The Legion

by Melissa Delport

  When I wake I feel much calmer. Reed always has that effect on me; he makes me feel safer and more secure, allowing me to focus. Los Angeles is depressing and dark. We have to abandon the cars as we cannot get through the streets. Entire buildings have been obliterated, and those that are still standing are certainly not structurally sound. At first I am hesitant to touch anything as we try to pick our way through the streets over mountains of rubble and rusted, overturned cars.

  “The fallout effects are gone,” Adam says, watching me. “It can’t hurt you any more. Now it’s not the radiation that is of concern, but the contamination that may still affect the water and the soil.”

  “And let’s not forget that any minute one of these buildings could collapse,” Tim adds, glancing warily around. Adam and Reed seem calmer than the rest of us, and it occurs to me that they are the only two among us who witnessed the bombs first hand. Reed was lucky enough to be with my father at a military base when it happened, and they were well prepared. They did not emerge from their fallout shelter for two years, and when they did most of the most dangerous, short-term effects of the fallout had already run their course. Adam, on the other hand, had to emerge long before it was safe and as a result his injuries are extensive.

  There are skeletons and bones everywhere, many entirely covered in the grey dust, and I avert my eyes, not wanting to see such tangible proof of the massive loss of human life. The journey through the city is gruelling, and we have to stop and rest on more than one occasion so that the Ordinary can catch their breath. Still, I am pleasantly surprised by their level of stamina and determination, and we cover the 20 miles to the Port of Los Angeles by mid-afternoon.

  The harbour is a mess; 42 miles of waterfront chaos. Ships have collided with each other and containers have been overturned, their contents strewn around the area.

  “It’s probably better if we split into groups,” I advise, and Adam agrees. It will take us forever to search the wreckage if we stay together. We split into five groups of three, each group headed by a Legion soldier for protection. Big Boy saunters off with both David and Morgan at his disposal. Jethro leads Aidan and Crackerjack away and I feel some of the tension leave my body. Jethro is an outstanding soldier, he will protect them. Again, I am teamed with Adam and Hope, and we set off down the waterfront.

  “How about this one?” Hope asks, gesturing at a cargo ship moored nearby that is thankfully still in an upright position.

  “Looks as good a place as any to start,” I encourage, and we start climbing the stern ladder. Surprisingly, most of the container locks have been prised open, and many of the doors on the outer containers are ajar. The inner boxes, which are largely inaccessible, are intact. The first few outer boxes that we search are completely empty, but on our fifth attempt we are rewarded with a mountain of metal and wires. Adam seems far more excited than I am, as I regard the contents without enthusiasm.

  “Automobile parts,” Adam explains. “Loader and Diesel will be delighted. The truck is in serious need of an engine overhaul.”

  “Ah,” I answer, moving on to the next container. The rest are empty, save for some children’s toys in the dark, far corner of one of the boxes on the port side.

  “We’ll take a few,” Adam remarks fondly. “Our children have very little in the way of playthings.” Thinking of Alex, I wholeheartedly agree, already picturing the excitement on his little face.

  Deciding to try the bow area, we move along the side of the ship. The smokestack has completely collapsed and is lying across the starboard side of the enormous ship and hanging over the crushed side railing.

  “Be careful,” I call to Hope, as we skirt a few containers that have toppled over onto their sides.

  This side is much the same; there is very little to be found and I eye the inner layer of containers thoughtfully. “We need to get to those,” I muse out loud, and Adam nods.

  “No doubt the survivors could not prise open the metal.” He smiles at me. “I am once again reminded how fortunate we are to have your league of extraordinary gentlemen at our disposal.”

  We search the rest of the ship but find nothing interesting and so, making a note to return later with the others to try to get into the inner containers, we move on. We search for almost two hours, the highlight of our afternoon being the discovery of a container filled with women’s apparel.

  “We’ll never make it back by nightfall,” Jethro points out as we reconvene where we started from. We have a lot of work ahead of us; there are still plenty of ships that we haven’t searched and of course we need to return to those we have earmarked.

  “We should find somewhere to sleep,” I say, concerned for the Ordinary, who are wilting with exhaustion. “We can carry on looking tomorrow.”

  A few nods of assent are all the response I get, and everyone bends to retrieve their rucksacks, looking around listlessly and awaiting further instructions. Everyone except Reed. He is standing stock still, his eyes searching the water out beyond the harbour.

  “Reed?” He does not answer for a minute, his gaze fixed on something out there.

  “That’s interesting, don’t you think?” He points towards the horizon, and I shield my eyes from the setting sun to look.

  “The ship?” I ask, confused. Moored a short way out to sea and parallel to the shoreline is a massive white ship.

  “Yeah, the ship. Loader, let me borrow those binos for a second,” he calls out to the beefy black man, and Loader hands them over.

  “What is it?” I probe as he drops them to chest height, deep in thought.

  “We need to get onto that ship,” he answers finally.

  “Why?”

  “I think there’s someone out there.”

  “How can you possibly know that?” I turn and peer sceptically at the vessel. There is no way he could make out any inhabitants from here, not even with the binoculars.

  “Look at the way it’s positioned. Every other ship out here has shifted; no straight lines, havoc on deck. That ship is perfectly positioned, parallel to the shore. It just doesn’t seem right, I think it was moored there after the bombs.” He pauses, smiling at my dubious expression. “Okay, how about we just call it a gut feeling? It can’t hurt to check it out.”

  “That’s a cruise liner,” Adam adds, coming up behind us. “There may be bottled water on board.”

  “Okay, so how do we get to it?”

  “We need to find a working boat.” Reed walks back to the dock area, scouring the moorings.

  “We’ll take that.” He points to a small lifeboat secured to the side of one of the larger ships.

  “Most of my people can’t swim,” Adam says as Reed, Jethro, David and Tim get the lifeboat unfastened and into the water.

  “Don’t worry, you stay here,” I reassure him. “I’ll leave Morgan and Jethro with you for protection, just in case.”

  “If the Southerner’s right and there is someone on board, you might prefer to take them with you. You don’t know what you’re walking into.”

  “Paddling into,” I correct, eyeing the small craft distastefully.

  “You know, you could help,” I snap at Tim as we paddle out of the port and towards the cruise liner.

  “There are only four paddles,” Tim points out happily, “and you’re both stronger than me.”

  “Good to know that chivalry is not dead,” I mutter, throwing my weight forward and pulling back on the oars. The little boat cuts quickly through the water and in no time at all we are close enough to the liner to make out the deck, which appears empty. The superstructure is enormous, at least five storeys.

  “It’s like a floating condominium,” Tim remarks. From where we are there is no way of knowing whether there is anyone on board and searching the monstrous vessel will take a long time.

  “I think we should circle around and check the other side.”r />
  Reed nods at my suggestion and we paddle around the bow. As we draw close to the port side, I lower my voice and turn back to get Reed’s attention. He follows my pointing finger, and even Tim sits up, looking more alert and less like he is on some carnival joyride. Tied to the port side of the ship, near the stern, is a small rubber dinghy moored right beside an ascension ladder.

  “Definitely someone here,” Reed says softly and I nod as I gaze up at the sheer wall of steel beside me. From our low vantage point we cannot see anything else.

  “We’d better get moving, we don’t have much daylight left.” I stand up, grab the ladder and start climbing. Reed and Tim secure the boat quickly and follow right behind me.

  Chapter 24

  We crouch low on the deck and skirt around the substructure until we find an open passageway leading inside. This close up the ship looks a lot less grand; the white paint has faded to a dull cream and is chipped and peeling.

  “Let’s start at the top?” Reed suggests and I nod, checking that Tim has heard. We make our way to the top level and emerge onto a massive swimming pool area surrounded by bar counters and bolted-down sun loungers. The water in the various pools is dark and fetid, and there is no sign of life so we head down to the next level. We pass casinos and libraries, games rooms and movie theatres, all empty and lined with dust. Eventually, we enter the cabin area. The cruise liner is an entertainment passenger ship and the cabins are luxurious, or they would have been before the war. Now they are dusty and dilapidated. As we near the stern section, Reed holds up a hand, cautioning us, and runs a finger along the side rail of the carpeted passage. It’s clean. Not a speck of dust comes away on his finger. I immediately feel my body tense in anticipation. We proceed more slowly, our feet making no sound on the old carpets, as we pass cabin after open cabin, all of them empty.

  Having searched top side, and found nothing, we venture down into the upper hull level. Passing through a massive kitchen, I am about to step into another corridor when Reed grabs my arm, bringing a finger to his lips and pointing at a door at the far end of the room. I assume it leads to the ship’s laundromat, judging by the faded, cracked sign on the door. Indicating that Tim should keep an eye out for anyone approaching from the two entry points, I tiptoe across the room with Reed, stopping just outside the door, my heart pounding. I turn the door handle and push, but the door doesn’t budge. It’s locked. From the inside. I meet Reed’s eye and he nods and stands aside as I raise my leg. With one swift kick, the wooden door crashes open, and we step hastily inside, quickly scouring the room. It appears to be empty. I glance back out of the room at Tim, quickly signalling that all is okay, when I notice a movement almost directly beside me. An elderly man armed with an enormous frying pan charges at me from the far end of the room, yelling in a very pronounced accent that I have never heard before.

  “You get off our ship, you filthy thieving swines!” he roars, and I am too surprised even to throw up my arms to protect myself. Luckily, Reed grabs the man’s arm as the pan comes hurtling towards my head and pulls it swiftly from his grip. The old man does a double take when he finally gets a good view of us, and he stops immediately, looking from me to Reed, an astounded expression settling slowly on his pale, wrinkled face.

  “You’re not one of them,” he announces suddenly, as though we are in the middle of a conversation. Still struggling to understand his accent, I cock my head to one side, “One of who?”

  “Them,” he shudders, and I realise that he is talking about the casualties of the war – the Rados and the Deranged.

  “No,” I reply, “we’re not them.” I pause, wondering how to continue, but before I can do anything, he steps forward, his hand extended.

  “Please forgive me, miss,” he apologises politely. “How do you do? My name is Henry Etheridge.”

  “Rebecca,” I answer, surprised by the firmness of his grip when I take his hand, “Rebecca Davis.” Henry smiles and then turns back to the row of driers behind which he was hiding. He leans down and speaks in muted tones, and then draws out by the hand a bedraggled, dark-haired, olive-skinned woman. She is about my age and does not look American. She is in a poor state, her eyes are sunken and hollow, and her ankles are covered in small red spots. There are also numerous bruises on her arms, and I immediately feel a burst of anger towards Henry.

  “This is Sofia.” He supports her with his arm as he leads her forward, smiling encouragingly at her slow progress.

  “Hello,” her voice is hoarse, and we greet her in reply. She does not make any further conversation, but eyes us warily.

  “What happened to her?” I ask, hearing the accusation in my tone.

  “She bruises easily,” he explains. “It’s a symptom of the scurvy.”

  “Scurvy?” Reed narrows his eyes.

  “We get it from time to time,” Henry answers. “It comes and goes, but we usually recover. Unfortunately it’s been a hard few months and our fresh vegetables have been scarcer than normal. The rash is another symptom.” He gestures at her feet.

  “She looks like she’s in a lot of pain,” I smile reassuringly at the pitiful girl.

  “It’s myalgia – severe muscle pain. She’s also very lethargic. I need to get her back to her room. You don’t happen to have any fresh food with you, do you?” he asks hopefully.

  “Back on the docks we have a bit of dried fruit,” I offer.

  “That would be wonderful. She needs the vitamin C.”

  We follow him back out of the laundry and into the kitchen.

  “Go back to the docks and fetch the others,” I instruct Tim. “We’ll sleep on board tonight.”

  “I’m sorry, but it took a lot out of her, we didn’t have much notice of your arrival and we had to hide quickly.” Henry apologises as he leads Sofia up the stairs and into one of the cabins, settling her on the threadbare quilt. She closes her eyes almost immediately and he covers her with a well-worn blanket. Raising a finger to his lips, he shepherds us out of the room and we follow him down a passage that I know from our earlier search leads to a dining hall. We take a seat at one of the tables.

  “Your accent,” I ask, “you’re not American?”

  “British,” he answers proudly. “I was born and raised in London.” Not knowing what else to say, I remain silent. “I’ll go first, shall I?” he smiles, and I nod, desperate to hear their story.

  Henry is sixty-one years old. He was a neurosurgeon at a renowned London hospital and he had travelled to America in 2016 to attend a conference in Los Angeles, at which he was the guest speaker. His wife had accompanied him. When the first bomb tore through New York City, they suspected the worst and got underground with as many supplies as possible.

  “How did you know it would escalate?” I ask. “That the doomsday prediction would come true?”

  “We didn’t, not really, but rather ‘safe than sorry’ my Helen said. It was inevitable, I suppose. I’m not surprised that we destroyed ourselves in the end. Technology had created a chasm where our hearts used to be, interpersonal relationships were reduced to random bits of code. People didn’t talk any more, communication was all electronic – emails, text messages. It was all too easy, nobody thought before they spoke, and there was no accountability. Relationships ended with the click of a button.” He shakes his head. “Sorry, I digress.”

  The Etheridges stayed underground for as long as they could, avoiding the initial fallout which is the most dangerous.

  “Sofia’s mother tumbled into our hideout after about three weeks, exhausted, sick and heavily pregnant. We scrubbed her down and let her in. She was an illegal immigrant from Mexico. She had run away from home when she realised she was pregnant. Sofia’s father wanted nothing to do with the child. Her mother was only eighteen,” he explains sadly. “She died in childbirth. Even with my medical background, I couldn’t help her. But we managed to save the child.” He pause
s for a while.

  “It was Helen’s idea to get to the ships. She said that we would probably find supplies, and that we would be safer on board, away from the chaos. She said the water would protect us. It took us nearly a week to get from our underground hideout to the port, a week that will haunt me for the rest of my life.”

  I can only imagine what they must have witnessed, travelling so shortly after the blast. The looting and barbarism is legendary, even today.

  “We weren’t the only ones with the same idea,” he continues. “Most of the ships were occupied, or being fought over. We saw this cruise liner marooned a way out to sea and we used a dinghy to get to it. There were only a few people on board, most had departed for a day’s tour of the city, and those who had remained were too shocked to react to our sudden appearance. For a while, all went well. We secured a cabin for ourselves and the others didn’t bother us. There was a lot of food and water on board, enough for five thousand people and there were only a handful on board. Helen also set about planting, she had brought seeds and bagged potting soil with her, they were the first things she ran out and found after the New York explosion. She was a horticulturist,” he explains, seeing our confused faces. “Come, I’ll show you.”

  He leads us back down the corridor and into an open, airy room that was probably once a passenger lounge. On a counter top is an assortment of pots, improvised from various plastic containers.

  “Unbelievable,” I whisper, touching a red bell pepper.

  “There are only a few edible plants that will grow indoors,” Henry speaks from behind me, “and Helen knew them all.” He smiles proudly.

  “What happened to her?” I ask softly.

  “She died.” He lifts his sleeve and scratches his arm, and I notice that he too has the red rash, and yellowing bruises mark his skin.