by James Bierce
"Amanda?"
In just a few seconds she pops her head into the room, carrying a fresh pile of clothes in her hands. "Yes?"
"Did you notice that all of these clothes are for women?"
"Yes."
"Have you seen any for men?"
"No. Did you want me to stop looking?"
"These will be fine. I'll find something that'll work."
After finding a pair of thick sweatpants and a more or less gender-neutral sweatshirt, he turns his flashlight off again to change his clothes — hoping that Amanda couldn't see as much in the dark as he feared.
"How long have you been alone?" he asks her.
"I don't know."
"Have you been eating?"
"There's cereal in the cupboards, and the house across the street has cans of fruit."
"What about water?"
"There's a barrel down the street."
Curtis stops dressing himself for a minute, surprised to hear that she walks around the neighborhood.
"You go out there by yourself?"
"Sometimes."
As much as he wants to know everything that she knows, Curtis worries about pressing her for too much information — but after talking to her over the last few minutes, he's amazed at how well she's handling all that's happened. Maybe its just shock though. Either way, he decides to turn on the flashlight again and push a little farther...
"Did people become like that all at once, or did it happen a little bit at a time?"
"A little bit at a time."
"Are there any others like you in town?"
She shakes her head.
"Do you know how many sick people there are?"
She shrugs.
He knows its a long-shot, but has to ask her anyway. "Have you seen a boy in town? He's a little younger than you..."
This time she nods.
"Can you describe him?"
"His name is Ben."
Instantly his heart starts pounding, and then the room starts to spin as he processes this new information. Eventually his more rational side begins to take over though, and he starts to doubt everything she's said. Maybe he already mentioned Ben to her, and he's just forgotten about it. Maybe she's only playing games with him now. Or maybe she heard him yelling his name out on the street earlier. At this point anything is possible.
"Do you know what he looks like?" he asks, trying not to sound over excited.
"He has a green backpack, and a yellow coat."
Now he knows it has to be Ben. That's exactly what he was wearing.
"When did you see him? Did you talk to him?"
"He's hiding in a building down by the harbor."
"Did you hide him there?"
She nods.
"Can you take me there?"
She nods again.
Curtis stands up, feeling just how weak his legs have gotten for the first time, then turns the flashlight onto Amanda to get a better look at her. She doesn't look the least bit sick or scared, just tired. Everything she does though, whether its carrying clothes or buttoning up her coat, is done with the butcher knife squeezed tightly in her hand, her constant companion.
She reminds him of his daughter Annie when she was younger. Her hair is the same jet-black color, running perfectly straight almost down to her lower back, and the way she carries herself, as if she's merely observing the world around her, and not actually taking part in it. The only thing that's unlike Annie is how much she talks. Amanda doesn't, at least not very much.
Still, he can't imagine what she's probably been through over the last few months, living in a practically deserted town that's overrun by lunatics hellbent on killing anyone they make eye contact with. Also, considering that these same lunatics used to be the residents of the town, she might actually know some of them — or at least she used to. Pity doesn't even begin to describe what he feels for her.
"Did your parents get sick?" he asks her.
She nods. "And my brother."
"And you never did?"
She shakes her head.
"Did you want to come and stay with my family?"
She doesn't react at first, she just stares at him — and then finally she gives him a slight nod.
Curtis smiles, then strokes the filthy mess of tangled hair on top of her head. "Good, that's settled. Now lets go find Ben so we can go home."
As the two of them make their way out of the shelter, Amanda leading the way, she takes him on a winding course through the streets, staying in the shadows almost the entire trip.
"Ben said that you live in Cohasset..." Amanda says out of the blue, after staying completely quiet ever since leaving the shelter.
"Not too far from there. We have a cabin up in the woods."
"My mom is in Aberdeen, Ben said he would go with me to find her."
Curtis isn't sure what to say, the idea is obviously ridiculous. "Maybe once we're back together, we'll see about finding your mom, all of us."
Without reacting, Amanda stops and waits inside of a shadow, then peeks around the corner of the building to get a look at the street beyond. Then she draws back and stands beside Curtis.
"Did you see something?" he whispers.
"No, not yet." she says in a normal voice.
Curtis isn't sure what she means by that, but he decides not to question her any further about it. She might be young, but so far she seems to be far better at concealing herself than he is.
"Did you see us walking around earlier this afternoon?" he asks her.
"Yes."
"Why didn't we see any of these people? Were they hiding?"
"They don't come out in the day. The sun hurts their eyes."
As strange and fabricated as her explanation sounds, it actually makes sense in a way — they've yet to see anyone walking around during the day. Some form of stupid, clumsy vampires sounds more plausible than anything he's been able to come up with.
"I'm still trying to figure out why Ben didn't go back to the cabin like we talked about. He must have gotten turned around..."
"He tried to go back, but I talked him out of it."
"Why?"
"The beach isn't safe. Not at night."
A desperate feeling of doom washes over Curtis as he thinks about Sarah and Matt walking down a beach covered with the infected souls of Westport. They never should have split up.
"Okay, I think its safe now." Amanda tells him after peeking once again.
They walk right around the corner and stop in front of a beat-up sliding garage door that has 'Leo's Auto Repair' scrawled across it in faded red ink. Amanda reaches inside of her coat and pulls out a key, and then opens the padlock on the latch and turns the handle.
"He's inside." she tells Curtis.
"Aren't you coming in?"
"No, I'll wait out here."
"Okay, but leave the door open, just in case..."
She nods.
Turning his flashlight on again, he slides the door open just far enough to squeeze through, trying not to make too much sound, then sticks his head through the door and looks around.
"Where is he at exactly?"
"Upstairs."
He pushes himself through the door and walks quietly across the concrete floor, the smell of gasoline so strong in the room it burns his eyes. Then he hears a rumble coming from behind him, and he looks back just in time to see Amanda's small frame closing the door — and then a click as the lock snaps shut.
"Amanda!" he hollers, running back to the door. "Amanda, can you hear me?" As he tries to open it again his flashlight falls to the floor and goes out, leaving only the pale light from the moon visible through the small windows. Despite putting all of his body weight against it, the door won't budge. "Amanda!" he screams louder.
"I wouldn't yell so loud." he hears from the other side of the door.
"Open the door Amanda, this isn't funny."
"They'll hear you..."
"Who will hear me?"
"T
he people upstairs."
The idea of dying at sea had never really crossed Larry's mind before. Although he'd spent most of his adult life working on fishing boats from Alaska to California, he'd never been placed in a position where he truly felt his life was at risk.
Tonight, however, was different.
Attempting to pass over the Westport bar during a heavy winter storm has always been considered a long-shot, even to the most experienced of pilots — but doing so when your only real source of propulsion is the storm surge at your back was almost certain suicide. He felt foolish for risking his own life, and guilty for risking his sister's.
Of all of his experience up and down the Pacific coastline, he'd never actually crossed the bar at Westport before, and he'd never crossed any bar during conditions like tonight — especially with a boat that was sinking lower into the water with every passing mile. By the time they reached the meeting waters, where the eastbound currents of the ocean and the westbound currents of the harbor converge, the controls were getting sluggish, almost to the point of being unresponsive.
Larry wasn't alone in his assessment of the situation. Mortality was on all of their minds as they grew closer to the harbor — and every time the next surge would lift them into the air, time seemed to slow down ever so slightly, giving all of them a feeling of surreality that was only intensified by the weightlessness they felt when the boat would drop back down only moments later.
When they finally enter the swirling currents just inside the bar, instead of rushing full-speed into the debris field like they feared, the boat actually slows down, hampered by the movement of the river-fed harbor under the surface. It then gently bumps its way through the mass of logs, kelp and who knows what else, until at last the current begins to flow westward against them. As the boat slows further and straightens itself into the wide channel in front of them, Larry lets out a huge sigh of relief, knowing that can only mean one thing — they've officially entered Grays Harbor, a body of water that in only a short time will become the final resting place for 'Larry's Obsession'.
Whether they wish it or not.
As the storm surge fades away into the mouth of the harbor behind them, Larry eases up his grip on the wheel slowly, his arms and hands shaking from the physical and mental stress of the last several hours. Then he turns to Beth and Jake, giving them a slight smile before returning his gaze back the harbor.
"Is it over?" Beth asks him.
"Not quite. We're still sinking." says Larry, who switches off the few lights they still have on, leaving them in darkness once again, except for the subtle glow from the moon overhead. "I'm gonna try to get to the marina in Westport, its our best bet."
"Is that it over there?" Jake asks, pointing to a large marina barely visible to their right.
"Yeah, that's it."
"There's something moving on the docks..." Jake says, squinting at a cluster of dark silhouettes on the closest dock.
"Its people." responds Beth. "A lot of them."
As Larry guides the boat straight ahead and past the town of Westport, Jake and Beth watch out the side window as dozens of people stream out of the darkness and onto the wooden decking of the marina, all of them seemingly staring directly at them.
"What do you want us to do?" asks Jake, who's glancing through a small window behind him, aware once again that Sean is still following them. He doesn't see any sign of him though. Instead, he sees the breakers they crossed over just moments ago, crashing against the outgoing water, their tops glistening a bluish-white sparkle from the moonlight overhead — and behind them, barely visible, is another bank of thick, black clouds rolling toward them in the distance.
"Why don't you guys go down below and make sure everything is still ready to go. I'm gonna try to make it to the docks up the harbor a few miles." replies Larry.
With the worst of it now behind them, Jake and Beth step down onto the lower deck, exhausted and anxious at the same time, both of them still uncertain as to what the future holds in store for them. The last time they spent an entire night on land seems like a lifetime ago, and the thought of sleeping in a house, even if it was somebody else's, seemed almost too good to be true.
As they both try to untangle the mess of floats and seat cushions thrown around during the voyage, Beth hears something splashing in the water over the side, like they're dragging something. Looking overboard, she sees an image that will forever haunt her.
A string of corpses, a couple dozen of them in all, are tangled in a ball of kelp that's now hanging off of the side of the boat. Most have been dead a long time, half-eaten by fish and whatever else happens to be in the water — all but one that is. The closest body looks recent, a young boy with blond hair whose vacant gaze is aimed directly at the sky above. Beth can't help but stare at him. She wonders who the boy is, and where he came from. Most of all she wonders how he ended up all the way out here, tossed out like a piece of trash. Just the thought of it sends a chill down her spine.
When Beth finally looks away, she sees Jake standing beside her, also looking down at the boy — his face pale and withdrawn. Then, without saying a word, he wraps one arm around Beth's shoulder and squeezes it. There was really nothing to say, nothing that makes sense anyway.
Looking down once again, and trying not to look at the bodies, Beth clears her throat enough to speak, hoping that her voice sounds confident. "What should we do about this?"
"There's nothing to do. We're sinking, let them sink with us."
"Where do you think they came from?"
"I'm not even sure I want to know..."
"Did you notice how dark it is over there?"
"Over where?"
She points slightly ahead of them, where the hills to the north look as black as night. "Do you know what's over there?"
It suddenly dawns on him what she's talking about. "Yeah, Aberdeen."
He's right — just beyond the North Bay, almost the entire north shore of Grays Harbor is taken up by the twin cities of Hoquiam and Aberdeen — both of them major population centers for the central Washington coast. Normally the lights can be seen for miles around.
"You'd never know they were even there, would you?" she asks.
Jake doesn't say anything, he just stares at the dark void beyond, still clutching his wife closely. He can't help but think about his brother, Mark, who was still in Anchorage last he'd heard — and their mother Susan, who had moved to San Francisco only a few months ago to work for a marketing firm there. The last time he'd talked to either one of them was shortly before the virus struck. Now, looking over the cold, dark waters of the harbor, toward a city that now lies silent and empty, he knows deep down that his brother and mother are most likely dead.
Realizing this for the first time, he should feel something. He should be overcome with grief and heartache, knowing that his entire family is likely gone, but he doesn't feel any of that. Too much has happened in too short of a timespan to feel anything but fatigue and hopelessness. He's tired of running, tired of searching for something or someplace that he knows doesn't exist. The world has gone mad, and he figures the sooner they come to terms with that fact the better off they'll be.
Jake feels something else as well, just under the surface, something he hasn't mentioned to Beth or Larry. Its a strange sense of mental or emotional numbness that seems to get worse with every passing day. He wonders if that's how the virus begins, by slowly robbing you of your humanity, before finally turning you into the mindless shells that they've seen wandering around on the streets. Or maybe its shock, and its merely his brain's way of telling him that all of this is too much to handle. Whatever it is, his natural instinct is to fight it, an instinct that's beginning to lose the battle.
"Jake..."
He turns to see Beth staring behind him, pointing toward the sandbar they just crossed, a look of terror intensifying in her eyes. He turns and looks in the same direction, but he doesn't see anything.
"What is it? I don't se
e any..."
And then he sees it, a black spot silhouetted against the moon, and the occasional glint of light reflecting off of its front windshield as it bobs up and down across the harbor. He immediately shuts off his flashlight, then motions for Beth to do the same.
"Do you think that's him?" asks Beth.
"It could be someone from Westport... or maybe some sort of patrol from Aberdeen."
"I'd better tell Larry."
Beth climbs up the ladder and into the pilothouse, where she finds Larry starting to nod off at the wheel. She can't blame him, not after everything they've been through.
"We've got a situation..."
Larry straightens up, startled and slightly embarrassed. "What is it?"
"Someone is behind us, with no lights."
"Are they following us?"
"I can't tell, but they seem to be heading in the same direction."
"Take the wheel for a minute..."
As Beth takes his place at the helm, Larry grabs a pair of binoculars and stands in the doorway, looking out at the harbor beyond. It doesn't take him long to see the boat, a small cuddy cabin that's heading directly toward them.
"Do you see it?" asks Beth.
"Yeah..." he replies, still looking through the binoculars.
"Can you tell who they are?"
"Its Sean." he says in a matter-of-fact, almost calm voice.
Beth has to remind herself to breath as she processes what Larry just told her. "What do we do?"
"I think he's gaining on us, I can't tell for sure." He glances down at the instrument cluster, and at the blinking red light that indicates that the boat is taking on too much water. He knows what they have to do, but he's having a hard time saying it. This boat was supposed to be his life.
"Larry! What are we supposed to do?" Beth asks again, her voice becoming desperate.
"We have to abandon the boat, its our only chance."
"Should I stop?"
"No, we'll keep the boat running, it might buy us some time. Just hold course for a minute."
He drops the binoculars down to his chest, then grabs two bungee cords from the floor and places them on the steering wheel. He stretches each one to either side of the cabin, locking the wheel in place.