by J. W. Vohs
Michael groaned. “I never agreed to take a ride on the Love Boat. What about Alec? Shouldn’t she stay with her son?”
Carolyn answered from twenty feet away. “KittieKat was more than happy to watch Alec for me while we’re away. She practically insisted.”
“You know Katie hates it when you call her that,” Michael reminded her. “Besides, you’ve become like our local ambassador to the refugees who made it here before we swung the bridge. You’ve helped everyone get settled—“
“And they are settled,” Carolyn purred. “I’m glad you pointed out that I’m like our ambassador—who better to go on a ‘first contact’ mission?”
“This isn’t Star Trek, Carolyn,” Michael grumbled.
“I wouldn’t know, but you’re an old geek type so I’ll take your word for it.” Even though her suitcases were enormous, she had no trouble picking them up and tossing them into the yacht. She turned to Michael, and her expression softened. “I really can be helpful on this trip. I’ve talked to Father O’Brien a lot more than either you or Robbie, and we’ve got a real connection. He’s become very important to me for reasons I can’t explain very well. I promise you won’t regret me coming along.”
Michael had to admit to himself that even though Carolyn appeared self-absorbed and superficial, she’d proven to be resilient and dependable when it mattered. The fact that she frequently grated on his nerves wasn’t really her fault. “I’m sorry, Carolyn,” he admitted, “you have every right to join us. Katie tells me I can be a sexist ass sometimes—I guess this was one of those times.”
“I understand that you and Robbie have been man-bonding, and I would never want to come between a hero and his sidekick—“
“Hey, who’s the sidekick?” Robbie sounded offended.
“I don’t man-bond,” Michael interjected.
“Robbie, you’re always my hero, but you know the folks on the island think Michael here deserves to wear spandex and a cape for what he did that day on the bridge,” Carolyn teased. “I’m not sure who gets to be the official sidekick. I’ll let you know when I make up my mind.” With that, she turned and climbed aboard the yacht.
Father O’Brien awoke with a start. He’d been dreaming that he was officiating at Luke and Gracie’s wedding. He’d promised to marry them as soon as the threat to Fort Wayne had been dealt with. Jack, Luke, and the others had headed south to blow up bridges across the Ohio River, and to intercept Barnes and his army. In the dream, he was performing the ceremony on a giant bridge floating in the sky above Fort Wayne. The landscape below was blanketed with pristine snow, and sparkling icicles hanging off the supporting arches of the viaduct reflected the glaring sun. Even so, it was warm at the wedding. Everything was bright and glowing, including Luke and Gracie. As he was about to pronounce them man and wife, a loud howl pierced the air and thousands of hunters attacked from all sides. The old priest remembered the feeling of absolute happiness, then being jolted awake by sudden terror. There was a slight tingling in his left arm, and a shadow of a headache lingered uncomfortably.
Even though it was barely dawn, there was a quiet knock at his front door. Father O’Brien wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and shuffled stiffly across the room. “Who’s there?” he called out hoarsely while pulling open the door.
“You’re supposed to wait for an answer before you open up, Father.” Roberto Dominguez was just twenty years old, but he had lived the life of someone twice his age. He’d learned to be cautious and ever-alert for potential danger.
“In my experience, son, trouble doesn’t knock at your door. Trouble just lets itself in.” He motioned for the young man to step inside. “Get in here before the temperature drops another ten degrees. I swear I don’t remember a November as cold as this one.”
Roberto nodded and replied with a grin, “And I bet you remember a lot of Novembers.” He took a closer look at the older man in the dim light of the cabin. “You look awful; do you feel ok?”
“Of course I look awful. Only young people look good early in the morning.” The dream was starting to fade, but the dull ache at his temples was threatening to develop into a full-blown migraine. “I need coffee,” Father O’Brien said with uncharacteristic irritability.
“I’ll make us both coffee,” Roberto offered, “then you can go over the route and navigation details with me again. I brought the maps.” He reached under his jacket and pulled out several well-worn scrolls. “I prefer GPS and interactive digital maps, but I know how lucky we are to have these old-fashioned ones.”
“Do you still have the notebooks I gave you?” Father O’Brien sank down in his favorite chair and adjusted a throw pillow to support his lower back. “I’ve written out the details for you, Brittany, and Bruce.”
“Yeah, of course I have them. I just remember stuff better when we talk about it. Brittany’s the one who remembers everything she reads. She’s going to meet us here in about twenty minutes by the way.” Roberto was quiet as he rinsed out two cups. “I don’t see what she sees in that Red guy. She really misses him, and he’s only been gone a few days. I think he’s a phony, and when he gets back I’m going to prove it to her.”
Father O’Brien produced two aspirin from his pocket, and he closed his eyes as he swallowed them. “Just keep your focus on the mission. You two will be working together in close quarters, and your personal lives will have to wait. Brittany’s a smart girl; if her boyfriend is anything less than a stand-up guy, she’ll figure it out. I need 100% of your attention for the next week or so. I don’t think we have to worry about dealing with the infected, but mechanical issues or other people on the waterways could make things tricky.”
“Don’t worry, I’m really not an idiot,” Roberto assured him. “And I’ve been over all the trip info with Bruce already—he knows a lot, but he knows he knows a lot, if you know what I mean.”
“I know I’m ready for that coffee, son.” Father O’Brien replied while readjusting his pillow. “Bruce was a successful financial analyst who retired early because he could. He has over a decade’s worth of experience fishing all over these lakes. He’s just an old guy like me, and sometimes we need to remember what it was like to be young.”
By the time Brittany arrived, the old priest’s headache had melted away, along with his frightening dream that was now like an itch just out of reach in his mind. He stopped trying to remember what had obviously been an upsetting nightmare and began to mentally prepare for the day ahead. When he stepped outside, he saw that small icicles had formed along the edge of the awning over the door, and he shuddered. If he’d been a superstitious man, he might have cancelled the trip right then and there, but Father O’Brien’s faith had been tested by circumstances much graver than a sense of apprehension inspired by some frozen morning dew. The boat was fully loaded ten minutes ahead of schedule, and the four person crew bid farewell to their friends and families and slowly motored away from the dock.
O’Brien was piloting the craft, and as soon as they were free of the harbor he called the small crew to his side before turning the helm over to Bruce. “Now that we’re away from all of our nosy neighbors, I want you to know exactly where we’re going. I’ve already talked this through with Brittany.” The young woman smiled and flushed slightly at the public acknowledgement from her mentor. O’Brien patted her shoulder before continuing, “I’ve agreed to meet our Canadian friends in Sarnia. Most of our travel will be on the Detroit and St. Clair rivers; definitely safer than Lake Huron this time of year.”
“Sarnia?” Roberto muttered. “There aren’t any good bars in Sarnia.”
Brittany patted the young man’s shoulder. “Good thing, since you aren’t old enough to drink yet.”
Not even a hundred miles away, on the Michigan bank of the St. Clair River, a few of Barnes’ loyal lieutenants were conducting an experiment. They had rounded up about a thousand infected from the heavily populated region around the waterway leading to Lake Huron and were now herding them into
oversized semi-trailers baited with bellowing cattle. Most of the flesh-eaters were “poor quality” creatures, injured in ways that prevented them from developing into elite hunters. They were still frightening and dangerous, but Barnes considered them expendable.
The over-sized freight trailers had been strategically parked and jerry-rigged so that the doors could be opened and shut by a crane operator. Any stragglers that didn’t make it inside with their fellow beasts were quickly put down with bullets to their heads, complements of Barnes’ men. Thanks to Lieutenant Heder’s treachery, the general knew all about the island settlements developing on the Great Lakes, and he’d decided that these isolated communities of free humans were unacceptable. The loyal soldiers he’d stationed just south of Marine City were charged with conducting a test to see how the infected would fare if transported, in mass, over water.
Two local men captured in a recent raid near Windsor, Ontario, had insisted that they knew how to pilot any kind of ship that plied the lakes, and their families’ lives depended on them proving their abilities with the deadliest load they’d ever delivered. All they had to do to ensure the safety of their loved ones was steer the craft upstream into Lake Huron, and unload the cargo on the Canadian shore. The task sounded easy enough to the two captives: pilot a ship past Sarnia and turn east into the lake. A few hours’ work and they’d be free, and their families would be safe. Considering that several resisters in their tiny community had been fed to the infected in front of everyone else, the arrangement seemed like a bargain.
CHAPTER 3
“I’m glad we’re finally alone,” Gracie whispered as she nuzzled Luke’s ear. She kissed his cheek, then turned his head so that his lips would meet hers. Luke stiffened and pulled away. “What’s wrong?” she asked, confused by his unexpected behavior.
Luke couldn’t meet her gaze. “I can’t,” he muttered, closing his eyes and taking a step back. “I can’t put you at risk.”
Gracie’s eye’s widened, “You mean you won’t even kiss me? Since when has the virus been spread by kissing?”
“It’s probably not, but . . . well,” he stumbled over his words, “probably isn’t good enough, and, once we get started, I don’t know if I could stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop,” Gracie replied, stepping close enough for Luke to feel her breath on his neck.
“And I don’t want to leave this world knowing I might have doomed the woman I love more than anything in the universe.” He backed away and pulled two chairs over to the kitchen table. “We can talk about it, and you can try to convince me that I’m being unreasonable, but you have to stay on the opposite side of the table for now.”
“Luke, we’re married. We don’t have much time together, and I don’t want to debate about what might or might not happen if we share our wedding night like normal people. I don’t think there’s any real danger to me, but even if there was, it’s a risk I would willingly take. We can use protection; I’ll be fine.”
“I won’t be. Condoms aren’t foolproof, and there’s nothing I can do to save myself anymore. The least I can do is die with my honor, and if I believe there is even the slightest possibility that I could have infected you, I won’t die in peace. I really need you to understand.” Tears began to well up in Luke’s eyes. “Please, Gracie. I want to be close to you, I just can’t—“
“Fine, baby, it’s ok. I may not like it, but I understand. We can hold each other until we fall asleep. As long as we’re together, that’s all I really need.”
Jack knew it wasn’t a good idea, but he decided to drink himself to a point where he could easily collapse into unconsciousness. He shared a few shots of bourbon with Captain Harden, then excused himself, claiming that he was going to turn in for the night. Instead, he picked up a full bottle of scotch from his tent and headed out to the area where Luke had been bitten. He was surprised to find Carter already there.
“Don’t make a damn bit of sense,” Carter said, noticing the bottle at Jack’s side and holding out a plastic cup. “We’ve lost folks before, and it ain’t ever easy, but this is different. It just ain’t right.” He downed the shot Jack had poured him and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Ya know I love ya like a brother, and I guess that makes Luke my nephew, just like T.C. is—I shoulda figured out that whole ‘yer Luke’s daddy’ business. I mean, the boy looks just like ya.”
Jack took a long drag from the bottle and offered it to his oldest and closest friend in the world. Carter threw his cup on the ground and took a swig from the bottle as well. Both men stood in silence until they heard footsteps approaching.
“I knew I’d find you two here.” David held up an unopened bottle of champagne from the wedding.
“Ya’ll are such a girl,” Carter drawled. “Us men here have scotch.”
“We’re going to toast to Luke, and champagne is a lot classier than cheap whiskey,” David replied. The pop of the cork sounded like a gunshot and echoed in the darkness. He held up the bottle as the bubbly overflowed to the ground. “To Luke, and God help the rest of us when he leaves us behind.” Instead of taking a drink, David poured the champagne around the dirt by their feet and then forcefully pitched the bottle into the night. “We should all get back; we need to be close in case Gracie needs us.”
The three men walked slowly, passing the scotch back and forth until they stood outside the door to Luke’s cabin. “Seems quiet fer now,” Carter observed. “If we stick close to quarters Gracie can find us if she needs to.” He turned to Jack, “I’m sorry, man. Ya know if there’s anythin’ I can do—“
“I know.” Jack saluted Carter and David with the almost empty bottle of scotch as he backed-up a few steps. “Right now I just want to block out the world for a while. I don’t think we’ll have a crisis yet tonight. Tomorrow’s a different story.”
Jack decided to take a solitary walk around the camp before turning in for the night. A few people were out in the cold, huddled around fires, but a solemn and introspective mood kept those still awake from engaging in any social chatter. No one spoke to Jack until he ducked behind the meetinghouse to relieve himself.
“Peeing in public seems a little disrespectful, don’t you think?”
Jack thought the voice sounded familiar, and he could make out the outline of a woman sitting on the steps across the narrow road. “Charlotte?”
“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” Charlotte sighed. “Come on in and let me fix you something to eat.”
Jack hesitated, and Charlotte walked over and took him by the hand. “I’m not asking,” she said, “you’re coming with me.”
A voice from somewhere in Luke’s fevered mind tried to remind him that he was dreaming, but the dream was so real, and so, right, that he chose to push the voice away so the vision could continue. He was walking through an overgrown farmer’s field on the edge of a thick forest, where every sense, especially his hearing, was operating at an intensity he’d never before experienced. The colors his eyes could see were muted, but the shades of light and dark almost seemed to glow with luminosity. He could smell the earth, the trees, and especially the meat they were pursuing. With a start he realized that he was part of a group. He looked to his right and saw Gracie keeping pace. She smiled and pointed toward the woods with a war-axe, the blade worn and tarnished by years of use. He turned to gaze in the direction Gracie was pointing, and as his head swiveled to the left he saw a huge, male hunter just a few feet away.
The creature was with Luke, not against him. They were hunting together. The word, “magnificent” came to mind as he stared at the flesh-eater, and in his dream he found the description to be perfect. The hunter stood at least six and a half feet tall and clearly weighed over two hundred pounds. The creature was covered with dull, pinkish scars and a coat of rough, reddish hair. Its body seemed to be completely composed of muscle, not an ounce of fat anywhere on its lean frame. He, Luke thought, not it, not anymore.
The hunter was staring into the woods in the same di
rection Gracie was pointing, and a quiet grunt from behind the trio led Luke to turn to see who was behind them. He looked and saw nearly twenty more flesh-eaters following him. None of them had their eyes on Luke; they were all staring intently at the forest. The massive hunter standing next to Luke turned to those following and through a series of snarls, grunts, and hand signals, sent half of the group sprinting along the edge of the woods until they reached the end of the tree-line and disappeared to the left. Luke watched the creature turn his attention back to the trees, cock his head, and hold his breath as he focused his hearing on something he couldn’t see.
Luke suddenly realized that he was doing the same thing, and then the smell came to him. He found himself salivating as he pictured the cattle in his mind, watching them move about uncertainly amid the trees and undergrowth of the forest. He could hear the prey animals moving now, every step they took, every branch they brushed up against, calling out to him with an irresistible cry: the song of the hunt. The big male interrupted the unprecedented stimulation of Luke’s senses by taking two steps into the woods, after which the remaining creatures followed their leader as he moved quietly into the lush foliage.
Luke and Gracie joined the column, slowly walking behind the almost silent hunters who were spreading out in a wide line facing the direction in which the others had disappeared a few minutes earlier. Luke could feel the blood rushing through his heart, his mind, his body. His legs ached to run in pursuit of the intoxicating odor that was rapidly overwhelming his self-control. He peered furtively at Gracie and saw that she had a feral expression on her face, eyes fixed straight ahead as she awaited the signal. He realized that was what he was waiting for as well, and wondered briefly what the signal would be just before a howl that he knew came from the giant male echoed through the trees.
