by Jones, K. J.
A tall, skinny figure appeared. It ran towards her.
Ben raised his M4. “Stop!”
Too late. The figure grabbed her arms.
“Pheeb!”
“No,” she yelled. “It’s Eric.”
“My God.” Lowering his riffle, Ben ran through the mud towards them.
“Help me.” Eric was gaunt and sickly. His skin gray and his brutally chapped lips the same color as his cheeks. His eyes appeared shrunken, and too wide.
Ben raised his riffle again. “Phebe, step away from him.”
“Help me find her,” Eric screeched in his desperate plea.
“He’s infected.”
“She’s out there!”
Eric pulled Phebe’s arm towards the water.
“Stop.” She pulled against him. “Talk to me, Eric. Where are the guys?”
“She’s out there! Help me.”
“Is he infected?” Ben demanded.
Tyler scrambled out of the skiff. “Tie the bowline to a tree,” he ordered the slower doctor.
The kid aimed his riffle at Eric. “Let her go and back away, Eric.”
The wild eyes locked onto him. “Ty, help me.” He released Phebe and approached Tyler. “You have to help me!”
“Help you with what?”
“Find my sister. Heidi’s out there.”
Released from Eric, Phebe raced towards the campfire. Her heart raced faster than her legs. This was it.
Men laid on the bare ground among large duffel bags. Two blond men and one dark-haired. She dropped by the latter and looked at his gaunt face. Peter. But his eyes were sunken and his lips blue. She checked his vitals. He breathed. The pulse weak.
Matt sat up, looking dreadful. He swooned in a sitting position. A bandage on his cheek. Darkness under his eyes. Skin pasty gray.
“They’re here,” she yelled.
The smells hit her. Diarrhea. The last smell she could handle. Her stomach heaved. She crawled away from her unconscious husband and puked.
Ben arrived.
The doctor carried his medical gear as he navigated the mud.
“Jesus,” Dr. Jenkins said. He checked Chris. “This man is close to dying. Phebe, get away from them.”
“No.” She crawled back.
“They could have hepatitis A or E. That’s deadly for the fetus.”
She paused. “What?”
“Something is giving them diarrhea. We need gloves and masks.”
Matt moved to help. Getting up was impossible, so he crawled on his hands and knees towards Chris and the doctor.
“You need to lay down,” Dr. Jenkins ordered him.
Matt shook his head. “Medic.” He pointed a shaking hand to the bandage on Chris’s side. “Infection.” He dropped, too weak to keep himself up.
Ben yelled at Phebe, “Relieve Tyler. You’re not a help here.”
She couldn’t argue. The stench was overwhelming. She got up and ran to where Tyler was trying to keep Eric from entering the river.
“You need water, Eric.” She unscrewed her bottle and put it to his lips.
He was delirious and uncooperative. She kicked his leg out. He fell down. She straddled him to keep him down and forced some water into his mouth.
At first, he spat it out and coughed. He too reeked of diarrhea. Vomit residue down his mud-caked shirt. She turned her face, willing her body to deal with the smells, while her hand poured more water into his mouth.
This time, he swallowed it. His hands reached for the bottle.
“Not too much,” the doctor yelled to her. “He’ll throw it up.”
She took the bottle away. His mouth followed it like a hungry nursing kitten.
Tyler dropped behind her. She saw a face mask come down in front of her eyes. One-handed, she helped him get the elastic bands over her ears.
“Disinfectant.” He poured clear gel onto her hands and presented her with dark purple gloves.
Matt, barely conscious, pointed at Peter. “Withdrawal. Dehydrated.” His gaze looked to the doctor. “Diarrhea. Vomit. All.”
“Yes, son. Rest.”
“Can he have water?” Gloved and masked Ben asked, lifting Matt’s head onto his lap.
“A little at a time.”
Ben fed water into Matt’s mouth. PPE prepped Tyler did the same for Peter. While the doctor tended to Chris.
Peter’s lids opened, revealing vivid blue orbs. “Pheeb.”
“She’s here,” Tyler told him. “Phebe, he’s calling for you.”
“Stay there,” ordered Ben.
Peter fell unconscious again.
“He’s out,” Tyler wailed.
“Splash water on his lips,” said Ben.
While Phebe fed more water to Eric, Mazy’s skiff arrived.
She barked out orders to her crew. “Get them on the boats.” Into the radio, “Homebase. We found ‘em. We got four alive but needing immediate medical treatment.”
Sounds came from Eric’s butt. He wept a tearless cry. “I shit myself again. Heidi will hate this.”
Phebe hadn’t the heart to tell him his sister was gone.
“I’m gross. Don’t come close.”
“Drink a little more water.”
Mullen took the bottle from Phebe and brought it to Eric, seeing she was about to be sick.
“Dude. Some water.”
“Mullen?” Eric touched his face. “That you?”
“It is.”
“Heidi’s in the water. You gonna help me, right, bro?”
Mullen looked to Phebe for what to do.
She shook her head.
He nodded. “Dude, we’ll look for her later. Gotta get you back to the Molly, huh?”
“But she’s alone out there. She’ll be scared.”
“Ya know what? You and I will go to the Molly and clean you up. The Amazon women will look for her, huh? You know, Phebe and Mazy. They’ll look for her.”
Eric shook his head. “Phebe’s dead.”
“That’ll be news to her, dude, since she’s right there.”
“She’s dead. That’s her ghost. Sully has been talking to her. Cos he’s dead too.”
“Sure, dude. Am I dead too?”
Eric nodded.
“Then you are, too, dude. So let’s go to the dead Molly and get you feeling better. Not to mention smelling better, dude. Look. Ghost Pheebs is puking.”
She raised her face mask in time for another heave. Then felt an urge to hit Mullen if he said dude one more time.
More water. Eric’s mouth loosened, sounding like he had severe cotton-mouth, an improvement from sandpaper.
“She still pukes as a ghost? That sucks.”
“Yeah, well, ya know, dude. Life sucks.”
It would take to much energy to get through the mud to hit Mullen. Phebe decided to stay where she was.
The alligator left the bank. Too many humans and their boats.
“What about Heidi?”
“How about you get in this boat and we’ll look for her, huh, dude?”
“That’s good. Let’s go do that.”
Mullen helped him up. Eric’s limbs were stiff. He walked like an ancient old man on weakened legs. Mullen had to lift him over the skiff’s side.
Once in the boat, Eric ducked down on the floor, searching the sky with terrified eyes.
“Um, what are you doing?”
“The chopper will get us again, bro. Watch out for the missiles. They got missiles.”
Brandon’s skiff arrived in time for more muscles to help carry the heavier men.
“The duffels are filled with weapons and medical supplies,” Mazy yelled. “Grab them. There’s a fucking SAW over here in the mud. Help me with it.” A big ass hairy spider on a duffel bag made Mazy pause. “Oh, fuck off.” She used the tip of her riffle to fling it away.
3.
The home base people waited on the dock as the rescue boats arrived. The neighbors stood with the Jacksons. All the first aid supplies in shopping
bags along with folded clean sheets and towels.
The skiffs docked.
“Tell us what to do,” Robert said.
“They have to be cleaned off first,” replied Dr. Jenkins.
Matt sat up. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah, sure you are, brother,” said Ben.
“I got this.” He reached for the gunwale and fell back down.
“You want some help now?”
“No. I’m fine.” Matt tried again. Sounds from his rear end forced him to stop trying. “Sorry.”
“Everyone, full personal protections,” said the doctor. “Masks and gloves. They have something.”
Emily said, “It could be E. coli or salmonella. Dysentery. Or even cholera. Corpses decomposing in the water. It could be any number of pathogens.”
“What do we do about it?” asked Ben.
“A lot of water. Flush the pathogen outta their systems.”
Dr. Jenkins said, “These two are going to need IV’s. The big guy will need a broad-spectrum antibiotics bag. The wound is gangrenous. He’s going septic.”
“Shit,” Ben said. “Where’s the nearest hospital?”
Stanton shook his head. “It’s over on the Ashley River side of Charleston.”
Henderson said, “The area of the hospitals is ransacked and infected central. There were punks there when I checked. Violent and out of control.”
Ben gazed in the direction of the cruise ship. “Maybe what we need is on the ship?”
“It’s sinking,” Henderson pointed out.
“Does it have what we need?”
Stanton said, “It should have an infirmary.” He looked to Manuel, who nodded agreement.
“Take the healthier ones first,” ordered Henderson.
The doctor said, “These two need the most immediate medical care. Take them first. Help get them up on the dock.”
Karen, in full PPE, climbed down the skiff to assist her father.
“They have the least chance of survival.”
Jenkins yelled at Henderson, “Say that again to the kid pointing his riffle at you.”
Tyler aimed at him. “Y’all do what the doctor says. I got no problem taking you out, motherfucker.”
Henderson blanched. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard. “Okay, kid. As you say.”
They went to work. Stanton tended to the nauseous Phebe, or he’d vomit, too, with his fragile disposition. She wanted to help, but everyone pushed her out of the way.
Once Matt was on the dock, he resumed declaring he was fine. He wanted to assist in medical treatment but ended up taking a little nap on the wood boards instead.
Since Eric was the most mobile, he was helped to the Molly by Manuel and Nia. She led the way, while Manuel aided Eric in getting up the steps. Eric yelled for Heidi and demanded they search for her.
They brought him directly to the bathroom.
“There’s no hot water,” Nia informed with her hand in the shower spray.
Manuel stripped Eric. “Think cold water will do just fine. Right, young man?”
“Who are you?”
“Gonna get you outta these filthy clothes and into the shower.”
“But Heidi needs help.”
“Sure. You first.”
Eric screamed at the cold water hitting his parched skin.
Nia brought out a black garbage bag of his clothes. “This is nasty Eric clothes.” She dropped it in the corner of the crowded hangout deck.
All the chairs, the coffee table, and the microfridge pushed out of the way for a workspace.
Manuel helped a naked, soaking wet Eric out of the bathroom and sat him down on the couch.
“He’s gonna shit himself soon,” Manuel yelled. “What do I do?”
He handed a pail to Eric as he began to dry heave.
“Put him on the deck,” Ben yelled through the open cabin doorway. “We’ll hose him and the deck down. But, um, put a towel on him, please. Eric’s modest.”
“We got men’s clothes at the house,” said Nia. “I can run for them real quick.”
“He’ll just shit in ‘em, sweetie,” said Manuel. Then to Eric, “Come on, young man. Off to the poop deck.”
After a cold shower, Matt joined Eric. He was less cooperative and kept standing up, making his towel fall.
Nia got an eyeful. She blushed and giggled. He was more interesting to her than Eric.
Dr. Jenkins muttered for his seventeen-year-old daughter not to look at men’s privates while they were such a vulnerable condition. She reacted professionally, focusing on the condition of the patients.
Ben knew what Phebe was preparing to do, and she’d do it alone if he didn’t hurry up and get his gear on. He communicated this to Mazy.
“Phebe,” she yelled to be heard over everyone else. “You hold up and wait for a team. That’s an order.”
“Then tell ‘em to hurry their asses.” Phebe was in her ZBDUs. She stocked a utility vest as the last part of her zom fighter outfit. Headlamp. Flashlights. Spare batteries for both. A flashlight attached to her riffle. The night vision goggles had been confiscated, much to her annoyance. Extra mags into utility pockets and a combat knife sheathed on her belt.
“Listen, people,” announced Mazy. “Y’all take a skiff. You can’t get in from the pier. The ship is tilting outward too much. The balcony rooms should be in the water on the outer side. Drive up to one and smash through the slider.”
In the cabin, Ben searched tools for something to break sliding glass doors. Bullets were to be used frugally.
“Does the SAW have bullets?” asked a ZBDU-wearing Tyler. His utility vest filled with his supplies. A knife on his belt. He was ready.
“I’ll check.” Robert lifted the monster of a weapon. “It’s dirty as shit. No safe way to use it in this condition.”
“Copy that,” said Mazy. “Alright, no SAW, folks.
“C’mon,” said Phebe. “Let’s go, people.”
She stared at Peter on the deck floor. He groaned and moved. Eyelids partially opened. “Pheebs.”
“She’s here,” Angela comforted.
“Dead.”
“No, Sullivan. Your wife is over there.”
His stomach heaved. Angela pushed him onto his side, but all he did was painfully dry heave.
“Cold,” he mumbled. “Cold.”
“Nia, fetch some blankets for him.”
“Withdrawal,” Matt muttered. “Him. Withdrawal.”
The doctor said, “The dark-haired man –”
“Sullivan,” Angela injected.
“Yes, Sullivan, is dangerously dehydrated. His lips are blue. Pulse thready.”
“He’s got it coming out from both ends.”
“Try to get him to drink.”
“He just throws it up.”
Hearing this, Mazy barked, “Where’s the cruise ship team? Who’s volunteering?”
“Me.” Tyler raised his hand as if in school. “And Ben.”
“I’m going, too,” said Mullen.
Mazy cocked a brow. “It may be rough in there.”
“I can handle it.”
“Don’t slow them down. Sully and Chris are in immediate medical danger.”
Mullen nodded. His eyes reflected the seriousness of the situation.
Ben, fitted into his ZBDUs and collecting supplies, ordered, “Ty, Mul, get rope for climbing. Whatever we got that’ll suffice. Where are those pirate grappling hook ladders? Did we lose them too?”
Phebe joined the boys to search. She located Peter’s boat machete and fitted it into her belt.
“Holy crap,” Robert said. He investigated a duffel bag. “There’s a katana in here. Would that help?”
“Neg,” said Phebe. “Peter’s the one who knows how to effectively use it.”
“Who else is volunteering?” Mazy asked.
“I’ll go with,” said Brandon.
“I’m in,” said Henderson from the dock, watching with disgust. Or perhaps
it was because he was standing near Stanton. Henderson spaced himself away as much as he could. His judgementalism ever-present.
“Not if you don’t have ZBDUs, sir,” Mazy said.
“What the fuck are Z-B-D-Us?”
Stanton said, “I suspect it’s those terrible leather outfits they’re wearing.”
Henderson glared at him.
Stanton rolled his eyes. Would have given him the finger if he didn’t think he’d get punched.
Mazy asked Henderson, “Do you know the inside of that ship?”
“That would be a negative, ma'am.”
“Shit. We need –”
“Stanton and I know the inside,” said Manuel. He held Eric’s head up to get water into his mouth. “We have been on their Caribbean cruise.”
Mazy looked at Stanton and dismissed him as helpful. He’d undoubtedly scream. Worse than Mullen used to. She turned to Manuel. “Then you with go with them as a guide of the ship.”
Manuel looked fearful. “Do we know what it’s like inside?”
“No, we do not. We adapt to the situation. You will be expected to as well. Am I clear?”
“Um.” He gave a worried, lost child look to Stanton.
The doctor said with a heavy heart, “I should probably go too. To identify the medical supplies we require.” He sighed.
“Two non-fighters will be a problem,” Mazy stated.
“I can do it,” said Robert. “I have medic training in the Army.”
“You do?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re an Army medic, like Matt?”
“This guy has a Seventy-fifth Rangers badge tattooed on his arm, so I’d say, no, not quite like him.”
“But you are a corpsman?”
“A doc, yes, ma’am.”
Corpsman was what the Navy branch called a medic. Marine Corps medics were always Navy personnel. The Army called medics docs.
“You are going with the team then.” She ordered the rest, “Fit them for ZBDUs.”
“Roger that,” said Tyler. He turned to Mullen and macho punched him in the shoulder.
Mullen winced. The kid was stronger than he looked.
“Let’s do this thing,” Tyler continued. “Y’all, follow us.”
Angela ordered Emily, “Take this cloth and drench it in cold water. Chris needs it on his forehead. The fever must come down.”
Emily obeyed, grabbing the cloth.