by Shana Festa
The soldier’s body lurched as they pulled at his lower extremities. The bones of his fingers snapped backwards at the knuckles, one by one, until his grip released. A look of sheer agony clouded his features and his mouth formed a silent Oh as the deafening sound of the rotor blades drowned out his screams. I gripped his outstretched arms and pulled with renewed strength, but my efforts were fruitless compared to the horde below.
Time stood still as his arms slipped slowly from my hands and his jaw cracked on the floor of the chopper. Bloody, broken teeth shot out of his mouth, leaving a trail of red spittle, as his body was dragged out of the opening.
The helicopter steadied itself and began climbing. Breaths of relief escaped us all, and the atmosphere quickly became one of grief. Mrs. Talbot stared out the window, no doubt mourning the loss of her husband, Jim. Meg sat next to her; her eyes stared blankly at nothing. Gabby cried openly for Margie as Adam comforted her. The pregnant couple huddled together, faces devoid of expression. I felt the shaking of Daphne’s tiny body against my side.
Our numbers had been cut down to eight. The dead now ruled our home. The roof and parking lot revealed the bloody forms of friends and family members as we flew away. The fuel tanker sat near the store’s front wall. Sanchez, that rat bastard, stood next to it and stared hungrily up at us as we made our escape. His face was too much for me to bear. I lost myself in anger as I looked at him and before I knew I was even moving, I had raised my rifle and sighted down on him.
The glare from the fuel tank’s shiny body glinted in the scope and I adjusted my aim. Two short bursts on automatic were all it took. One burst to puncture the tank and let the fuel spill to the pavement. A second burst to ignite the vapors. The aircraft lurched as the energy released from the explosion radiated outward. Seth, thankfully an experienced pilot, regained control and hovered at a safe distance.
We all watched as the flames licked up the walls of the store. The explosion had demolished a large part of the front wall, and sent flames through its aisles. The clothes of the store’s former inhabitants ignited on contact and turned the undead into charred crisps stumbling among the wreckage, refusing to die. This was the new world’s way of holding a funeral. The dead crumbled on their pyre, and Seth turned us toward the lighthouse.
* * *
Chapter 18
Merry Fucking Christmas
It turns out Mrs. Talbot had a first name after all. Adam addressed her as Nancy as he apologized for the loss of her husband. I felt selfish. After living with nearly one hundred people for over a week, I knew only a handful of them. I had made no efforts to connect with them, and that would change. This ragtag group of misfits was all I had left.
We were right about Sanchez. He’d hidden a bite from the group. I don’t know if it was denial or the act of a coward not wanting to be put down like a wounded animal. Upon return from our scouting mission, he’d told Ellis, I think that was his name, that he needed to use the john, and wasn’t seen again. Whatever his reason, he never left the men’s room after we returned from our failed search and rescue mission.
Nancy told us Jim woke to use the restroom sometime before dawn and never returned. He walked into the bathroom as unsuspecting prey to receive the kiss of death from Sanchez, who had been lying in wait for the door to open, his reanimated brain not smart enough to turn the knob. Once he turned, the two of them made easy work of the sleeping group. Lieutenant Dan and his men were alerted by the screams, but by the time they made their way from the barricade, the situation was beyond containment.
The ride to the lighthouse was considerably faster than it would have been on land; there were no obstacles in our path to navigate. It was immediately apparent that our Plan B location was a bust as we crested a group of trees and saw the landscape below. The area was teeming with undead. More than we had bullets to dispatch. Plan C was in effect and we changed course to reach Cape Harbour and search for a houseboat.
Cape Harbour was one of the city’s more affluent areas. It wasn’t long before we spotted a viable option. Our biggest problem would be landing safely and making it to the boat and away from the dock without being attacked. We had four rifles among us, with a box of ammunition in the back of the helicopter. In addition to needing the ammunition, we would need to transport the ten cases of water and food. This would likely require multiple trips. We knew we had one shot at making it happen. The sound of the blades would attract the undead in the area. The plan was to set down as close as possible and make a run for it. All able bodies without a weapon would carry supplies. Gabby was charged with Daphne patrol.
We hit the ground. Adam and I led the others to the boat while Seth and the soldier stayed near the bird and picked off anything that got close. A quick sweep of the houseboat revealed it empty. Nancy and the pregnant woman’s husband set to work untying the ropes and securing the boat. For the first time that day things went smoothly. Meg followed Adam and I back to the helicopter and with the help of the men, we cleaned the last of the supplies from it and hobbled back to the boat with our arms full.
The keys were in the ignition, a stroke of luck we hadn’t expected. The floating haven’s engine sprang to life on the first try and we slowly made our way out of the slip and into the harbor. Designed to navigate slowly through the waters, houseboats are built to be self-sustainable. Kind of like a floating RV, they offered luxuries we had been without since the outbreak began: safety, comfortable sleeping arrangements, and best of all cooking and bathroom facilities. The one we had chosen was more spacious than my own home.
"I can’t believe that worked," Adam said in disbelief. Our pathetic group mustered all the joy we could, given the circumstances, and sighed a breath of relief. We were safe. We had a flushing toilet. A pantry stocked with dry and canned goods and another five cases of water. Ah, we were living the high life now. All it took was the sacrifice of Jake and all our friends.
Margie came to mind. She gave her life for the rest of us. I thought back to my last conversation with Jake. I chastised myself for acting so petty. Now that he was gone, I wish I had said more, hugged more, kissed more. I should have tied him down and demanded he stay in camp. My chest tightened and a lump formed in my throat making it hard to swallow. As the tears began welling in my eyes, I knew I needed to get away from the group. The floodgates were going to open soon, and I wanted to be alone. Up on deck, I stared down at the rippling water and thought about my husband and all those we’d lost.
The mood was somber. We were all bonded by misery and loss. Finn and Noelle sat at the table holding hands. Finn doted on his wife’s every whim. They were lucky; they still had each other. The fifty-pound anchor was dropped into the water to keep us stationary and away from land.
The boat had four bedrooms. The Jamisons took the master suite, at the group’s insistence. Seth and the other soldier, Lowell, took the kid’s room with twin beds. Meg and I, and Daphne of course, bunked together in a room with a queen size bed, while Nancy and Gabby took a similar guest room. Adam slept on the pullout sofa in the main galley. He didn’t seem to mind being without a door. In fact, I think he felt more comfortable being out there so he could keep an eye on everything.
Meg and I retired to our room and lay down to sleep. The sun hung low in the sky, sinking fast, and the window let in the fading light. She rolled over and we exchanged sad looks. "Do you think my brother is dead?"
"I don’t know, Meg. I pray every second of the day that he isn’t. But if he’s alive, I don’t know how to find him."
"Back at Target, I kept thinking he was going to walk through the door any minute, like it was a horrible nightmare and I would wake up any minute. If he is alive, where would he go?"
I thought about it for a second. Knowing full well where he would go. "He’d go back to Target."
"That’s what I think, too. Only, we aren’t there anymore. It’s not safe for him." She looked at me pleadingly. I knew she wanted me to come up with an idea to find him and get him
back home with us. Meg may have been twenty-one, but in that moment she looked more like five. The truth was I had nothing to give her. It was true; Jake would try for Target if he hadn’t become a member of the undead army. He’d move heaven and earth to get back there. He knew about our fallback locations, and I shuddered when I thought of him attempting the lighthouse. Even if he safely made it to both locations and realized we weren’t at either of them, he knew of the plan to find a houseboat in this area.
That’s where things got complicated. Let’s say he made it to Cape Harbour. He’d have to find the helicopter. I knew he was smart enough to know we wouldn’t be in any of the still docked boats, which meant he would look for a boat of his own to make it to us.
"I think we need to stay close to the helicopter, Meg. So when he finds us, he’ll know exactly where we are. If we can keep the helicopter in sight of us, then that means we’re in sight of the helicopter. And if Jake finds it, he’ll see us."
I didn’t let on that I thought it was a long shot. The chances of him making it on foot all over the city, albeit a small city, were nearly impossible. Frankly, giving her hope bolstered my own.
* * *
The boat had a soft rise and fall as the ocean rippled beneath us. "That was the best night of sleep I’ve had since this whole thing started," I said, yawning and wiping sleep from my eyes. The smell of coffee as I walked into the galley perked me up instantly, and I took a deep breath through my nose to savor the aroma. Lingering under the smell of freshly brewed coffee was the strong scent of Soft Scrub. Two empty bottles of the cleaning product sat upside down drying in the dish rack.
Seth was sitting at the table writing something on a notepad. He had a dish towel slung over his shoulder and the kitchen sparkled. Come to think of it, I didn’t see a speck of dust in the bathroom either. "I’ve made a list of all our supplies. If we ration appropriately, we’ve got enough food and water to last us almost a month."
I poured myself a cup of coffee while he rattled off his list. When I opened the pantry to look for sugar, I was greeted once again with the overwhelming smell of cleaning products. Seth took organization to a whole new level. Unopened boxes of cereal, arranged by height, lined the top shelf. Canned goods were stacked alphabetically, each label facing out and perfectly aligned. On further inspection, I noticed they were also arranged by date, oldest in the front, newest in the back.
I took a packet of sugar from the shelf, even the individual packets were neatly arranged in rows, and turned the label on a can of corn about a half inch to the left. I heard a little gasp and fought the urge not to laugh. Okay, so I knew I was being a little sadistic, but I couldn’t help myself. There’s just so little to find humor in nowadays, and I was willing to resort to acting like an ass if it meant I could repress the thought of my missing husband, even for a few minutes.
I went back to my coffee cup and stirred it, making sure to leave the empty packet on the counter with a few granules spilling out. Seth had gotten up from his seat, and by the time I turned back to the group the corn was back in place.
I tracked his eyes to the sugar packet and moved to a seat at the table while he made a bee-line to the counter. He unclipped a mini dustpan and brush from his belt that I hadn’t seen yet, and all his focus went into brushing off the sugar and spraying it with 409. By now the entire room had fallen silent, intent on watching the show. Seth produced a dish-rag and began a very intense circular cleaning frenzy. Now it’s worth mentioning that he pulled this one from his pocket, not from his shoulder. How many rags did he have on him? This was all so entertaining; there was no way I was going to skip the grand finale. I saw the coasters, knew it would push him over the edge, and went for it.
"Oopsie," I let out in a ditzy voice. I placed the cup directly on the table, hard enough to ensure a few drops sloshed over the lip and landed onto the laminate. I looked up at Seth expectantly, knowing this was going to be epic.
"Gah," he exclaimed in a strangled cry. "Coasters!"
By now we’d all dissolved into uncontrollable laughter. Except for Seth, who was repeating his 409 scrubbing with one hand and waving a coaster at me with the other. Once he completed the process and washed his hands, he sat back down and resumed planning.
"I suggest we keep the pantry foods for emergency and fish as much as possible," he said. Was that the evil eye? Yep, Seth was definitely fixing me with a murderous glare. Maybe I should sleep with my door locked…and barricaded.
I groaned. I hated fish; I mean I really hated fish. The smell of it made me want to hurl. It was so bad that I even banned it from my house. Jake, who loved seafood when we met, got to eat it only on the special occasions I wasn’t around for. He grew up in an Italian household. They had weird food customs. Certain days of the week were planned out with certain foods. And holidays were a seven-course smorgasbord. The first Christmas after we were married, his family made lobster on Christmas Eve. It was the last time they served seafood around me, considering I spent about thirty minutes vomiting in their pool after I caught a whiff.
I can’t handle puke or any fluids that come out of the mouth or nose. When I hurl, it’s like I’m on a constant repeat cycle until I have nothing left in me. The taste of puke in my mouth caused me to throw up over and over again. It was also the day they drained their pool and scrubbed it clean to get my little gift out. Merry fucking Christmas! I felt bad and shelled out the hundred bucks for a new pool filter.
You would think being so close to graduating with a degree in nursing that I’d have a stronger stomach. Poop, I can handle. Vomit and sputum? All bets are off.
* * *
Chapter 19
Gold Nuggets
The next three weeks went by without incident. The group conceded to remaining close to the helicopter in hopes that the lost team would find their way to us. There was no need to leave our safe haven during that time since we had enough supplies. There was a fresh water tank used for bathing, and the toilets emptied into a composting tank. The owner had been kind enough to leave the user’s manual on the boat, and I learned that this particular type of tank was made to empty at sea. Good to know we weren’t breaking any maritime laws.
Adam and Seth had acquired a rowboat and a Jet Ski from nearby vessels. The rowboat made it easy to fish. Since we were dumping our waste into the water around us, we came to the consensus that rowing away was best for fishing. If nothing else, because it grossed us out thinking of what floated around us.
Every afternoon I took up residence on the upper deck, facing the deserted helicopter. I never stopped trying to coordinate another rescue mission, but the group didn’t support the effort. The lack of any clues as to his whereabouts made it difficult to convince them to risk their lives. Even Meg was hard-pressed to take a chance. I knew it was fear that drove them all to their refusal, but still I tried. Meg spent a lot of time up there with me. Some days we just sat in silence; others, we talked. We talked about everything: life before the outbreak, what we’d be doing now if it had never happened, foods we would never eat again, and our families. That was a tough topic for us, and usually ended in one or both of us dissolving into tears. I missed Jake so bad it hurt.
I stared at the screen of my phone. Service was still out, but I was able to keep a small charge. My heart sank as I flipped through the pictures stored on its hard drive. Jake’s face smiled back at me from the small screen. The questionable fate that had befallen him kept me up at night. I ran scenario after scenario through my head, trying to figure out where he could be.
I hadn’t spoken with my parents since the day before things started to go downhill. My dad had a heart condition. It was a medical marvel he had lived even this long. He always joked that he was hanging on until I gave him a grandchild. This thought brought a sad smile to my face. I had the best parents. Somehow they’d managed to become my best friends as I grew into an adult. It was hard on them when I left Massachusetts and moved to Florida.
We made sure to talk
every day, even if it was about nothing. Their relationship with Jake had always been tense. Jake hated people meddling in our relationship, and my parents…well, they meddled. The first few years of my marriage had been rough. Both of us had very strong personalities and it made compromising difficult.
The biggest compromise I had to make came up before we’d even gotten married. I grew up with two best friends, Brooke and April. My move to Florida was hardest on April. Brooke was engaged to be married to someone we grew up with. April, though, was still looking for Mr. Right, and we went dancing every weekend in search of Mr. Right Now. When I moved, there was a definite period of separation anxiety for both of us, but then I met Jake and my priorities changed.
I didn’t visit home very much, and our relationship was relegated to phone calls and text messages. As Jake and I got closer, April and I drifted further apart. When Jake proposed, instead of being happy, April felt threatened. Close to our wedding date, she sent Jake an email and blamed him for the change in our friendship. I knew it was because she didn’t want to lose me, but Jake was a guy. He only saw someone trying to come between us.
It became a fight whenever I mentioned her name, and I needed to make a decision between my past and my future. On one hand, I had someone I’d shared my childhood with. On the other, I had my soon to be husband—the man I would live out the rest of my days with. I begrudgingly gave up my friendship with April. It was a wound that still stung, but I wanted my husband to be comfortable. I thought about my old friends; had they survived?
