Marisol was eager to beat the rush to the bathhouse; she dragged a still half-asleep Isaac with her. Soraya and Rachel were relieved of sentry duty. Soraya had to meet with Aiko anyway. She had promised the medic that she wouldn’t try to remove her own stitches.
The medics had a humble makeshift facility set up just outside of camp. It wasn’t even remotely sterile, but it served their needs so long as no one got themselves too banged up.
“One more to go,” Aiko said enthusiastically. She gently tugged on Soraya’s sole remaining stitch with her tweezers, lifting it just enough to get the scissors beneath, snipped, and pulled it free. “All done, and it’s healing nicely, I’ll add,” she said as she wiped the area down with whiskey.
“Thank you, Aiko.” Soraya pressed gently on the scar. To her surprise, there were very few raised spots. “It feels much better now. Should I still bandage?”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. Maybe when you sleep so you don’t accidentally bang it up, but no, let it breathe. If it bleeds at all, come see me. Otherwise, I think you’re good.”
“I am glad to hear this, Aiko.” Soraya rose and stretched as she looked out to the horizon.
“So what’s on the docket for today?”
“I do not know. Rachel and I have discussed rowing over to the lighthouse. I have wanted to see the view from it since we arrived.”
“Sounds like fun. If the place is secure, it could make for a good storm shelter at the very least.”
“I have thought of this as well.”
“Be safe out there.”
“We will. Take care, Aiko.”
Soraya and Rachel had two choices: drag one of the boats two miles across sand and rocks or swim the half-mile distance to the lighthouse. There was really no decision to be made. The span from their island to the lighthouse was only half the distance, maybe less, that she and Miller had swum a little over a week prior. Only a week ago, this impromptu jaunt would have been considered foolhardy and voted against, but now, when everyone had full bellies and their strength had returned, no one batted an eye at the idea. Soraya had to insist that Miller not join them, much to his dismay, but she was adamant. Rachel was offended at the implication that they needed a babysitter, so Miller backed down.
The swim was refreshing and surprisingly quick. Afterward, they pulled themselves safely ashore before marching to the far side of the lighthouse, but not before lying on the cool wet sand closer to the water to catch their breath, always with a wary eye on their new surroundings. The dry sand farther away from the beach was hotter than they expected; they laughed and raced to the shade offered by the towering structure.
The entrance to the lighthouse was not visible from the island. Otherwise, Soraya and Rachel would have realized that this was a wasted trip. The door was burned from its hinges. Inside the lighthouse was charred black. Ancient wooden steps leading to its peak had collapsed in the fire. The lighthouse was a bust. Amidst the rubble, a handful of skeletons poked through the debris. Odd limbs were raised like corn growing out of a burnt field. It was impossible to tell if they were the lighthouse keeper and his family or a small group of infected. It didn’t matter who it was. The lighthouse would remain nothing more than a landmark.
“You think they’re going to get up?” Rachel nudged one of the bony stalks.
“The skeletons? No. Their brains would boil in their heads in the fire. They are dead.”
“Comforting. Gross. But comforting.”
“We should go.” Soraya pointed to several infected that were approaching the lighthouse property from the mainland. A small strip of land connected the lookout to the once-bustling city beyond.
“I’m sorry, Soraya. I know you’ve been looking forward to this.”
“Is okay. We still have the island. Come, let us go home.” Soraya could feel her eyes welling, her frustration mostly over what she imagined the lighthouse could have been. If Rachel had asked, she would have blamed it on the salt spray. Had the lighthouse worked out, she had every intention of surprising Miller with their own private retreat, a place where they could be alone and intimate. Instead, she had to return empty-handed to a crowded campsite.
Later that evening, as she and Miller sat beside the fire, listening to the group’s tales of the way things used to be, Soraya lamented the loss of the lighthouse.
“I’m sorry the lighthouse didn’t work out for you.” Miller kissed her hand and offered sympathetic eyes.
“Thank you, Miller. Is no big deal. Something else will come along.” She ran her fingers through his hair, mussed it a bit, and smiled. “Your hair is getting long.”
He scratched his beard. “It is. I hadn’t thought about it until today. I should check the Emerald Star. Maybe there’s an old pair of scissors lying around.”
“Keep it. I like it this way.”
Miller kissed her on the top of her head.
Soraya snuggled in beside him. Firelight danced around them, and all was well with the world.
ISLAND: DAY TEN
For someone who was fast to denounce the idea of staying on the island, Radzinski was the first of Miller’s unit to abandon his gear. He could often be seen wandering their new home in nothing more than black boxer-briefs. Occasionally he armed himself with his knife or pistol. Usually, though, he simply carried a piece of driftwood that he liked to swing around at imaginary foes. He and Marisol had been meeting randomly for nearly a week at various private locales around the island. The shipwreck was a favorite spot when it was available. Marisol couldn’t stand the guy, and Radzinski, for his part, well, didn’t care for much of anyone. They were kindred spirits in a sense, at least in that neither of them had zero fucks to give regarding what people thought of them. They each desired something the other possessed, and that was the extent of it.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Radzinski panted.
Marisol was bent over the main console in the wheelhouse of the Emerald Star. He mounted her from behind, pounding harder during each thrust. Radzinski kept a firm grasp on her hips, he pulled her toward him in time with her rhythm, and with each of their movements, both of them worked faster and faster. Their naked skin slapped against each other’s bodies repeatedly, echoing in the small chamber and out into the open air beyond the sun-drenched deck.
“Oh God!” Marisol reached back, desperately pulling Radzinski closer. She dug her fingernails into the back of the man’s thigh, all the while forcing herself backward onto him. She was concentrating on a third orgasm and trying her hardest not to think about the brute behind her when Radzinski pulled out moments before release.
For a moment, the two stood there, panting, spent. Her elbows were digging into the console. His arms dangled at his side. Radzinski slapped her on the ass a few times, followed by a series of grunts she couldn’t imagine turned anyone on. Marisol rolled her eyes and pulled herself up off the uncomfortable perch.
“If you’re finished, you can get off of me now. I’ve got things to do today.” Marisol pushed Radzinski’s weight off of her, and he collapsed backward into the captain’s chair, his sweaty naked ass slapping against its surface as he came down.
“Like what? We’re doing all there is to do,” he replied, followed by another series of grunts before he cleared his throat and spat a thick mucus ball across the room.
“Washing your stink off of me, for one. Now get out of the way,” she said wearily. “God, you’re disgusting.”
“What’s your problem?” Radzinski asked rhetorically as he squeegeed sweat from his chest and stomach with a finger before flicking it onto the floor.
“Keep fucking me like that and we won’t have a problem,” she quipped while wiping her body off with a crumpled-up shirt. She placed extra emphasis into cleaning her back.
“Now that’s my kind of girl. No strings attached. Just the way I like it.” He leaned back in the chair, interlocked his fingers behind his head, and grinned from ear to ear.
“And why in the hell w
ould anyone want strings attached to you?” Marisol shot back while quickly dressing.
“Never liked strings myself, babe. But hey, I think I got a little more in me. Why don’t you help me out over here? Put those lips to good use.” He shook his cock in her direction, slapping it against his stomach.
“What makes you think I want any more of your dick today? You’re pretty limber for a big guy. Blow yourself. Next time I need something, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, stay out of my fucking way.” Marisol slid on her tank top and headed for the exit.
Radzinski chuckled and followed that up with another nice wad of spit for the floor. He leaned over to retrieve his clothes. His smile quickly faded as he picked up his crumpled shirt, the same one Marisol had just discarded.
“You cleaned up with this?” he asked before he threw his soiled shirt at the door, barely missing Marisol on her way out. “You bitch.” He laughed as he lit up another cigarette. Radzinski leaned back in the chair and exhaled a small cloud of smoke. “Fucking paradise.”
ISLAND: DAY TWELVE
The shipwreck of the Emerald Star had become a popular getaway spot. For some, it was a reminder of how lucky they were to even be alive. For others, though, the ship offered privacy not afforded elsewhere on the island without having to first walk miles out of the way. Elliot rounded the corner on his way topside. He was quickly buttoning his pants. In his haste, he crashed into Marisol, sending her back a few steps. She nearly drew her sidearm.
“Oh, hey, Elliot. What’s the rush? A couple weeks ago and I would have shot you dead,” she joked.
“No rush. Just need some air is all. I forgot something back at camp. Need to check on something. Gotta go.” Elliot hurried up the steps, snatched up his shoes, and hopped over the side of the boat.
“Okay. See ya later, I guess.” She rolled her eyes at the man’s strange behavior and continued below deck.
Marisol hung her sidearm on a hook on the wall before kicking her boots off and stretching her toes against the hard floor of the cabin. She peeled off her tank top, draped it across the top of a cabinet, then did the same with her jeans. Standing there, it occurred to her that she hadn’t worn her sheriff’s uniform or badge in weeks, it seemed, and come to think of it, she didn’t miss them in the slightest. An early evening swim would do her good. It would help take her mind off being so bored, she hoped. Sure, they were safe for the first time in ages, but they were living on a giant sandbar. This wasn’t exactly what sprang to mind whenever she thought of an island paradise.
A thump from a nearby closet caught her attention. She slowly backed toward the recess as she pretended to look herself over in a badly cracked mirror. When she was within reaching distance, she turned quickly and yanked the door open.
“Radzinski, how many times do I have to…” Marisol was rendered speechless at the sight of Isaac standing naked in the closet, covering his manhood with his hands.
“I can explain, ma’am. It’s not what it looks like,” he stammered.
“Isaac, what the fuck? Wait a minute. Were you…?” Marisol pointed topside. “And Elliot? Really?”
“Oh my God. Ma’am, please. Please don’t say anything. Please,” Isaac begged.
“Um, Isaac, I’ve known you were gay for years. What’s the big deal?” Marisol said, slightly offended.
“Not for me, Sheriff. For him.” Isaac nodded in the direction Elliot had run off in. “It’s Elliot. He says he’s not fitting in well with the others, and well, I can just tell it would devastate him if he thought anyone knew about this.”
“What people get up to on their own time is none of my business.” She shrugged. “His secret is safe with me.”
“Thank you, but do you mind passing me my pants, ma’am? I’m feeling kind of exposed here.” Isaac blushed. “They’re right over there behind the console.”
“Oh, sorry. Here you go.” Marisol tossed Isaac’s clothes in his direction, but they landed just out of reach, far enough for him that he had to lunge from his darkened closet and out into the light.
“You did that on purpose,” he sneered as he quickly held the tangled pants in front of him.
“Modesty went out the window a long time ago, in case you haven’t noticed.” Marisol motioned to herself. A pair of black panties was all she wore. If Isaac had waited a moment longer to make a noise, she would have been completely naked herself.
“I know, ma’am. It’s just…” Isaac stammered again.
Marisol wasn’t about to make the man explain himself. It was no business of hers how he felt. Besides, she was the one who barged in on them, unwittingly or not. “Hey, to each their own, right? And how many times to I have to tell you about that ‘ma’am’ shit? Do you see a badge on me?” She pointed to the spot on her chest where a gold star had rested for years.
“Yeah, about that, I’ve been meaning to ask you what’s been going on lately. Is everything alright? You loved that uniform,” he asked with an air of slight concern before he bit his lip and pressed a little further. “And Radzinski, what the hell is that all about?”
Marisol shrugged. “I know exactly what I’m getting with him. Besides, he’s hung like a fucking horse.”
“Sheriff!” Isaac blushed.
“What? Like you’ve never gone after the wrong one because of what he’s working with. There’s nothing more to it. Believe me.” She gestured to his state of undress. “You’re not the only one around here with needs, Isaac. As far as the uniform goes, I don’t need it. The clothes don’t define me. I put on that uniform to help people, and I can still help without it. I loved what it stood for. If Pepperbush needed me, I was there, no questions asked. The badge, the uniform, it helped me keep people safe and, well…” Marisol curled her lip before stretching her arms against a wooden overhang, allowing the joints in her shoulder blades to crack. She stood there a moment, arms outstretched, tapping her fingertips against the wood. “I’ll put it to you like this, Isaac,” she said. “I am far from done helping these people or any others we may come across in any way that I can, but that uniform, the one you’re still wearing, it represents Pepperbush, and Pepperbush is gone.”
“You did all you could for them, ma’am. A lot of souls made it out of there that night thanks to you,” Isaac offered.
“I refuse to beat myself up or even give a second thought to those we’ve lost. I did all I could, when I could. I have nothing to be ashamed of. No regrets here, but I choose to move forward. I have to leave the past where it belongs. Same as this conversation. Anyway, Isaac, I’ve got a swim to get to. Care to join me?” Marisol stripped off her panties and stood in the doorway, hand outstretched, her body a black silhouette against the fading sun outside.
Isaac paused for a moment. There she was, naked for the world to see and bathed in the day’s fading light. Her cards were laid on the table, and she was unafraid. Marisol never looked back or backed down. She’d always been that way, he realized. Nothing to hide. Ever. It only took an awkward moment in a shipwreck at the end of the world to make him see. He dropped his pants to the floor and took her hand. The gesture was liberating. The simple act of standing nude in front of her stirred a sense of confidence never before felt in the man. “I’d love to join you, Marisol.”
ISLAND: DAY SIXTEEN
On the deck of the Emerald Star, the dawn’s first rays broke over the horizon, already warming Vanessa and Lillian from a cool but not at all cold night’s sleep. The couple had been staying on the boat more often of late. Not a soul seemed to care. Lancaster, of course, grumbled, but no one paid him any mind.
Lillian rose first and slowly untangled herself from Vanessa’s limbs before rising to her feet and stretching.
“Hey, you. Been up long?” Vanessa asked, lips slightly quivering as she reached for Lillian’s hand.
“Only a minute. Sleep well?” she asked, tucking the blanket back around Vanessa.
“Mm-hmm,” she answered while wrapping the blanket around herself. “Didn’t
wake up even once.”
“Same here.” Lillian leaned on the edge of the boat, letting the warm sun engulf her face. Its warmth brought a smile and a sense of contentment she never thought possible.
Vanessa opened the sheet and pulled Lillian back down to the deck. “I could stay here with you forever,” she said as she wrapped Lillian up.
“Me too.”
Sunrise on the island was always quiet, peaceful. Jeremiah usually took this time to walk the beach and contemplate their current situation without the distractions of his fellow island-dwellers. Instead, he and Aiko woke Miller and Sam early for an impromptu but much-needed discussion on present and future issues.
“I’m of the mind that we should be leaving this place soon,” Jeremiah said without a hint of doubt. “We cannot stay here indefinitely, and people are becoming complacent. Just yesterday I witnessed two of them skinny dipping without a care in the world.”
“Since when did you become a prude? What’s wrong with that?” Miller’s face contorted with confusion as he handed Jeremiah a cup of coffee.
“Thank you. On the surface, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with the act. Do as you will. Enjoy yourselves while you can. I’m not here to judge. My point is that there wasn’t a weapon in sight,” he said accusingly. “At the very least they should have had someone standing guard.”
“And complacency breeds outright laziness if left to its own devices,” Aiko added. “I could name a half dozen of them right now who haven’t lifted a finger to help since we settled in. When we inevitably get back on the road, that behavior will be a liability that jeopardizes us all. I’ll defer to your judgment on this, of course, Miller, but you know where we stand.”
“While we’re at it, I have noticed some folks are beginning to splinter off into separate groups. We’re gonna need to keep an eye on that,” Sam commented.
The Roaming (Book 2): The Toll Page 23