“Where have you been, Idris Elba?” Raul asked. A crowd had formed around Conrad, and Raul’s voice was laced with more than a little suspicion.
“I wandered off along the shoreline there. Took a break under a huge tree and fell asleep. I woke up and came back here,” Conrad said, his eyes straying to Hawk’s mutilated body.
“Did you see Lilly or Sheryl?” Saura asked.
“Or Geoff?” Ping added, as he gagged and cleared his throat.
“No.” Conrad seemed to realize they might accuse him of something, and his eyes widened. “What’s happened here?”
“Don’t know,” Maureen said. She knew Conrad better than everyone except Lilly, but Maureen hardly knew him. They’d only met that morning at the airport, but she knew enough to know that Conrad was no fool. “Tim and I followed the path in the island’s core. Raul, Ping, Wendy, and Saura were also in the interior. We heard screams and headed back here.”
“Along the way, we found this,” Tim said, as he unrolled the leaf and displayed the finger with pink nail polish.
“That’s Lilly’s,” Conrad said, as he bolted upright, and reached out to take the finger as though it was the last piece of Lilly on Earth.
Tim drew back it back, out of Conrad’s reach, and rolled it in its leaf wrapper. It grew silent, and Maureen took in a long breath of fresh air, and bit her lip. She found it amazing, and somewhat ominous, that the Glades could go from a total cacophony of natural sound, to silence in a moment. It was nature’s alarm, and in the silence that alarm rang in Maureen’s head like a siren.
Raul and Wendy seemed to notice the quiet also, and they looked around, searching the forest for any signs of their missing companions. “We need to do something with Hawk,” Raul said.
“And find Lilly, Sheryl, and Geoff,” Maureen said.
“Maureen, you’re a nurse, right? What do we do with Hawk? Can’t bury him. The water table is so high you can’t dig here but a foot before you hit water. Can’t build a can, there aren’t any rocks. We could burn him, but somehow that doesn’t seem right. So what?” Ping asked as he sucked phlegm from his throat.
As a nurse, Maureen was expected to be an authority on everything. There was nothing a nurse didn’t know, and no boundaries to her vast store of useful knowledge. Truth was nurses, in general, were smart, well thought out, persistent problem solvers who used their skills constantly and thus keep them finely tuned. In this case, she was unsure.
“We’ll call for help,” Ping said, sucking mucus. He fired up his phone, and this sent everyone digging for their tech like they’d just been released from prison. Those who had battery power had no signal, and when they found Hawk’s emergency GPS radio, they discovered it didn’t work.
“We have to do something about the body, or the animals will solve our problem for us,” Maureen said. She was reluctant to foist upon them what she had realized some time ago; everyone’s vacation was over. She bit her lip, and felt the scar on her neck throb. “I think we need to wrap him as best we can with wet blankets to keep the body as cool as possible. Then we need to paddle him out.”
“What about Lilly?” Conrad said.
“And Sheryl and Geoff?” Ping said. He cleared his throat like a foraging pig.
No one responded. Flies, gnats, mosquitos, dragonflies, and beetles clogged the air. The Glades appeared untroubled, unhurried, and in a state of constant calm. The affairs of men, and their petty problems, meant nothing amidst the tall sawgrass and cattails. In the distance, a limpkin wailed, wild, strange, and eternally sorrowful. Above, a steel gray snail kite labored into the wind, head down, searching for apple snails. Its bill and legs glowed orange in the afternoon sun and its rump and under-feathers were white as snow. Maureen remembered reading that snail kites had been on the endangered species list since its creation.
Raul said, “Should we split up? Half look for the women, and the other half goes for help and brings Hawk’s body?”
Maureen never thought splitting up was a wise decision. There was strength in numbers, and whatever—or whoever—had killed Hawk was still on the loose. “The living are more important than the dead. We should all look for Sheryl, Geoff, and Lilly.” Maureen said it without thinking, and immediately thought she’d shared too much.
“I have an idea,” Wendy said. They all paused and looked at her, waiting. “We break the backrest out of his kayak, stuff what’s left of him into it, and seal the cockpit with rope and branches. Then we put it as high as we can in a tree.”
Things didn’t always have to be complicated. In fact, the best plans never were. Maureen’s mouth dropped. Recovering, she said, “Good idea. Wrap the body in wet blankets and put it in a plastic cocoon. Then we can come back and get him after we find the others.”
“Like, how the heck are we going to mark our spot? Anyone have any idea where we are?” Saura didn’t sound panicked, but she wasn’t calm. She twisted her hair around her index finger so tightly its tip had turned purple.
“There’s a map with his things,” Wendy said.
Maureen smiled. Wendy was coming around, and she needed her. No further discussion appeared necessary, and they went about preparing Hawk’s body for its kayak casket. Raul created a sling to pull the boat high into a cypress tree where it could be held between two thick branches and secured with rope. Maureen wrapped and wet the body, and what was left of Hawk fit easily into his plastic coffin. Wendy and Ping climbed the tree to guide the plastic sarcophagus, and everyone else pulled on the guide ropes, lifting the deceased into the air with ease. They went through Hawk’s stuff and found the map. At Maureen’s urging, Tim slung the rifle on his shoulder, and handed Hawk’s hunting knife to his wife.
Maureen and Tim got ready to move out, but it looked like some of the others were settling in. They hadn’t discussed a plan. Did they need to? She went to Raul, who was pulling a beer from his cooler. The body gone, and out of mind, he was resuming his party.
“What’s the best way for us all to look? Pairs of two? Here is our home base?” She was asking. Asking the same way she did when she “asked” a doctor or patient when she felt they’d crossed a line.
He opened his beer, took a long pull, and then looked at her with a smile she didn’t like very much. “What’s your rush, Nurse Jackie?” When she didn’t respond, he said, “Yeah. That sounds smart.” Then he giggled. “Hey, man, what’s in that shit you gave me?” Raul lurched past her toward Conrad.
Maureen’s neck scar burned as she clamped down on her lip. She wasn’t their mother, or their nurse, or anything to these people at all. She could control her own actions, and to some extent, Tim’s, but if the others didn’t want to search, how could she make them?
Conrad was getting ready to head into the cypress trees, and Tim was comparing notes with him. Raul stood next to Conrad, talking at him, but Conrad ignored him, and continued to pack up his things, conferring with Tim as he did so. Maureen went to Saura and Ping, who were also resting. Saura appeared dazed, and Ping looked put out, like a designated driver chauffeuring around a carload of drunks.
Maureen caught his eye, and mouthed “ride,” and the thin Asian man nodded and made his frog sound. A thought bounced around her head, and she tried to brush it away, but couldn’t. Maybe the ride was causing people to become unbalanced. Perhaps that’s what happened to Hawk?
“Are you guys going to search?” she asked Ping.
“In a bit after we rest,” he said.
Maureen nodded and went to join Tim, who was still speaking with Conrad. Raul had wandered off, and she wrote him off as useless until his ride was over. “We’re going to follow the path along the shoreline and work our way around the island. Conrad is going across the island,” Tim said.
“Wish you hadn’t given them that stuff, Conrad,” Maureen said.
Conrad looked up from what he was doing. “I gave it to them before—”
“Yeah, well it’s knocking the crap out of Raul and Saura.”
�
��Everyone’s ride is different. Body chemistry and all that,” Conrad said, as he hefted his pack. “We’ll see you here later?”
“Yeah, we’ll be back by dark, or sooner if we find them,” Maureen said.
Conrad stalked into the trees.
In the Glades, sawgrass creates and defines the ground on which it grows. The Everglades have been called a giant river obscured by grass, and as Maureen and Tim skirted the edge of the sawgrass field, it became clear how invasive the plant is. They followed the path around a bend, and their kayaks and companions were lost from view. Grass filled the shallow water that encroached almost up to the trees where the peat path meandered and curved around the water’s edge.
They came to a section where the vegetation was pounded down badly. Every few feet there was a drip of blood, and it was clear something had been dragged that way. Neither of them wore high boots, so following the path was impossible because of the water, the grass, and what lay within.
A scream rose above the sounds of the Glades, and it was close. Maureen ran down the path, leaving Tim behind.
Chapter Seven
“When the boys hit the brew! When the boys hit the brew! When the boys hit the brew!”
At first, Don thought he was dreaming, the loud music tearing through the room like a gust of wind. The walkers were fleeing, and as fast as he’d been trapped under a mountain of flesh, he was free.
“When the boys hit the brew! When the boys hit the brew!”
He didn’t recognize the song, but it was some kind of death metal, because the tune was a jarring cacophony of guitar and drums that would have shaken the windows and rattled the walls had there been windows and walls left to rattle. Don sat up.
A man wearing a gasmask, and dressed in jeans, a flannel shirt, and orange gloves stood over him. At his wrists and ankles were bands of silver duct tape that sealed his improvised biohazard suite. Behind the large glass lenses of the gasmask, eyes the size of quarters stood out against the man’s dark brown skin. He blinked as sweat dripped in his eyes. His shirt’s armpits were soaked through, and he held a hockey stick before him, a speaker taped to its end. A wire ran from the speaker into the man’s pocket, where Don surmised he kept an iPod or some such.
The sheetrock dust settled, and the energy in the room eased as his adrenaline levels fell. The tips of his fingers tingled, and he scanned the room expecting to see walkers coming at him. Don took deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He’d been in dangerous situations many times, but that was only the second time he’d come that close to death.
The first time was something Don didn’t like to think about. He’d built a wall around that portion of his life, and though it was healthy to remember the past so you didn’t repeat it, Don was comfortable excising that portion of his life. But that was never possible. The scars ran too deep, and the good memories of halting his fall made him what his was. If he hadn’t gone through everything he had, he might never have met Agent Massie, or realized his full potential. He’d pulled out of the dive then, and he would now.
The horde was gone, and the man shut down the music. “They don’t like loud noises. That’s why I was surprised at how they came at you,” the man said, as he reached down to help Don up. The image of the sleepwalkers holding their heads in pain after they broke through Teapot’s walls came back to him. “I don’t have any guns, so I thought this might work.” He proudly held up his hockey stick with the speaker attached to its end.
Don rose and patted himself down. He’d lost everything. His ID, weapons, sat phone, watch, belt and knife, shoes, jacket and tie. He wore his underwear, torn pants, socks, and a shredded white T-shirt. The good news was he felt no cuts. Music man had shown up just as things were about to get nasty.
“Thanks for the help,” Don said, and he put out his hand.
“No worries. I’m Lester,” he said, taking Don’s hand.
Don laughed, and Lester stared at him through half-closed eyes. He brought up the sound gun, and Don laughed some more. The realization that he was currently in the deepest shit of his life had left Don relieved. He’d been reborn and stripped of everything he held dear. He had no weapons, no ID, no way to communicate with command, and had lost his entire crew.
In the end, training took over, and Don moved forward in a daze, his body knowing what to do. It didn’t matter how Don felt, or what he thought was right. He went forward because that was all he knew how to do.
“You see us come in?” Don asked.
Lester nodded as sweat dripped in his eyes.
“You see what happened to my men? My van?”
He nodded again, then said, “You were a cop? Or higher up?”
The use of the past tense aggravated Don, but he pushed it down. “I’m the federal agent that shut the city down, and I need to find out what is causing people to… ” He shrugged. “I guess what I’m asking is, what do you have going on today? Your country could use your help.” That was Don’s final card, the one he rarely played.
Lester laughed. “Yeah. Problem is my country hasn’t been there for me.” There was a long awkward silence. “You were a SEAL?” Lester asked.
“Yeah, how did—?”
Lester pointed to Don’s tattoo, which was clearly visible through his torn T-shirt.
The hooting and yelping outside was getting loud, and Don felt a crowd might be forming. He cracked his neck and calmed himself. This guy had to want to help. The way he was dressed, and the way he talked, made Don think he might be enjoying his real life video game and may have no interest in getting out. He was living the dream, and for Don, this was further proof that the human race as he understood it had been doomed long before judgment day in southern Florida.
“Look. I want to hear your story. I do. But if we don’t get out of here now, I might not be able to,” Don said.
“Bull. I got this,” he said, as he held up his speaker-stick.
“Look. These things are smart. They’ll figure out how to cover their ears. Then what, genius?”
Lester’s entire body sagged. He said, “There’s a way out in the basement. A tunnel that goes to the old garage. The maintenance people had to use it so the people who lived here didn’t have to see them walking across the property.”
Don searched the apartment, but all the guns were gone, and he saw nothing that could be used as a weapon. He was in the bedroom, putting on some of Teapot’s sweatpants and shoes, when he saw the elaborate bedpost that tapered off to a point with finely carved finials. He snapped one off and held it in his hand. It felt good, and it could be used in close combat until he got something better. He finished his ensemble with a purple jacket with rhinestones down the sleeves. Mrs. Teapot’s wardrobe was much closer to Don’s size.
Though Lester looked ridiculous, he’d executed a basic emergency biohazard suite. At this point, Don didn’t see the point in him duplicating it. If the stuff was airborne, he was already infected.
They left Teapot’s place, and crossed the foyer to Lester’s apartment. He had a backpack, and they filled it with some canned food and two large bottles of water. They took all the cheesy knives from Lester’s knife-block, and Don duct taped one to the end of his pointed club.
A low buzzing sound filled the room, and Don opened the refrigerator. No light. He flicked the switch on the wall. No light. The power was out.
“We need a couple guns and some ammo,” Don said.
“And some pure caffeine powder, or caffeine pills. Coffee at least. Got me?” Lester said. He was watching Don as if he were a sick animal.
Don felt fine, but he knew that meant nothing. Lester didn’t need to know that, though. “I’m fine. Not a scratch on me.”
“Thanks to me,” Lester said.
“And that’s why I will get you out of here if you help me.” Behind the thick glass lenses of his gasmask, Lester’s eyebrow lifted. “Did you know Teapot? What he did?”
“Drugs. Everyone in the house was a customer except me.”
“Rick Dempsey is the main ride dealer ‘round these parts. Everyone knows that.”
“Except the cops, apparently.”
“Oh, they know. But he’s a rich guy with powerful friends. Got me? Even the feds tried to nab him once, and he walked,” Lester said.
“Why do you know so much about it?”
“Sherri is my sister. This used to be our granddad’s house.”
“I’m sorry, Lester. But you saw me bring those others awake. Maybe we’ll be able to save her.” That made Don think of those people he’d helped. They’d either fled during the attack, or had returned to their sleepwalker state.
“Maybe.”
“You know where this Dempsey guy lives?”
“Yeah, he’s over in Chicken Key on Biscayne Bay. I went over there with Sherri a few times. You need to shit gold and piss Cristal to live over there,” Lester said.
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