The Roaming (Book 3): Haven's Promise

by Hegarty, W. J.

  “Sound off!” Miller ordered.

  “Aw, fuck, mate.” Ahole spat out a mouthful of bloody dust.

  “Still in one piece,” Cortez answered.

  “Aye,” Ulrich replied as he helped Genevieve to her feet.

  “I’m up here, guys.” Alex stood in the exposed stairwell. She leaned into the abyss for a better view of her companions.

  “Oh no.” Ahole’s arms dropped to his side. “Bull.”

  “Alex, find another way out!” Cortez shouted. “Tell Petrova to call for immediate evac now! Go!”

  Bull was motionless. His leg was twisted and bent back up and underneath him, and his head bled profusely from massive blunt-force trauma. The child sat up, crying atop Bull’s chest and rubbing dust and debris from his eyes.

  The collapse broke away the wall connecting the apartments to the adjacent building. Carriers—once safely trapped in another building—spilled out of the exposed cavity and into the debris field.

  “Ulrich, Ahole, get Bull now!” Cortez shouted. “Everyone else, put these fucking things down!”

  Miller still wasn’t fully upright as the dead crawled toward him through the debris. He rolled over, grabbed a broken cinder block, and bashed the thing’s head flat before spinning to his feet. He drew his sidearm and put down two more that were closing in on the crying child and defenseless Bull. Genevieve cleared a wide area around her with her naginata. Ahole and Ulrich used the opening to reach their teammate. The Aussie yanked the crying child from Bull’s chest and tossed him to Miller.

  “Keep his head steady!” Ahole shouted at Ulrich as the much stronger man took Bull’s upper half.

  Cortez and Genevieve cleared a path to the exit—smashing skulls and dismembering the dead—as they struggled through the debris. More undead fell from above, blanketing the twenty or so feet between them and freedom. The group pushed through over mounds of debris and bodies until their forward momentum was halted. The dead were converging from all sides when the main exit of the collapsed building swung open violently. Petrova, Simon, and Alex joined the fray. A hail of bullets tore through the carriers. Heads exploded, and limbs blew apart, then fell to the ground. In seconds, the dead were cleared from their companions’ path.

  Out in the street, Joel watched over the frightened children. He kept them busy by tying bedsheets to an old door to be used as a makeshift gurney. Alex had thrown the door down from above before her descent.

  Miller, Cortez, Ulrich, and Ahole muscled the door that carried Bull through the city streets. Haven was close. Tears streaming, Petrova repeated the distress call long after her throat went hoarse.

  ~~~

  Deep in the bowels of Haven near de-cons’ exit into the larger ship, Cortez and his team were in a standoff with Todd and his security. Cortez tried to ignore protocol and rush Bull straight to the infirmary, but Todd wouldn’t budge. The security chief’s numbers were amplified by the warehouse and de-cons staff, who fell under his jurisdiction. Cortez and his team were outnumbered at least four to one.

  “He wasn’t fucking bit, Todd!” Cortez shouted. “None of us were. I won’t say it again!”

  Todd hurled his clipboard across the steel floor. “No one gets past this room for seventy-two hours! No exceptions!”

  Vadim was told of the emergency evacuation order called in by his daughter. He, too, was in the stowage area, shouting at Petrova.

  “Now is not the time, Father!” Petrova shouted. She was furious at the man for acting so callous in the face of a dying friend.

  “Now is absolutely the time!” Vadim shouted back. “This is precisely the kind of incident I’m talking about!”

  Vadim attempted to grab Petrova by the arm, but she yanked it away in defiance. They continued shouting back and forth, first in English, then Russian and back again. Their words were drowned out in a sea of escalation.

  The lines of friendship—or at least the lines of camaraderie—blurred as one side of the line insisted that a teammate’s life was more important than protocol. The other side insisted that without rules Haven was lost and that the risk to the safety of the ship far outweighed one man’s life. Not everyone in de-cons saw it that way, but Joelle was forced to make an impossible decision—one that was chosen for her. She would never disobey Todd.

  Joelle pleaded, “I don’t want to do this, Genny.”

  “Neither do we,” Genevieve hissed back through clenched teeth, fists at her sides. “Let us pass.”

  Tempers continued to flare until they reached a boiling point, and as his reputation would suggest, Krysler crossed a line. “He knew the risks and he broke protocol anyway. Fuck, Bull. Toss him overboard; he’s already dead.”

  “Aw, fuck this,” said Ahole as he took a swing at Krysler; it connected. The blow sent Krysler’s hat tumbling through the air.

  With that, it was on, and no amount of words could convince either side to back down. Cortez and Todd traded blows and were surprisingly evenly matched considering the size Todd had on him. Miller was jumped by a group of de-cons workers from behind. He easily dispatched them but was caught off guard by one of Todd’s security officers and a well-placed left hook that left his head ringing. Joelle grabbed Genevieve by the shirt, but the former police officer kneed the woman under the rib cage, doubling her over in agony. With Joelle bent over, Genevieve fired off a knee into Joelle’s face, smashing her perfect nose and sending her flying back, unconscious, into a pile of scavenged loot.

  A warehouse worker and a de-cons guard held Ahole’s arms as Krysler went to work on his stomach and ribs. Ahole used his pinned arms as balance to lean back and kick Krysler in the face, putting him out of the fight. Two more of Todd’s goons ganged up on Ahole and proceeded to beat him unconscious. Ulrich swung his giant hands around the fracas; each blow that landed knocked one of Todd’s men out. He was eventually overwhelmed by sheer numbers and brought down. Petrova and Simon were fast, but they couldn’t dodge this unrelenting wave of de-cons workers and stowage staff indefinitely and were quickly subdued. Alex didn’t fare much better. The oldest rescued kid, Joel, held the other children back, who by this point were all wailing. Miller and Cortez were the last two standing. Back to back, bloodied and bruised, they prepared for a final onslaught when a single gunshot rang out.

  “Enough!” Captain Kayembe shouted with ferocity. He stood mere feet away from the large group about to beat Miller and Cortez into submission. His gun was pointed at the still-open hatch. The captain’s own private security flanked him—more than a dozen men strong, all in full riot gear and armed with shock batons. Captain Kayembe pointed to the medics who had entered the fray with him. “You two, get that man medical attention now!”

  Jeremiah and Rodrigo rushed from behind Captain Kayembe and placed Bull on a stretcher. They hurried him off to the infirmary without a word.

  “You should all be ashamed of yourselves.” Kayembe scowled.

  Todd attempted to stand by the captain’s side, but the man sidestepped him.

  “I’m referring to you and your men. One of our own is at death’s door and you deny him treatment?”

  “There are rules, sir,” Todd replied in a state of angered confusion.

  “Goddamn your rules, Todd!” Kayembe shouted. “Your rules don’t apply today.”

  Captain Kayembe toured the carnage as the wounded began to rise. “All of you are behaving like a pack of wild animals. Why the hell do we even bother keeping this ship afloat if we’re only going to tear ourselves apart at the first sign of disagreement? You act as if you’re no better than some ragtag group of marauders pillaging the roads.” The captain turned to the excursion team leader and asked, “Cortez, were any of your team bitten?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Can you be certain of that?”

  “Absolutely, sir.”

  “And these new people, can you say the same for them?”

  “I can, sir. No one was bitten. I’m sure of it.”

  “That settles it th
en. Cortez, Miller, escort your people out of here. In light of Bull’s accident, we will forego quarantine today. But I want each of you to see Doctor Nazneen for an evaluation before the day is over. That goes for the new arrivals as well. Ahole, do you need medical attention?”

  “That’s a negative, sir.” Ahole was finally back on his feet. “If it takes five of these pussies to lay me out, you think any one of them hits very hard?”

  “Point taken.”

  Joelle stumbled forward; her nose gushed blood.

  “I need a doctor!” she slurred, panic-stricken.

  “Then by all means go.” Captain Kayembe pointed in the direction of the exit. He turned his attention to the man responsible for the brawl. “This is shameful, Todd. I thought you were better than this.”

  “Sir, I can explain.”

  “Not another word. You and every one of your people involved in this embarrassment are officially on house arrest for one week.”

  “Sir?”

  “You are to report to work every day as scheduled. Afterward, you will be confined to quarters. All of you.” Kayembe pointed at each one of Todd’s men who were gathered around. “Now get out of my sight.” Kayembe strolled past the dispersing masses to personally greet the group of rescued children and welcome them to his ship.

  Genevieve rolled over onto her back; she was moaning as she slowly rose to a seated position against a bulkhead.

  Alex crawled over beside her and spat a mouthful of blood on the floor in front of them. “Safe place to live, you said?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Grind

  Morning in mechanical was more of the same for Marisol. Over time, she had grown used to the constant hum of the machinery so far below where most people lived and worked. She didn’t even hear the noise anymore, though she could still feel the hum constantly reverberating in her chest. Marisol clocked in and then grabbed a cup of coffee, the worst she’d ever had. Weeks later and she had never developed a taste for it; it was better than nothing, she had to remind herself daily.

  From there, it was on to the locker room where Isaac babbled on endlessly about Julius, a handsome Jamaican guy who worked day shift at the pool bar. Ames barely said a word to anyone, and Catherine would go on and on about engineering schematics that didn’t make a lick of sense to the once small-town sheriff. And then there was Tate; he would daydream about being on the road with Cortez and the excursion team. He endlessly droned on about the excitement and the sense of adventure he witnessed in his short time on the road with them when they rescued him so many months ago. Tate was a dreamer for sure, but at least he sought change; he sought to better himself. Of all her coworkers, Tate, as unlikely as it was, was the only one who understood Marisol’s frustration. Maybe it was merely youthful exuberance, but it didn’t matter what it was because the kid knew he belonged someplace else—anywhere but here. She humored all of them as best as she could, Isaac included, but the monotony of it all was taxing.

  Marisol sat down on the bench in front of her locker. “Hey, Tate, you got a minute?” she asked and took note of Catherine, who was lost in thought as she watched Ames sitting in front of his locker. It seemed that these days everyone wanted something more.

  Tate zipped up his one-piece uniform to just below his navel and sat beside Marisol on the bench while he tied his boots. “All I’ve got is time.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “On the ship or in mechanical?”

  “Either, both.” She sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Well, let’s see, Cortez and his team picked me up I’d say six months ago, maybe. From there I was placed with Ames pretty fast. I did a stint in the kitchen before they saw that I was mechanically inclined. Naomi and her people are pretty good at matching us up with where we belong. Why do you ask?”

  For Marisol, the notion that Naomi and her people were anything but incompetent at matching people up with suitable employment was laughable, but she kept that to herself. “Do you ever feel like maybe this just isn’t enough? Like you’re wasting your time here?” She stood, zipped up her jumpsuit, then swung her locker door open and closed again. She continued opening and closing the door until it clicked for Tate that what she was doing was her visual representation of the repetitive nature of their lives. When he eventually nodded that he understood what she was saying, she gestured to the locker banks surrounding them and to their coworkers at the other end, who were seemingly content with the grind.

  Tate scratched the back of his neck; he made sure Ames couldn’t hear what came next. “Wasting my time? No, what we’re doing here is essential, each one of us. But I’ve got to be honest. I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to get out there. I want to be on Cortez’s team and see the world or the country or what’s left of it. You know what I mean. It’s ironic, you know. At first, I wanted nothing more than to get off the road. I jumped at the chance when they found me. Shit, I couldn’t get here fast enough. But yeah, as the months wore on, I got bored. Sure, it’s safer here—obviously—and I’m fed, but I don’t know. Look, I know there’s something more to be had in this life and I don’t think I’m going to find it in the bowels of a ship. Anyway, I’m rambling. Why do you ask?”

  “I’m not even sure, but it sounds like we have similar concerns. I don’t want anyone to take this the wrong way because I am grateful for what Cortez did for us and Haven has been wonderful, but it’s just not enough. I need something else but I’m not sure what that is. I don’t know. I guess I’m just thinking out loud.”

  “I heard that. Hey, your secret is safe with me. Sounds like you’ve got cabin fever. One day you’re on the road—fighting for your life—and the next day you’re on a permanent vacation. It can take some getting used to.”

  “Maybe you’re right. Thanks for listening, Tate.”

  “Anytime.”

  Marisol left the locker room to begin her day. Tate’s words hung with her for the remainder of her shift and the shifts that followed. Getting off of Haven was the answer—she was sure of it—but how? What would she say? Thanks for the save, but I’ll take it from here. You can just drop me off at the next stop. Was it even that simple to disembark? Was that even an option? It occurred to her that she had never heard of anyone other than the excursion teams leaving the ship. That thought gave her pause.

  ~~~

  The kitchen was bustling with activity in the early-morning hours. Cooks and servers were moving in tandem, filling hot plates with fresh food for the hungry masses. Real eggs were supplemented with their powdered counterpart and a side of onions and potatoes was prepared by the pot-load. Lancaster struggled to keep up. Even weeks later he just couldn’t get into the rhythm and was subsequently bumped back down to dishwashing.

  Lancaster fumbled with the hot dishes as best as he could, but the scalding water was too much for his delicate hands. To speed things up, he was placed back on fish-scaling duty, where he made the cardinal sin of attempting a shortcut and was immediately fired. He was caught throwing away fresh fish in a desperate bid to lighten his workload. Sweet Lips was furious over the waste of perfectly good food; the old man had to go. Naomi was going to place him in janitorial, but Marisol used what little pull she had with Ames to put a stop to that.

  The Pen was a small farm where Haven’s livestock was raised. It was located on the far end of deck nine, opposite and away from where the Elite gathered above. The smells emanating from the Pen didn’t agree with them. With a farm—even a modest one like the Pen—comes shit and lots of it.

  One of the earliest attempts at raising livestock aboard Haven resulted in a devastating failure. A section of one of the lower decks down near de-cons and maintenance was set aside and prepared to house animals—chickens and pigs, mostly, and a few goats—but the stench was unbearable and ventilation couldn’t keep up with the odor. People that lived and worked in the proximity of the farm suffered from coughing fits, and illness swept through nearby decks.

>   There existed a real danger of disease. The medical staff feared that the coughing fits could develop into bronchitis or worse. If the ship suddenly came down with a flu-like epidemic, the strain on an already low supply of antibiotics would have been too great. So the idea of an indoor farm was nixed, and it was shut down and relocated.

  The Pen, as it was dubbed now, resided in the former spot of a failed open-air garden. Livestock now had room to graze and a shelter to retreat to at night or during bad weather. This location was much easier for cleanup as well. The task was now as simple as hosing an area down and scrubbing the pens with buckets of seawater and bleach once the animals were corralled into temporary holding pens.

  Lancaster didn’t know the first thing about animal husbandry. At first, the smell only made him gag; by the end of his first hour at his new job, he had puked three times. His new boss found it quite humorous. For Lancaster, the experience should have been a lesson in humility; it wasn’t. This new job—much like his first in the kitchen—only amplified the self-imposed chasm he had erected between himself and his peers.

  He was given a deck brush and a bucket with a rope attached to it. The chickens and pigs were put away before Lancaster was tasked with scrubbing their grazing area. After only cleaning a few feet worth of the space, really only a couple of dozen passes with his brush, his bucket of water was already foul. He dumped the filth overboard, tossed the bucket behind it, and retrieved fresh water with his rope. Maybe the kitchen wasn’t so bad after all, he imagined. He would have even preferred to work with Marisol over this. In a previous life—and not so long ago—Donald Lancaster was a mayor, a man of respect. He had been for more than a decade. Now he was reduced to cleaning shit.

  ~~~

  Ahole and Joel sat at Bull’s bedside every morning since he got out of surgery. In those early days, when it was expected that Bull could pass at any moment, Ahole stayed morose. He had no tales to tell and no witty remarks for the infirmary staff. He just stared.