The Loving Dead

by Amelia Beamer

  “Well, when you put it like that. Ah, here we are.” He leaned down and started undoing a hitching knot.

  “You’re kidding,” Michael said. He closed his eyes, then opened them. Jordan had picked the only paddleboat on the island. It was made of white plastic, and had two seats with bicycle pedals in the front, and a bench seat in the back. Michael had only seen paddleboats on lakes. Ponds. They might not work in more than three feet of water. “I should have just let Audrey bite me. I thought you said you had a boat.”

  “What’s this, then, a turkey sandwich?” Jordan said. “Alcatraz is only like a mile away. We’ll be there in no time. Lickety-split. Go ahead, it won’t bite. Gracie, maybe you should sit up front with me.”

  “All right,” she said. She was typing with both thumbs. “All those spin classes are about to pay off. We’ll be going in circles with you trying to keep up with me.”

  Michael looked around at the other boats. The turkey sandwich thing had made him remember that he hadn’t eaten that day, aside from a few mouthfuls. He didn’t relish the thought of cold vegetables and cheese in curry sauce. He should have grabbed trail mix. The rest of his life was starting off on a bad note.

  “We should just steal one of these other boats,” he said. “Somebody’s got to have left their keys in the ignition.” He climbed into a few of them, checking under the seats. Nothing.

  “And you can drive one of those?”

  “How hard can it be? Mechanics do it.”

  Jordan climbed aboard the paddleboat. He held out a hand for Gracie. The boat bobbed from their weight. They sat. “Come on, then. Or not. Just untie us.”

  Michael stowed his box on the back of the paddleboat. He undid the knot, then climbed aboard and sat on the plastic bench. The boat sank on his side. He didn’t want to be left alone. Moving forward was the only option. There was nothing left to go back to. He hoped that Kate would meet them at the island.

  “Clear to go,” he said. He held onto the grab bar. Jordan and Gracie started pedaling. What the hell were they thinking? This was ludicrous. They were all going to die. The bay was a murky greenish blue. He put his hand in. The water was cold. How deep was it? Too deep. They weren’t wearing life jackets. He couldn’t swim a mile, not in water this cold. He’d drown.

  The breeze smelled of clean, salty air and dead fish. In the distance he could see the Oakland/Berkeley hills. His house was there somewhere. Burned down, according to Kate.

  A man stood on the dock, his arms out. He wasn’t waving.

  “Jordan, is that him?” Michael asked. “Your friend?”

  Jordan looked back. “My buddy’s still at work.”

  The figure was joined by a few others. They walked strangely, as if their limbs weren’t entirely under their control. Maybe on Treasure Island the zombies already ruled. That would explain why they hadn’t seen any people, or even any traffic.

  The zombies stepped into the water. Zombies couldn’t swim, Michael surmised. But they could walk. He imagined zombies sinking to the ocean floor. Struggling against the current. The zombies would be nibbled at by fish, like those insane pedicures he’d heard about. The flesh-eating fish that would clean up rich people’s feet, eating all of the dead skin. It was like applying maggots to a wound; they’d eat the dead and rotting parts, leaving the living. He was starting to think of zombies as being dead, as Kate had insisted. It made everything easier. And sadder. There would be no redemption.

  “Where is he, then?” Michael asked.

  “He can’t answer his phone while he’s at work. He knows people; if he wants to get a ride out, he can.”

  “Oh, OK.” For all he knew, Jordan was lying about having a friend with a boat. It didn’t matter. He looked to the shore. The figures had disappeared into the water. “It’s just that I think we’re being followed. No worries. They don’t move fast.”

  “What do you mean?” Gracie asked.

  “I mean, the walking dead.” It sounded right, when he said it. “I think there’s a few of them following us. Just to let you know. Not that I think they can catch us. Or that they know where we’re going. Maybe they can swim, but we can move faster.”

  “We’re headed to the prison island, yes?” Gracie said. “Jordan told me you knew people there. Ah, shit. Lost service.” She pocketed her phone.

  “Sort of. I think it’s the right place to go. Defensible.” He felt perversely glad that they were all without service now, and then felt guilty about it. He should be pedaling, not getting a free ride. As if that even mattered. He had greater things to feel bad about. He’d abandoned Kate, and Audrey had to be dead by now. She’d trusted him, too.

  “If we’re not careful, we’ll be swept out to sea,” he said. The tide felt like it was going out. “We have to go towards the right. The lighthouse tower. There’s a dock on one side. I think it’ll be the near side. The rest of it is steep rocks and cliff.” He remembered that from the Alcatraz tour. The reason why the famous escapees didn’t head for San Francisco, but towards Angel Island. Not only because they didn’t want to be caught, but because the current between Alcatraz and San Francisco was so powerful. If this little boat was caught in it and pulled past the Golden Gate Bridge, they’d be lost. Sunburned, dying of thirst.

  “So when is the last tour over on Alcatraz?” Jordan asked.

  Michael felt a jolt of fear. He hadn’t checked. “Sunset, I think,” he said.

  “You think?”

  “You have a better idea, at this point?”

  The sun was descending behind clouds and fog. Already the heat of the day was fading. It would be cold soon.

  It started raining then. Cold, fat drops at first, and then the sky opened. Thunder sounded. Thunderstorms were rare in California. They were drenched within a few minutes.

  chapter fifteen

  Kate heard thunder. She wiped her face and blew her nose into a paper towel. She went to the window. It had started raining. The fire truck was gone, the street empty and dark.

  Trevin came into the kitchen. He held two backpacks. “I didn’t bring any of my school stuff, just some books and video games and batteries for my DS. And clothes, like you said.”

  Kate thought about arguing. They needed to bring essentials for survival, not comfort. “You can carry whatever you like,” she said finally. He looked so young.

  Trevin set the backpacks on the table. They were both little Jansports; she’d had one in high school. When the zipper broke, or the fabric started to tear, you could send it away to backpack camp, and it would come back repaired. She’d kept the same backpack for four years that way. Kate opened them both, and started shoving in first aid supplies, the flashlight, rope, handwarmers; things that looked useable from the emergency kit. Trevin sat across from her at the table.

  “You doing all right?” Kate asked.

  “I’m worried about my mom, and my brother. I called some of my friends, too, when I was packing. They didn’t believe me.” Trevin bit his lip. He was too manly to cry.

  “OK, listen,” Kate said. “So Jesus is walking through Nazareth, and he comes upon this big crowd. They’re clustered around this chick crouched in the dirt, and they’re going to stone her for a whore. ‘Hold up,’ Jesus says. They stop. ‘Let the one among you who is without sin cast the first stone.’ The people all look at one another. They think about it. Jeez has a point. They set down the rocks they’re holding. Everyone’s feeling spiritual and brotherly, asking Jesus and one another to forgive their sins. And then this huge rock comes from behind the crowd. Beans the chick, and she falls over, stone dead, so to speak. Jesus looks at where it had come from. ‘I swear, mother, you can be so self-righteous sometimes,’ he says.”

  Trevin nodded soberly. Maybe she should have picked a different joke. “It was the Virgin Mary,” she said. Jokes were no good once you had to explain them. At least he didn’t look like he was going to cry. “You OK?” she asked. “Seriously? I was just trying to cheer you up.”

  “
Yeah, I guess.” He was working to sound brave.

  “We don’t have to go anywhere. We can stay here. Honestly, you can tell me to go away. You don’t have to believe me.” She stood and got the bottle of Jack from the cupboard. She took a swig. Then she offered it to Trevin. He took a healthy sip, then ran and spat it out in the sink.

  “So I guess we should go,” he said.

  Kate patted the sets of keys in her pocket. “I’ll go get the car, and bring it to the door.”

  “Who are you kidding? I saw the dude wandering around earlier. I’m going with you. Where is it?”

  “In front of my house.”

  “It’s raining,” he said. “Lemme get some ponchos or something.” He went into the living room and opened a closet.

  “And water bottles?” she called after him.

  “In the fridge.”

  When Trevin was out of sight, Kate drank the last sip of Jack from the bottle. She knew better, but it would be her last chance. Might take the edge off. She opened the refrigerator and found the water bottles. They were the little tiny ones, eight ounces. More of a fashion accessory than a storage device. Still, better than nothing. She stuffed a few of them into each bag. Then she drank from the kitchen tap, filling her belly.

  “We should both pee,” she said, walking past him to the bathroom. She washed her hands and face, after, and looked at herself in the mirror. Her skin was its normal color. No signs of zombieism. Mostly she just looked scared. She heard a toilet flush from inside the house, and took that as a signal. She put on a raincoat from the closet, and picked up the heavier backpack. She felt the whiskey taking effect. It helped.

  “Trev, I gotta tell you something.” They stood in the entryway; he wore his own raincoat and backpack. The keys were in her hand. She fought with herself. She had to say something now. Then she remembered Trevin drinking from the bottle, right after she had. She’d been so stupid. Maybe alcohol would kill the germs. Now she couldn’t tell Trevin she thought she was infected without implying that she’d infected him. If saliva was really the vector.

  “Remember that anyone can turn into a zombie, at any moment,” she said. “If it happens to me, you need to be able to deal with it. Brain me, or tie me up. You don’t have any whips here? Take my phone; it’ll do. The Indiana Jones app.” She demonstrated, then made him show her he could do it.

  “I have my learner’s permit,” he said. “How about I drive?”

  “I could hug you.” She clasped her arms around herself. Her raincoat made plastic noises when she moved. “I mean, are you OK to drive?” California had a zero tolerance policy towards minors driving with a BAC of more that .01%. Friends of hers had gotten in serious trouble for drinking during high school. But surely the cops would be busy. She didn’t want Trevin to change his mind about driving, mostly because she didn’t want to turn into a zombie behind the wheel.

  He took the keys. “You know where we’re going, right?”

  “Yeah, sort of. Get in car, go to water, find boat. The official ferry’s done already, but it can’t be that hard. My friend Michael’s going to meet us there.”

  Trevin went to the computer and called up a map. He pointed. “Emeryville Marina, that looks like our best shot straight across to Alcatraz. Maybe we can rent a boat there.”

  “I have some cash,” she said. “We can bribe someone to take us. Like the Native Americans who occupied Alcatraz after the prison was closed in the ’60s and before it got turned into a national park. They’d arranged for a boat, but it didn’t show, and so they bribed a fisherman.”

  “I got forty-eight bucks, counting that wet Jackson that guy left on the table.”

  “Ew. A wet Jackson sounds like a made-up sex act. Like a dirty Sanchez or something. ‘Baby, come on over and I’ll give you a wet Jackson. The shoes have been in the refrigerator since last night, and I got unsalted butter this time. Give me another chance!’”

  Trevin laughed companionably. “How do you know Mr. Wet Jackson?”

  “Long story,” she said. If she’d had another shot or two, she’d be tempted to tell it. “He’s kind of a trip.” Walter’s idea of kink was limited to oral sex; he was so vanilla that he didn’t even like ass-play. He had always made sure she came first, though.

  The street was quiet when they went outside, except for the rain. She led Trevin to Jamie’s van. He unlocked the driver’s side door and climbed in. She tried the handle on her side. It was still locked. The locks clicked. She glanced behind herself. The street was still empty. She pulled the handle again. It worked. She got into the car.

  “This yours?” he asked.

  In the daylight, Kate saw that there were photos taped to the dashboard. Women in coin bras and low-hipped skirts, their arms around one another. The coin bras, Jamie had explained once at class, dated back to some tribe in North Africa which had required the young women to go to the city and earn their dowries before they could come back home and marry. The women wore the money that they made, sewing it into their clothes, and the more coins a woman wore, the more talented and desirable she was. The women danced for money, of course, but they were also prostitutes. Knowing this did not stop modern women from wearing coin bras.

  “A friend’s,” Kate said. “Mine’s at the airport. Sort of. Long story, again.” It was hard being in the car again, confronted with Jamie’s personality. Her effects. There was a photo of Jamie with her arms around a Golden Retriever mix. It occurred to Kate that no one was going to take care of Jamie’s dog.

  She looked out of the window. “Thanks for driving,” she said. The booze cushioned her headache, but didn’t make her stomach feel any better.

  “We might have nothing but time.” He started the engine and took off the parking brake.

  “Speak for yourself.” She didn’t mean to sound snappish. “Sorry. You just have to forgive me for being bitchy. I’m normally loads of fun.”

  “I bet.”

  “Hey, if we get through all of this, we’ll hang. I’ll get you drunk on some nice easy stuff. Peach brandy.”

  “We can invent the Wet Jackson,” he said. “Maybe it’s a drink.”

  “Yeah, scotch and olive juice. With cinnamon for garnish.”

  “Or a shoelace.” He drove them down the hill with the ease of a resident. Things were quiet. Nobody was out. The traffic light on the corner was blinking red in every direction.

  He drove onto the freeway. That was when it got bad. They passed stalled-out cars. People wandering around on the road, mindless. They saw a man embracing another man, Dracula-style. Half a mile later, a kid lay on the side of the freeway like roadkill. They heard screams. Other drivers looked horrified, but didn’t roll down their windows or stop.

  “Shit,” Trevin said. “It’s happening. It’s really real.”

  “It’s not too late to go back.”

  “Back to what, though? No basement.” He drove. He knew where he was going. They reached the marina. He pulled in and parked the car. “You ready?”

  “As rain.” It was coming down hard. “This is really late in the season for rain.”

  “Weird,” he agreed. “Oh, check it out.” There was a woman crouched over a stroller. The child was shrieking. “Gross,” Trevin said.

  “It’s what they do. Maybe it won’t notice us. We’ll have to move fast. See the gate?”

  “The closed gate? With the barbed wire on top? Yeah.”

  “That’s where we’re going. We just need to wait for someone else to open it.”

  After a while, the gate opened, and a woman came out. She was moving fast, car keys in hand. Kate and Trevin opened their doors and ran. Kate’s hair was soaked within a few steps, as were her borrowed shoes and jeans. She caught the door just before it closed, smashing her fingers. “Be careful out there,” Kate called to the woman. She pointed to the zombie, who’d turned from its baby carriage at the commotion.

  The woman who’d opened the gate turned around. “Fucking looters,” she said. She turn
ed away and started jogging.

  Kate was stunned. “I’m not—”

  Trevin grabbed Kate’s arm. He pointed.

  The zombie had gotten to her feet. She walked towards them, trying to decide which of them to eat first. She was still wearing most of a tracksuit. She grinned.

  Kate opened the door. Pulled Trevin inside. Closed it. Pulled on the doorknob until she heard the latch snap into place.

  The zombie stood on the other side of the gate, both hands reaching in through the metal bars next to the door. Her wrists and forearms were thin. A bone stuck out from one forearm, impeding her progress. She pushed the other arm in past the elbow. She was close enough that Kate could see her eye makeup. It must be the waterproof kind. Her chin and teeth were dark with blood. The child had stopped sobbing.

  “Mama?” the zombie said. Her voice was like a truck on gravel.

  Kate and Trevin backed away. She found herself holding Trevin’s hand.

  A car started. An engine revved, and tires crunched over pavement.

  “We should have asked that woman for a ride,” Trevin said.

  Kate sneezed, turning her head so that she wouldn’t spray over Trevin. The muscles in her left shoulder tensed, and stayed knotted. She was stunned by the pain. “Oh, ow,” she said. She couldn’t relax the muscle. Her shoulder wanted to hang out by her ear. She blinked at tears. Maybe this was what Walter had meant about wanting his chiropractor. She was too young for this.

  “You all right? What happened?”

  “Muscle spasm, I think. Gotta walk it off. Pick a boat.” She couldn’t see through the pain.

  “How about that one?” Trevin stopped. He knocked at what looked like a door.

  “We don’t want any,” a male voice called.

  “You have to let us in,” Trevin called. “Oh, shit.” He held tight to Kate’s hand. “Down there.”

  She wiped at tears and rain. A bearded figure in a raincoat was staggering towards them on the dock. His arm hung at an odd angle.

  “The woman who let us in must have been running from him,” Trevin said.