First Light

by Kody Boye

  “That’s where everyone was, then,” Rose said, voice filled with understanding.

  “Yes ma’am. Trying to combat the threat.” Yayir puffed a breath from his lungs and craned his head to view the hellish creatures that were still attempting to follow them to sea. “It’s worthless, though. They never stop. They don’t sleep, they don’t think. All they want to do is eat.”

  No one said a word. The few people who had clamored to the main deck to watch the scene unfold began to drift away, lax in the relief following Rose and Lyra’s rescue.

  “You guys should get some rest,” Tommy said, drawing up alongside Rose when no one offered anything more in response. “You’ve had a rough morning.”

  “I’ll take you downstairs,” Jewel said. “Help you get settled in. Get you a change of clothes.”

  Nodding, Lyra turned and began to follow Jewel toward the far side of the boat. Rose, too, made a move to pursue, but stopped to give Yayir another look. “Thank you,” she said.

  The man merely nodded.

  Rose took his silence as reason to leave.

  “Hey,” Rose said. “Are you all right?”

  Lyra looked at her through the haze of smoke drifting from her cigarette and shrugged. “I’m all right,” she said. “About as all right as I can be, anyway.” She puffed another breath of smoke from her lungs and watched it dance about the air before she sighed. “It’s just,” she continued, “you’d think that… working where I did… I’d be used to it. The death, the injuries, the… blood. I mean, I didn’t work in the emergency room. Hell—I wouldn’t have even if they offered me double the pay—but I saw enough. People thinking we were emergency, coming in through the front entrance, children screaming, women covered in blood from drunken husbands. I saw it, Rose… I saw all that. But now… seeing this…” Lyra shook her head. She stamped her cigarette out in the ashtray that sat beside the open window and waited for the burning butt to stop smoking before tossing the entire thing into the ocean.

  “But we’re safe,” Rose offered.

  “All thanks to you,” Lyra replied. “Hell… if you wouldn’t have fought them off, we’d both be… well… dead.”

  “That’s a good way to put it,” she said after a laugh.

  Lyra smiled and brushed a hand through her sweaty hair, pushing it back behind her ear before turning her eyes up at her. “What about you? How you feeling?”

  “Fine, considering all that’s happened.”

  “You always seem to bounce back, no matter the circumstance.”

  “Thank God Yayir is such a good shot.”

  “I saw you looking at him,” Lyra said, raising an eyebrow when Rose’s jaw fell slack.

  “What?” Rose asked. “He saved our lives. I thought I owed him the attention.”

  “You dirty slag!” her friend laughed. “I knew it!”

  “Lyra!”

  “Oh come off it! I know you’ve got a thing for them Middle Eastern guys. He make you all tingly down there?”

  “This is ridiculous,” Rose said, pushing herself out of her chair and across the small room they’d been settled in. Lyra laughed and slapped her hand against the armrest of her chair. “Seriously, Lyra? After all this?”

  “What? When’s the last time you had a boyfriend?”

  “When’s the last time you had a boyfriend?”

  “Excuse me, little miss American princess: I had a boyfriend three months ago, before I caught that dirty panty-sniffer trying on my knickers.”

  “You never were good at picking straight men,” Rose mused.

  “Hey!”

  “Well, it’s true.” Rose flashed her friend a grin in the reflection of a vertical mirror and winked as Lyra started giggling. “I guess on the bright side, we didn’t really leave anything behind.”

  “Seems a blessing that Mum and Dad went off on holiday now,” Lyra sighed.

  “Do you know when they were supposed to be back?”

  “From the Bahamas? No. Probably a good thing, though, having all that ocean between them.”

  Just like us, Rose thought.

  The ship’s slow crawl was paradise compared to what they’d just been through. Though still able to see land, their distance was growing, to the point where by nightfall they wouldn’t even have to worry about any land-bound threat. It’d just be them and the sea and all the little fishies under their feet.

  The knot in her gut that had been developing since their arrival suddenly constricted without mercy. With the intensity of a boa constrictor who had trapped a deer within its snarl, it knocked the breath from her lungs and almost doubled her over. She would’ve fallen had she not caught herself on the wall, her hand pressed solidly against the mirror. The fine arches of her brows, which were supposed to have been tended sometime this week, scrunched to fine points as a slight whimper escaped her throat.

  “Rose?” Lyra asked. “You all right?”

  “Nerves,” she managed through the pain. “That’s all.”

  They were here—safe, behind the closed doors of a yacht, with little more than shredded nerves to show for it. The fact that they’d gotten out so lucky was a miracle considering what could’ve happened. The businessman’s fate was proof enough.

  All that blood, all those screams…

  Hobbling to the loveseat, Rose settled down, reclined as far back as she could, and allowed herself her first moment of respite since stepping onto the ship.

  As if given a will of its own, the world seemed to shrink, closing about her until all that remained was the living, breathing mass of her person.

  Then, finally, she was swallowed by sleep.

  She hadn’t moved during the time she’d been sleeping. Spread lengthwise along the loveseat’s surface, Rose lifted her head to find that a blanket had been tucked over her shoulders and a pillow had been propped under her head—a clear indication that she’d either been completely out of it or that Lyra had played the role of guardian angel once more.

  “Lyra?” she asked through the haze of disorientation, grimacing as she realized they were not in their flat, but on the yacht instead.

  The realization was so sudden it threatened to send her into another fit. The knot desperate to return, the panic drumming along her skull—she managed to maintain her composure and blinked in an effort to adjust her eyes to the dim room.

  What time was it?

  Was it already dusk?

  “Lyra?”

  “It’s all good,” her friend said. “I’m here.”

  The shuffle of footsteps drew Rose’s attention to the far side of the room. Lyra—who’d been sitting atop the bed staring out the window—brushed alongside the vintage television bolted into the wall and crouched at Rose’s side. “Hey, pretty girl,” she said. “You feelin’ ok?”

  “How long was I out?”

  “A few hours. Can’t tell you how many. The only clock in here ain’t workin’.”

  “Have you been out at all since—”

  Lyra shook her head. The faint shadows playing across her face did little to hide the unease, callous in its portrayal of an otherwise-ruthless person. Rose opened her mouth to say something, but when Lyra shook her head, Rose stopped before she could continue.

  This didn’t make any sense. Lyra was never prone to insignificant worry, let alone one to keep quiet if her opinion happened to contrast it. Hard as steel, her friend was the kind Rose would expect to snap iron with her teeth. But this—this was something else. This wasn’t the Lyra she was used to seeing.

  “Lyra?” Rose asked, struggling to push herself up. “Is something wrong?”

  “I’d say no,” her friend replied, “but… well… I’d be lying if I did.”

  Rose waited. Hands laced in her lap, eyes set on friend’s face, she watched Lyra’s eyes dart between her, then to the doorway before she shook her head. “It’s nothing,” she said.

  “It has to be something, if you’re worried,” Rose said, planting her feet on the floor. “You’
re never worried.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Yes it is.”

  “I worry about my Mum, and her diabetes. And my gram, when she was still alive.”

  “That’s different, hon. That’s family. But this…” Rose glanced toward the door as the sound of laughter and footsteps vibrated through the hall. “This is something completely—”

  Her words died in her throat when she caught sight of Lyra’s face.

  Normally, the sound of passers-by wouldn’t have fazed her. But here, on this ship—

  Rose centered her gaze on her friend.

  Even ignorance couldn’t blind her to the truth.

  Lyra’s eyes held the fear of death—of small animals frozen along the countryside as they watched the birds descend.

  The unwavering gaze continued for the next several moments, and did not falter until the people passed. By that time, Lyra’s hands had begun to shake, and the wild look in her eyes had regressed from outright defiance to sheer terror.

  “Lyra?” Rose asked. “What’s—”

  “I saw her, Rose.”

  “Who?”

  “A woman. I… I think she was bit.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Rose laughed. “I mean, seriously—you think these people would’ve gotten this far if they didn’t know it was—”

  “Yes, Rose, I do. Why? Because it’s in an infection. No one knows how it works. We don’t. We saw Mary get bit and then turn into one of those things after she died, but do we know how it happened? No. We don’t. There’s no telling if it’s the bite that kills you or the infection it gives you. That alone makes it impossible to tell how the fucking thing works. We’re not doctors, Rose—we’re not scientists. And the fact that people got here just makes them lucky. Maybe none of them had to see anyone get bitten and then die before they came back to life. Maybe most of them didn’t have to bash a few skulls in to realize it takes destroying the brain to kill them.”

  Her friend huffed and kicked an invisible object on the floor, crossing her arms before turning to look out at the never-ending stretch of sea. “Do you get it, Rose?” she asked. “We’re fucked. Shit out of luck if I do say so myself. We’re here, on this boat, with nowhere to fucking go. If I’m right… and that woman really was bit… then we… we’re—”

  “What did she look like?” Rose asked.

  Lyra’s face paled in response.

  “What did she look like?” Rose asked again, stepping up to her friend. “Tell me, Lyra. Tell me.”

  “She was some ginger chick,” Lyra said. “Young. Had some bloke with her—probably her husband or boyfriend. She didn’t say anything. She just… stood there.”

  It was no wonder she didn’t remember. Rose had considered the woman to be nothing out of the ordinary—just another victim of the international tragedy that had landed upon their shores. Her proximity to the other man wouldn’t have been strange, if what Lyra had said was true, but the way she’d just stood there, staring at nothing…

  Then there was the bandage on her arm—the one Rose had failed to process due to the crash of adrenaline…

  Suddenly, it all made sense: why Lyra looked the way she did, why her eyes glimmered like fires brimming in the darkest places.

  As if given a mind of their own, Rose’s gaze strayed to the doorway. “We have to do something,” she said.

  “Rose,” Lyra said. “We can’t—”

  “Stay here.”

  “What’re you—”

  Rose removed the chain on the door. “Don’t leave,” she said, “and don’t open the door unless you know it’s me.”

  “You can’t just—”

  Rose hurled the door open.

  “Who do you think’s gonna help us?” Lyra called after her.

  “I don’t know,” Rose lied.

  She already had an idea.

  Their distance from land had brought with it the spellbinding realities of the ocean. Awash in grey light, silhouetted only by clouds threatening rain, the cold wind swept along the deck and buffeted her with precipitation as a wave rocked the ship and sent spray into the air.

  Shit, Rose thought, shivering.

  Her attire of jeans and a loose-fitting tank did little to combat the ever-growing cold.

  She’d never considered what might happen once they freed themselves from humanity.

  Frowning, she guided her eyes across the deck. Not once was she able to pinpoint a single person, especially not the one she was looking for.

  Do you really think he’s going to help you?

  She didn’t know—couldn’t if she wanted to be completely honest, wouldn’t if she didn’t just go ahead and ask. There was no reason to be afraid of this man. He’d saved Lyra. That was reason enough to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  But is it worth it, though?

  Would more allies only hinder, or help them in the end?

  “Getting a bit cloudy out here, don’t you think?” a familiar voice asked, startling Rose to the point where she jumped.

  “Yeah,” Rose said. “It is.”

  The handsome Israeli man stepped up beside her and leaned against the upper deck’s railing. Features tight in contemplation, bright eyes cast across the trembling ocean, he remained quiet regardless of Rose’s presence and frowned when the telltale signs of thunder echoed in the distance. “This doesn’t bode well,” he murmured.

  Rose cocked her head in anticipation of further comment, but when none came, she sighed—a sound that, while universal, was enough to draw the Israeli’s attention.

  “Is something wrong?” Yayir asked.

  “I’m just not sure how to go about it,” Rose replied, fighting to keep her gaze on his.

  Yayir blinked. “Pardon?” he asked.

  “My friend… Lyra, the black girl… she said she saw someone with a bite.”

  “Sorry?”

  He doesn’t know, she thought.

  Turning, she pressed her hands into the pockets of her jeans and stared the man directly in the eyes, her gaze briefly falling to the military-grade assault rifle strung across his back. “Do you know anything about the way this thing spreads?” she decided to ask.

  “Only that it is viral in nature,” Yayir replied.

  “Do you know the bites are what cause it?” Once again met with silence, Rose struggled to maintain her composure in the face of adversity and reached for the pack of cigarettes against her thigh. “Want a smoke?” she asked.

  “Don’t,” he said.

  “Got a light?”

  Yayir retrieved a lighter from his breast pocket and held it steady as Rose leaned in to let him light it. “I’ve never heard anyone claim the bites are what spread the infection,” he said as Rose pulled away.

  She blew smoke from her mouth and looked back at him. “I saw it happen.”

  “Where?”

  “On shore. In our apartment. Our roommate got bit by her boyfriend and she died the next morning. No sooner after we discovered her body did she… uh…” She paused to consider her words. Instead of speaking, she balanced her palm flat, then tilted it vertically.

  “Reanimate,” Yayir said.

  Rose nodded.

  “Did you see the attack occur?” he asked.

  “You mean on her?” Rose frowned. “No. We didn’t.”

  “Then how can you be so sure it was a bite that caused it?”

  “Because there was blood on her arm. Because she—”

  It took but one moment for the notion to come crashing down.

  She hadn’t seen the wound in detail. Lyra had been the one to tend and bandage it. For all she knew, Mary could’ve fallen and scraped her arm—cut it on a piece of glass from a broken bottle. Anything could’ve happened and she wouldn’t have even known.

  But the teeth—

  Had her mind filled in the blanks after Mary said ‘bite?’ Had the imprints on her friend’s flesh been nothing more than an illusion?

  Yayir’s unfaltering gaze refus
ed to leave her. Eyes kind yet questioning, mouth pleasant but pursed, he crossed his arms over his chest and waited for Rose to say anything further.

  When it came time to realize she had little to say, Rose sighed and looked back at the cabin. “Let me go get Lyra,” she said, starting forward. “She can vouch for me.”

  “You’ve been through a lot, ma’am.”

  “No. I mean—yes. Yes, I have. But Lyra saw it. She bandaged the wound. She’d know what she was talking about. She—”

  Stepping forward, Yayir placed both hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “Go relax,” he said. “It’s been a long day for all of us.”

  “But—”

  With little more than a pat on her shoulders, he turned and walked off.

  All Rose could do was stare.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  They couldn’t be wrong.

  “You have to go back,” Lyra said upon hearing Rose’s story. “You have to.”

  “What am I going to say?” Rose asked. “That I didn’t explain it properly and to ask for another chance?”

  “I’ll go with you. I’m a medical professional. Maybe if I’m there they’ll—”

  “Medical professional?” Rose laughed. “Are you serious?”

  “I worked in a clinic!”

  “And just how many people came in complaining of bites from complete strangers?”

  “I… they—” Lyra paused. She stared past Rose and at the closed door. “We have to find her.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah,” her friend said, nodding, determination leading her across the room and toward the bathroom tucked in the far corner. “She’s just like all the others. All we have to do is find her and…”

  Lyra lifted a clothing iron from its hook on the wall.

  “No,” Rose said. “We can’t.”

  “Come on! She’s just like all the others waiting to die! There’s nothing anyone can do for her! If we get her now, before she turns—”

  “And then what, Lyra? Everyone thinks we’re killers? You heard what the man said. He thinks I’m a loony!”

  “You are a loony!” her friend cried. “Always looking at books and shit! Something’s wrong with you!”