by Jay Brenham
Quinn’s catamaran sat fifty yards down the beach. Sam stared at it in confusion. These boats were in good shape. They weren’t burned like the rest. It was almost as if they’d been intentionally cut free, as if the owners hadn't known they were drifting until it was too late. He’d never know the answer, not unless he found someone alive.
He briefly thought about trying to pillage whatever goods they could find on the boats but rejected the idea. He didn’t know what they’d find on board these boats. Maybe there was nothing. Or maybe one of the marked was waiting to attack.
A person moved in the tree line and began walking toward them. He’d been stripped naked and was covered in dirt. His hands were bound behind him and a long line was wrapped around his neck and trailed back into the woods.
“Shit,” Sam muttered. “That’s Quinn.”
He walked slowly, looking back at the woods with evident terror, as if afraid he’d be jerked backward like a disobedient dog. Suddenly the line on his neck went slack. As soon as the tension disappeared, Quinn started running. When he reached the edge of the beach he threw himself into the water.
“Help me! Don’t leave,” Quinn yelled, his voice hitting the same panicked notes that Paul’s had when they’d left him. The only difference was that Quinn was a man Matt and Sam liked. He’d fought hard to get Sam into Raft City and he’d looked out for both of them. Quinn had provided them with a place to stay, a home.
As Quinn entered the surf he flipped to his back and started kicking towards them. There was no way Quinn knew who was driving the Conquest; he was gambling that whoever was on board would be willing to help him.
They were too far offshore to worry about the infected, so Matt put the boat in gear and maneuvered closer to Quinn. As Quinn swam along the starboard side using only his feet, Sam reached down and grabbed him under the armpits, helping him around to the swim platform at the back of the boat. He pulled Quinn on board and then cut through the knots binding Quinn’s hands.
“Sam. Matt. I can’t believe it’s you.” Quinn’s eyes were wide, still doubting that he’d been rescued. The surge of adrenaline made him shake. Sam recognized the shaking; the same thing had happened to him when he’d been rescued by the LCU.
Water ran off Quinn and formed a puddle on the deck beneath him. Sam grabbed a couple of towels from the berthing as Matt turned the Conquest around and pulled farther from shore.
“Quinn, what the hell happened?” Matt asked. “Where is everyone?”
“I thought you guys were dead. Rodrigo came back and—”
Matt stopped Quinn. “Tell us what happened here first and then we can fill you in.”
Quinn shook his head. “I wish I could tell you. I woke up when my boat ran aground. A couple dozen other boats too. I started hearing people screaming almost immediately, but everything was dark and I couldn’t see anything. I gave my gun to a guy on guard duty last night so I had nothing to fight with. I was about to hide in one of the storage compartments but then I realized the screaming meant the infected were around. I figured it was a matter of time before they came for me. When I went up on deck, Raft City was on fire. Before I could make it to the woods I was tackled and tied up.”
Sam gave Quinn a towel to sit on and one to wrap around himself. Quinn hugged it around his shoulders like mere warmth and dryness could erase the night before.
“And then what happened?” Sam asked.
A large red mark was spreading on the towel. Quinn was bleeding.
“Nothing. They just tied me up with the others and had me sit down. Waiting.”
“Who’s they? And waiting for what?” Matt glanced at Sam.
“The infected,” Quinn said.
“That’s weird. Normally they kill whoever they come across.”
“Not this time. They were more interested in keeping us prisoner than anything.”
Sam was quiet, watching Quinn. Something wasn’t adding up.
“Are you hurt? There’s blood on your towel,” Matt asked.
“Me? No, I’m okay. Like I said, they just held me hostage until you two came along and then they set me free. The blood must be from another prisoner. They kept us packed together like canned seafood,” Quinn said, waving a hand dismissively.
Sam caught Matt’s eye and Matt gave an almost imperceptible nod. There was something off about Quinn’s story. They’d seen some pretty bizarre behavior from the infected over the last couple of weeks but nothing to indicate they would let someone go. The marked weren’t diplomats and, judging by the burning of Raft City, they’d either sacked the floating island or capitalized on someone else’s attack. If that was the case, why would they let Quinn go? The marked had zero empathy and had shown no ability to think about anything but killing and torture. What Quinn was saying was bizarre, but it followed the trend of the infected being higher functioning than Sam had originally thought.
Matt stopped the boat a short distance from where Raft City had been. Quinn stood up. He’d wrapped one towel around his waist; the other was in his hand. He turned around to look in the direction of Raft City and that’s when Sam saw it: a red handprint in the center of Quinn’s back. It was smudged from the water and the towel but it hadn’t been completely erased from his back.
“There’s not much left of Raft City,” Quinn said in a low voice.
Sam caught Matt’s attention and pointed to Quinn’s back. “Marked,” he mouthed.
Matt looked like he was going to be sick but he returned Sam’s silent communication, mouthing the words, “Trojan horse.”
They stared at each other. For the first time time since they had been together it seemed like neither one of them wanted to act.
“Do you think there are any survivors besides you?” Sam asked, but he didn’t hear Quinn’s answer. His thoughts were moving too rapidly for that. They could kick Quinn off the Conquest right now and speed away, but that wouldn’t help them in the future. Sam wanted information. He wanted to know what the marked were capable of and if Quinn knew that he was infected.
Sam calmly grabbed one of the lines from a cleat and wrapped it around his hands, making a taut line between his fists. Balancing lightly on the balls of his feet, he walked up behind Quinn. In one swift movement he put the rope around Quinn’s neck and jerked him to the deck, twisting him so Quinn landed on his stomach. Sam dug his knee into the back of Quinn’s neck, forcing him to stay where he was. Matt already had a rope in hand; he sat on Quinn’s legs while he tied both of his hands together. Sam took one of the towels and wrapped it around Quinn’s head, hiding his face.
They sat him up. “What the fuck are you doing?” Quinn yelled in a muffled voice. “It’s me! Quinn! I helped both of you! What are you doing to me?”
Sam narrowed his eyes. Quinn sounded like he was pleading for his life, like he was the one who’d been betrayed and not the other way around.
“What are we doing?” Sam asked. “You’ve got a lot of balls asking us that question. Why don’t you tell us why you have that mark on your back?”
“Mark? What are you talking about?”
“The red handprint on your back. Tell us about it.”
Matt was silent, watching, letting Sam ask the questions.
“It’s nothing. They just slapped our backs and chests with a bloody hand.”
“It’s not nothing,” Sam shouted, angry that Quinn would lie to them. “We’ve seen it before, so don’t lie. If you do, we’re tossing you overboard.”
Quinn paused for a moment, clearly weighing his options.
“Alright, alright. When they first took us, they had us wait, all tied up in a group like we were cattle. We waited for hours. Finally their leader showed up. I could tell it was their leader by the way they all backed away from him. Anyway, he had this other guy with him and this guy looked bad. Like, really fucking bad. His skin was gray and he was losing blood out of a gut shot. The leader was messed up too——he had a hole in his cheek and he looked like he had been roasted ov
er a fire—but at least he looked like he was surviving. I don’t know how much longer the other guy had.”
“The gut shot guy’s name was Paul,” Matt said. “I’m the one who shot him. And the leader you’re talking about was Franklin.”
“Franklin? That’s…I didn’t even recognize him.” Quinn shook his head, trying to come to terms with this revelation. “Anyway, Franklin went up to the first girl in line and pulled out what looked like a kitchen knife. He cut her clothes off and left her standing naked. Then he went up to Paul and squeezed his wound and he—” Quinn broke off, the pain of reliving the experience clear on his face. “He put his mouth to Paul’s wound and got a mouthful of blood. Then he made the girl get to her knees and grabbed her by the face. Franklin opened her eyes like a doctor administering eye drops and drooled Paul’s blood into her open eyes.”
They nodded, waiting for Quinn to continue.
“It didn’t take very long—maybe an hour—and then she turned. Once she turned he took the kitchen knife and stabbed it into her stomach. He dipped his hands inside her and then put handprints on all of us, marking us.”
Sam shook his head. “That’s not the end of the story. He spit her blood in everyone’s eyes, didn’t he?”
Quinn was silent.
“Quinn?” he insisted. “He put blood in your eyes, didn’t he?”
Silence.
“How long ago?” Sam asked.
“Maybe twenty minutes before you showed up.” Quinn’s answer was low, reluctant.
“Why would he kill the girl and not just kill Paul? He was already gut shot,” Matt said.
Quinn was trembling, reliving the experience was terrorizing him a second time. “It was like…” Quinn trailed off.
“Like what?” Matt prompted.
“Like he was trying to show us who was the boss. He didn’t infect all of us at once. It was in small groups. Staggered. When each person turned he made sure they knew he was in charge.”
This was worse than Sam had thought, but there was nothing they could do to help their friend except comfort him. Sam crossed his arms. “You haven’t turned yet, Quinn.”
Quinn sobbed, “There’s still plenty of time. The incubation period is anywhere from twenty minutes to two hours. We all know that.” Quinn shook his head. Sam couldn’t see his face but he knew Quinn was crying. “I’m fucking sorry. I should’ve told you right away but I was scared. Scared you would put a bullet in me. But now I understand. That’s…that’s what you should do. You can’t let me turn into one of them.”
When Franklin had become infected, the situation seemed different. Franklin had never put himself on the line for either of them; he was just a guy trying to get ahead on a raid.
Quinn was different. He was a friend, and his lie was born of fright, not malice.
“Look, we’ll wait to see what happens,” Matt said. “We won’t make any move until we’re sure.”
“Can you take the rope off my wrists? Loosen it?”
“Sorry, those have to stay, but we can take the towel off your face,” Sam offered.
They waited, watching Quinn slide slowly into infection. Their friend, who’d been so willing to help, so quick to hatch a plan to better other people’s situation, started to shake with fever. Quinn was responsible for their well-being, responsible for hundreds of lives being saved. As the shaking continued, Quinn started to talk, to unburden himself from the weight on his chest.
“I lived my entire life defining myself by my job. I’ve been divorced three times and each one was my own damn fault.”
Sam grimaced. “Quinn, I’m sure that’s not—”
“No, Sam, it is true. Yeah, two of my wives had affairs but I can’t blame them. I did blame them but I shouldn’t have. I was never home. I worked ridiculous hours. I even had an apartment in the city so I could stay late and get up early. God forbid I saw daylight or had a sit down meal with any of them more than once a week. No, I don’t blame them. What kind of life would that be, only seeing your husband once a week and then once or twice a year for an exotic vacation?”
This time it was Matt who tried to soothe him. “Quinn, who gives a shit about what happened before the infection? I was a failing real-estate agent with more debt than income. None of that matters anymore.”
“It does matter Matt, because that’s how I spent most of my life. Chasing a dollar when I should’ve been chasing life. Now all I have to show for it is a wrecked fucking boat. I couldn’t even share it with the people I cared about.”
Sam shook his head. “Quinn, that’s bullshit. You might not have been a good husband but you told us about your sister and nephew spending time on your boat. You organized Raft City and saved the lives of hundreds of people. If you hadn’t been here every person at Raft City might be dead.”
“If you think years of my actions can be erased by a few weeks of helping people, I want some of what you’re smoking.”
“I didn’t say all that, but you can’t pretend like your actions over the past few weeks don’t matter. I’m alive because of you and so is Matt. Because of you I might see my family again and I’m just one of the people you helped. So get over yourself. You’re a good man and we care about you.”
“Did you see what happened to Jenna? Where she went?” Matt asked suddenly, as if realizing he had a limited window in which to extract this information.
Quinn shook his head. “I’m sorry, Matt. By the time I realized what was happening Raft city was burning and my boat was on the beach.”
“So you saw nothing?”
“I saw some boats headed out of Mobjack Bay but they were too far for me to identify them. I have no idea if Jenna was one of the ones who escaped or not.”
Quinn grew quieter and became more pensive after that. It wasn’t long before the infection started to take hold, its grip on him growing stronger by the minute. Soon the Quinn they knew began to fade away until he’d nearly stopped responding.
“Check out the horizon. Doesn’t that look like there might be a group of boats? Maybe someone is reuniting Raft City a little farther out,” Sam said.
Quinn took a long time to respond. “…Really?” He turned his head slowly.
“Yeah, there are definitely some boats out there,” Matt said. He nodded to Sam.
“I think you’re right,” Quinn said. His words sounded as though he was underwater. “I can barely see them.”
Sam withdrew his .38 caliber revolver from its holster, took aim at Quinn’s head and pulled the trigger.
Quinn crashed onto the swimming platform, his body twitching. Matt pushed him into the water and they watched him float away, towel still partially draped around his head, face up. It was no way to bury a friend, but the world gave them no options.
Sam reloaded the spent round and turned toward Matt. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. There were no boats in the distance. Nobody was returning to reunite Raft City.
Matt started the engine and headed north, toward Sam’s family.
#
Sam squinted at the shore and then dropped his sunglasses back down over his eyes. For about half a mile the shoreline was filled with tiny seasonal beach cottages no bigger than a room or two. He could even see outhouses and a communal water pump. There was a single modern brick house across a pasture, but otherwise the scene looked like it was straight out of the 1950s: a vintage taste of an earlier America.
Despite the chaos brought by the infection, Sam paused for a moment, imagining his life at those quaint cottages just fifty yards away. He could grill while Jill and Grant played by the water’s edge. They could sit on the edge of the porch and he would drink cheap light beer and enjoy the taste of a good hot dog on a hot summer evening. Maybe have a bonfire at night. Was that too much to ask? He didn’t think so. The whole idea was stereotypical, but he found that in these days of uncertainty, it was the stereotypes that he yearned for most.
After two days in the Conquest and nearly three weeks since the
infection began, this was finally it. Sam was less than five miles from his in-law’s house. Five miles from the truth.
Sam gave Matt a questioning look. “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s my family. This isn’t your responsibility,” he said again.
“We’re a team. We don’t go anywhere alone. If it was my family, nothing I could say would stop you from coming.”
“Not a chance in hell.”
“Not that we were together, but Jenna and the baby were all I had. These are the cards I’ve drawn.” He sighed. “For better or worse.”
Sam nodded. “Let’s get this in the water then.”
They put a canoe in the brown bay water and placed two bicycles in the center, followed by their weapons. They’d found the bicycles and the canoe at a marina where they’d stopped to siphon some gas. This time they’d managed to do it without coming into contact with any infected.
The bow of their canoe struck sandy beach a few minutes later. They dragged the canoe ashore and left it beside a white cottage with a small deck.
Matt took the key to the boat and tucked it under the deck. “No need to keep it on me,” he said to Sam. “If something happens to me you need to be able to get out.”
They slung their weapons onto their backs and peddled up the road past some outhouses. These little cottages were a testament to the fight against modernization, Sam thought. Their owners must have understood that life was about spending time with friends and family and not your smartphone. Exactly what Quinn had said he’d neglected.
As they peddled up the hill past a pool and a one-story house they saw the first signs of infection. The windows of the house were broken. Neither Sam nor Matt bothered to look inside. They peddled faster.
Like Virginia, the countryside of southern Maryland was lush with plants and trees. Urban sprawl was still being held back; there were a few scattered housing developments but the vast majority of the landscape was farmland and forest.
The bicycles allowed them quick travel on the back roads without the noise associated with a car. Signs of the infected were all around them but the bicycles gave them the ability to travel in silence. They passed one infected woman on the way who was so far down the street that she didn’t notice them. Within an hour they’d reached the driveway to Jill’s parents’ house.
