COLD FAITH AND ZOMBIES

by Sean Thomas Fisher

  A little further out, he pulled back on the throttle and gently turned the boat around, letting it idle in the calmer waters. They watched the cruise ship slam into the sandy beach and covered their ears when it made a horrible screeching sound as it dug up huge piles of rolling sand around its front end. It teetered to the left, causing dozens of zombies in flip-flops to catapult over the railings to the shallow water below. Most didn’t get back up. The ship’s momentum sent it crashing through a pink beach house, splintering the home’s extensive wood deck into airborne pieces. Vacationing flesh-eaters hurled themselves over the railings into the sand and water below as the ship docked into its new port.

  He and Wendy watched them drown, one after the other, after unsuccessfully attempting to reach Wavy. They were the only souvenirs those things wanted now. Finally, the mighty vessel and its terrifying racket stopped. Seagulls screeched overhead, either angry about all of the ruckus or excited for some new scraps. Other flesh-eaters wavered behind on what was left of the beach, watching their shipmates drown. Their sun burnt faces looked confused as they hulked back and forth along the shoreline like bewildered cavemen. Not happy with the results, they shambled on for greener pastures down the way. Paul had an eerie feeling he had talked to some of them on the radio the day before.

  “Well, so much for sleeping in peace at night!” Wendy said, not taking her incredulous blue eyes from the dreamlike scene.

  The sunshine streaming through Wavy’s cabin was a welcome intruder, extinguishing the cold air from the night before. They could see for miles around now as Paul and Wendy sat on the L-shaped couch not saying much.

  A wispy trail of white smoke rose from the end of her cigarette into the air. She exhaled a rumbling cloud that briefly interrupted the trail and shook her head again. “How could that even happen?” she asked, curled up beneath a blanket.

  “They must’ve been at sea when the outbreak began.”

  She squinted at him. "Then it could be flu shots, couldn't it? If it was a land based infection, they wouldn't have gotten it until they came back to shore."

  Paul raised a corner of his mouth and shrugged. "Who knows," he said, staring across the calm water.

  She snorted, expelling a plume of smoke out her nose. “So what’s next? An oil tanker? Or an airplane?”

  Paul glanced to the blue sky in the distance. It had been so quiet up there since the whole thing began, reminding him of the days following 9/11. He felt like they had gone back in time to when the only things that could fly were birds and bugs.

  “There must be a ton of huge ships lost at sea right now,” Wendy muttered, staring blankly at the coffee table.

  “Maybe there’s some kind of radar up top that could give us a warning if something gets too close again. I’ll have to check.”

  Silence mingled with the morning sunlight washing into the room as Wavy gently rocked back and forth with its anchor firmly wedged into the sea floor below. Paul rose from the couch and looked out the windows in the living room again. It was clear of any runaway nightmares. For now. He let out a sigh and turned to Wendy.

  “You hungry at all?”

  “Not really.”

  "Me neither," he said, going through the kitchen cupboards anyway. "Eventually we're going to have to make a food run but not for a few days. I say we just chill out and get our heads on straight for a minute."

  Wendy shivered, like she had just seen the same Target corpse he had imagined this morning in the bathroom. It would be risky alright. Anyone could see that.

  "We've got plenty of food and water a few days."

  She looked up to him. "As long as we have plenty of booze and smokes, I don't really care."

  Paul grabbed the manual from the coffee table and went over to the flat screen TV in the wall and opened a door next to it, where he found the system's components inside. Before they knew it, they were asleep on the couch with Fool's Gold playing on the TV in dazzling Blu ray as Wavy Gravy gently rocked back and forth.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  They slept away the afternoon and woke up feeling even more tired than before. The heat of the battle, fueled by days of junk food, had finally caught up to them.

  "Can you imagine if there wasn't any food on here?" Wendy asked, blowing on a steaming spoonful of Ramen. "I couldn't do another food run right now. I have zero energy."

  Paul took another bite of the Ramen and nodded, keeping his puffy eyes on his dinner.

  Wendy snorted and wrapped the blanket tighter around her. "I still can't believe it."

  Paul stuffed some more barbeque Pringles into his mouth, wondering which of a million recent tragic events she was having a hard time digesting this time. Dan? Brock and Cora? Sophia? ZIPs? Human extinction?

  "A friggin cruise ship!" she said, with a hopeless chuckle. "You couldn't write this stuff."

  He kept eating. They had to be dead already because this couldn't be possible. It defied the realm of human comprehension. A dull thud began rotating in the far recesses of his brain, so he pushed the invasive thoughts as far back as he possibly could. Outside of the occasional runway cruise ship, there was a flip side to being nice and safe on a boat like this and that was having too much time to think. And watching a movie wasn't going to have what it takes to be much of a distraction. The ghosts in his mind wouldn't let it.

  "You okay?" Wendy asked.

  His eyes met hers. "Yeah," he said, leaning back into the couch.

  Wendy pushed her bowl forward on the coffee table and swallowed one last bite. "That stuff is nasty."

  The light glow in the cabin created thick shadows that reminded Paul of his dream of Sophia's shadow in the Kohl's store. In hindsight, it seemed more like a grim premonition than anything else. But then again, the way people were dropping like flies these days, just running out of flashlight batteries could be considered a dour omen. He exhaled and rubbed his face.

  "There's got to be other people out there," Wendy murmured with unfocused eyes, just as lost in her own thoughts as Paul was in his.

  "We should start working our way along the coast. We'll find something," Paul said, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. "We've got the siphon."

  "Which way? Towards Florida or Mexico?"

  Paul envisioned shambling drug cartel members in ripped jeans wandering the streets of Mexico, searching for victims. Just like they always had. "Florida," he said.

  Wendy got up and grabbed another beer from the mini-fridge. "I've never been to Florida."

  Paul yawned. "If we haven't run into anyone by the time we get to Florida, we're in some serious trouble." He chuckled and massaged his temples.

  "Do you have a headache?"

  "A little one."

  "There's some aspirin in the bathroom."

  He closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the couch as a wave lapped against the boat's side. He could feel Wavy tug on the anchor as the thud in his head grew closer.

  "We're never going to make it are we?"

  He cracked his eyes open and stared at the ceiling. "We'll make it."

  She studied him for a moment and then took another drink from her beer can.

  He yawned and closed his eyes again.

  "You're probably right," she said, not sounding convinced of her own words.

  He peeled his eyelids apart and stood up. "I think I'm going to hit the sack."

  "We just got up."

  "I know."

  She watched him start down the short hallway to the master bedroom. "Hey Paul?"

  He stopped and turned around.

  "Can I sleep with you tonight?"

  His eyes narrowed, watching her shiver beneath the blanket.

  "I don't like that room."

  He looked out to the ocean. It was so dark outside, he couldn't tell the water from the sky. "I'll drag a mattress into the room. You can have the big bed."

  "I can sleep on the mattress."

  "I got it," he said, going into the smaller room and dragging one
of the bunk bed mattresses into the master bedroom.

  When Paul woke up the next morning on the floor, his head felt congested with the same dull thump from the night before. It came and went in casual intervals. He sat up and stared at Wendy stretched out in the master bed next to him. He winced when he saw her purple butterfly tattoo. Flashes of the strip club's dressing room and he and Sophia on its worn couch slipped through his mind in a painful slideshow. He felt guilty for spending the night with another woman and wondered what he was thinking. This was not the way to respect Sophia's memory and she deserved that much. After all, he had already abandoned her.

  “Hi,” Wendy whispered, startling him in the process.

  He forced a smile into Wendy’s blue eyes. “Hey,” he returned, getting to his feet and doubling his headache in the process. He tried rubbing his face in his hands which didn’t help. Neither did the fact that he had to pee like a racehorse.

  “Did you sleep okay?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Yeah,” she said, yawning.

  Silence crept into the room, giving way to the waves smacking against the side of the boat. He started for the bathroom.

  "What are we going to do today?"

  He stopped and shook his head. "I don't know."

  She nodded, seeming disappointed he didn't have all the answers.

  "First thing I'm going to do is take a leak."

  She grinned. "Sounds like a plan."

  He turned for the door and unlocked it.

  "Hey Paul?"

  His hand felt the cool door knob. "Yeah?" he said, without turning around.

  "Thanks for letting me sleep in here."

  He stared at the door, turned and smiled. Awkward silence swept across the room again as he tried to think of something to say, but the pounding in his head wouldn't let him collect the right words.

  A thud came from somewhere in the living room. Their heads snapped on a swivel towards the bedroom door in a heartbeat.

  “What the hell was that?” she asked, sitting bolt upright in bed.

  “I don’t know,” he said, whipping the door open and poking his head out into the short hallway.

  “Oh no,” languidly slipped from his stunned face.

  “What is it?” she yelled, throwing the sheets back and getting to her feet.

  He took a quick step out into the hall and darted back into the room.

  "What's wrong?" she cried.

  "They're all over the place!" he said, slamming and locking the wooden door.

  Her jaw dropped. "What?"

  They could hear more of the things begin hammering on the sliding glass door in the living room loud and clear.

  Wendy's eyes bulged. "How is that possible?" she screamed.

  Paul scanned the room, trying to remember where the guns were.

  Wendy went to the door and reached for the lock. He grabbed her just as the sliding glass door shattered all over the living room carpet. Wendy screamed.

  “Get back!” he yelled, putting his back to the door. He figured the heavy door and lock would buy them at least five or ten minutes before they managed to break it down.

  “What the hell is going on, Paul?” Wendy screamed in a panic, hurriedly throwing on some jeans and tennis shoes.

  “The anchor must’ve came loose,” he replied in between deep breaths and scrambling to get his own shoes on.

  “What? What do you mean?” she yelled, tying her shoes.

  “I mean they’re all over the damn place!” he said just as the first meaty fists reached the bedroom door, causing them both to jump.

  “How is that possible?”

  He went to the small port window and looked out. He squinted in the early sunlight. “We’ve drifted to shore," he said grimly, watching at least a half a dozen of the walkers hobbling down the beach and splashing through the shallow water towards them.

  Glass broke out again in the main cabin and the boat shifted. Wendy stumbled into Paul as the sloppy pounds on the door grew in volume and frequency. As did the moans and grunts.

  “What’re we gonna do?” she cried, frantically looking around the room.

  Paul scanned the room with her, already knowing there were no guns inside the master suite. Already knowing they had gotten too complacent. The shotguns were under the couch and the handguns were in two of the top kitchen drawers, useless to them now. Nonetheless, he yanked open a night stand drawer and found a half-eaten Baby Ruth bar, a half a pack of smokes and two red lighters.

  “Damn!” he roared, slamming the drawer shut and triggering a bombardment of blows on the other side of the bedroom door, in what must now be a very crowded hallway. Their wet snarls and throaty grunts sounded like they were already inside. His eyes bobbed about the small room. Everything was nailed down to prevent sliding in rough seas. He couldn't even get a hold of a lousy table leg.

  “Don’t even tell me we don’t have any guns in here!” she yelled, whisking her eyes from the vibrating door to the other night stand. She yanked its drawer open to find an empty peanut butter M&M’s bag, a small Kleenex pouch, and two hair ties to be the lone tenants. “This is not happening!”

  Paul whipped open the small closet door, nearly one hundred percent positive there were zero guns in there, as the things continued to pulverize the door behind him. His head snapped back around at one particularly strong blow, positive the door would give right then and there. When it didn't, he turned back to the closet. Wendy poked her head in next to his to see some clothes that weren't theirs, a few boxes of stuff and some stray fishing poles.

  “There’s gotta be something!” she insisted, starting to dig.

  Paul backed up and looked up to the small vent letting light through the ceiling above them. As with the porthole window, only a cat or a small dog could get out that way. His eyes went back to work roaming the room. As the number of snarls increased, he backed into the far wall and dropped his head. Then he slid down to the dark blue carpet and pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, finally grasping the fact that he wouldn’t be going back for Sophia’s pictures after all. Realizing she would remain alone on that hill forever and everyone who even knew she was there to begin with would soon be dead. She didn’t deserve this.

  “Damn,” he said under his breath while rubbing his face, more pissed he could’ve been so dumb than anything else. He looked over at the shuddering door as clothes flew out of the closet. He turned to see Wendy’s full moon bouncing wildly in the air. Why didn’t they use two anchors? Or three? He pounded the carpet with a closed fist.

  Wendy stopped her excavation and turned to see Paul sitting on the floor. The top to someone's black bikini slid out of her hand and dropped to the floor with her hope. “How could we be so stupid?” she asked.

  He shook his head. She wiped her face with her hands and let her eyes rove freely. When they came full circle, she walked over and joined him on the floor and cried as the fists banged harder and desperately jerked on the door handle. It shook worse than them. “How long do you think it will hold?” she asked, looking at the door.

  He let out a long exhale. “Not long.”

  Tears cascaded down her pallid cheeks as reality, once again, set its grimy meat hooks in. “I don’t wanna end up like one of those things,” she whispered, as if maybe the things would go away if they couldn’t hear them anymore.

  But they remained relentless in their pursuit of dinner.

  Paul wrapped an arm around her. "I'm sorry," he said in a low voice.

  Wendy dropped her head onto his shoulder, flinching with each anxious hammer on the door.

  He could feel her tears hitting his shoulder.

  “It’s not your fault," she said with a big sniffle. "Without you, I would’ve been dead a long time ago. We just weren’t meant to...”

  He pulled her closer and she opened up the water works. A rotting fist suddenly punched through the small porthole window, causing them to re
coil into the wall. The dirty, yellowed hand reached and clawed at the air, desperate for acquisition but could only go so far. The owner’s tireless growls and gnashing were crystal clear in the room.

  Paul wrapped his arm even tighter around Wendy.

  She dropped her eyes to the floor. “At least you’ll have someone waiting for you."

  “You’ll have someone too,” Paul responded, almost on auto-pilot, not wanting this conversation to be their last. Those things would like that too much.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” she replied, looking back up to the writhing hand in the room.

  The bony fist clenched and unclenched as it clawed through the air. The blasts on the door soon spread to the walls. Those things were going to get in one way or another.

  “I wish I’d had the chance to know you better, Paul,” she suddenly said, lifting her head from his shoulder and staring into his sunken eyes.

  Their stare lingered for a moment longer as Paul searched for a proper response, something sensitive yet settling, but her kiss bailed him out of it altogether. Her lips were salty and chapped. He pulled away. The ZIP’s hand still snatched madly at the air, pursuing its supper with a relentless aggressiveness.

  "I'm sorry," she sobbed.

  “I’m the one who's sorry,” he said, taking a deep breath that made a weird wheezing sound. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

  She snorted as a splinter popped from the door onto the floor in front of them. Their eyes went to it like magnets. Then another splinter bounced next to it. She tried to smile at him. “Thank you for staying with me.”

  He chuckled. "Thank you for staying with me. I know I haven't been the best company in the world lately."

  She leaned her head back and smiled warmly at him. "You had more than every right to be sad and angry."

  The mangled arm finally gave up and pulled free from the port window. It was quickly replaced by a disfigured face with strips of flesh ripped away to reveal bone beneath. It sniffed at the air and slowly turned to them on the floor across the room. Paul watched it study them with cold eyes. He felt like a steak in a butcher's case as the man's nose twitched up and down at them. Wendy buried her face into Paul's shoulder again. The thing hissed like a serpent and disappeared. Then its arm returned, frantically grabbing at the air once again with a renewed spirit.