“Ian,” whispers Isa. “Over here.”
I switch places with Hana as quietly as I can and hold the light over the other edge. There’s a mass of dead bodies in the water. None are moving. None are infected.
Josh takes the light and moves it to his side. “The bodies are floating in a tight formation. It would seem there’s a surface current pushing everyone together.”
“They’re all dead!” Andy yells and becomes silent again. I want to cover his eyes but I think he needs to see it. He’ll grow up in this dead world. So look, kid. Really see this. It will help you survive it.
Rice hugs Andy hard.
“It smells bad,” Hana mumbles.
Josh continues to look around with the light. “We’re caught in the same current. We’ll be floating with the corpses until we hit the lower bay and the current breaks up.”
Chapter 1.20
Hana:
We’re floating down the Hudson, surrounded by dead and bloated bodies. It smells terrible. I’d throw up if I had anything in my stomach. The flies bombard me, swarming all of us. I feel the tickle, then swat. On multiple occasions I scream, though only in my head. Squeezing my eyes shut helps drown out the world around me, but I can’t keep them shut. Inevitably, they pop open and I see the starlit shapes floating around us. The bodies seem to hold us like we’re being held in the chair by a crowd at a Jewish wedding during the Hora dance.
Ben stands. The boat rocks.
“What did I say about sitting down?” Isabella hisses.
“I have to piss.”
“I’m gonna rip that thing off.” She looks ready to launch over me and fulfill her threat.
“Fine, then get piss in your face. I’m going with or without a dick.”
Ben unzips, then pees. I want to cover my ears. Not because of the sound of urine splashing on the water but because it’s pattering on the body of some poor soul. Maybe they weren’t poor. Maybe they had it easy. None of these bodies have roots growing out of them. So they died in the beginning. They never chased, never tried to bite or tear, never had to starve to death like we might.
All the men take turns peeing over the side of the boat. Even Isabella somehow squats over the edge enough not to pee down her leg. I hold it. The pressure distracts me. Rice does the same. Ian passes around his water bottle. I drink because my throat is filled with razor blades. I know it’ll make me have to go even worse.
Eventually, the sky brightens as the sun rises. It’s the same sun as always. The same ball of warm light, same slow-motion revival and I’m glad the day has come. I pull my ponytail out and run my fingers through my hair. It makes my scalp feel good. I notice I’m shaking. As a cop, I’ve seen and experienced many scary things: perps with guns and no brains, AIDS patients cut and bleeding after downing a ton of pills, and my favorite, stampedes in the subways from terrorist threats. But nothing compares to last night. Alien things have taken over our world, and they kind of look like us.
Now that the Hudson has opened up and headed out to sea, the flotilla of the dead have broken up, though a few bodies remain, reminding us what will happen if we don’t get out of this tiny boat.
I’ve moved faster following parades. As the sun illuminates the landscape, I notice the Statue of Liberty on the horizon. Her arm is broken off and the wreckage of an Apache Helicopter burns on the islands edge. She’s broken, just like her country.
Tears fill my eyes and spill down my face. I became a cop because of how proud she made me feel. I hadn’t felt her power for a long time. Her purpose inspired a world to go down the road of tolerance. We were free here: free to thrive, free to fail, and free to lean from our mistakes. The idea that anyone could control an entire population is laughable! The true result of overwhelming fascism is total anarchy. And the nature of a large government or a large corporation is the same, repression. They are two heads of the same beast.
I wipe away my tears. The last thing this boat needs is the resident cop sobbing with sentimentality.
The shore of the island is only a couple hundred feet to my left. Movement surrounds the downed chopper. I see our frightening future — walkers everywhere. They’re still following us, watching us, hunting us in their clumsy blatancy. Thousands of them.
Isabella didn’t sleep at all. She stayed at the front of the boat all night, mostly in silence. Everyone else had managed to get some sleep.
Josh wakes up shortly after we pass under the statue’s shadow. “We made good time,” he says, yawning. “Must have been going just over two miles per hour on this thing.” Josh’s brain never quits calculating.
“We’ve been on this boat for thirteen hours,” I mention.
“Yup. And from Swindler’s Cove to here is about twenty-two miles. So that’s about right. Two miles an hour,” he confirms proudly.
Ian wakes up, hearing our conversation. “Have you guys seen any boats we can use?”
“No. We passed a dock about an hour ago. From what I could see, there were a couple of motorboats and a few masts sticking out of the water. Mostly it was empty.”
“There was probably a rush to the boats. Government had to shoot them up so no one would escape,” Josh replies.
He’s right. While I was guarding the Queensboro Bridge I heard the radio chatter about the boats making a break for New Jersey. The National Guard had to fire on a boat when they didn’t turn back, killing everyone on board.
“We have no idea how much area the EMP affected, but I think it’s safe to say there’s probably a three to four-hundred-mile area that is burned out. We won’t find any usable boats until we hit Atlantic City,” I reason. “Even then we may find that in the panic there was a rush to get off the land. Finding a useable boat might be extremely difficult.”
“I know where there’s a useable boat,” Josh says. He’s about to explode with excitement.
“Spit it out,” Isabella snaps.
“Back toward the city, just on the other side of downtown there’s the New York Seaport Museum. They’ve got old boats not affected by the EMP. Big sailboats.”
“Don’t you think someone would have taken those boats or they would have been sunk?” Tanis asks, with worry in his eyes.
Josh shakes his head. “Those boats are difficult to maneuver. Most date back to the early nineteen hundreds. Not great getaway vehicles.”
“What are you, a fucking pirate?” Ben snips.
“If they aren’t great getaway vehicles then how do you expect us to get away?” Markus asks.
Josh shrugs. “Different situation now. The main event is already behind us and the puppets are slow.” Josh pushes up his dark-rimmed, thick glasses. “All we have to do is get off the dock.”
“Worth a shot,” I say and look at Ian. He nods and takes one oar. We turn the boat back to New York and pull hard on the oars.
Rice starts crying. “I’m not going back there!” she exclaims. “Let me off first!” She stands, rocking the boat.
“Sit down!” Isabella orders. “Where the fuck are you gonna go?”
“I’m not going back there!” Rice cries, pointing toward downtown New York. “You can’t make me! It’s just death! Death!”
Isabella grabs Rice’s wrist and forces her to sit down with a well-maneuvered pressure point hold.
“Yeah, hold your shit a sec.” Ben stands up to protest. The boat rocks his way.
“If you don’t sit down, chubby, I’ll throw you in the river myself.” The intensity in Isabella’s stare forces Ben to sit. He raises his hands in silent protest.
Isabella turns to Rice then releases her wrist. “I want off this boat and on a bigger boat. You’re not gonna get in my way. You rock this boat again, I’ll throw you over, no doubt.”
Ian mediates. “Wait, hold on. Josh, is there another boat you know of that might be easier to get to? Maybe one that’s not on New York Island?”
“Yeah, but it’s in Virginia Beach,” Josh answers. “That’s four, maybe five days south.”
Ian nods. “Sorry, Rice. We’ve got to get a bigger boat.” He and I start rowing again. Rice closes her eyes and slumps down, not saying a word.
After a half hour it seems we’ve hardly moved. But Josh assures us we’re making good time despite rowing against the current. Isabella and Josh take the oars. They row for a while. I see the tall downtown buildings getting closer. Ben and Markus take a turn. They don’t last long.
Ian and I take the oars again. Together we churn the peaceful waters of the bay.
As we near Battery Park I can’t see any puppets. Trees fill the small park overshadowed by the huge downtown buildings. The trees block the view to the streets, which is why they were planted there in the first place. Beyond the park is a dock that holds the large warehouse-like ferry terminals bound for Staten Island and the Governor’s Islands. They’re quiet now, usually filled with tourists and workers and school kids on field trips. I don’t see the ferries. I have to look at the water for a while. The silence of the city so unnatural it gives me waves of sadness. The water, on the other hand, is supposed to be soothing and orderly in its shifting chaos, so I space out on the ripples and reflections. I row harder so I don’t think about the stress of my muscles or the roar of my blood.
As we row around the end of Manhattan I see the seaport. Ship masts tower over the heliport just in front of the ships. I’d seen these boats hundreds of times, but had forgotten they were there because of the heliport. Presidents, heads of state, and other very important people used this place. I’d been assigned as watch dog on more than one occasion when I was a rookie.
As we get closer to the heliport we start seeing puppets. There are some on the heliport dock that take notice of us. Others are gathering on South Street. No one says anything, but we’re all thinking this might be a bad idea. I notice Rice hiding her face behind her palms. I feel bad for her. She’s shaking. Even Ben is chewing on his dry lips, trying to keep calm.
Isabella and Josh take over rowing. It’s brutally slow. We see more and more puppets gathering. Once we had gotten to the Hudson I couldn’t see them. The river was too wide. But now it’s daylight, and we’re going to test our fate by trying to steal a wooden boat from a museum. Thousands of puppets realize where we are and they’re spreading the word.
“The huge boat with the black hull…over there…is the Peking,” Josh says proudly while rowing. “The Peking is called a barque. It’s fast and stable . . . and used to fly around Cape Horn, you know, the tip of South America.” Josh is out of breath so he hands the oar to Ian so he can talk.
“At over three hundred and seventy feet, she’s too big for us. And I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her on the bay anyway. I think she’s permanently tied to the dock. Now, in front of her is the Wavertree, but that’s not an option either. Non-operational. But right in front of the both of them is the Pioneer.”
The Pioneer has a black hull with a white painted deck. Its masts are black, but her bowsprit is white. It’s a stunning vessel, but I’d feel nervous about trying to sail it. There are ropes and lines everywhere. All of which I know nothing about.
“That puny one?” says Ben.
“It’s over one hundred feet long,” Josh replies. “She just looks small because the Peking is so gargantuan. The Pioneer is a merchant vehicle, a schooner rig with an eighty-foot mast.”
“Keep it simple,” Isabella says as she pulls the oar with every muscle in her body. She and Ian are working hard. They know, as do I, that the faster we get there the fewer puppets we’ll have to deal with.
“Pioneer is like a freight truck on the sea. She delivered anything and everything from sand to tea. She’s strong, has an iron hull, is over twenty feet wide, and, with her centerboard up, only 4.5 feet deep. She’ll get us anywhere we want…and fast,” Josh concludes.
“How do you know it’ll still work?” Markus asks.
“Well, she has a diesel engine that was added in the thirties. That type of engine would have survived the EMP.”
“Those things are following us again,” Rice mutters. “They’re going to be all over those boats soon.”
“Let’s hurry and sail away to some deserted island,” Tanis says with a shaky voice. He’s a trooper, that’s for sure. I put my arm around him and squeeze.
“This is all nice, but does anyone know how to drive that shit on the ocean?” Ben asks.
“I’ve sailed dinghies.” Ian replies. “I was twelve, so I’m not a captain or anything. Plus, my father had a Sunray 501. He was overprotective and never let me take it out, but I’ve been on it with him a bunch of times.”
“I’ve been on her,” Josh states, to no one’s surprise. “She’s got lots of room. Plus, a couple of years ago her rooms were totally decked out. You could even charter it with a five-star chef on board.”
“The name is fitting,” Markus comments. “Pioneer.”
I trade with Isabella. Ian and I buckle down and row as fast as we can.
“A lot of puppets on the dock.” Isabella counts. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
The main dock is taller than the deck of the Pioneer, but there’s a lower wood deck that we can use to get to the ship. The puppets seem to eye us thoughtfully. They anticipate where we’re going to dock. “Stop!” I call out. “We can’t pull up to the lower deck. The puppets will overflow that area and may get on our boat.”
“So pull up to the end of the big dock. There’s a ladder over there.” Ian says. “We’ll get their attention and push past them. Then we should have enough time to get to the Pioneer and cut the lines.”
Markus pulls his bat off the floor of the boat then hands it to Ben. “This is better than your two-by-four.”
“Oh, I’m being volunteered?”
“Stay here if you want. I got it covered.” Isabella says.
“What about your ankle?” Josh asks, but Isabella is on the move.
Ian and I row up to the end of the dock. Isabella slips on her backpack and two rifles. She grabs the handles of a ladder rung buried in the wooden pilings and climbs up and onto the top deck.
“Hand me my Beater Stick,” she orders. Rice hands her the bloodied and slightly bent pole. “I’ll clear the dock. Watch me. When the dock is clear, run to the boat as fast as you can.”
Isabella stands and turns to the crowd. They’re already pursuing her. She waits for them. The dock fills up with puppets faster than I thought possible. Isabella runs to the closest puppet, aims the shotgun at its knee and blasts the leg in two. She runs to the next puppet and kicks it square in the chest. I can’t look away. She’s so good, even as wounded as she is. Another puppet falls off the edge of the dock, the wake rocking our boat. She runs to the next one and shoots off its head then kicks it in the knee. The puppet’s leg breaks and bends backward. She squeezes off round after round. She kicks and pushes like a black belt until the dock is clear. More puppets approach. She will need backup soon.
Ian climbs onto the dock and grabs a rope. He tosses it to me and I tie it to the front of the boat on a small cleat. Ben gets out first, without consideration of the women and children, of course, followed by Rice and Andy. A legless puppet that had been laid out by Isabella grabs Ben’s ankle. He cries out. Rice pulls Andy onto her hip and runs toward the Pioneer. Ben bashes the puppet with his bat.
Tanis leaps onto the dock, rocking the boat heavily. He runs past Ben toward the boat. I watch him the entire time, feeling on edge. A strong protective instinct fills my body. I don’t have any kids, but I am a woman. When he’s safe, I relax. Then Josh slips on something strewn haphazardly on the deck. He cries out, but keeps moving.
Markus helps me off the boat. Puppet parts are everywhere and they aren’t dead. I pull my pistol from my holster. I know it won’t do much good, but if one grabs me I can do some damage. I fire one shot into the head of a puppet t
hat has white sunblock smeared on its nose and a camera draped around its neck. The tourist bleeds out blue liquid. I get a whiff of something rancid. It nauseates me. I keep moving, aiming at downed puppets as I hustle past them. They are still reaching and grabbing, moaning and screaming. There’s slick blue blood and guts everywhere. I wonder why they’re making so much noise. Are they communicating with each other?
Markus and I follow the others toward a metal staircase leading to a lower level that is even with the deck of the Pioneer. Ian had ripped down the small gate that keeps people off the stairs. Markus goes first. I ask Ian, “What do I need to do?”
“Just get on board,” Ian says quickly. “We do this fast,” he says, half smiling.
I climb down then cross the platform to the boat. I watch Ian run back to the rowboat and untie the line holding it to the dock. He runs back to the Pioneer, tugging the rowboat along. He tosses the line onto the deck. The line lands on the Pioneer loosely. I guess we’re taking the rowboat with us.
I look at Isabella. She’s not surrounded anymore but takes puppets down as they get close. She’s tossing most of them into the water. I think she’s out of ammunition. Even though she’s a bit of a pill, I’m glad she’s with us. She is tougher than most men I know.
“Isabella!” I yell. She turns, then runs to the stairs. When she climbs aboard I wait for Ian. He practically leaps onto the Pioneer. He turns and pushes the platform off the rails. It crashes to the dock.
We’re all aboard. The sun is hot and I’m sweating like a soaked sponge wrung out under the blazing sun. At last I feel like I can really inhale and stand solid. We’d been on that little boat for so long I’d lost my sense of stability. The Pioneer is big and solid, and I love it!
6th Horseman, Extremist Edge Series: Part 1 Page 17