Dead Tide

by Stephen A. North

  Janicea leans over the man, looks at his face. “That’s the soldier that took them to be checked out by a doctor.”

  “You sure?” asks Bronte.

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  “They don’t all look alike,” she answers with a smirk. Bronte snorts in surprise. “Was that actually a joke? Maybe there is hope for you.”

  She doesn’t reply, just stands there looking at him. “We’ll start looking here,” he says, pointing at the door to the restaurant. They might still be in there. And I’ll go first.”

  The door isn’t locked. They are standing in a dining room with at least ten tables and a fancy bar. “Let’s try through there,” Bronte says and crosses the room toward a door that probably goes toward the kitchen.

  The sound of raised voices, then a gunshot stops them both for a moment, then Bronte is running with the rifle held in both hands. He kicks hard at the double swinging doors and goes through. He spots Tracks kneeling alongside another soldier.

  “I had to kill them Bronte,” says Tracks, looking up as they enter. His eyes are watery with a feverish yellow hue. “They said Daric got bit and he had to die.”

  Bronte lays a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It’s okay, but we’d better get out of here quick.”

  “Sure thing.” Tracks stands easily and Daric stays close. “The exit is this way.”

  HE WAKES TO A SENSATION OF SWINGING, as if he’s in a hammock. Something grips his ankles and wrists and then releases him. Am I flying? He manages to open his eyes just in time to see a snatch of stormy sky and then he lands on his back on something soft and springy. A bad mattress?

  For a moment, he is too shocked to move. What’s happened to me? What is that awful smell?

  Someone is shouting, “Good shot Kurt! He’s a heavy bastard. I wasn’t sure you guys could throw him that far.”

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  “With Fugi here, it was no problem. Is there any more?” This voice is much closer, and standing above him, with a slight German accent.

  Graham cracks an eyelid. Two men are standing above him on a seawall. One is short but very wide. He is just wearing a pair of jeans and some combat boots. His massive upper torso is bare, shining with sweat and sunburned. Kurt maybe? The other man has a medium build, but is taller and of Asian descent. He too is stripped to the waist but is wearing khaki shorts, socks and hiking boots. Fugi maybe?

  They think I’m dead. I’m surprised they didn’t shoot me in the head to make sure I didn’t come back. He realizes that he is on a flat barge lying on a pile of bodies. This must be where they dump their dead. Wonder what they’ll do if they see me move?

  “Grab the guns, will you Fugi?” asks Kurt. Fugi nods.

  Nothing to do but wait. Not feeling too well at the moment anyway. Within a moment or two the voice of Kurt fades and both men appear to be gone. Graham struggles into a sitting position. The barge is anchored only about five feet from the seawall, but he will have to get into the water to get back to shore.

  The nearest dock is roughly fifty feet away and there are a lot of boats tied up. Surely there will be a ladder or something. I can’t climb a seawall right now.

  Unfortunately, he notices a second problem.

  There is a slick of blood all around the barge. It is barely moving. The water is as close to still as it ever gets in the bay. He can see some garbage and a dead fish floating nearby.

  I’ll just climb out, stay as close to the seawall as I can then climb out near the dock. It sounds like a good plan.

  He slides off the end of the barge into water warm as a bath. The water is chest high when his feet hit bottom. Stay calm, it’s just blood. Has to be at least one or two hours to sunset. Sharks feed at dawn and sunset. If I don’t flounder and splash around like an injured fish, I’ll get out of this just fine. He takes a gliding step forward, feels the mud ooze beneath his shoes, then takes another. Must be high tide. The murky water is still up to his waist when he reaches out toward the seawall.

  Rain starts to pelt his head and shoulders. No big deal. I’m about as miserable as I can get.

  Something gouges his leg, or more properly his left calf, then rips… Graham screams, reaches down. A tiny morsel of his calf is missing, but nothing is there, nothing to catch anyway. He continues forward

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  more determined than ever to get out. Brushes something soft in his way, but feels it float toward the surface. “Oh Jesus,” he murmurs. A vile smell bubbles to the surface followed by a bloated, shredded shape that might have been human. One or two crabs are still busy.

  MITCH’S BIG TRUCK IS IDLING BEHIND HIS CAR, parked just inside the open gates. For the moment, there is no traffic on the radio. Dodd sits in his cruiser, in his familiar cocoon. The day has turned gray and rain is coming down hard, too hard for his windshield wipers to keep up. Still, they are in the City Vehicle Maintenance parking lot. He’s got them here, now he’s just waiting for a break in the downpour.

  The man in the passenger seat beside him, Carlos, shifts a bit then taps a cigarette out of his pack. Camels. Whatever that means. What’s the difference between Camels and Winston? He is clueless. “I’ve never smoked a cigarette,” he says before he can stop himself.

  “Que?” Carlos answers without looking up. With scarred blunt fingers he uses a battered Zippo to light a cigarette, then leans back. A long stream of smoke issues from beneath his bushy black mustache. He arches an eyebrow toward Dodd.

  “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Dodd picks up his cell phone and dials the only personal phone number in its menu. It rings. “Come on, answer, Larry. Where the fuck are you?”

  An agitated voice answers,” Hello, ah… Goddamit! Sorry about that. This is Larry. How can I help you?”

  “Larry, this is James. Where are you?”

  “James? Oh, James the cop. Hey buddy! I’m down at Bay Three still working on the Chief’s fucking car. Cliff won’t let me go. He says another hour should do it.”

  “Haven’t you guys been listening to the news? Didn’t Debbie call you?”

  “Naw, Cliff and I’ve been listening to CDs all day. If Debbie called I didn’t hear it. Course I just turned the phone on to get a pizza delivered.”

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  Dodd pauses a moment, thinking how to best approach this. “Well listen Lar, I’m in the parking lot with some friends. Bay Three is the second building right?”

  “Sure is James, but you shouldn’t be bringing any civvies back here. Chief will have your ass.”

  “Fuck the Chief. I’ll be right there.”

  “Sure thing, James. Come on back. Cliff won’t tell anybody.” Dodd breaks the connection and puts the phone between his legs

  for now. He puts the cruiser back into gear and they roll past a square, blocky administration-type building and then the first of four vehicle buildings. Each building looks like a warehouse with two roll-up steel bay doors. Through the pounding rain, he sees a yellowish glow where a door is rolling up two more buildings away. Instead of stopping, he rolls right inside and Mitch follows him.

  As he turns the ignition off, he can hear a loud clashing as the door descends and then crashes against the cement. Dodd pockets his cell phone, exits without a word to Carlos and hurries over to Larry and his boss, Cliff.

  Cliff’s a guy about six feet tall with a medium build. He and Larry are both wearing filthy blue coveralls and black work boots. The main difference between the two mechanics is that Cliff is a hard case, while Larry is the quintessential nerd.

  Correction: Cliff thinks he is a hard case .

  “Who are these people James?” Larry wants to know. Cliff butts in, “I’m telling you now James, I don’t like it a bit. You

  know it’s against regulations to have these people here. What Larry sees in you I’ll never know, but you better haul ass out of here soon.” “What I need you both to do is come over and listen to the radio, or better yet is there a TV here?”

  Cliff is getting red in the face. “Listen here, I’
d like to go home to Duchess some time tonight…”

  Duchess? “You want to know why I’m here or not Cliff?”

  Cliff shrugs. “Okay, follow me.” Larry falls in next to Dodd as they follow him around an unmarked late model sedan up on a lift, scattered tools and an air compressor that is just cycling off. The radio is on a workbench with more tools and a couple of open soda cans. It’s the type that includes a CD player and a cassette deck. Cliff turns it on and fiddles with the tuning dial. He gets static for a good inch or two, then a voice steadies. “I’m Al Connors and I’ve spent most of the day and part of last night with St. Petersburg City Councilman Truman List. We were part

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  of the final exodus that escaped the trap over at Tropicana Field. That place is no longer safe. The number of walking dead is climbing at an astronomical rate. I’ll tell you Tracy, I could spend over an hour just describing the hellish journey we endured simply trying to get from the Trop down to the Pier.” Connors pauses and another voice breaks in.

  “Things aren’t much better over here at Northeast High School shelter, Al. The cafeteria manager says we need more food soon. The number of refugees has exceeded capacity. Many survivors here brought their guns and some food with them but the mood here is getting ugly.”

  Another voice, a woman’s: “Let’s see what’s going on nationally from our Network anchor Lance Mathers in Washington…”

  Yet another voice, presumably that of Mathers, “…and no power in the West. We’ve heard nothing in two hours from any of our West Coast affiliates. The president should have appeared five minutes ago, but we’re still waiting…”

  Cliff’s mouth is hanging open. “What is it some sort of alien invasion or did those pesky Russians finally nuke us?”

  Dodd sighs.

  MCMURRAY’S EXPRESSION IS SERIOUS, eyes boring into hers. “If you stay with these people you will die. You know this?” “They helped me. I can’t just leave them.” She feels her hard exterior crumble a bit. It isn’t so much the threat of death exactly…

  “There’s room for you,” he says, apparently abandoning any pretense that the chopper is truly destroyed.

  “You have a wife and kids. That doesn’t leave enough of you for me.”

  That one hits him hard. “Okay Trish. I understand.”

  She forces herself to turn away. “They need you. Go get them.”

  She doesn’t look back.

  A line of vehicles is pulled up in a double column in the middle of 62nd Ave N.

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  Hank Wellman walks over. “Your reporter fella coming with us?” “I don’t think so, Hank. Am I riding with you?”

  “Yeah, you, me, my family and Jump.”

  Hank is looking over her shoulder. Somehow she knows McMurray

  is still standing there. “What about that fella you were talking to? Does he need a ride?”

  “No Hank, but thanks, he already has one.”

  “Listen, I don’t mean to pry, but he latched onto you like he knew you…”

  She folds her arms. Gives him a level steady look. Wonders whether he will catch on.

  Hank colors a moment later, cheeks turning red. He blusters, “That happens to you a lot, I guess—Men acting like they know you?”

  She nods. “Everybody wants something Hank.”

  “Not me Trish. I’m just your friend.” He gives her a solemn, sadeyed look.

  “I know Hank. I knew you and Jerry were good guys the moment I saw you.” She slips her right arm around his left. “Are we ready to go?”

  “Yeah, but God knows where…”

  HE WATCHES THE SLIM SOLDIER with the immaculately pressed and starched uniform and spit-shined boots. The guy is truly a cold-hearted killer. No mercy is offered to any of the wounded and no corpse is left without a headshot. Only when Ramos is sure that each corpse is truly dead does he holster his 9mm Beretta.

  Executions. How do you feel about that Jubal? Might have witnessed a few back in Nam. Didn’t bother me then. Seemed like justice after they greased so many of my friends. Do unto others before they do unto you. Haven’t had to live that credo for awhile, huh ol’ buddy? Hadley turns back to the mayor who is busy digging in a cooler full of beer. Wonderful ice cold Budweiser. Mayor Mayes twists the cap off one and hands it to him, then grabs another for himself. They are standing beside what remains of the barricade.

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  From somewhere close he hears the first cry of grief, followed by others, all the voices of women. He doesn’t look at them for a while, but as he raises the bottle he sees them. Young wives, old mothers. He frowns. Children.

  He turns back to look at Ramos. Jesus! The guy is dragging his pistol back out!

  “Leave ‘em be soldier boy! You hear me?” Hadley sprays some beer over the mayor in his enthusiasm to make Ramos obey.

  Ramos turns toward him. His lean, tanned face betrays nothing. Hadley has seen the look before. Many times. Mostly on the faces of boys too young to be that empty, that careless about killing. If only there were some anger, or sorrow in his expression, but there is nothing. A black hole, sucking…

  “You fool yourself, Jefe,” says Ramos. “The blood calls to them. They will want revenge.”

  Hadley nods his head. “Then let’s get going. Get the vehicles across.”

  “All we really need is the Hummer, sir,” says Ramos.

  “What?” asks Hadley, giving Ramos a blank look.

  “All of the weapons, ammo and supplies are in the Hummer. We don’t have far to go. Why not just take the Hummer and we will get there faster?”

  “Oh, I see. Good point. I’ll tell the mayor.”

  Ramos nods, salutes, then yells, “Private Natchez bring the Hummer over!”

  Hadley watches another of the soldiers, this one a stocky tanned guy, snap to attention and then hurry over to the vehicle. That must be Natchez. The third soldier is still in the turret with the machine gun and seems to be watching the women pretty closely as they mourn their loved ones.

  Mayor Ritchie Mayes and his girlfriend are standing off to the side of the barricade, looking out at the bayou and the bay beyond. He has one hand on her waist and another brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Wait’ll you see this boat, sweetness, it will really knock your socks off,” says the mayor.

  “Why can’t we just go back to the condo, Ritchie? I don’t have any of my stuff. No make-up, perfume or anything. I can’t even change clothes.”

  “Don’t worry, Marilee, I—”

  She stomps a little foot and Hadley can see her seriously unhappy profile complete with a pouting lower lip. “But I am worried. I haven’t

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  had a shower since this morning and almost nothing to eat or drink and you expect me to be happy?”

  Hadley can’t stand it. “You’re alive aren’t you?”

  The girl turns her furious expression on him almost immediately and pulls free of the mayor’s grasp. “Go fuck yourself old man!” Marilee shoves a hand into her purse, appearing to be searching for something. Her hand closes around a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She taps a cigarette out and puts the pack back into her purse. “Where is my cell? Did you do something with it Ritchie?”

  The mayor shakes his head, but she doesn’t appear to notice. She puts two trembling fingers to her lips and leaves the cigarette pursed there, then brandishes a lighter and lights up.

  Hadley places one of his huge hands on the mayor’s back and forces him to walk a few steps away. “You need to ditch that soon.”

  “She’ll adapt, Jubal. She’s my problem, not yours.”

  “You better make sure it stays that way. I don’t think our army corporal is a very tolerant man, himself.”

  “Everyone has their uses, Jubal. Marilee happens to be a very gifted and talented young lady whose flaws I’m willing to accept in exchange…”

  Just don’t be so sure you are the only one enjoying her charms, Ritchie. The desire to lay it all out is alm
ost too much, but somehow Hadley manages to keep the suspicion just a thought, and hopes it isn’t a reality.

  “I’ve often wondered why you never re-married after Marge, eh Jubal? There are plenty of women out there willing to put up with a few bad habits. Marilee might even have a friend who could help manage your stress.”

  Hadley shakes his head and makes a half-hearted attempt at a smile. “Someone like Marilee would kill me in a minute or two. Big and ugly as old Marge was, she was more my speed. I just couldn’t abide her sharp tongue anymore after twenty years. If she’d just been a kinder woman, I…”

  Marilee tosses her still burning cigarette to the ground and steps back over to them. “Let’s get back in the car, Ritchie. I need some A/C quick.”

  “Ramos wants us all in the Hummer,” Hadley hears himself say.

  The mayor is looking at him. “Why? Have you told Lionel yet?”

  “When have I had the chance? We’ve been talking about broads.”

  This earns him another glare from Marilee.

  The mayor closes his eyes. “Go see what he thinks about that and then let’s hurry up and go.”

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  HE DOESN’T THINK TOO MUCH OF IT when he first notices Natalie taking her sneakers off. They are both sitting in the front seat of his car watching for Adam and Kathy to come out. The first shoe, a tennis style sneaker, falls with a thump to the floor and then she peels her sodden sock off. Her bare white leg is extended and her short cheerleader skirt is hiked up just far enough to reveal an appetizing glimpse of her crotch snuggled in colorful thong panties. She gives a little moan and he finds himself watching her bend and lift her leg, fingers caressing the smooth skin of her calf, then her thigh.

  “You really should keep your shoes on, Nat, in case we…” he says, then trails off as she repeats the process with her right foot and leg. In mere seconds, his body has responded and now he is aware of a painful throbbing.

  Sam is still staring when she turns toward him with a sensual halfsmile and shifts in her seat. She places both feet in his lap. “I sure could use a massage Sam.”