“You’re right about that. We can’t afford to have anyone feeling like an outsider. Not now, not here,” Miller replied.
“It’s unreasonable to think we can stay here indefinitely. I’m beginning to wonder if some of these people consider this island the end of the line. I get the sense that the majority feel we can sustain ourselves on horse meat alone,” Jeremiah said with an air of astonishment.
“Jeremiah’s right. After all, this island is nothing more than a glorified sandbar. One good storm could wipe us out. There’d be no sign we were ever here,” Sam added.
“True, but the end of hurricane season is right around the corner. We’ve already discussed that. What’s the rush?” Miller asked. The sudden urgency to try to instill a sense of discipline onto a majority group of civilians seemed out of place in light of their new home, the first real home they’d ever known as a group.
“For one, the infected across the inlet have been growing in numbers daily. It was foolish to assume they would stay out of the water,” Jeremiah stated. “I’ve been studying them since they arrived over the past few days, and they’ve been testing the surf. An individual carrier or a small group of them will walk in our direction until a wave knocks them over. By the time they right themselves, they’ve usually been washed back ashore, down current, and the process starts all over again. Sooner or later, they will figure out how to get past the waves,” Jeremiah warned.
“Those are rough waters out there between us and the mainland. Even if they figure out the surf, there’s no way they can make it past the current,” said Sam. “I’m all for caution, son, but I honestly can’t imagine those things ever making it over here.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Are you willing to take that chance?” asked Jeremiah. “For the sake of argument, let’s say they do cross. Then what? This isn’t the road. We can’t just run away. You and everyone else, myself included to an extent, may feel safe here, but the truth of the matter is that we’re trapped.” Jeremiah slowly spun, pointing out the endless Atlantic on the horizon and the growing number of infected, which had no doubt originated from the resort, gathering just across the inlet.
Miller straightened his posture, as if the conversation had awoken a dormant sense of duty. “If we’re airing worries, then there’s also the matter of the swim if we lose the boats for one reason or another. I’m up for it again. Are you? What about Sam and even Lancaster? Zero chance Casandra makes that swim. I can pick out half of the civilians off the top of my head who have no chance at making it, either. No offense, Sam.”
“None taken. You’ll get no arguments here. Hell, I’m not sure if I could have made that swim thirty years ago.”
“So we need an exit strategy, but more importantly, we need to consider moving on,” Miller said, trying not to reveal his disappointment. “Some of them are not going to like it, but I really don’t see any other choice now that you’ve brought it up.”
“Correct. There is one additional immediately pressing issue, though,” Jeremiah added.
“Why do I get the feeling that what you’re about to say is what brought this talk up in the first place? It’s not like you to bite your tongue. What is it, Jerry?”
“I’m pregnant.” Aiko stepped forward and spoke before Jeremiah finished processing exactly how to go about revealing the news. Aiko stayed quiet for most of the discussion for this very reason, weighing the pros and cons of even telling Miller in the first place. More than once she considered pulling Jeremiah away and backing out of the planned reveal entirely.
“We’ve been hiding it, but that will be impossible soon.” Jeremiah put his arm around her, and it all clicked for Miller. The pair of them acting distant and setting up their own separate camp far away from the others should have been a clue that something was going on, but he completely missed it. In his contentment with the island, he had become blind to the details. What else had he missed?
“How far along are you, sweetheart?” Sam asked.
“Three months, give or take. I only found out a few days before we were deployed to Philadelphia.”
“That long ago. Why didn’t you say anything?” Miller asked.
“When was I supposed to do that? When we were running from infected or when we were being shot at? I’m telling you now.”
“Point taken. How are you feeling otherwise?”
“Morning sickness and cramps are manageable, and I can still run, but give it another six weeks and, well… Let’s just say I’d like to be in someplace a little more secure by then. Honestly, I’m fine. You wouldn’t know I was pregnant if I didn’t tell you. It’s Casandra that I’m worried about. I don’t want her giving birth on the road, and I’d really prefer not to have to do it here. We can leave now with an extremely pregnant Casandra or in a few weeks with a crying baby. I vote we head for the mainland, all of us. When we get there, we barricade the shit out of one of those hotels, soundproof an entire floor, and go from there.”
“That’s good enough for me. It’s settled, then. Getting you and Casandra someplace secure and out of the elements is the priority,” Miller said with a purpose not seen in weeks. “We’re leaving in forty-eight hours.”
ISLAND: DAY EIGHTEEN
Nisha awoke on the beach again. She had lost track of how many nights she’d spent out there, waiting and hoping Isabelle would come around. Warmth surrounded her body on all sides. She blinked, then covered her eyes. Wow, that’s bright, she thought. She must have passed out last night. Early morning, more like it. Why did she even bother anymore? The group would be leaving tomorrow, first thing, and Isabelle was nowhere to be found. Nisha noticed that the meal she offered her last evening was partially eaten. That was a good sign, although it was just as likely crabs could have been nibbling on it.
Nisha noticed a head out in the surf, just above the waves. It was staring back at her. It startled her for a moment, a million thoughts passing through her brain in a matter of seconds. She was on her feet and ready to dash back for camp when she realized the face staring back at her wasn’t one of the undead; it was Isabelle. Nisha gasped a sigh of relief as she approached the water. Smiling over her paranoia, she waved to her friend. “What are you doing out there, Izzy? Aren’t you worried about sharks or the undertow?”
As had been typical of late, Isabelle didn’t respond. Nisha assumed she wouldn’t, but she had to try, anyway. Isabelle merely stared back at her, eyes cold and lifeless.
“Why don’t you come on out of there, Isabelle? I’m worried about you. Let’s go see if Lillian’s awake yet. Would you like to talk to her today?” Nisha pleaded, trying not to sound demanding, but these little fits of Isabelle’s were wearing her thin.
Isabelle slowly swam toward shore, snaking left and right, taking her time, and toying with Nisha’s nerves.
“That-a-girl. Come on out of there. Let’s get you warmed up.” Nisha held up Isabelle’s ragged dress; it would have to do as a makeshift towel.
Isabelle emerged from the surf naked and bloody, a shiny blade in her left hand. A long crescent moon–shaped gash beginning at her right clavicle continued down and over her left breast, ending just below her right hip bone. The wound seeped blood. Everywhere from her chest to her feet was red with it.
“My God, Isabelle. What did you do to yourself?” Nisha shouted.
Isabelle remained listless while Aiko sewed her up under the mid-afternoon sun. If she felt the pain of hundreds of stitches, it didn’t show. She spent most of the operation picking grime from her fingernails. When that bored her, she would tug on fresh stitches, which of course incensed Aiko. Her little show, if that was what it even was, concerned those in attendance. Even the medics had never witnessed someone grow this detached and unstable so rapidly.
Lillian looked on in distress, eyes growing red, though she held back any tears due in large part to Vanessa’s presence at her side. Isabelle hadn’t bothered to say one word to her since their arrival on the island, and it hurt. The more Lillian dwelt on
the issue, the more she realized that her mother hadn’t spoken with her at all since her father and brother died. The realization turned grief to ire as she wanted to scream at the woman.
Look at me. I’m your fucking daughter, goddammit! She wished she could roar but couldn’t. As furious as she grew, Isabelle was still her mother, and whether she deserved it or not, at this point, at the very least, she would have Lillian’s respect.
Others in the group had gathered around, curious to catch a glimpse at Isabelle, considering most hadn’t even seen her since their arrival.
“Do you think she was trying to kill herself?” Samantha asked.
“Suicide by shark? No fucking way. Who’s ever heard of such a thing?” said Elliot.
“Who’s ever heard of the dead returning to life?” Marisol added. “Yet here we are.”
“Well, tell me then: why would anyone cut themselves and then go swimming in the ocean?” Nisha asked rhetorically, still visibly shaken.
“I don’t know, but I think the woman has a death wish. That much is clear. If we let her, she will become a danger to us all,” Marisol said sternly and without remorse.
“We could leave her a gun and supplies. When we find a safe place, maybe we send someone back for her,” Elliot suggested.
“No, she’d be trapped on this island and most likely not make it through hurricane season,” said Miller. “We’ve come this far together. We take her with us. This isn’t even a discussion. I refuse to leave Tobias’s widow alone on a deserted island, no matter how far gone she is.”
“Studies suggest she’s just as likely to suddenly snap out of it or progressively get worse. There really is no way of knowing,” said Jeremiah.
Aiko finished up with Isabelle, who casually walked off afterward. “Isabelle really fucked herself up.” Aiko was in disbelief. She shook her head back and forth slowly as she watched Isabelle disappear back out beyond the waves. “She started cutting somewhere just above her left collar bone, down over her left breast, across and down her stomach, then over her right hip bone and off the top of her right thigh. She took it slow, too. It was easily a twenty-six-inch-long gash, deep enough to need attention but far from life-threatening, even on a nearly deserted island—almost as if she knew what she was doing. And that’s what worries me the most.”
Rather than gawk at Isabelle, most of the others decided to get a jump on preparing the boats for the next day’s journey. Halfway to the boats, Bernie sat down, his arms full of supplies, and silently stared off into the distance.
“What is it?” Casandra asked, wrapping her arm around Bernie’s waist in the process.
“I sure would have liked to check out that lighthouse while we were here,” Bernie said, adjusting his hat while staring at the landmark.
“Well, it’s not like you were pressed for time.” Casandra elbowed him in the ribs. “Besides, Soraya said the place was a wreck, anyway.”
“I know. I just would like to have seen it myself, is all.”
“Aww, there’ll be other lighthouses. Just you wait,” Casandra replied. “I am going to miss that shower, though.”
Bernie smiled. Casandra hugged his arm, forcing him to drag her along to the boats and dropping half of his supplies in the process.
Camp was quiet that final evening. The mood had soured thanks to Isabelle. The group spent its last night on the island, sorting through their dwindling supplies. Everything they couldn’t live without was in one pile. Everything else was in another. It would be left behind for anyone else who might find themselves in need. A never-ending supply of horse meat and whatever seafood they bothered to catch gave most of the group a false sense of security. Hot showers and miles of private beach only exacerbated the feeling. In the almost three weeks spent on the island, nearly all the Pepperbush survivors fell victim to apathy of one degree or another. Even most of the soldiers were not immune to the island’s charms. In reality, they should have left a week ago, maybe more, and Miller knew it. It only took a conversation with a trusted friend to make him see. He had become just as complacent as those Jeremiah had warned about. Miller was sure that a large portion of the discussion that morning was Jeremiah’s way of pointing out Miller’s own shortcomings, and it worked. They would be leaving in the morning.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Migration
The streets of Poseidon’s Rest were empty, save for trash and discarded items blowing in the ocean breeze. Up and down the main drag, buildings were boarded up and ransacked, or in more than a few cases, only burnt-out shells remained. Corpses in all stages of decay littered the pavement. Most had obviously been gnawed upon by human teeth. Others were dismembered and scattered. Wild dogs chewed on a corpse in an adjacent alley, rending flesh from bone. Many of those feral animals still adorned collars, a grim reminder that in the not-too-distant past, most of these man-eaters were someone’s loving pets.
“Oh my God, that’s horrible.” Samantha shied away from the grisly sight. She turned to Markus, covering her eyes.
“This way. Come on. Don’t look,” he said as he put his arm around her, directing her away from the gore.
None of this went unnoticed to Damon as he walked a few meters behind them. He raised his hand into the shape of a mock gun. Pointing in Samantha’s direction, he made sounds of false gunfire. Radzinski snickered at the display. Elliot pretended not to see it.
Jeremiah was indifferent to the carnage; he took little notice of the gore and destruction. This was life now, and in his eyes, the faster you adjusted, the better chance you had at survival. “It’s in their nature. Every living creature will do what it must to subsist. Survival remains the basest instinct that drives us all, man and beast alike.”
Radzinski leaned in to offer his two cents on the observation, whether welcomed or not. “They’re just hungry dogs, Jerry,” he whispered, perhaps trying to spare the one member of the group he respected embarrassment. “No need to get all deep on us.”
Jeremiah ignored the comment but continued his observation of the ruined city just the same.
Lillian listened to the exchange and couldn’t help but steal a peek in her mother’s direction. Isabelle’s attempted cannibalism only a few weeks ago would not soon be forgotten. Everyone was starving, and of course, they all wanted to live, but if Aiko and the others hadn’t stopped her, Isabelle would have surely eaten Ayn’s flesh. The love she once felt for her mother was slowly fading in the face of what the woman was apparently capable of now that half of her family had been killed. It was selfish of her to act like this. To cut herself off from the group was one thing, but to completely ignore her daughter was unforgivable. Lillian lost her family as well that night. That trauma shouldn’t have been her mother’s burden to bear alone.
Isabelle walked apart from the bulk of the group, close enough so as not to be constantly reminded to keep up but far enough away that it was clear she wanted to be left alone.
The sight of her mother still wearing that threadbare gray dress disgusted Lillian. “If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was one of them,” she finally said.
Vanessa simply rubbed Lillian’s back as they walked. What more needed to be said on the issue? Day by day, it was becoming increasingly clear that Lillian had lost her entire family that night at the cabin.
Vanessa periodically turned to look back at the horizon. The home she grew to love in only a few short weeks was nearly invisible in the distance.
“You keep looking back. The island’s getting pretty small now, isn’t it? What, did you forget something?” Ryan asked.
“No, no. I’m just wondering if maybe we should have stayed after all,” Vanessa replied with a final glance back at the place.
“I was thinking the same thing.” Ryan gave the island a final look himself. “If I asked, I know Rachel would have said yes.”
“Then why didn’t you? A few more people on board might have changed my mind, too.”
“Because she worries about him.”
Ryan nodded toward Miller, who was up on point. He returned to form as soon as they put boots down in Poseidon’s Rest. “She admires the guy,” Ryan continued. “I can respect that, and she wouldn’t be able to live with herself wondering every night if he made it or was dead in a ditch somewhere.”
“We’ll make it someplace where we can all settle down,” Vanessa replied. “I really believe that.” She kept her eyes forward this time. No more looking back.
“Let’s hope so.” Ryan tightened his bag’s straps and picked up the pace.
• • •
The road-weary survivors roamed the city’s abandoned streets for what seemed hours. Every building they passed was either completely destroyed or long ago looted of vital supplies. Coming upon the first halfway decent vehicle they had seen since leaving its boats behind, the group stopped in near unison. It had done this before with no luck. Elliot dropped his bag and leaped behind the wheel. He didn’t know the first thing about a functioning vehicle, much less one left in disrepair.
“What does he think he’s doing?” Casandra asked.
“Not a clue. This should be good,” Bernie replied.
Elliot fiddled with exposed wires beneath the dash. Obviously someone else had tried this and failed. He would have loved help, but it was clear that no one else was interested in this heap; they just wanted to move on. Frustrated, he slammed his hands down on the dash, bringing the car’s long-dormant alarm system to life. The warning was deafening. Its piercing whine echoed off the empty buildings and down alleyways for blocks in all directions.
“For Christ’s sake, turn that thing off!” Miller yanked Elliot from the car. He dove into the driver’s seat and fiddled beneath the dashboard, yanking out every loose wire and fuse he could reach. Nothing he did would stop the incessant sound. “What did you do to this thing?”
“I don’t know. I just leaned against it, man. It’s not my fault.” Elliot paced outside the car, hands to his head in panicked desperation.
The Roaming (Book 2): The Toll Page 24