by Jay Brenham
Screams echoed from the direction of the woods. Sam cursed under his breath: the infected were on their way. They needed to hurry. Sam grabbed an extra line to tie Paul’s hands and jogged back to the house.
Sam stepped through the broken French door on the back porch, not bothering to open it. He tossed the rope to Matt.
“We’ve gotta move,” he said to Matt. “I heard them. The keys were right where Paul said they’d be and I already checked to make sure the boat started. But the hoist is electric and there’s no power. We’ll have to figure something out.”
Matt took a folded bath towel and placed it over Paul’s wound, then took duct tape and wrapped it around Paul’s back and over the towel, forming a bandage. Not that Sam cared, but Paul looked like shit. What the hell was Matt thinking, telling this guy they’d help him? Not only was he a walking corpse, but he’d just tried to kill them. Paul could bleed to death for all Sam cared.
Matt pulled Paul to his feet, supporting his shoulder. “Alright. Let’s get to the boat.”
The three of them turned and started walking toward the pier, Sam in the lead. He spotted the first infected as he stepped off of the porch: a man, standing between him and the boat. Sam drew a bead on him as he charged, dropping him with a round of buckshot.
More infected came from the woods, sprinting towards them. There were more than Sam could take out with the shotgun. He broke into a run, glancing back just in time to see Matt throw Paul to the ground. Sam heard a gunshot and glanced back again, worried that Paul had somehow concealed a weapon and shot Matt. Instead, he saw an infected man with a red handprint on his chest fall to the ground a few feet from Matt. Sam had a split second to recognize the mark——it must have been one of the infected who’d managed to get away from the burning house—and then he was focused again on their escape.
Matt ran by Sam and jumped on the boat.
“Start it up,” Sam shouted to Matt. “Shoot anything that comes onto the dock. And hold on tight!”
Sam heard the rumble of the three Mercury engines and then the familiar pop-pop-pop of Matt’s rifle as he started picking off infected.
Sam took aim at the cable on the closest corner of the hoist and pulled the trigger.
The rear port side of the Boston Whaler immediately dropped in the water, the wire tension no longer holding that side upright. He took aim at the back right cable and pulled the trigger. The outboard motors plunged into the water.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw one of the marked break through Matt’s barrage and rush him. He retrained his weapon on the oncoming infected and watched the man tumble to the wooden pier as his shot went low and shredded the infected’s crotch and femur instead of his chest.
Sam turned back to the boat, focusing on the other two corners that were still held up by wire pulleys, and pulled the trigger. The Conquest splashed down violently. Matt crashed into the port side of the Conquest, his weapon skidding toward the front of the boat.
The Conquest was still moving from side to side when Sam jumped aboard. He stumbled forward and picked up Matt’s weapon, taking aim at the approaching infected. Sam glanced down at the window in the rifle’s polymer magazine: there were a number of rounds left.
“I’ll fire. Get us out of here,” Sam barked as Matt got to his feet.
He moved to the rear starboard side of the boat and took a knee. He’d cross-trained with Matt’s weapon by dry firing and doing manipulation drills at night but he’d never actually fired it with live ammunition; they’d never had extra ammo to do any real practice.
Because of Sam’s lack of experience shooting the AR-15 and the fact that he was used to the harsh kick of a twelve-gauge shotgun, his first shots went high as he anticipated the recoil. But with each subsequent shot, Sam anticipated the recoil less and hit the infected more.
Matt put the Conquest into gear and it shot forward. Sam was glad he’d taken a knee; as it was he nearly went over the back of the boat.
The boat hadn’t picked up quite enough speed and infected were still closing the distance as they sprinted down the dock. Sam regained his balance and ran the AR-15 dry shooting any infected close enough be able to make the jump. The remaining infected sprinted down the dock, some merely lunging after the boat while others dove into the water, but the Conquest had pulled far enough away that they were not a danger.
Twenty yards out Matt stopped the boat and looked back at the shoreline, which teemed with hundreds of infected. A red hand print marked the center of their chests. The infected parted for their leader. He had Franklin’s pudgy body, but his skin was blackened with smoke and burns. He must have accrued more followers since they’d last seen him, because it was obvious that many of the marked who stood around him had not been through a fire.
Matt gazed back at the shoreline toward the man he’d left behind. Paul still lay on the ground, screaming. “Please don’t leave me! Help me! For God’s sake, help me! If you ever do anything in your life please help me.”
The marked held Paul’s legs and arms as Franklin took what looked like one of the Honyaki blades and ran the tip gently down Paul’s face, tracing a path to his throat. He paused with the knife point poised on Paul’s throat. Just as Sam thought Franklin would drive the knife home, he pulled the blade away and turned it to his own cheek, to the wound he’d earned fighting Leonidas. He grasped the wounded flap, cutting the burned scabs and reopening the injury. Franklin grabbed Paul firmly by the scalp and, leaning over his face, let his blood spurt through the wound and across Paul’s face and into his open gut shot.
Once he was done, Franklin looked up, staring out at the Conquest, only twenty yards away but safe in the water. Slowly he raised his hand and pointed at them.
Without a word, Matt shifted their new boat into gear and headed for the safety of Raft City.
#
They cruised out of the creek and past the signs declaring a no-wake zone without slowing. Sam watched as waves lapped at the shore. They headed east, guided by only a general knowledge of Raft City’s location.
The boat slowed to a crawl as Matt pulled back on the throttle, stopping in a cove of one of the many islands south of Raft City. They dropped anchor. It held on their first attempt.
Sam looked at Matt confused. “Why are we stopping?”
“I left him on purpose,” Matt whispered. He looked nauseous.
“I know. I saw you push him to the ground.”
Matt stared at him, obviously waiting for some kind of judgment, but Sam offered none.
“You don’t understand. I put the towel on him to stop his bleeding so he didn’t die right away. I brought him along as a distraction. The only thing that didn’t go as planned was that I expected the infected to kill him, not infect him.”
Sam shrugged. “What do you think he would have done to you?” Matt’s actions had been cruel, yes, but it had bought them the time they needed to get the Conquest started and free from the hoist.
Matt kicked lightly at the base of one of the captain’s chairs. “The same. He had that spiked bat cocked when I shot him in the gut. His whole story about not wanting to hurt us was bullshit. He wanted us dead.”
Sam sat back in his seat. “Exactly. I would’ve done the same thing if I’d thought of it. You had the foresight to come up with a plan and the balls to execute it. Paul and his buddies tried to kill us so they could take what we had. If they’d asked for our help, we would’ve gladly taken them to Raft City. We could all be playing cards right now. Instead, they ambushed us and we killed them. If you’d tried to save Paul he still would’ve died from his wounds and we’d probably be following Franklin around wearing bloody handprints on our chests.” He paused. “What was that anyway? Did Franklin intentionally infect Paul?”
“I think so.” Matt chewed his lip. “Have you ever seen anything like that? One of them intentionally infecting someone?”
“Nope.”
“Me neither. What if…”
“What?�
�
Matt hesitated, then shrugged. “Okay, what if Franklin remembered how the virus was spread? During the beginning stages of the infection nobody knew about the virus, nobody knew how it spread. Anyone who was infected simply turned and attacked. But Franklin knew. I think maybe he retained that knowledge somehow.”
Sam gave him a skeptical look. “I know what it looked like, but…do you really think he knew he was infecting Paul? That seems like a huge leap from what we know about them.”
Matt started pacing on the tiny deck, rocking the boat slightly with each turn. He seemed lively, as if the fight had left him on a high. Every few seconds he darted a glance out over the water, as if he hadn’t quite realized the combat was over. Sam felt the opposite. With the danger over, he was crashing, so tired that he could’ve taken a nap if he’d let himself.
“I don’t think it’s that big of a leap. We already knew they could plan an ambush. Is intending to spread the infection that different?”
“I guess not.” Sam made a face. The idea of the infected waging biological warfare was terrifying. “What’s our plan now?” He raised an eyebrow. “Sneak back onto land and assassinate Franklin?”
Matt laughed. “That sounds like a video game.”
“Yeah, but if it was a video game we’d have better weapons and special training.” Sam looked out over the water, sobering instantly. “Even if we could kill him, there’s no point. If Franklin figured it out, someone else is bound to.”
The days since the infection had been clear and rainless; today was no exception. The sun hung high in the sky and Sam and Matt kept part of the boat cover up to provide shade. They needed to check the boat for food and water. They could not maintain the frantic pace of the last two days indefinitely.
Sam stepped into the inside of the boat and tested the water in the tap—it ran. He grabbed two plastic cups from the cupboard and filled them. He walked out and handed one of the cups to Matt.
“Raft City can wait until we get some water and find something to eat,” Sam said.
“Cheers to that.”
They each grabbed a boat cushion and laid down in the shade of the cover and drank greedily.
Matt was staring at the sky from behind a pair of borrowed sunglasses. They’d found half a dozen pairs—all name-brand—in the glove box. “We’ve gotta do something about your nose.”
“It’s broken. I don’t think there’s anything to do.”
“I think you’re supposed to set it so it heals straight. That way you can breathe through your nose again. I don’t know how though.”
“Are you sure? Sounds painful.”
Matt nodded, eying Sam’s crooked nose with an expression that looked faintly sick. “This is how they do it in the movies. Just grab it, align your fingers in a triangle and pull straight down.”
Matt looked unsure, a far cry from how he’d seemed when he threw Paul to the infected. This seemed like a much easier task to Sam; if he had any faith in his own ability to straighten it while experiencing the pain he would’ve already done it himself.
Sam pulled the tampons out of his nostrils and blew his nose as best he could. It was painful. Thick, semi-coagulated blood fell from his nose as it resumed bleeding.
“We just need to go for it,” Sam said. “I don’t think this blood is going to stop.”
Sam lay down and gritted his teeth. With as much precision as he could muster, Matt grabbed his nose and pulled.
Sam closed his eyes as pain washed over him. When it had subsided somewhat, he inserted two fresh pieces of tampon.
Matt stood up and started letting out the anchor chain, letting them drift toward a small grassy island.
“What are you doing now?” Sam asked, wincing as he spoke.
“I’m starving.”
“Me too. So?”
“So this island isn’t connected to the mainland and it looks like it might have some shellfish on it. If we drift in close enough, we can get something to eat.”
When they got closer to the shore, Sam hit the tilt button for the engines, lifting them out of the water so they wouldn’t strike bottom.
“If there’s anything to find I should be quick,” Matt said. “None of the other gathering trips took long. You’re in a lot of pain. Why don’t you stay here while I get something for us to eat?”
Sam nodded gratefully. “I’ll see what they have in the way of cooking supplies.”
Matt eased into the warm, brown Chesapeake Bay water and waded to the island.
Down below, Sam pulled a large pot from the galley, which was stocked with dishes. The stove was powered by the boat’s battery and the burner fired up immediately when he turned the knob.
Without anything else to do, Sam went back up top and watched Matt harvest oysters and mussels. The air around him was quiet, peaceful. The world was filled with such extremes, he thought. It was difficult to imagine that earlier they’d killed two uninfected men and sacrificed a third so they could make it to the boat alive.
Matt returned with a good haul of seafood and dropped it on the deck, clearly pleased with himself. Not long after, the food was cooked and they were eating in companionable silence, enjoying the meal and the cool breeze that came with the night. Sam found himself savoring the moment.
Sam’s broken nose had finally stopped bleeding but he left the pieces of tampon in place, just in case. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t have breathed through his nose because of the swelling. Black and blue smudges had collected on either side of his nose and beneath his eyes.
“I went to high school with a girl who got a nose job,” Matt said suddenly.
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”
“I had a pretty good upbringing too. No life on the hard streets, no gang violence, pretty idyllic, really.”
“What are you trying to say? I had a good childhood too and I stopped apologizing for it years ago. It’s not my fault I had parents who made a good living and loved me.”
“I agree, but that’s not what I was getting at.”
“Well, I’m still waiting to hear it.”
Matt kept a straight face, a magician about to do the big reveal on his final trick. “I never saw a problem with this girl’s nose but she always complained. At the end of high school she got it fixed, as a graduation gift.”
“If you’re trying to tell me I’m going to need a surgeon to make my nose look like it did before, I get that. But if you were going to contact your high school friend for a recommendation, that surgeon probably isn’t practicing medicine these days,” Sam said.
Matt’s voice changed and Sam could tell he was trying not to laugh as he said, “You don’t understand. I’m not saying you need a nose job. I’m saying with the bruising under your eyes and your swollen nose you look like that girl after her surgery.”
“Oh you’re funny, real funny,” Sam said.
“I do what I can.”
They sat for a minute laughing before Sam changed the subject. “First thing in the morning you wanna head to Raft City? We need to meet up with Quinn—he probably thinks we’re dead right now—but I don’t see a reason to rush back. It’s getting dark and we don’t know the water around here. We don’t want to run aground.”
Matt shrugged. “Sure. But I’d like to get back soon so we can beat the shit out of Evan.”
With full bellies and the rocking of the boat to lull them, they drifted off to an easy sleep lying on the deck of the Conquest.
He might not be where he wanted to be, Sam reasoned, but it could always be worse. He could be spending the night in a tree with infected wandering through the woods below.
#
Sam jolted out of a deep sleep. He couldn’t remember what had woken him. Was it something he’d dreamed? Usually his dreams were random bits of chaos with a sprinkle of reality thrown in. Sometimes he dreamed about Jill and Grant; other times he dreamed of Gloria and their escape from the city. But mostly he dreamed about running from the infected. He lay ther
e for a few moments, thoughts circling lazily, until he smelled it again: that sharp acrid smell.
Smoke.
Instinctively he grabbed for his shotgun and stood up. The moon had been full a few days ago; now it was a waning gibbous, plenty bright enough to see by. Leaving Matt asleep, he crept to the bow in order to get a better view.
Sam peered south, toward Norfolk. Seeing nothing, he looked back toward the creek from which they’d come. Still nothing. The water to the east was empty as well. When he squinted toward the north he could see a dull red glow and dark clouds of what appeared to be smoke.
North. Toward Raft City.
Sam hurried back and shook Matt’s shoulder. “Do you smell that smoke? Get on the bow and look north.”
Matt shook his head groggily and headed to the bow. “Raft City?”
Sam nodded. “We’ve gotta go.”
They took the cover off of the back, raised the anchor, and started the engines. Matt started to gun them but Sam grabbed his shoulder. “It won’t do any good if we hit something.”
“I need to get to Jenna and the baby,” Matt said, his words falling over each other. “I promised to keep her safe.”
“I understand, Matt, but without a working boat we’ll be the ones in need of a rescue. With the way the tides move here, we’ll be swept back to Norfolk if we lose power here.”
Matt slowed the boat without answering, but even in the dark, Sam could see the way he clenched the steering wheel.
By the time they rounded the point into Mobjack Bay, the sun was starting to rise, spreading its light over the burned remains of Raft City. A few boats remained unscathed. They cruised by them, looking for survivors but finding no one. Other boats were little more than masts sticking out of the water.
On the far shore they could see more than two dozen boats that appeared to have run aground. As they got closer, Sam recognized the huge tuna tower that belonged to Options, the first boat he’d boarded in Raft City. At the top of Options’ tower a man was hung by his feet with a piece of line. His stomach had been slit down the middle and his entrails spilled out onto the deck below.
