeing for the first time what he was doing. He panicked, letting go of her. He fell back against the pew dropping his head into his hands.

  Bobbi gasped for air sucking in as much as she could. She caught her breath. “Richard—are you—okay?” She wheezed. She couldn’t see him from where she sat but a hand reached up from behind the pew making a thumbs up. She turned her attention back to Trent. “Trent…What is the matter with you?”

  “I’m sorry. You startled me is all. You never know who it could be these days.”

  Hard to argue with this logic as more often than not, you had to sleep with one eye open. She pulled o
ut her little black book. A pencil held her spot on the page. She licked the pencil ready for her interrogation. “How much did you drink last night?”

  “I don’t remember. A lot.” Trent sat back in the pew staring up at the ceiling. His eyes were bloodshot and the bags underneath made him look a hundred years old. The cracks in his face, from the copious amounts of alcohol he consumed since the Night Riot stuck out like a sore thumb.

  “The mission looks like a rousing success then.”

  “Did you find me just so we could start up with this again? Haven’t we had this argument already?”

  “No. You’re right. That would be counterproductive. The reason I ask is…Do you know where you are right now? What you did last night?”

  Trent looked around his eyes reflecting the confusion he felt. He gazed around at the ruin before him, utterly baffled as to how it happened. “The last thing I remember was drinking in my room. After that, it’s all fuzzy. How did I end up in the church?”

  “That’s what I need to find out Trent. This is a murder site and here you are passed out. You understand better than any of us what that means.”

  Trent was the best cop Bobbi had ever seen during her time on the force. His arrest and conviction record was near perfect and he was the only cop she’d ever known who was universally liked by all; peers, citizens and even the delinquents. He was fair with them, he never abused the job, he always held accountability to all on the force, to be the leaders they were supposed to be. It was her job he should be doing now, not drinking himself to death.

  Trent stared at the dead body behind her.

  She could almost swear she saw tears welling up in his eyes but none ever appeared.

  “I didn’t kill him.”

  “How do you know Trent? You said it yourself; you have no recollection of what you did last night.”

  “Look at me. There’s not a drop of blood on me.”

  Richard finally arose rubbing at his nose. “You could have cleaned up somewhere. It’s not unimaginable to think that you could find a way to wash that off.”

  “And who asked you? This is between officers of the law.”

  “I would have thought you gave up that right when you started drinking yourself stupid.” Trent jumped out of the pew getting in Richard’s face.

  Richard made no attempt to back away, standing his ground.

  Bobbi grabbed Trent backing him up. “That’s enough. Trent stop it.”

  “But he—?”

  “Be quiet…Richard, please.”

  Richard slowly walked away scanning the area for any more clues or leads that could possibly help them.

  Bobbi waited until she saw he’d moved out of ear shot before turning back to Trent. “This is bad Trent. You see that right?”

  “No worse than anything else that’s happened lately.” Trent uncorked the bottle of whisky on the pew. He took a large gulp.

  She grabbed the bottle out of his hand. “For God’s sake, can you act like you give a shit for a minute? For me? This is the fifth dead body to turn up and you are the first lead we’ve gotten. I have to take this to the council and if they decide to take you to trial, I won’t be able to stop them. I won’t be able to protect you anymore.”

  “So don’t! I never asked you to in the first place. I don’t want to be protected Bobbi. I just want to drink until my stomach is so full, it seeps into my lungs, liver and kidneys and everywhere it can, until it kills me. Just step aside and let them come for me.”

  Tears welled up in Bobbi’s eyes. She forced them away doing her best to be strong in front of the man she once loved. “You know I can’t do that, Trent.”

  “Yeah I know…because you stupidly still love me.”

  “I gave up my love for you the second you hit that bottle. No, it’s because I believe you. I don’t cloud my police work with emotions, I cloud it with facts. A man in your condition could not have consumed as much alcohol as you did and then string a man five feet off the ground all by yourself. And you’re right, I do need to let you go and I’m working on it the best I can. What

  I won’t let happen is an innocent man be put to trial for a crime he didn’t commit.”

  Trent said nothing for what felt like an eternity. He took a deep breath. “Am I free to go?”

  “Where are you staying these days? The council may decide to arrest you anyway and if so,

  I need to be able to locate you.” He took a step towards her.

  She froze in place, her breath escaping her.

  He reached out taking back his bottle. “Level nine. Room two twenty.” He walked past her, making his way to the exit. He stared Richard down as he made his way.

  Bobbi felt the tears welling up in her eyes again. She rubbed them away. I have to be strong.

  Trent stopped at the door turning back to her. “Quite the honeymoon, huh?” And just like that, he left.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TRENT

  Beneath the burning sun of the Voyager, Trent roamed. He spent the majority of the morning finishing off his bottle while he helped dump bodies into the ocean below.

  Serve up another for Davy Jones.

  He often found himself transfixed on the cascading water below as if half expecting the Flying Dutchman itself to rise from the depths to claim them all. It brought him back to his first date with Bobbi. Coincidentally, the first movie he had ever taken her to see was Pirate of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s chest.

  Oh, how arrogant we were to think technology could service us forever and sails had become a thing of the past. We deserve to pay for being so haughty.

  The temperature had climbed to ninety five degrees but you couldn’t tell by Trent’s appearance. He covered himself in a zipped up hoodie disguising his worn out face from the masses around him.

  Who am I hiding from? The dead.

  He looked around at the other volunteers. They all shared one thing in common with him; they all look like they’d given up. Dirty and disheveled, they walked hunched over as if the literal weight of the world was slowly dragging them down.

  Except for her.

  He spotted her across the pool deck. He didn’t know what but there was something about this girl he didn’t like.

  Never did trust bald people.

  He couldn’t remember ever seeing this woman before. She glided in and out of the rows lined with the dead as if she were their queen. She was flanked by two other bald men. They wore what he assumed were rags. He watched as the woman approached one of the rotting bodies. She knelt down for what seemed like an eternity whispering something into the dead man’s ear. When she finally arose, she placed two coins over the man’s eyes before making the signs of the cross. She did this to body after body.

  Maybe she’s not so bad.

  Once she was done, they spent the rest of the morning emptying out the pockets of the deceased. A morose event for all the volunteers except Trent who found himself enjoying the task. It allowed him to be a detective again. He came across six wallets, of which, three contained condoms that were at least three to five years old. He created character sketches for all of them. The first had been an African American man from Detroit, Michigan. Marshall Johnson was his name and only twenty eight years of age. He was a lean two thirty five with biceps bigger than Trent’s head. Trent lifted up the man’s shirt to reveal the definition of a six pack so shredded, his six pack had a six pack. An athlete of some sort. College football, maybe some pro.

  Possibly a wrestler.

  What chance do the rest of us have if this guy couldn’t make it?

  He looked the ideal specimen to survive in this harsh world but just because he had the muscle mass of a silverback gorilla doesn’t mean you could adapt to the wild. Trent pulled out a top of the line ™iPhone from the man’s pocket.

  Figures. You probably spent so much time on your muscles and your phone that you never took a minute to learn anything real. And here you are.

  He caressed it lovingly. It had felt like
an eternity since he had the safety net of technology to distract him from the world. He pocketed the phone.

  They tossed him over the rail to the water below. All the time Marshall spent working out in the gym and all it ever helped him do was sink to the bottom of the ocean.

  The sun beat down on Trent and all the alcohol went straight to his head. He bobbed and weaved through the rest of the bodies slipping in and out of consciousness. The rest of the sketches went by in a blur. There was a young woman named Carol from South Carolina who pledged to donate her organs when she passed. I bet she never thought she would be donating them to the fishes. Over she went. He passed a child that possessed no I.D. but a picture of him and his mom on Halloween. He couldn’t remember but he thought and hoped he’d put the picture back into the kid’s pocket before tossing him. He tossed over the bodies of an elderly couple, Jamie and Frank Bernard that had succumbed to illness.

  The last one, an Italian woman who’d slit her wrists.

  Trent felt her lifeless eyes burning a hole in his soul.

  If only I had the balls to do what you did.

  He closed her eyes and over she went.

  They finished early for once, leaving Trent with ample time before he had to report for fishing duty. He set off for his room.

  Approaching his room, he felt happy to see Bobbi was nowhere to be found. He tried not to think of her since these sober moments of reflection tended to leave him with the pains of guilt echoing through his body.

  Alcohol will fix that.

  His buzz from the morning had slowly been wearing off and he desperately needed to top one off. He entered his shamble of a room to spot five empty liquor bottles on the floor, all varying in size. Upon sight, pieces of the night slowly crept into his consciousness. He was so close. He remembered the pacing. All the jumping up and down and rapid fire thinking to psych himself up. He drank all five bottles in succession. At least he thought he did. He didn’t remember anything after the third bottle went down.