by Gray, W. S.
Part of him wanted to curse Cape Horn.
But another wanted to seek propitiation.
However, these errant thoughts were abolished when a pathway opened up, allowing Trey to move into the depths of the frigate.
He smiled when the soldier he’d been escorting finally pulled away, frowning and rubbing his arm. The man offered an angry, insolent expression before turning away and grunting. Trey thought about muttering a simple thank-you in French, but decided against it.
Having saved a Frenchman, Trey resumed his search for his father in earnest. He needed to get back with Harry. Not only was his dad virtually the only person on board that he could actually communicate with, but he was also the one battle-hardened individual that he could trust.
Plus, Harry might have news on the reason for the abrupt eruption in activity.
Getting down to the deck where his bunk room was located, Trey shuffled along through the narrow hallway, sliding on the wet floor and hitting his bad arm against the metal wall. However, he had no time to dwell on the sudden rush of pain, for the crowd behind him pressed him forward.
Hitting his shin on a low piece of metal jutting up from the floor, Trey winced and let out a shout of pain. He unleashed a string of expletives as he hobbled ahead, finally reaching his bunk room.
The stale stench of unwashed bodies assaulted his senses as Trey collapsed into a small plastic chair. It almost fell over when his butt hit the thing, but Trey didn’t care. He sat there for several seconds, his eyes closed, ignoring the sounds around him as he fought the pain and anger rising inside of him.
Then, detecting someone’s presence nearby, Trey finally elected to return to the land of the living. He needed to remain rooted in reality. Even if it hurt.
Seeing his dad there, standing silently, watching him, Trey smiled. “Hey,” he said. He offered a faint little wave. “Sit down,” Trey said. “Tell me what happened.”
Sighing, Harry sat down. He leaned forward, eyes on the floor, his shoulder hunched. He appeared dejected. Taking several minutes to convert his thoughts into coherent speech, he kept his gaze averted. His entire demeanor seemed that of someone overcome by the weight of their burdens.
Trey waited. He somehow knew what was coming. Or, at least, he felt confident in part of what somber news would be delivered, once his dad summoned the courage to speak. He figured that the other frigate had capsized or something. But he either couldn’t didn’t want to bring himself to the corollary, which was that people on board had died.
“The other ship went down,” Harry said, finally. He delivered the message in a hollow monotone. He did, however, look up, looking deeply into Trey’s eyes. Harry, the hardscrabble Vietnam veteran and former special forces operative, had been changed since his newest mission had begun. And it didn’t seem readily apparent if the transformation were good or not.
“I figured,” Trey said, reaching out and patting his dad’s arm. Trey observed his dad’s continued somberness, however, and decided that there had to be more the already-bad story. It was weird for Harry to become so reticent in the face of adversity. Normally, he was the opposite. When things got tough, Harry got going. Almost like some living embodiment of the tired cliché. But not this time. Instead, his weariness showed.
And Trey decided he didn’t like it.
He needed his heroes strong and unflappable. Tough and resolute, Resilient. Noble. Brave.
The idea that his idea- the toughest man he’d ever really known- could become anything less than apathetic and aggressive in response to threats struck him as a fundamental challenge to everything Trey held dear.
“Well, son…” Harry sighed. Then he suddenly stood up. He began pacing the length of the small room, going to the back where the lockers were, then up to the door.
As he did this, Trey noticed Sofia, sitting silently up on his assigned bed. She watched Harry with sad eyes, not moving anything other than her head as she tracked his progress. Trey moved his mouth to say something but caught himself. There was something solemn, perhaps even sacred, about the silence that permeated the small space. After enduring the howling gales and angry seas, it was nice to be in a room with the few people he loved, surrounded by the utter absence of noise.
Finally, Harry returned to his seat. He pushed the faded playing cards that had been left on the small table to the floor, frowning in frustration. He tapped his fingers on the surface of the edge of his seat as he struggled to say what needed to be said. After what seemed an interminable length of time, he decided to just get it over with. “They think Marshall is dead,” he said.
The news hit Trey in the gut. He inhaled deeply. Closing his eyes, he tried to take in the horrible thing he’d just heard. He bounced one leg up and down on the floor as nervous energy moved through him. As he digested the fact that he might now have to face zombie hordes without the brave and knowledgeable man, Trey allowed a warm stream of tears to slide down his face.
He sniffled. Then he opened his eyes and looked at his father. The fact that Harry’s expression remained pained didn’t alleviate the raw emotion burrowing a hole in Trey’s belly. “How sure?” he asked, resorting to monosyllables simply because he lacked the capacity to utter much more than that around the thick clot in his throat.
Anger. Fear. Guilt. The unholy trinity of negative emotions rampaged through his system as he fought the sad news. Trey wanted it to be a bad joke. Some cruel prank. Trey recalled the horrible carnage from Sapphira Island as he sat there, waiting to have the worst-case scenario confirmed as reality. I killed for that man, Trey thought. And then he cried again.
“It’s okay, dad,” Sofia said, jumping down. She went over to Trey, placing a hand on his shoulder. She comforted him as best she could as he quietly mourned the loss of his good friend.
“He… he wasn’t supposed to go like this,” Trey muttered. And he knew it was true. Part of him latched onto that, suddenly overwhelmed by guilt. After all, he’d been the one to commit most of the atrocities that could be attributed to their small crew. Trey had been the one to massacre an entire village. He’d been the one to kill an innocent man in his home, simply to provide some semblance of refuge to his family. And he’d also been the one to be tainted by Enzo’s death.
Marshall had served his country. He’d been a brave man. A selfless creature willing to sacrifice everything for complete strangers.
Trey recalled how he’d first met the man. Marshall had been literally boxing zombies with his bare hands in the casino of the cruise ship they’d just happened to both share. He remembered how the man’s uncanny ability to fall asleep under essentially any conditions, turning himself on and off in an instant. He went back to the argument he’d had with the others, about whether or not they should even allow Marshall into their party to begin with.
“I’m glad I knew him,” Trey said.
Then he looked up at Harry again. “I wish it would have been me,” he said.
Then Sofia rebuked him, patting him on the shoulder and reminding Trey that she needed him. She kissed him and cried with him, helping bring him some measure of relief from the pain and shock of the moment.
As Trey sniffled and tried to bring himself back to a more manly state of awareness, he gripped his daughter’s hand. He knew he needed to remain detached. To put himself back in survival mode. It was the only way he could manage to keep going.
But it was getting progressively harder and harder. Things kept happening. Things that threatened to irrevocably alter his entire worldview. Trey’s identity had already been transmogrified. He felt dirty inside. And the only thing that he could do to keep from dwelling on all that had been was to try and focus on what lay ahead.
Except, it was nearly impossible to ignore the harsh reality that lay ahead would only be more of the same.
Trying to avoid thinking of what he might do if he somehow lost Sofia, or anyone else from his small crew, Trey forced himself to address the unfolding situation. He needed to remain s
trong. To face each new obstacle with clear-headed resolve. Moving forward was the only path to success, even if success in their new, upended world simply meant survival.
“When will we know more?” Trey asked.
“I don’t know, son,” Harry said, sighing. He glanced away. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke again. “Things might get rough for a bit,” he said.
Trey laughed. He couldn’t help it. But he paused when he caught the angry glare from his dad.
“I mean it, son. Look, we’re stuck on this ship, whether we like it or not, okay?” Harry said, his tone laced with irritation. He calmed down a smidge when he saw his son nod. “Good,” he muttered. He paused, collecting his thoughts, then resumed his soliloquy. “So, anyway, yeah, we’re, uh, we’re going to have a crowded ship, most likely,” Harry said. “That was the main point our friend from the French Marines was trying to get across, though he did seem genuinely concerned for our loss,” Harry said.
“How did they even know?” Trey asked.
“Considering Marshall was the only black man on board either of the vessels, it seems fairly easy to deduce, Trey,” Harry said.
“Was he…” Trey gulped. “Was he floating on the surface or something? I mean, the helicopter hadn’t even left when he came over,” Trey said. And, the more he thought about it, the more questions he had. Nonetheless, seeing Harry’s hard expression, he decided to wait to voice his concerns.
“I don’t know, son,” Harry said. “I don’t know.” He got up again, resuming his anxious pacing. “He said our ship got the radio call just before the other frigate capsized. I guess it’s pretty rare, indeed, for such things to happen to modern navy vessels. But, anyway, I’m just telling you what I’ve been told,” he said.
“Yeah, well, maybe you need to teach me French,” Trey said.
“Is that what they mean when they say ‘pardon my French?’” Sofia suddenly piped in.
Smiling, Trey ran a hand across her head. “No, sweetie,” he said. “Hey, where’s…” Trey caught himself. He’d almost called Melody her mom. Shaking his head, he went right back into it before his precocious daughter figured out the near-miss. “Where’s Melody?” he asked.
“I think she’s down in the medical area. She’s helping the nurses, I think. Do inventory or something,” Sofia said.
“Are you able to go down there? Hang out with her for a bit? Your grandpa and I need to do some serious talking, and it might be easier to do that right now if you’re not here,” Trey said, trying to be as gentle with his beloved daughter as he could be.
She sulked. For several seconds, it appeared as if she might launch a passionate counter-offensive. But, instead, she finally got up, arms crossed over her chest. She stomped out of the room without a word.
“She’s been moody lately,” Trey remarked, staring at the door for several seconds after she’d vacated the space. “Might be good to have Chloe around,” he said.
Then, turning abruptly, he faced his father.
“Any word on Chloe?” Trey asked.
Chapter 19
She told him a secret.
And it was one he didn’t want to hear.
Trey blinked, gripping the railing in the dim, musty, narrow corridor. Raising a hand, he scratched his head, then wiped it over his face. He sighed. He tried to think of something to say. But words eluded him. Reason eloped with his capacity to form coherent speech. Standing there, surrounded by the awkward silence, he tried to grapple with what he’d just heard.
“Right now?” he finally asked, settling on the first thing that popped into his head.
Sofia shifted her feet and averted her gaze. She crossed her arms over her chest. After a perceptible pause, she nodded slightly. There was something almost coy in her mannerisms.
Trey smiled. He’d never thought he’d see the day where his daughter would display any timidity. It wasn’t in her nature. Which he’d always assumed had been a genetic inheritance from her deceased mother. Because, until the zombies had forced his hand, Trey hadn’t ever been the combative or even assertive type. Years of law school and being the boss’s bitch had neutered him.
“Okay,” Trey said, licking his lips. He wanted to stall for time. But he knew he needed to address the issue. Even if it made him uncomfortable.
Very, very uncomfortable.
“Well, uh…” Trey looked around, tensing when he saw someone leave their bunk room at the end of the hall. He relaxed slightly when he noticed them head the opposite direction. “You’re sure you want to talk about this out here? Maybe you might want some privacy?” he asked, doing his best to put things off.
“I don’t know, dad. That’s why I’m talking to you,” she said.
“Hell of a time to bring this up,” Trey said.
“I don’t have any control over… IT’S NOT LIKE I ASKED FOR THIS TO HAPPEN,” Sofia said.
“Okay. You’re right. Uh,” Trey rubbed a hand over his face again. Then he smiled tersely. He began chewing on the inside of his cheek as he stared down at the floor. “Well, can I, uh, can I tell your grandpa? I mean, this might actually, uh, be something that, you know… Well, can you talk to Melody about this?” Trey asked.
“No!” Sofia said, her tone low but harsh. She glared up at her father, her frown a rigid slash across her young face.
“I don’t really know what to say, honey. I, uh, well, I just don’t have the same parts,” Trey said. He paled as someone took the moment to walk past. Trey backed up against the wall as the person brushed by, smirking but not saying anything.
Even without being able to understand what they’d been saying, the French soldier must have assumed something based on their body language.
Trey shook his head. He felt foolish. He knew he needed to get back to his post, once again moving his dirty mop around on the main deck. “Sweetie, I don’t speak French. I don’t know. You may genuinely need to go down to the sick bay, whatever these people call it. I mean, isn’t that where you might find…” Trey gagged. He turned and slammed a palm against the wall. He didn’t want to think about it.
Her first period.
“You’re going to have to talk to Melody, sweetie. I don’t care. I know it sucks. I know she’s not your mom. No one is asking you to replace her. Okay? But we’re kind of in a pickle here, and I don’t even know where to begin trying to figure out how to deal with your first period. Grandpa probably won’t know, either. So, given the fact that we’re in the middle of the ocean, fleeing the god damned zombie apocalypse, I’d say you might have to make some accommodations,” Trey said.
“I DON’T WANT TO,” Sofia said sullenly.
“I know you don’t want to, sweetie. But I honestly don’t want to be having this conversation. So, good job. Congratulations,” he said.
“Dad!”
“No more,” Trey said, adopting his sternest tone. He understood that he needed to stand his ground. But he also didn’t know how he would manage to accomplish that. Not in the face of sustained resistance. He’d always had a soft spot for his daughter. She’d been the light of his life. The only real reminder of his first wife. Of the happiness he’d experienced during their time together. Of the awesomeness she’d exuded.
“I have to go do my job,” Trey said. “People depend on me,” he said.
“You mop the floor, dad,” Sofia said.
Trey snorted. “I ever tell you that you’re too smart for your own good?” he asked.
“All the time,” she said. “Dad, I don’t WANT to talk to Melody,” she said.
“Well, you have to,” Trey said. “I’m serious this time, sweetie. I don’t even care if you threaten to hate me forever,” he added, just to preempt any such attack.
She frowned. Then, suddenly, she pivoted and raced away.
Watching her as she fled, Trey wondered if she’d actually go down to the sick bay. Or if she’d return to her bunk room and commiserate with Chloe, who’d only barely managed to make it out of the icy ocean alive
.
Then he was struck by a profound sense of regret and longing. “She’s getting older,” Trey said aloud. Then, needed to divert his attention, he fled up to the main deck.
Chapter 20
Ten Days Later
Alarms woke Trey up.
Sitting up quickly, he bumped his head on the top of his bunk. “Shit,” he exclaimed. Rubbing his cranium, he looked around, trying to decipher meaning in the sudden eruption of activity all around him.
The era-splitting noise of the sirens reverberated around the room, piercing Trey’s ability to think. He did, however, manage to find a temporary gap that would enable him to hop down. He did so, throwing on whatever clothes he could hastily find in the midst of the chaos.
Then he was practically carried forward by the wave of humanity into the hallway. Fighting to breathe, Trey forced himself back against the mob, unwilling to be separated from his dad. Without knowing French, he’d be worthless to anyone who might throw him into some random assignment, anyway. Which, of course, would likely only make them mad and threaten to put Trey back on the hot seat.
Something that he really wanted to avoid.
“What’s going on?” Trey screamed, once he’d caught sight of his father. He tried not to smile at the sight of the man’s hair.
“Fuck if I know,” Harry yelled back. “Go!”
Turning, Trey headed back toward the stairs. Since he had no given assignment, Trey assumed he’d need to rendezvous with Maxime in order to receive his orders. As he went, jostling with the crowd, giving and receiving elbows as he moved along, trying to avoid having his shins once again struck by the metal pieces that seemed to jut up from every opening, Trey tried to fathom just what in the Hell had precipitated this newest round of chaos.
