“Jesus,” Bachman said through gritted teeth.
Emma tried to push from below, but it was difficult to exert any real force, when every move forced her back under the cold water.
With an undignified roll, Peter flopped into the boat. Bachman could see blood running down his face around the edge of the mask.
Behind, the creatures were closing in.
“Hold on!” he shouted.
There was no time to get her into the boat, so she gripped the ropes on the side of the rigid hull. The boat jerked, and the propeller roared, just as the creature managed to climb through the gap. It dropped down onto the ledge, then straight into the water, with tentacles outstretched. Some reached the boat.
Bachman tilted the outboard motor, lifting the spinning blades. They cut through some of the reaching tentacles before he quickly dropped the propeller back into the water.
The boat raced away, with Emma clinging to the side rope, as the speed of the boat made her slam against the side. It took all her strength to hold on.
Bachman reached down. He was trying to steer while holding out a hand.
The surging creatures reached the area they escaped from. They turned as one to follow the boats wake.
153
Frank, and the others
On the boat on a river
Just outside New York City
The rain poured down as Frank stood bracing himself against the roll of the deck. He had no idea how long the boat had been traveling, or how far they had come, or even what part of the state they were in, or if they were in another. Time stretched, and melted together when fear took over the senses.
What he did know was he saw the boat slide up close to a dock, with the storm fighting against it. He saw the females jump onto the deck, struggling to get the thick ropes wrapped around the docking hooks, to keep the boat from washing away downriver. He heard the loud groan of the wooden sides rake up against the short dock.
Frank hated the river, even though, in a sense, it saved them.
He loathed rivers ever since he witnessed a boat load of Cambodian women and children burn to death, as the boat slowly glided past, with the burning people jumping into the muddy river to save themselves, whereupon he would gun them down, making sure only dead bodies floated away from the massacre.
Frank shook himself. Now wasn’t the time to dredge up old, painful, memories.
He tried to leave that world behind. Leave the memories in the past, locked away with his sins and violence. A past life. A different man. An evil man. A sinner against God and man. The vilest of creatures.
Rain ran into his eyes as he looked heavenwards. His unkempt ginger hair and beard were soaked against his pale skin. The scar across his face started to itch.
“I’m sorry Lord; I was weak,” he whispered to the storm wind.
Rain lashed sideways, whipped by the tempest.
He could feel the bible inside his jacket, wrapped in a plastic bag to keep it dry, pressed up against his heart, as if it could sponge the darkness right out of it, absorb the things he has done and witnessed.
Tears ran freely down his face. However, they were impossible to distinguish from the pouring rain.
There was activity all around him, as the people got the boat moored up and trussed to the dock.
The engine roared as it fought the strength of the current, until the boat was safely tied off.
The engine spluttered and turned off.
Frank didn’t realize just how loud the engine was, and the vibrations it created, until it was gone.
The howling wind replaced the mechanical sound.
People were bustling around him, heading for the port side, walking down a wooden gangplank onto the dock. They carried supplies with them – items they had collected during the voyage, before they rescued the strangers – risked their lives for them.
The Lord works in mysterious ways; Frank thought. I’m testament to that.
Why save me Lord, I am the worse kind of sinner – a killer, a murderer of women and children.
A loud crack of thunder was his only reply.
“Come on Father, let’s get you somewhere warm,” Smokie said. “Everyone will be happy we returned with a priest.” She gripped his arm to help him across the wet, slippery deck. “We could use a little bit of God around about now.”
Frank let her guide him to the gangplank.
“A spiritual guide is just what the doctor ordered.”
154
Emma, Bachman, and Peter
On the artificial lake
Zone 9
The underground bunker
Quirauk Mountain, Pennsylvania
After a few minutes of hanging on for dear life, with the ever-present thought that if she let go, she would drop right into the oncoming creatures, Emma finally, with Bachman’s help, crawled into the rigid-hulled inflatable speed boat. She lay panting next to Peter, who was still out cold.
Peter’s head looked bad. A cut ran across the top of his head, in his hair line. It was difficult to tell how bad it was because of the matted blood. Blood soaked his hair and ran down his face as he lay upon his back. His chest rose and fell slowly. He was out for the count.
Lucky for him, he’s not scared shitless; Emma thought.
“I’m heading for the submarine,” Bachman shouted.
It makes sense; it is the only location within boat distance that they could secure once they were inside. If the glass from our workstation could withhold a spider-type pod, then a thick metal sub will be able to keep out these things.
“Sounds like a plan,” she shouted over the sound from the engine. Water sprayed her in the face as the boat rose and dipped in the lake.
Emma sat up and looked behind.
The creatures were churning after them, silently, almost as if they were being towed through the water on an invisible cable.
The underground reservoir was so big; it was hard to see the sides – they faded into a haze.
The boat was making a huge arc around to the dock where the vessels were moored.
Emma rocked Peter. He didn’t stir.
Probably best to leave him unconscious, then he can’t bitch about everything.
The bleeding was slowing down. Then she noticed why; Peter had stopped breathing.
“No!” Emma shouted, as she knelt up the best she could beside him, while pulling off his mask. She removed her own, and started CPR. She pressed her lips to his and started blowing into his lungs. One of his eyes was open. The eye was clouded red with blood.
The water in the bottom of the boat, washing around their feet was tinted bright red.
The boat cut through the still water, leaning to one side as it curved in a large arc.
The black mass of creatures behind seemed to have grown – or they have spread out in the water.
The dock with the submarine was about thirty feet away when the engine started to splutter.
Emma was pushing down hard on Peters chest, trying to restart his heart.
155
Alex, and the others
On the boat on a river
Just outside New York City
They were being herded off the boat onto the short dock. The rain was so hard he couldn’t make out much apart from a large dark blob. He had no idea if the island was a hundred meters long or two miles. He also had no idea how far they have traveled, or how long he has been on the boat.
Time blurs together when you’re numb with shock, he reasoned.
The strangers, who undoubtedly saved their lives, was helping them onto the gangplank.
Tierra went first with Dante, almost knocking a woman over the side in her rush to get off the boat.
Naomi stamped onto the deck, followed closely by a woman who looked like she was driving her off. Naomi looked like she wanted to punch someone.
Then again, Alex thought; she always looks like she wants to hit someone.
Frank looked shell-shocked, looking like he wa
s about to walk the plank. He had his head down, and it didn’t look like it was because of the rain, but due to something else.
Troy stood to one side, staring over the side out toward the river as if deciding whether to jump in or not.
Alex forgot Troy was even around he was so unassuming and quiet.
Terrance and Lindell stood together. Smokie was now over chatting to them, treating them like the leaders, which they were, in a sense.
He couldn’t hear what they were talking about due to the storm. The darkness was also oppressive, with just pools of dull light around a few hanging lamps on the dock, and from the cranes on the boat.
A woman he believed was called Sherry was waving to him to make his way down the gangplank to the dock. Time to get off the vessel.
Alex is soaked to the skin, freezing cold, and aching all over, and he just needed a hot meal; some warm clean clothes, and somewhere safe to sleep, where he doesn’t have to spend the night with one eye open.
He placed a foot on the wide walkway.
Stu was stood to one side helping people step over onto the makeshift bridge onto the dock.
As the rain washed over the boat, the clouds lifted for just a few seconds, and Alex could see part of a bridge that ran from the island, to… to where, he didn’t know.
Would the island be safe if the infected can just cross the bridge? Are we in just as much danger, simply having changed locations?
Then he saw them, as if to answer his question. Crowded along the bridge were hundreds of infected – all their naked bodies pouring across heading for the island.
156
Bachman, Emma, and Peter
On the artificial lake
Zone 9
The underground bunker
Quirauk Mountain, Pennsylvania
“Come on!” Emma shouted.
The engine was spluttering, jerking, with the propellers stopping and starting spasmodically.
Bachman, with no other option, was slamming his hand against the side of the small outboard motor.
“Just a little further... Please!” he shouted into the air.
The bow was dipping due to the engine reducing speed.
The creatures were gaining on them.
Bachman was trying to check the side of the outboard. It was all sealed. There was nothing he could do. Without stopping and removing the casing, and working on it with the proper tools, it is useless.
The engine was spluttering more, with longer gaps of inactivity; it was gliding along in the water more than the engine was pushing it.
Emma frantically pumped on Peter’s pigeon chest. Nothing was happening – he wasn’t responding.
“Come on you bastard, breathe, damn you!” She resorted to making a fist and slamming her hand down on his chest, trying to jumpstart his heart muscle.
“We’re not going to make it,” Bachman shouted. He knew that with the rate of deceleration, and the distance they have left, there is no way they are going to make the sub before the creatures reach them.
Then, as if to respond to his statement, the engine completely packed up. There is just enough inertia force left to get the boat to glide to the submarine on the mirror still water. The only problem is, they will be caught with mere meters to go.
What if the things not even open! Would they bother locking it down here? Can you even lock a submarine? He imagines the captain with a key chain with a big key-fob. He was trying to divert his mind away from the inevitable.
Emma had given up pounding on Peter’s chest and instead gripped her arms around him in an embrace. She cried against his chest.
At least Peter will not feel a thing; he has already gone to join his family; Bachman thought.
“I’m so sorry Peter. I’m so, so sorry.” Emma announced over and over.
Bachman was just thinking; It’s not her fault he’s dead. It was an accident, when he realized just what she meant.
“No!” He tried to reach out an arm, but it was too late.
157
Frank, and the others
On the island
Somewhere in New York State
“Lord save us!” Frank shouted.
Stu turned from watching Naomi walking down the ramp.
“Don’t worry, they can’t get through the barrier,” he stated, as if having hundreds of infected racing toward him was a daily occurrence.
“They are drawn by the returning boat. They wander around and gather along the shoreline and then can go no further. Then when they spot the boat they head towards it.”
“Shoreline?” Frank didn’t take his eyes off the horde of creatures.
“We followed the river out onto the lake. The bridge connects us to the mainland.”
“What is the name of the lake?”
“I have no idea,” Stu announced. “Does it really matter?” The rain washed down the mans face.
He has a point. What difference do names make anymore?
Frank can hear the sound of the infected through the rain.
“When it’s not raining we go out and use a nail gun, or a long homemade spear through the holes in the barricade to cull them down. They drop to the lake and the current washes them away.”
“Current?”
“It’s a tidal lake.”
Frank gave the infected a last look before giving the sign of the cross, then heading down onto the dock, confident in Stu’s nonchalance at them being so close.
I hope the barrier holds.
A woman was at the bottom of the ramp to point him along the dock, which seemed pointless, due to it being a dock, and unless he wanted to walk off into the lake, he could only walk one way.
Frank joined Alex, Terrance, and Lindell walking toward land.
Thunder roared, and the rain lashed down. Trees bent under the onslaught. The sound of the lake crashing against the dock and cove was loud.
There are people everywhere. They were unloading the provisions they had collected off the boat onto the dock.
Frank reorganized some of them; others were people in heavy raincoats that must have been on the island waiting for them.
“Welcome!” a young woman shouted, who seemed happy, considering the situation. She was wrapped in a waterproof coat that was way too big for her. It went right down to her knees. Below, bare, skinny white legs showed, ending in big clumpy black boots. A wind and rain reddened face peered out.
The smiling girl was barged out of the way by Mollee as she stamped past in her soaking wet summer dress that was covered in blood stains.
“Watch it Mol!” The girl hopped to the side.
“She can be such a bitch, sometimes.” She then realized Frank was a priest.
“Shit, sorry. Oh crap. I mean… Ah, doesn’t matter.” Her face flushed even redder. Blonde hair sailed out from under the large hood that was pulled tight by a cord.
“Don’t worry about it. A few swear words are the least of the world’s problems.”
“True. So true.”
“Kat, take the newcomers to see Donna,” a woman asked who walked past carrying a plastic container.
“Will do. Follow me.” The girl, who was probably only fourteen led the seven new people to the island.
The rain poured over them as they trudged through the mud. Pools of light start to become visible through the haze of rain and gloom of the night. Buildings started to loom up ahead and take shape.
“This island used to be a summer camp of some kind. It is set out with dormitories and huts, surrounding a large gathering area, with a kitchen and eating area to one side.” Kat flicked a bush with a hand as she skipped past. Her oversized boots splashed through the puddles.
“I need somewhere safe for my baby,” Tierra stated. “I need to talk to an adult, not follow a child around.” Tierra’s hair was matted and scraggily, and her face was contorted, as if by pain. There was also a hint of madness in her eyes that darted around, trying to take everything in.
If Kat was offended, s
he didn’t show it.
“I’m taking you to see an adult. Donna is in charge of placements.”
“Placements?” Lindell asked.
“Yes. We have a close nit community. There are just over sixty of us on the island, and we are all assigned jobs to help out. Donna will assign you a bed and a job.” She had snapped a thin branch off a tree and was using it like an orchestra conductor, swinging it around as she spoke. “Everyone’s job is important, Smokie tells us, because we have to work as a team if we want–”
“What if I don’t feel like fucking working?” Naomi interrupted loudly.
Kat’s smile never left her face. She simply pointed the stick to one side. “If you take a look you will notice there’s a bridge to your right.” And without missing a beat she stated, “Please feel free to use it anytime you want.”
158
Bachman and Emma
On the artificial lake
Zone 9
The underground bunker
Quirauk Mountain, Pennsylvania
Bachman tried to reach out, but it was too late, with a grunt of effort; Emma tipped Peter’s body over the side of the boat.
Emma caught Bachman’s look.
“We have no choice. We can’t make it without a diversion.” Tears flowed down her face with the realization of what she had just done.
Peter’s body bobbed in the water and slowly rolled onto its front. A red tint started to halo out around him.
The boat continued to glide over the surface toward the dock and submarine.
However, the creatures onward surge halted at Peter’s body. An explosion of activity ensued when they reached him – tentacles thrashed, and the water churned.
They looked away.
The boat nudged the wooden dock.
They both scrambled out onto the firm surface. Water splashed over their feet from the activity behind them. They ignored it while running to the submarine.
The Sixth Extinction: America (Omnibus Edition | Books 1 – 8) Page 36
