The Queen of the Dead

by Peter Meredith

  Giving direct battle was only better in that it would get all that over with faster. “I’d rather go down swinging anyway,” Mike said, forgetting that he had advocated running for it not long before. “And they’re not going to get their hands on the Saber! Everyone promise me. Who’s ever the last alive will burn her or blow her up.”

  They promised and went back to work. Their conversation died away as the hours slipped towards midnight. After completing each battery, Mike would reach over and casually brush Jenn’s hand. They would look at each other and smile. Somehow this made things alright. Or at least alright enough for them to continue working until they were all too tired to go on.

  In the morning after barely six hours of sleep, Jillybean was up and fully charged. She threw herself into the work of creating the drag chutes. They were simple as could be: inch-thick chains wound through a double sheet of canvas with stiffly reinforced eyeholes. The chutes weren’t designed to absorb the weight of the barge, but only to add force in opposition to any spin that might arise.

  It took two hours to accomplish this and during that time, as she always seemed to be, Jillybean was everywhere perfecting this bit of the barge or inspecting her patients of which she deemed that only four still needed IVs. Amazingly Rebecca Haigh was one of those that didn’t.

  When Jillybean unhooked the IV, the girl stood with great difficulty, her emaciated legs shaking beneath her. She then looked as if she were about to fall. Jenn and Johanna jumped to catch her, but she pushed them gently away and bent at the waist in an ungainly bow.

  “Sorry. I know I’m supposed to curtsey, but I can’t just yet.”

  “Maybe tomorrow,” Jillybean said.

  Miss Rebecca shook her head. “Not maybe and not just tomorrow. You saved me when no one else could have. I’ll always curtsey and you will always be my Queen.”

  Visibly shaken, Jillybean nodded and left the sickbay with quietly murmured excuses. Once outside it was her turn to look like she might faint. When Jenn asked her what was wrong Jillybean pulled her away. “I nearly let her go. You know, like that boy.”

  Jenn remembered the boy; she would never forget that horror. “But you didn’t. You saved her. You’re still a good person, no matter what.”

  Jillybean let out a high shriek of laughter and walked away, her head shaking. She was in a touchy mood until they got the chutes rigged and manned. When Mike pulled away in the Saber with Jenn on board, they were both convinced that if the barge didn’t ride true, they’d be able to hear Eve from across the river.

  With the wind right on their back quarter, Mike tied off the Saber with fifty foot lines. It didn’t leave him any room to maneuver if things went bad, but thankfully the chutes worked like a charm. They had to be watched closely, and the teamwork between the crew of the Saber and the barge had to be fairly exact for them to keep to the center of the river.

  The wind was steady from the northwest but as the river swung back and forth running as straight as a snake’s back, it was a struggle to keep things perfect. Luckily the river was wider and deeper than it had ever been back before the apocalypse. Dams had failed and water stealing canals had long ago filled with silt.

  The current swept them along at about four miles an hour and the wind added another four, though this came and went, sometimes stronger sometimes weak as a child’s breath.

  It was thirteen hours of running the chutes in and out and bleeding the wind for all the Saber was worth before they crawled out onto San Pablo Bay, that wide stretch of water that was really just the northern extension of San Francisco Bay.

  Here they lost most of their current while at the same time they picked up a healthy breeze. With so much room, Mike lengthened his cables and let out all the sail he could so there was a white froth at the Saber’s keel.

  The sun had long since set and yet there was still a glow—this in the north where the fire Eve had lit still raged. Thankfully it was too dark to see the destruction she had wrought from one edge of the Golden Gate all the way to Napa. Four hundred square miles had been turned to cinder.

  James Smith, the ex-slave, had been give command of the Floating Fortress as Jillybean had christened the barge, and now asked in his deep rumble, “Where do we park?”

  Jillybean hadn’t smiled much that day, but now she grinned. “Where do we anchor might be the correct question. The answer is here. Make sure the anchor doesn’t slip. While I’m away, you will be in charge.”

  He bowed before asking, “Where are you going?”

  “The scene of the crime, of course. Well, one of my crimes I should say.”

  Chapter 34

  Jillybean had not spent her day worrying over the sailing of the boat or the activity of the chutes she designed. Once she saw that James and Mike were acting in proper coordination, she went to work on the detonators, radios and a half dozen other minor items.

  By mid-afternoon she had done all she could to prepare for the coming battle, as far as she could, that is without complete information of the enemy, potential allies and seeing possible battle sites with her own eyes. To everyone’s great surprise she napped most of the afternoon away. She wanted to be fresh because once they cast off from the Floating Fortress she expected to take over piloting the Saber.

  Mike wouldn’t hear of it. As exhausted as he was from the long stressful day he still insisted on remaining at the wheel. “I know these waters,” he explained. “I know their dangers better than anyone. I know where the shallows are and the shoals. Even in the dark, I know which shores will suck us in and dash us to pieces.”

  He was loud and, as always when it came to sailing, somewhat pompous. Again it was a surprise that Jillybean said nothing. She deferred to his greater knowledge and settled in next to Stu, the hood of a heavy black coat thrown over her head to keep out the chill wind.

  As close as he was to her, Stu was not fooled. He saw her watching Mike as they glided silently across the water.

  This part of the trip was uneventful and soon enough he yawned and this was followed by more until Mike said, “Maybe I could lay down for a couple of hours, but keep to the center of the bay.” Before slipping away, he spent five minutes detailing the many dangers of the seven-mile wide neck of water that connected the two bays. “And I’ll be right in the cabin if you need anything. So don’t hesitate. Oh, and she has a tendency to fall off if you don’t keep the main stiff as a board…”

  Jillybean only nodded over and over until he finally went below with Jenn.

  “He’ll make a great mom someday,” Stu joked.

  “I feel bad for Jenn. She has to share him with a boat of all things.”

  Stu snorted, “I have to share you with algebra and synthetic chemical reactions, but you don’t hear me complain.”

  A soft laugh, barely heard above the passing wind, escaped her and she squirmed in closer to him, keeping one foot up on the wheel. Mike would have had a fit if he saw how complacent they both were. With miles of sea room and a calm steady breeze out of the west-northwest, there was little danger as far as sailing was concerned.

  The danger, and the reason they were riding southwest, lay in the possibility that the Corsairs had returned to Grays Harbor and outfitted themselves faster than logic and human nature suggested. The wind had been against them both coming and going, and yet if they had thrown together a few blankets, a little ammo and barely enough food, it was conceivable that the four of them would find San Francisco Bay crowded with Corsair boats.

  After three hours of the smoothest sailing Stu had ever witnessed, they crossed between the Belvedere Peninsula and Angel Island where the wind slackened the slightest bit. Even in the deepest sleep, Mike sensed the change and was instantly awake and on deck seconds later.

  He gazed out at the black hump of land and then at the stars and finally at the sorry state of the Saber’s sails. Fixing a plastic grin in place, he said, “How about I take over for a little bit. I bet you’re both tired.”

  They really w
eren’t. They had spent the time snuggled up to each other, talking quietly at times, but more often than not enjoying the serenity of the night.

  “It’s killing you isn’t it?” Jillybean asked.

  “No, no of course not,” Mike answered, feeling his chest tighten and his throat close. “It’s just, you know, you have the boom thrown too far forward and look at these knots. They’re…they’re really a good try. And…” He saw what could only be dirt on the wheel and was that part of a shoe print?

  The smile faltered.

  “I was trying to keep us going as straight southwest as we could go,” she said, pointing purposefully west. He cast an alarmed eye in the direction she was pointing and then turned quickly to look up at the North Star, creases cutting across his brow. Jillybean hid a smile behind her hand as she went on, “And we couldn’t get the anchor all the way up. It’s been dragging a bit and knocking on something.”

  “What?” His face took on a stricken look as though the news had afflicted him with a deadly disease. He hurried to the anchor line.

  Jillybean burst out in high laughter which only grew as Mike pulled on the anchor line and found it as tight as ever.

  “We’ll let you take over, Captain Mike,” Stu said, pulling Jillybean over to the bench. The very idea of torturing him, even in this small way was darkening her eyes and turning her smile cold instead of happy.

  “What’s this about the anchor?” Jenn came up out of the cabin, her hair in nearly as explosive of a state as Jillybean’s. “Is there something wrong with it?”

  Mike retied the rope holding it, just in case. “No. They’re just poking fun.” He hoped. To make sure, he set Jenn holding the wheel exactly on a southwest course, and went about the Saber checking everything, causing Jillybean to giggle uncontrollably.

  She sobered quickly as they came closer to Pelican Harbor and the charred remains of Sausalito. The hill looked darker than it should have as they tacked into the wind. The maneuver was made without a single snap of a sail. They were as silent as the night and the only sound were the buoy bells.

  Some were close—the buoy announcing the presence of Cone Rock was just off their starboard side, while the Pelican Harbor bell clanked off to their left.

  If the Corsairs were there, they’d know in seconds. The tension mounted swiftly and Mike kept a sweaty hand on the wheel, while Stu took up the boom rope, ready to bring it around in a flash if they saw the harbor crowded with boats. It was empty to the point of desolation. Not even the docks remained. Only jutting, blackened spears were left.

  Jillybean stared, unable to take her eyes from them. Stu nodded to Mike. They came around smoothly, heading southeast now, aiming for Alcatraz. Two miles swept under them and as it did the tension grew in three of them. Jillybean was still staring back as they came up on the “Rock.”

  It’s one dock was empty save for the Puffer and three smaller sailboats.

  “No sign of them,” Mike said, the relief obvious in his young man’s voice. “So what now?” As he waited for Jillybean to answer he turned the Saber up into the wind. To him the Saber was like a falcon: it was most deadly when it could fly down on its prey.

  It took Jillybean a moment to come back from the dark memories haunting her. “To the bridge,” she decided. They could see its looming outline from a full two miles away; a long way for Jillybean’s needs and things grew worse as they came up to the southern tower.

  “How far across is it?” she asked. “Anyone know?”

  “About a mile,” Mike answered. “Maybe a little less. There’s a tourist stand on this side of the bridge. I don’t think there’s any pamphlets left but there’s this big picture with all these facts on it. There’s a map of the bay that pretty good, too.”

  She immediately wanted to see it. Wishing he hadn’t said anything, Mike sent them on a course for Torpedo Wharf, a crumbling length of concrete a few hundred yards from the bridge. “Fenders out!” Mike hissed, not wanting to so much as scratch his boat. He had no idea how he was going to give her up when the time came.

  Once they docked, there was little danger to the boat and Mike was able to part with it temporarily. Holding hands with Jenn made the separation easier as the four of them headed for the bridge. They heard a number of unhappy zombies moaning at the crescent of moon that hung over the city, but none were along their path and very quickly they were staring up at a large faded picture of the Golden Gate.

  Using a small beamed flashlight which Stu covered with his coat, Jillybean read the dimensions with a sigh. “Forty-five hundred feet across. Damn. This is going to be impossible.” No one asked what exactly would be impossible. Too much seemed impossible just then.

  She stared at the map for nearly half an hour, muttering to herself strange configurations of words. “Three hundred feet deep. That won’t work. What about anchoring from above? That’ll save me…seven hundred and fifty feet and the need for actual anchors. But think of the weight!”

  Without warning she walked in a small circle, staring at her feet and arguing with herself. Finally she stopped and asked Mike, “Are the Islanders fighters? Please tell me they are because if they’re anything like the Hill People we can’t win.”

  “A few can fight. Half maybe. So, do you think we should run?”

  Now that she had seen Alcatraz close up she knew that even running away was a pipe dream. “Do you really think they would pick up everything and abandon their home based on my word?”

  Mike’s mouth dropped open. “Oh jeeze, wow, I never thought about that. No, I guess not.”

  She didn’t need to ask Stu the same question about the Hill People, he was already shaking his head. Jillybean bit her lip for a moment before asking, “Okay, do you think they’ll defend their homes based on my word?”

  Stu answered this with a definite: “Maybe. It depends on what you ask. If it’s outlandish, then no, they probably won’t. Also, don’t expect them to crown you Queen. That’ll never happen in a million years.”

  For a flash, Jillybean’s eyes went black as the night and there was a snarl on her lips. She turned away, once more walking in a wide circle around them, whispering to herself. When she returned she was holding her face in rigid neutrality as if it was a strain to hold Eve at bay.

  “And what about the Santas?” she asked. “Will they listen to reason? Could someone explain to them that once the Corsairs take us out they’ll be next?”

  Mike and Stu scoffed and shook their heads in so much disbelief. The idea was completely laughable, except to Jenn who spoke up in timid embarrassment at going against their accumulated wisdom as well as her own common sense.

  “I had a vision before we left the warehouse. It seemed to me that there was a mingling of good and bad.” At this both Mike and Stu glanced over at Jillybean who was the epitome of both good and evil. “That’s what I thought, too,” Jenn said, reading the glances correctly. “But we already have her with us so why need a sign? I really didn’t know what it meant until now. Maybe we’re supposed to get the Santas to help.”

  “How?” Stu asked. “They’re almost as evil and bad as the Corsairs. They’re like natural allies.”

  Just the thought of trying to team up with the Santas was upsetting to Mike. “Even if they did say they were on our side, they’d stab us in the back at the first chance or they’d turn tail and run. For as long as I can remember they have always been double crossers.”

  Jillybean turned towards the dark map. She was just barely able to see the outlines of the bay. The Santas were far away to the south; nearly forty miles. “Tell me, Mike, are they mariners? Do they have boats in great numbers?”

  “Psh,” Mike said. “Hardly. They have a few sailboats but they only bring two this far north. The Air Dancer, a twenty-footer, and the Smugglers Bride, a twenty two-footer. You ain’t never seen more scratches on a boat than on those two. Oh, and don’t get me started on the weeds they drag around. Gerry the Greek doesn’t think they’ve ever had those two ou
t of the water.”

  She took another long look at the map, saying, “Interesting.”

  “It’s not interesting, it’s lazy.” He was visibly disgusted at the idea of not taking care of something so precious. “They aren’t mariners or sailors. They are wannabes. That’s what Gerry says. But it works out for us. We’ve been safe all these years because they couldn’t do much with just two boats.”

  Jillybean couldn’t seem to take her eyes from the map. “So much at play. So much at stake,” she murmured. When she finally looked away from the map she came right up to Mike so that they were almost nose to nose. “If given the chance, if they had more boats would they ever attack the island?”

  Mike made the psh noise again. “In a heartbeat.”

  “Then we don’t have a moment to lose!” Without another word, she walked straight away for the wharf, saying over her shoulder, “To Alcatraz, please. We have much to do.”

  “It’s one in the morning,” Mike remarked, yawning, his eyes dripping. “No one’s going to be awake.”

  A sudden flare of anger crossed Jillybean’s face. “Well, they need to be up. We’re going to need the Puffer and whatever other boats they have. I’m going to need twenty or thirty buoys, a mile of cable or chain. Another mile or two of rope and access to a lumber yard. Also more barley and potassium chlorate. And we’re going to need the Fortress here as quickly as…” She had been talking faster than she could breathe.

  Stu put his hand on her shoulder. “Slow down. You’re starting to get wiggy and you don’t want Eve coming out now.” If the Corsairs were actually coming they couldn’t afford for Eve to show up. At best she would ruin any chance they had at cooperation with anyone, at worst Gerry would have them arrested—unless Eve brought one of her bombs. Gerry could be so pig headed at times that Stu wouldn’t be surprised if he would let himself get blown up instead of giving in to her.