by Perrin Briar
“No reason not to, I suppose,” Anne said.
Jordan felt a trickle of fear at the idea of running into his first Lurcher. His grip on the chair leg grew tighter.
Joel lifted the walkie talkie to his lips. “How’re we looking out there, guys?”
On Haven, Stan lay back in a deck chair. He had a thin veneer of sweat on his forehead from the high afternoon sun and a knotted flannel on his head to protect his growing bald spot. He peered through the binoculars at the ferry, scanning the parked cars. He froze. His sweep stopped, and returned back to the backseat of a car parked on Light’s deck. He sat forward in his chair and watched the shadow with unblinking eyes. He relaxed. It was a shirt hung up on the backseat of the car, the wind having disturbed it.
“Right as rain,” he said. He turned the binoculars back to the bridge. Three shadows moved inside it. “Hey! I see you!”
“You see me every day.”
“Not from this distance. I must say you look much more handsome from here. I can hardly even make out your nose.”
“Sod you. How’s Haven? Nice and comfy? Hope I’m not disturbing your rec time.”
“Can’t complain. Mare’s giving me a back rub.”
Mary, sat to one side knitting, shook her head the way a mother does at her misbehaving children.
“We’ve got the Sunday roast on,” Stan said.
“Sounds awful.”
“Oh, it is.”
“We’d best leave you. You’re obviously a very busy man.” Joel turned, a grin on his face. “What?”
Anne shook her head, a mirror image of Mary. “You two are worse than a pair of school boys.”
“Keeps us young.”
“Keeps you immature, you mean.”
“What’s the difference?”
“According to this,” Anne said, pointing to a door behind them without taking her eyes off the blueprints. “We should head down those stairs to get to the next level.”
Joel and Anne covered the door while Jordan reached for the handle. Joel nodded. Jordan opened it. Joel and Anne stiffened, their weapons held high. An empty stairwell greeted them. They relaxed.
“Ladies first,” Joel said to Anne.
“Thanks. You’re a real gentleman.”
“I try.”
The stairs were made of iron grating, which rattled no matter how quietly they tried to descend. The natural light filtering in from the bridge’s windows faded the deeper they went.
Joel headed down the stairs first, Anne watching their rear. Their flashlights cut swathes through the darkness, the world dissected into a thousand tiny squares. They moved with the smooth ease of those used to carrying out such tasks. They stopped often, listening to the darkness around them. There was something about their movement that tugged on a forgotten memory in Jordan’s mind, but try as he might, he couldn’t retrieve it. They got to the bottom of the stairs and spread out into the lounge room.
Sunlight filtered in from the windows that took up the entire wall at either end. They were caked in blood and greasy handprints. The light caught the top of the hard benches that ran in long rows like the pews in an old church. The shadows gave way to their torchlight. Magazines and unopened snacks laid on the benches. The sticky floor tore at the soles of their boots. Vending machines stood in uniform lines along the walls. Anne took a spray bottle out of a side pocket of her backpack and sprayed one of them, leaving a luminous glow. She tucked the bottle away.
“Why did you spray the vending machine?” Jordan asked.
“To remind us to collect the food later. If we find anything useful, we spray it. Here.” She gave him a small spray can. “Happy shopping.”
Joel got to the end of the room. “Clear.”
“Clear,” Anne confirmed. They didn’t wait to hear Jordan say it.
Joel raised the walkie talkie to his mouth. “How’re we looking, Stan?”
“Good,” came the reply. “Weather’s” -there was a hiss of static- “Nothing” -then another hiss- “wandering about.”
“What was that? Stan?” Joel shook the walkie talkie, smacked it against his palm. “The signal was bad. Hello?”
“Everything’s fine,” the reply came.
“All right. Keep us informed.”
“Will do.”
Cars, coaches and an articulated lorry sat parked bumper to bumper on the platform forming long gnarled narrow corridors and a thousand cloaked recesses. Joel turned to Anne and Jordan with an annoyed expression.
“We know, we know,” Anne said. “You hate ferries.”
Joel and Anne moved to the end of the room and began their sweep. Jordan noticed their movements were more crisp and precise than on the previous floor. They peered around at head height, then crouched down, sweeping their flashlights beneath the vehicles. They returned to a standing pose, pausing to listen, then moved to the end of the vehicle and repeated the manoeuvre. Jordan followed their lead. He picked it up easily and was soon checking the area with the same deft movements. They moved one vehicle length at a time, taking special care to peer behind each. Soon, Jordan was rolling through the motions. He got to the other end of the room before he realized.
“Clear,” Joel said. Anne and Jordan reciprocated. Jordan received a nod of respect from Joel.
“I’ll take first watch,” Joel said, taking up position at the stairwell that led down to the next level.
“What does he mean, ‘first watch’?” Jordan asked Anne as they moved to a Ford Galaxy people carrier.
“He’s making sure nothing comes up the stairs from the levels we haven’t checked yet.”
Anne tried the car’s doors, but they were locked. She reached into her backpack and came out with a long flat length of metal, similar in shape to a ruler, and a length of wire with a hook on the end. She slid them into the gap between the window and door frame and pulled. There was a solid clunk as the doors unlocked. Anne nodded to Jordan, who raised the chair leg above his head. Anne opened a door. The car was empty.
“Remember,” Anne went on, “we’re looking for food, water, and games for the girls.”
There was nothing of value on the front passenger seat, save a collection of RnB CDs. In the boot were three suitcases. Anne pulled them out, a soft boom echoed as they hit the floor. She opened them and sorted through the materials with quick, deft movements. She stopped, looked up at Jordan, smiled and said, “Jackpot.”
Nestled amongst the clothes were jars of French sauces, packets of instant coffee, noodles, and bags of sweets. Anne upended one of the suitcases and stuffed it full with the food items. They searched four more cars before they found more food.
Jordan pulled the suitcase after them. He stopped and wiped the sweat off his forehead. “You know, I think this bag is getting heavier the longer I drag it around.”
“It’s not you,” Anne said. “It’s the floor. It’s sloped.”
Jordan looked at it, but saw no evidence of any slope. “You reckon?”
Anne picked up a football from the back of one of the cars and set it on the floor. It immediately began rolling toward the far right-hand corner. It picked up speed and hit the wall with force. “Yeah, I think it’s safe to say we’re listing.”
“Let’s change around,” Joel said. “Anne, you take point.”
Joel proved just as adept at breaking into cars as Anne. They had ways of opening all kinds of locks – old ones, new ones, even electronic ones which they used some kind of device for.
“Can you show me how you do that?” Jordan asked.
Joel smiled. “Sure.”
As they moved from vehicle to vehicle, Joel pointed out the various lock types and methods of opening them. Jordan would never have suspected there was such variety.
“These things are always goldmines,” Joel said, rapping the side of a coach. He forced open the luggage door using the ruler and hook. Dozens of stuffed suitcases of various shapes and sizes were lined up like a plus size fashion show. Joel grabbed a garish
tiger-skin designed case and dragged it out. “Sometimes I swear the passengers on these tours compete with one another on who can stuff the most crap in their suitcase.” Joel forced open the lock with a screwdriver. Staring back at him were a dozen cartons of Benson and Hedges. Joel grinned. “Oh, baby.” He tucked the cigarette cartons into the space behind his forearm covers. He noticed Jordan watching. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
“It’s the end of the world,” Jordan said. “I’d have thought it was the perfect time to quit.”
“No, it’s the perfect time to start! Besides, living on a dinghy with me is hard enough without nicotine. Here.” He offered a few packs to Jordan.
Jordan shook his head. “I don’t smoke.” He frowned. “I think.”
Joel smiled. “Not sure? I suppose having amnesia can do that. You don’t have to smoke them, just carry them for me.”
Jordan looked over in Anne’s direction, but she was blocked from view by the side of a delivery van caked in mud. Jordan pulled back his forearm covers and slid the cartons inside. “Do the others know you smoke?”
“Of course not. They wouldn’t quit moaning at me if they did.”
After a brief pause, Jordan asked, “Joel, can I ask you something?”
“You just did.”
“Are you and Anne…”
“Together? No.”
“Sorry, I thought…”
“Last man and woman of procreation age left alive, here to repopulate the earth?” Joel chuckled. “Afraid not. More’s the pity. I made the same argument to her, but apparently I’m not her type.”
By the time they were done searching, they had three large suitcases full of food and games. Jordan and Joel also carried ten kilos of hidden weight about their person. They pulled the cases over to the door leading to the stairs to the next level down.
“I think we deserve a little break, don’t you?” Joel said as he flipped open a suitcase. “One item each.” Joel chose a packet of Revels. “I, uh, need to get some fresh air. Be back in a sec.” He left.
Anne opened her pickled onion flavour Monster Munch. She bit off the toes and then sucked on the circular foot pad. Jordan opened a small bottle of fruit juice. He offered it to Anne, who waved him away. They sat on the bulging suitcases and ate in silence.
“How many of these scavenges have you done?” Jordan asked.
“Too many.”
“Do you often come across Lurchers?”
“Usually.”
“Why haven’t we yet, do you think?”
Anne shrugged. “Might be we haven’t come across them yet.” She didn’t sound confident of that theory. “It might be that they were all on deck when a storm hit, knocking them into the sea, or this ferry came in contact with another boat, which they boarded. Maybe there just weren’t any here in the first place.”
There was a creak of crying metal that peeped out from the walls somewhere in the darkness. After a moment of listening they went back to eating.
“Did Joel ask you to carry something for him?” Anne asked. The sentence barely registered as a question.
Jordan tried to hide his surprise. “Uh…”
“It’s okay. We all know he smokes. Imagine trying to hide something like that in a room that floats on the sea.” She shook her head.
“You don’t care?”
“So long as he keeps the smoke away from us, what’s the harm? Plus, it keeps him happy.”
“Why don’t you tell him you know?”
“I don’t think he’d enjoy it as much if he knew we know.”
Jordan smiled. “I think you might be right.”
Heavy jaunty footsteps came down the stairwell at the end of the room. Joel had a big smile on his face.
“How were the Revels?” Anne asked.
“Delicious. Shall we press on?”
They left the suitcases, picked up their weapons and headed down the stairs.
13.
They heard the water before they saw it. Half a dozen faint drips splashed in unseen puddles, invisible through the pitch darkness that begrudgingly gave way to their flashlights. The engine bay’s air tasted damp, salty and metallic. It reminded Jordan of a subterranean cave more than the interior of a ferry. Their flashlights reflected back at them from a dozen puddles, a thin layer of oil on their surfaces giving birth to a spray of rainbows.
Distant footsteps answered their own from the depths of the darkness like African drummers transmitting messages, until it became clear it was their own footsteps echoing back to them, bouncing off the wall at the end of the long corridor. Dented metal plate doors sprouted off on either side like portals to other kingdoms.
“Looks like we found where the water’s coming in.” Anne flashed her light up at the water running freely down the walls, their source a series of missing rivets. “These steel sheets look like they could give way at any moment.”
“Sh-sh,” Joel said, his eyes fixed upon an indeterminate point in the darkness. “Do you hear that?”
They listened. To Jordan’s ears there was only silence. He shook his head. “I don’t hear anything.”
“There.”
Then Jordan heard it.
It was the final sound someone made on their deathbed, the gasp of relief, pain, anger, and acceptance, all rolled into one wheeze, as if the pain they were in was manifesting itself. Joel and Anne became hyper-alert, the hair standing up on the back of their necks, weapons raised on rock solid arms that did not shake.
“Sounds like it’s coming from down the corridor,” Anne said, voice low.
“Let’s check these rooms first,” Joel said, not removing his eyes from the origin of the sound. “We don’t want a stray Lurcher coming up behind us.”
Joel pushed the first door open on squeaky hinges. Their flashlights revealed a small room crammed full of cleaning utensils. Dirty discarded mop heads lay strewn like wild mushrooms. An industrial vacuum cleaner lounged in the corner. Shelves of disinfectant and polish made for a potent mix. The next room contained large toolboxes. Unlike the cleaning room, it was well organised. A battered welding kit with stickers such as ‘Hot Stuff’ and a pair of stick figures in a compromising position with ‘Merge’ written across the top, sat on the table with a pair of matching visors. They made their way from room to room, the gasping groan of the damned getting louder.
Anne froze, her flashlight fixed on something ahead. “Joel,” she said, her voice hollow.
The corridor widened at the end to reveal a large wall covered by a series of interwoven pipes that ran throughout the ferry like a series of arteries and veins. In the centre of the wall was an eight feet tall, five feet wide monstrosity of a door. It had iron straps that wrapped around it like a straightjacket, thick dead bolts holding them in place. It had a large red metal wheel lock on its front, about the size of a sixteen ton lorry’s steering wheel.
But what had so grabbed Anne’s attention wasn’t the door, but what sat before it.
The man had pale skin and was covered in red sores that had got infected and oozed yellow pus. His brow jutted forward, dark shadows veiling his eyes. He didn’t flinch under the torch’s intense beam, his watery blue irises unreactive. His right leg was crushed beneath a large fuel drum, withered and small, black from lack of blood circulation. He opened his mouth, a death rattle creaked from his throat. His jaw flapped open and closed, his teeth chatting together in a series of clicks. He reached up with his free arm for them, not for help, but in a vulture-like claw, grasping for a morsel of living flesh.
“Oh my God,” Jordan said. “That’s one of them, isn’t it?”
“Well, it certainly ain’t Santa Claus,” Joel said.
Looking into those dead eyes, Jordan was surprised to find the trickle of fear he felt dry up, and was instead replaced by a stronger feeling of derision. The creature before him was not human, but a shell, a poor grotesque impersonation.
Joel knelt down beside the creature, who sensed a meal and stretched for h
im. Joel seized the Lurcher’s hand and pulled his arm out straight. The fingertips were ragged, the flesh missing, the bone shining through. “Looks like we found our author. He wrote the warning, I reckon.”
Something caught Joel’s eye. He aimed the torch up at the giant door. Written across it was ‘Lurchers inside. Do NOT open’.
“If he doesn’t feel pain, and he won’t die from losing limbs… why doesn’t he just chew his own leg off?” Jordan said.
“That relies on a certain reserve of intelligence. Fortunately for us, they don’t even have that much.”
The groan they’d heard had not come from this creature, but from behind the giant metal door. It was low and unbroken, one continuous note that did not change in cadence or pitch.
“He trapped whatever Lurchers were on board this ferry in this room,” Joel said. “But at some point he must have got scratched or bitten, and became one of them.”
“Lucky for us, right?” Jordan said.
Joel nodded. “It would be if the engine bay wasn’t exactly the place we needed to go.”
14.
“How many do you suppose are in there?” Anne said, pressing her hand against the door.
“Sounds like a lot,” Joel said. “On a boat this big there could have been any number of people becoming Lurchers. You saw how many cars and coaches there were upstairs.”
“We need to get inside.”
“The moment we open this door they will rush us. We won’t stand a chance.”
“But there might just be a few of them,” Anne said. “We can’t know without looking.”
“Judging by the state of this boat I’m not even sure if the part we need will be in good working order anyway.”
“So that’s it? We leave without even trying?”
Joel rounded on Anne in undisguised anger. “Do you really want to open this door and say hello? I know I don’t.”
“There must be a way of getting inside without having them rush us.”
“I’m all ears.” Joel shook his head. “Of all the rooms on this ship, why did he have to trap them in the one we needed?”
“It was probably the only one that could hold them,” Anne said.
