The Roaming (Book 2): The Toll

by Hegarty, W. J.

  “Oh my God, Bernie. This is incredible!” Casandra shouted over the showers. “Why are you so good to me?” She giggled.

  “Don’t thank me. This is all Rachel.”

  “In that case, she deserves double rations tonight.”

  “Tonight? Hell, that girl’s getting as much as she wants every night, from now on.” Bernie cheered a series of hoots and hollers that would have had Casandra doubled over in laughter had her huge belly not been in the way. “What’s so funny over there, girl?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’m just happy to have my very own cowboy in shining denim,” she flirted.

  “At your service, ma’am.” He tipped an imaginary hat.

  “Oh really?” she said boldly. “In that case, I have a spot over here I can’t reach.”

  “Happy to oblige,” said Bernie before shutting off his water and joining her in the next stall.

  ISLAND: NIGHT EIGHT

  “I feel safe here. First time in months, man,” said Markus. “We lost a lot of good people getting to this island. It’s a shame they couldn’t be here with us to see it, too.” He skipped a stone just over a breaking wave.

  “People die. They weren’t the first, and they won’t be the last. No big deal, bro,” Damon said, nearly laughing at his friend’s compassion.

  “Tobias died for nothing, Damon. Absolutely nothing. Some crazy old serial killer burned him up, and for what? A lonely cabin in the woods all by himself? That’s no way to live, even in this fucked-up world. At least Seth went down fighting. What happened to Tobias just doesn’t make any goddamn sense.”

  “Fuck that old man and fuck Tobias, too. Shit, fuck all of them. I’m alive and so are you, and that’s all that matters. You should get your mind around that. And Seth? You’re kidding me, right? We’re calling cops our friends now, too? Is that it? Shit, fuck him the most.” Damon was disgusted at the thought. He wore his disdain for those in authority on his sleeve. The soldiers were an issue for him as well. He could accept them, though, especially in light of he and Radzinski having so much in common, but the police? They were another story altogether.

  “Jesus, Damon, where’s your heart, man? They were good men trying their best to keep all of us safe. What good have you done lately? You barely even pull your own weight. Drop the bullshit and try acting like you’re one of us for a change.”

  “One of us, huh? Is that how it’s gonna be?” Damon looked Markus in the eye for the first time since their conversation began.

  “No, that’s how it is, Damon. If we don’t come together, we’re not going to make it. That’s all there is to it. There are no more sides, man. We’re all equals now, just trying to live. The quicker you see that, the better off you’ll be.”

  “Make it? Make it where? We’re in the middle of nowhere for fuck’s sake, and as soon as you stop thinking you’re one of them, the better off you’ll be. As far as they’re concerned, you’re nothing but a thug. A city boy is all you’ll ever be to them.” Damon poked Markus in the chest in an attempt to drive the point home. Markus shrugged it off.

  “It’s not about us and them. It’s just us now. It’s been that way since the day Vanessa let us into her bar and gave us a place to stay. Why can’t you see that? This little group that you despise so much? That’s it, man. That’s all there is. They might as well be the whole world, for all that matters now.” Markus knew he wasn’t getting through to him. The sooner this conversation was over, the better, he thought. It was getting so he could barely stand the sight of Damon anymore.

  “Whatever, man. Fuck these people. And if Marisol or that cocksucker, Isaac even look at me sideways, I’ll bury them out here. You feelin’ that?” Damon pulled up his tank top. His 9mm was tucked safely in the front of his pants.

  “You just don’t get it, do you?” Markus watched his friend back away down the beach, still brandishing the firearm.

  Damon made the sign of a gun with his hand and pointed it back toward camp. He slowly shook his head up and down and smiled as he pretended to fire off shots at his campmates. Markus ignored the bravado and continued his own trek down the beach in the opposite direction.

  Nisha carried a portion of the night’s meal out to the beach. For more than a week, Isabelle had remained alone. She normally stayed out by the surf, not speaking to anyone, and rarely ate. If Isabelle was eating more than she let on, it would have to have been stuff she caught with her own two hands.

  Nisha knelt beside her friend and sat a portion of meat and a little fish between them. “Izzy, I haven’t seen you in a couple days. Are you okay? Would you like something to eat, honey? Bernie put together quite a spread tonight.” Nisha inched the dish closer.

  Isabelle stared off into the blackness of the night sea. What little rags she wore—the remnants of the gray dress she had on during the night they fled Pepperbush—were hanging off her, blowing in the breeze. Nisha gently turned her head away. Her hand briefly covered her nose. Obviously, Isabelle gave up on any attempts at hygiene weeks ago.

  “Tommy swam by earlier. He said he’d be back in a little while. You don’t think it’s too cold for my little boy to be swimming tonight, do you, Nisha?” Isabelle asked without so much as a peek in her friend’s direction.

  “Oh, honey.” Nisha moved in close and put an arm around her friend. “Everything is going to be fine, Izzy. I’ll wait here with you for a while. We’ll wait for him together.” Nisha attempted to pull the woman close, but Isabelle remained unresponsive. Unbeknownst to Nisha, Isabelle kept her right hand buried in the sand, fingering the length of a hidden blade for the duration of their conversation.

  The waves crashing on the beach seemed to move in time with their delicate rhythm. Rachel wrapped her legs around him tight, forcing Ryan deep inside of her. They breathed heavily, in sync, mouths open. He could feel her warm breath against his face. It sent a rush of pure energy through to his core. Their lips brushed against each other’s as her body rose and fell in time with his gentle thrusts. Their eyes locked onto one another’s, neither daring to look away as they climaxed in near unison. They held their positions through each finishing spasm, continuing their embrace long after they’d both grown still. Lying on the beach beneath the stars, they held each other close as they continued to stare longingly into each other’s eyes.

  Rachel sat up. Still astride Ryan, she was silhouetted against the moonlight. Her toned body glistened as she gently caressed his sweaty chest and stomach. “I never noticed you had abs before.”

  “These aren’t abs. This is what malnutrition looks like.”

  Rachel smiled. “So where do we go from here?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Why don’t we break off from the group, head over to the mainland?” he suggested. “We can set up shop in one of those high-rises, whichever one you want. Money’s no option.”

  “So you’re saying you want two-point-five kids and a white picket fence?”

  “I mean, it doesn’t have to be white. I’ve got the perfect spot all picked out.” He arched his neck for an upside-down view of the darkened mainland in the distance. “What about that one? The condo next to the carnival with a view of the Ferris wheel. I’ll show you when the sun comes up.”

  “You’re adorable.”

  “Oh?”

  “When everyone else is using the binoculars to search for supplies or signs of life, you’re busy looking for carousels and Skee-Ball.”

  “Priorities, babe. It’s the little things.”

  “Careful, Ryan.” She rested her head on his shoulder. Her arm lay comfortably on his chest. “I may be falling for you.”

  Marisol and Samantha found themselves discussing the merits of one ex-Mayor Donald Lancaster and his place in the group. For most, it became commonplace to ignore the man or outright scold him, but for a few of the survivors, Samantha in particular, guilt had set in. From her vantage point, a near-elderly man was lambasted on an almost daily basis. Not a single person stood up for him or cared to ask why. Sama
ntha had a history of volunteering her time, occasionally in shelters or community clean-up projects, but her passion was for abuse victims. This old man who she watched Marisol beat almost to death pulled on her heartstrings a little more than she was comfortable with.

  Marisol, for her part, took it upon herself to keep Lancaster in his place, which as far as she was concerned was as low as humanly possible. Without a cell to throw him away in, she had no choice but to live with the man. And passing sentence, even now, was something she refused to consider as she became a police officer to uphold the law, not become an executioner. Lancaster’s actions at Town Hall the night they fled Pepperbush was the crux of the argument, though the man’s wife and her indifference toward the criminal ways of her husband was a bit of a sore spot for the now ex-sheriff.

  “Not every woman has the wherewithal to separate herself from a bad situation, Marisol.”

  “You really think that was the case, do you?”

  “I didn’t know them, so maybe.”

  “No, it’s not. That’s a cop-out. Some women lust for money and power just as much as their male counterparts, but they choose not to get their hands dirty when someone else will happily do it for them. Catherine Lancaster and those like her couldn’t care less what their husbands did to provide it for them. His wife and his cronies’ wives were just as guilty as their husbands, maybe more so because they ignored it in exchange for a lifestyle. They were content with the big houses, new shoes, and jewelry. If Lancaster and his bought-and-paid-for officials got their hands dirty in the process, so be it,” Marisol said accusingly.

  “Then I don’t understand. If he didn’t help them and he basically let them die and you think they deserved it, why are you so angry with him?” Samantha asked. Marisol’s reasoning was lost on the woman.

  “He left an infant and two toddlers to die, not to mention his own son. I saw him backing out of Town Hall from across the courtyard. He was looking them right in the eyes as he locked the door behind him and tossed the keys in the bushes. He condemned those children to a horrible death. I couldn’t care less about the wives. They got their comeuppance. Those children, though… They never did a damn thing to anyone.” Marisol released a guttural sound, something akin to half a grunt, half a moan.

  “My God, I had no idea.” Samantha winced.

  “Well, now you do, so next time I’m in his face or decide to smash his teeth in, I’d appreciate you not interceding on his behalf,” Marisol snapped.

  “Man, what a jerk. I see where you’re coming from now, and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  “You have no idea, girl.”

  Lillian suggested sleeping on the boat. Proximity to their campmates was beginning to take its toll. Comfort and safety in numbers had given way to frustration over the lack of privacy and constant commotion. The pair of them lay on the deck under a clear sky. This was the first either of them had set foot on the vessel since they washed ashore more than a week prior. The Emerald Star, though no longer seaworthy, still served as an excellent shelter. Had it not been for the abandoned campsite, the wreck would surely have not gone mostly ignored. The storm that brought them to the island pushed the boat far enough inland that there was no worry of a high tide sweeping them out to sea in their sleep. It would take another storm of equal or greater magnitude to even budge the thing.

  The interior of the boat smelled of oil and machinery. Until someone bothered to clean it up, the deck would have to do as a small retreat from the island. A small emergency blanket and a pair of life vests were all they could scrounge up for comfort against the coarse wooden deck boards. The angle that the boat was resting was a little awkward, but they made it work. At least a modicum of privacy remained their primary concern.

  Vanessa and Lillian were lying at the lowest point of the lopsided deck, the closest spot resembling an available flat surface. The angle of the deck availed them at least some privacy. Vanessa was on her back. Her hands were above her head, gripping the side of the boat tightly for leverage. Lillian had been down there for at least twenty minutes. Or was it an hour? Vanessa had no notion of time anymore.

  Lillian slowly made her way back up Vanessa’s body, gently teasing her stomach, breasts, and neck, then finally her lips. Their bodies pressed together, hands and legs pulling each other closer. Vanessa thought it was over ages ago, but Lillian kept going. If Vanessa possessed the will to ask, she would beg her lover to never stop. Vanessa knew that all things must end. She felt her partner slowing, though they kissed passionately for some time before Lillian eventually lay beside her. Both women spent, the pair of them breathed heavily under the moonlight. Beads of sweat glistened beneath its brilliance before they gently rolled down their curves and onto the sloped deck. The couple lay there, basking in each other’s glow until long after their breath returned.

  Lillian began to dress, lest Radzinski accidentally wander by. “How long do you think they’ll let us stay here?”

  “I’m not sure.” Vanessa peered around the deck. “It would be kind of selfish on our part to claim the Emerald Star as our own private getaway.”

  Lillian smiled. “I don’t mean the boat. I’m talking about the island. How long do you think they’ll let us stay before we hit the road again?”

  “Oh, man. I haven’t really thought about it. This place, as nice as it is, probably isn’t ideal for the long term. I’d hardly consider a small bathhouse, a few tents, and a shipwreck to be home. Then there’s the weather to consider. A standard storm is bad enough, and hurricane season isn’t even over yet. After that, we have winter to look forward to.” Vanessa sat up, her smile fading. She gazed out into the blackened sea whence they came. Whatever momentary joy she felt from her brief time alone with Lillian was waning fast. “I’ve never been much of a survivor buff, but nothing about our island screams sustainable living to me.”

  “Sorry to be a buzzkill.” Lillian felt the mood drop, that much was clear, and it was entirely her fault.

  “Don’t be. These are things we need to be thinking about.” Vanessa snapped out of it nearly as fast as the depression reared its ugly head. Self-pity would do no one any good. “Come here.” She pulled Lillian back down beside her.

  They talked for hours, bathed in the moonlight while surrounded by the peaceful rhythm of crashing waves. A mare and her colt trotted along, pausing at the side of the boat to investigate their new island-mates. Lillian’s eyes watered at the display. Vanessa wiped a tear from Lillian’s cheek and looked on at her with a full heart. The island was overflowing with beauty, if only you took the time to look.

  The new couple’s conversation lasted long into the night. Snippets of their dialog and brief bursts of laughter could easily be heard farther down the beach, where Isabelle sat alone, waist-deep in the surf, staring out into the black water. She had sat down hours ago when the tide was out and the waves were only just nipping at her toes. Each time the women’s laughter made it to her ears, she covered them with her palms in a vice-like grip. Isabelle eventually relented and lay flat on the sand underwater, watching as the waves passed overhead. Beneath the surface, only the crashing surf broke the silence, and she smiled.

  ISLAND: DAY NINE

  Miller strolled down the beach in a pair of cargo shorts he found in an abandoned tent. He wore nothing else. He didn’t even carry a knife or sharp stick for protection. He leaned down for a rock and sent it skimming across the water and grinned when he counted one more skip than the last time. He had grown to love the island, especially at sunrise; it was fast becoming a home. From swimming laps and collecting driftwood during the day to spending his evenings talking with Soraya, then snuggling up next to her at night, it was the ideal of perfection in his mind.

  Most mornings, he would meet Sam down by the shower house for coffee and conversation. His elder felt it wise that someone keep watch when those inside were left so vulnerable. Miller didn’t think it was necessary, but if it made Sam feel a little better, then who was he t
o argue. He enjoyed these talks quite a bit. If asked, he would say he very much looked forward to them, as he valued the man’s wisdom, but more than that, Sam reminded him of his own father and how much he missed him.

  “Been meaning to ask. Why the change of heart, Captain?” Sam asked from behind a steamy coffee mug.

  “Honestly, it was the swim,” Miller said. “When Soraya and I finally reached land, we had a brief moment to relax and catch our breath. In that instant, I forgot about everything: the running, the fighting, those things, and what we’ve lost. And just like that, it was gone and we were back to back, weapons drawn, ready for anything. I wanted to slow down. I needed to slow down.”

  “Well, you made the right call, son. You’ve earned this break.” Sam offered his hand.

  “Thank you, sir.” Miller returned the gesture.

  The door to the bathhouse opened. Soraya and Rachel cut through the steam and strode into the cool morning air. The ladies would keep watch now.

  “All yours, boys,” Rachel said.

  “Much obliged.” Sam tipped his hat. He wasted no time entering the bathhouse.

  Miller briefly paused as he exchanged smiles with Soraya. While they passed, the pair of them instinctively extended their arms, unconsciously reaching for one another. Their palms gently ran the length of the other’s forearm as they each went their separate ways.

  Inside, Miller wiped steam from the mirror above the facility’s lone sink, and it dawned on him that he hadn’t seen his own reflection since sometime before touching down in Philadelphia. His hair was at least an inch longer, and his beard was not much further behind. Miller let the warm water wash over him. He stood beneath the spray for a time, far longer than he had at any point since before enlisting. If felt good. Having nowhere to rush to was a godsend, but the quiet and the tranquility of it all instilled in him a sense of peace long since forgotten.

  Truth be told, Miller was growing fond of the slight lack of responsibility. More importantly the closest carrier was a mile away. The people in his care could sleep at night. And if they could sleep, he could sleep. He found himself of late going hours at a time without thinking of the carriers or the true horror of what they represented.