by L. T. Ryan
Sean braced his free hand against the wall behind him and shifted his weight so his balance was set perfectly on the tip of his prosthetic. His first hit was delivered by foot when the afflicted had come into range.
A perfect strike to the right knee sent the leg flailing out, and the dead careening face-first to the floor. Sean drove two more strikes with the tip of his hiking boot into its face. Each snapped the head back. Using the taught rope for support, he stepped forward, lifted his prosthetic high, and drove it down through the soft skull. The yellow glow faded.
Sean freed his leg, then stepped over the body, holding onto the rope as long as he could before letting go. He’d reached the middle of the room. The distances between the afflicted and him, and him from the table, were about equal. It all depended on how fast the thing could move.
He sidestepped like a linebacker doing a drill. Instead of instep to instep, he led with his foot, dragged his prosthetic, arms out wide for balance, but ready to strike if necessary.
On the table was a large knife and a hammer. He snatched up both and waited.
The afflicted stopped, tipped its head back, and wailed. The scream tore through Sean’s head. He felt it beyond his ears, in his eyes, the roof of his mouth, the base of his skull. The room started spinning. The hand he used to grip the knife went knuckles first to the table in an attempt to help him balance. The table was set a half-foot away from the concrete wall. It slid and smacked into it. Sean lost his footing and fell shoulder-first into the wall.
The afflicted’s scream subsided. Its features darkened, if that was possible. The eyes glowed green. It worked its twisted mouth open and shut, only it didn’t quite close all the way. The bottom jaw had been smashed at some point and set far to the left. Half its teeth were missing, but Sean knew that didn’t matter. All it had to do was get a few in and it was game over, either now, or later. If it ever happened, he hoped it would be instantaneous with full consumption of his brains so that he might never step foot in the world as one of those tortured souls.
Sean regained his footing. He held the knife at his side, blade aimed at the damned bastard still deciding on its next move. The hammer felt heavy and solid in his left hand. He held it so that the head stuck out to the side, away from him.
The afflicted stepped to the side, keeping the same distance between them. It stopped so that it blocked the path to the door. Was it making a tactical decision? Did it realize that when the door opened, it was pinned into the corner?
“How long’ve you been here?” Sean felt stupid trying to talk to it.
The afflicted’s deformed mouth worked open and shut. A garbled and grating whisper escaped. Had it understood? Or was speech a lost relic in whatever remained of its mind, something so engrained it only knew to respond in kind?
Those eyes flashed like bright streetlights changing to green on a pitch-black night. Hands whipped upward, chest high, stretching out. It moved fast and threw Sean off guard. This was the second he’d seen move that quickly in the past twenty-four hours. God help the survivors if there were more like this.
The first step the afflicted took toward Sean was slow and shuffling across the solid floor. The next step was the same. It paused, and if Sean didn’t know better, he would have thought it had stopped to grin at him. That decrepit mouth worked open, and that long tongue flicked out, almost sensing the meal that awaited.
Sean spun the knife in his palm, so that the blade stuck out the backside, facing the afflicted. He could slice across his body and sever the rest of the jaw if necessary. He flexed his other arm outward, getting it ready to slam the hammer into the afflicted’s temple.
His plan was set. He visualized it while waiting for the damned to make its next move.
Only it didn’t do as he expected.
The afflicted dropped its right foot back, flexed the left at the knee, lowered its head so Sean could see the patches of hair that had fallen or been torn out.
Then it charged.
It rushed forward with such speed and force that Sean instinctively rocked backward as though a spear were being hurled at his head. He bowed and dropped his head back as the afflicted advanced through the air. It grabbed Sean’s shoulders and its cold, damp body landed on his.
They collapsed back onto the table. Sean’s head missed the edge and slipped underneath, while the afflicted was above. It released its grip and started scratching at the tabletop, which had broken free of its legs.
He felt its pelvis dig into his own as it lifted its torso and grabbed hold of the tabletop and flung it overhead. The afflicted let out a loud screech with that mouth twisted open. Its arms moved faster than a professional boxer throwing a knockout punch and latched around Sean’s neck.
And it went for Sean’s face. Thick mucus fell from its lips onto his own. He slammed his mouth shut against the putrid fluid.
The angles were wrong for an effective attack, but he had to do something, so he punched with his right arm, deliberately missing the afflicted’s face by aiming for the air left of its head. The blade went into the vacant darkness of its open mouth and sunk into the decrepit flesh, slicing through its cheeks all the way back to where its jaw connected.
The dead let out a garbled scream as the mucus lining its throat and mouth combined with that sludge-like blood. Sean pulled his head to the side so it wouldn’t land in his eyes. The afflicted countered by moving one of its hands up, digging a finger in under Sean’s nose and forcing his head back. The strength it possessed was not expected.
Sean found himself staring at the wall behind him. He pulled the knife free, and sliced again, hoping to cut through its throat. A fresh coat of warm blood spilled out and onto Sean’s chest.
Then he whipped the hammer through the air with no idea where it would land. He only knew it had when it thudded to a stop. He couldn’t yank it free easily after. It took a couple of tries. Then he did it again. And again. The force with which the afflicted bore down on him eased up, then faded altogether.
He worked his head forward and saw the dead seated on his midsection, arms dropping, chin on its chest. He moved the hammer head to the afflicted’s chest and pushed. It fell backward.
Sean snaked his legs out from underneath and got to his knee. He shuffled around to the side and planted the knife into the bashed and battered skull, ensuring that the damned was gone forever.
He remained in the room, back against the wall for what felt like hours. In reality, thirty minutes had passed before the door opened and the woman stepped in.
“You survived. Well done.” She tossed him a clean white towel and a bottle of water. “I survived when they threw me in this very same room.” She turned away from him and exited, leaving the door open after she passed through. “Come now, before they put the next two in there.”
Fifteen
The gentle rocking and lapping water eased Turk to consciousness. He had no recollection of the pirates that chased him into the storm that broke the mast that smashed into his head and rendered him unconscious.
He blinked his dry eyes open and immediately slammed his eyelids shut as the sunlight continued to knife through, sending pain throughout his head.
“Turk?” Elana’s voice sounded far off, as though he were underwater.
The muted red blur through his clenched eyelids faded to black. He gave it another go and opened up. His eyelids fluttered. Elana sat next to him, one arm stretched over his body. She leaned in and smoothed her hand over his forehead. He felt the cold remains of sweat that must’ve been there for hours.
He tasted the dried salt on his lips and swallowed hard. His mouth was so dry. When he spoke, it sounded like a frog’s croak. “Water.”
She leaned over and grabbed a plastic bottle with a faded white label. The lettering was gone. Probably once said this was the purest water from million-year-old glaciers. Now it was recycled fish piss put through a filter.
And Turk didn’t care.
He lifted his head as she
put the opening to his lips. A small swallow led to a few large gulps. His throat burned in protest until the liquid put out the flames.
“Do you remember what happened?” she asked as she pulled the bottle away.
He sucked a deep breath in through his mouth. It was warmer than he expected, and not just because of the humidity.
“You know where we are?” she asked.
“On a boat,” he said. “The boat we’re taking to the island.”
She nodded slowly, concern still spread across her face. “Do you remember the storm?”
He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the stiff pillow. The left side of his skull radiated pain. He reached up to massage it, found a bandage covering a good portion above his ear.
“No, I don’t,” he said, tracing the bandage. “And I’m guessing this is the reason why?”
“Someone was following us,” she said. “Chasing us, actually. There was a storm brewing. I guess you figured it was a thunderstorm, and it might get a little choppy, but we’d get through it.”
None of this registered in Turk’s mind.
“It was a hurricane,” she said. “Or a nor’easter, I suppose, at this time of year. When’s the cutoff?”
He smiled at her ability to get distracted even in this environment.
“Anyway,” she continued, “you did a pretty damn good job keeping us going through that storm. After we passed the eye, the wall slammed us hard. The mast broke. You took it off the temple like Griffey Jr. was swinging it.”
Turk chuckled, which sent more pain through his head. “Everyone make it through okay?”
She nodded. “We’re all fine.”
“What’s the condition of the boat?”
She sighed and looked away. “Not gonna lie, Turk. It’s not in good shape.”
He closed his eye and bit his bottom lip. How were they going to survive the Atlantic in the winter with no way to navigate and limited food supplies?
“There’s good news, though.”
“What is it?”
“The guys think we’ve passed the Gulf Stream and reached the northern stretch of the Bahamas.”
Turk planted his elbows into the mattress and forced has back off of it. The blood drained from his head, the pain localized to almost a pin-point while his vision faded to black. He held himself there until he was balanced again. Elana came back into view. She had a slight smile on her face.
“Hey, you’re doing better than I thought. Figured you were gonna be down for a week with a concussion.”
“You know me better than that,” he said. He leaned forward and planted a salty, wet kiss on her lips.
“Want help getting up?” She slid off the side of the bed and stood there.
He waved her aside. “I got this.”
Five minutes later, he had rinsed off, swallowed some mouthwash, and changed into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. The temperature was in the seventies, and so was the humidity. He didn’t care one bit. He climbed the stairs to the deck, craning his head over his shoulder as he hit the open air. All around him the sky was clear blue, the sun shone from high above, and not a cloud was in sight.
Turk lowered his gaze to the crystal blue waters surrounding them. He couldn’t believe it. Hours ago—actually he wasn’t sure how long he’d been out—the Atlantic had been churning and trying to swallow the battered boat whole. And battered it was, he noticed, as his stare turned inward on the vessel. But they had made it. The final destination wasn’t that far away.
Jerry and Alec were at the wheel. Alec took over and Jerry came down.
“You have a nice nap?”
Turk wrapped his hand around the side of his head. “How long was I down?”
“Over a day.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Wish I was.”
Turk looked past the man. “I think we found paradise.”
“That’s what I said when the sun came up yesterday.” Jerry followed Turk’s gaze out across the turquoise water. “You see it?”
Turk squinted at what he thought might be a land mass. “That an island?”
“Sure is. We’ve been anchored here for the past day, watching for signs of activity there. Someone’s manned the ‘nocs the entire time.”
Turk checked the deck again and saw one of Jerry’s sons leaning against the railing, binoculars up to his face. The steady breeze lifted the teen’s hair and tossed it to the side. Every so often he reached up and smoothed it back down.
Gotta keep up appearances, even during the apocalypse.
“So what’ve you seen?” Turk asked.
Jerry grinned. “Not a damn thing. This might be a good place to pull in, see if we can’t repair this old mast and get this thing sailing. And who knows what might be left behind there.”
“There’s some seven-hundred islands in the Bahamas. Only about thirty are inhabited by more than a family.”
“How do you know that?”
Turk chuckled. “Random facts are something I specialize in.”
“For some reason, I doubt that.”
Turk shrugged and smiled. “What I’m saying is, chances are good we won’t run into anyone there, alive or dead. I think you’re right, this is a good place to stop.” He turned to the side, grabbed the railing and leaned over at his waist. His head spun for a moment or two, and he gripped even tighter.
“All right there, boss?”
“Pull me back,” Turk said. His t-shirt tightened as Jerry grabbed the back of it and swung Turk’s momentum.
“Thinking of diving?” Jerry smiled, but concern hovered in his eyes.
“Just wondering what the condition of this old girl is.”
“She won’t sail for shit now. And we’re ‘bout outta fuel. Should prob’ly have enough to get us up on shore.”
“Any chance you circled the island?”
He shook his head. “Figured we’d wait it out over last night to see if any signs of light or fire appeared. Didn’t see anything. But, like I said, fuel is low, Turk. We might not make it all the way around the island. Best guess is that we’re gonna need to barrel right in and coast to shore, if we can make it that far.”
“This is as good a time as any, I guess. Why don’t you go and fire her up?”
Jerry nodded and started back up the small staircase leading to the helm.
Layla, who had been watching from the remains of the severed mast, popped out and ran up to her father. He reached down and scooped her up in his arms. She must’ve looked so tiny as he pulled her into his chest and hugged her.
“You okay, Daddy?” she asked.
“What do I always say?”
“Ain’t nothing can hurt my daddy.” But the smile that normally accompanied the phrase wasn’t there. Her slim eyebrows knit together. “You were asleep for a long time.”
“Was a long night, battling that storm.”
She fumbled her hand around the side of his head and gently tapped on the bandage. He didn’t show any sign of pain, but it hurt when she nudged the wound. “What about this?”
“Flying fish.”
Her expression changed and she giggled at the thought. “That’s not true.”
“It is,” he said, lowering her to the ground. Then he brought his hands up and left about three feet of air between. “They were this big. And colored blue and yellow and neon green. They lit up the night for me. But silly me, I got in the way of one, and pow, got me right with his hammerhead.”
“Layla,” Elana said as she emerged from below deck. “Time for lunch, sweetie.”
“But I want to talk to Daddy.”
“Sweetheart, he’s got some work to do. Come eat and let him be for a while.”
She looked up at him with pleading eyes.
He reached for her head and pulled her close again. “Do what Momma says, all right?”
She kissed his cheek and said, “Okay,” and ran toward the stairs into her mother’s waiting arms. They descended the stai
rs, hand in hand, Layla disappearing before Elana.
Turk climbed up to join Alec and Jerry up top. Rhea had joined them. She nodded as Turk crossed over.
“Sup, old man,” she said.
He laughed. “I’d run circles around you, girl.”
“Doubtful.” She jutted her angled chin toward the island. “Fancy taking me on in a swim?”
“You know I used to live in the water, right?” After she’d found out he had been a SEAL, Rhea asked him question after question about his experiences. “You wouldn’t stand a chance. And if somehow you got ahead of me, I’d drown you.” With this, he arched an eyebrow and flexed his chest a little.
“You must’ve took a harder hit on your head than I thought,” she said.
The banter was fun, but they had other things to consider. Turk got down to it. “Jerry told me about the fuel situation. Frankly, it’s better than I had presumed. I thought we were bone dry.”
“It was luck that one can had rolled out of sight down there,” Alec said.
“Got us here,” Jerry said.
“Right,” Turk said. “And I’d feel a whole hell of a lot better if we could see the other side of that island.”
“We’ll run out before we get around the tip,” Jerry said.
Turk stared out over the open water to the hazy green stretch of land.
“I’m telling you,” Jerry said. “We haven’t seen any sign of activity. Haven’t heard a screech or a wail. I think we’d hear that out here, too.”
“Don’t you think someone would’ve noticed you camping out here for a day?”
Jerry seemed to consider this. “Well, sure, but we got here late in the afternoon. They would’ve needed to be on the beach to notice us before nightfall.”
Rhea placed her hand on his arm. “Inhabited or not, this is our only chance to recoup and repair this old girl.”
Turk walked past them, up to the rail. He pressed his thighs against it and stared at the island for several seconds. “Okay, we get close, but don’t breech just yet. I’ll swim up and check it out.”