by Lundy, W. J.
Nodding his approval, Nikolai frowned. “And the infected people, have you seen them?”
“Yeah, and I killed a few,” Clay replied, dipping his head to Nikolai. “What about you?”
The man bit at his lower lip. “We had encounters, but no, I don’t think we have killed any—”
“Except those ones you hit with the Range Rover,” Miguel added.
Nikolai’s face reddened, and he nodded in agreement as Miguel moved across the room and sat on the bench next to him. “Yes, there was an incident with my Range Rover. I hit a couple of them leaving our parking garage. They very well could have been killed.” He shook his head and looked at his balled fists. “I loved that automobile.”
“I feel your pain. I had some deep affection for that bass boat we just left behind,” Clay muttered. “But, I guess it got you this far, so you should be pleased with that. So where is it you two are headed now?”
Nikolai looked to Miguel and then back to Clay. “This morning we attempted to make it to the train station. We’d heard reports that the government was evacuating people to St. Louis.”
“A train? Then why are you on a boat on the far side of Lake Michigan?”
Nikolai turned his head to the side and shrugged. “There were difficulties on the road to the station. Many people were trying to get out of town, and there were so many infected in the streets. I didn’t want to risk being caught in traffic—or worse.”
“So you went for a boat instead?” Clay asked.
“Not much choice, really.” Nikolai pushed back against the bulkhead and rested his head. “We heard there was a problem in Chicago. They talked about these things moving north. You know, the stuff that was on the TV and radio about attacks on pedestrians. Riots in the city, that sort of thing.”
Clay showed embarrassment and looked away. “Yeah, I kind of missed out on any early warning. I keep to myself mostly, and I don’t watch a great deal of TV.”
“Really?” Miguel said, looking up like he was fascinated by Clay’s lack of connection. “You just ignore everything? Are you one of those off-the-grid prepper guys?” he asked.
Clay was about to respond, but before he could speak, Andrew let out a laugh. “No way—Clay? More like hermit. He just doesn’t like anyone, so he stays locked up in that shack of his, yelling at tourists to keep off his lawn.”
The old man shot Andrew a cold stare that quickly shut down the boy’s taunts. Andrew returned to his nearly empty cup. Nikolai grinned and looked back at Clay. “I can respect a man who wants to be left alone.”
“You can?” Miguel protested.
Nikolai held up a hand. “I’m just saying…sometimes the world can get crazy. Sometimes a man just needs a break.”
Miguel sighed and left his seat, moving back to the galley with the empty glasses. “Oh, so now you need a break?” he said over his shoulder jokingly.
Shaking his head and holding back a smile, Nikolai continued his story. “We’d been out to dinner a few nights ago, you know before things went crazy. Back in Oak Creek, everything was completely normal. There was talk of violence in the city. But come on, it’s Chicago. When isn’t there talk of violence or demonstrations, you know? When we got home that evening, we turned on the eleven o’clock news. Yes, we began to realize something was different. People, our friends and neighbors, were starting to see it. They were talking about problems in Washington, in California—every big city in the country, really.
“The next day, I made a phone call to my parents, who live in Madison now. My father is politically connected, and he knew more than what was being put out on the news. He said we should lock up and stay in the house, and then travel to their home first thing the next morning.”
Miguel came back into the room. “And that’s exactly what we were planning to do,” he said, moving back to the bench seat by Nikolai.
“By morning those things were in the street. They were being seen all over Oak Creek and even as far north as Green Bay. When I called my father again he told me to stay away. Madison was already infested. But he said they were being evacuated to St. Louis, where the government was setting up a safe zone for government officials. He told us about a train that would be taking people through the infected zones. He told us he could ensure we had seats on the train, but we had to be there at six o’clock sharp.”
Miguel sighed. “We shouldn’t have waited.”
Wiping sweat from his forehead, Nikolai dipped his chin in agreement. “By noon, they were in the yard and pounding on the house. We moved to the lower level of our home and barricaded ourselves in the garage.” Nikolai paused and looked at Miguel, taking his hand. “We were lucky to get out. When I opened the garage door, the street was full of them. We tried to drive through, but the Range Rover took a beating. When we got to the highway, the entrances were blocked. There were cars burning in the streets and police at barricades, turning people around. Even shooting at cars that got too close to the barriers.
“The marina was our only chance. We raced for the shoreline and fortunately we found it nearly deserted. This boat belongs to Miguel’s boss. We traveled on it frequently, so we knew where the key box was hidden, and we knew how to get it going. We stayed overnight, anchored just off the city. The news hadn’t improved by morning, so we decided to cross the lake, and, well, that’s when we ran into—I’m sorry, that’s when we almost ran into you.”
Clay waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. What’s done is done,” he said. “So where to now?”
“I contacted my father this morning before the cell phones went down,” Nikolai said. “He told us to head for the Dunes south of Michigan City.”
“Dunes? And how is that going to help us? You planning to stick your heads in that sand and hope this all blows over?”
Miguel shook his head and looked at Andrew. “Is he always like this?” he asked.
“Sometimes he’s worse,” Andrew responded.
Clay waved them off with his hand. “I just don’t understand. Do you all have a plan, or not?”
Nodding, Nikolai continued. “There’s an airfield just inland from the Dunes. My father says there are several light aircraft there.”
“And you can fly?” Clay asked.
“No, I cannot,” Nikolai said. “But Miguel can.”
“I see…” Clay trailed off for a moment. “So what then? Today, tomorrow maybe, you and Miguel go off into the Dunes and hop a ride on a plane?”
“No,” Nikolai replied abruptly. “We will reach the Dunes tonight. Tomorrow we’ll scout out the aircraft. Then, all of us will fly to St. Louis together.”
33
Lake Michigan
March 28th
Clay sat up sharply in the cabin’s bed. Sweating for a moment, he’d forgotten where he was and could have sworn he was back in his cabin, surrounded by the infected. He could hear footfalls and voices on the deck above him. He scanned the small space; it was lit by sunlight spilling through a small porthole. Across from him, the boy was asleep on another rack, with Rufous curled up into a ball at his feet.
“Traitor,” Clay whispered to the dog that hardly budged at the sound of his master’s voice.
He spun out of the bed and found his trousers and boots, pulling them on quickly. He stood and rolled the aches from his shoulders. Considering being in a strange place, and tossing and turning with nightmares, he felt oddly well rested. He grabbed his gun belt and strapped it on over his hips then took the rifle and slung it across his back.
The old man moved through the boat, making his way to a ladder and open hatch to the top deck. He emerged into a pilothouse. Nikolai was at the controls, with Miguel holding a pair of binoculars behind him. Miguel smiled at him and said, “Oh, you’re awake. You were sleeping so hard, I didn’t want to disturb you or that young man. There is some breakfast in the galley; feel free to help yourself.”
Clay smiled and pointed to a stainless-steel pot. “I’ll pass on the grub, but if that’s coffee, I’
ll take some.” Miguel pointed to a hook with several mugs hanging on it. Clay stepped to the side and saw they were no longer in the middle of the lake. Looking into the bright sunrise, he could see the Michigan coastline. He didn’t recognize the terrain, but when he looked closely, he could see people walking on the beach. “Hey, there’s someone out there,” Clay said, pointing at the distant shoreline.
Miguel frowned and passed Clay the binoculars. When he looked through them he could see why there was no need for excitement. The tourists on the beach were bloodied, hardly covered with tattered clothing; some of them were barefoot, but others wore tennis shoes and boots. Clay sighed and pulled the binoculars away from his eyes, not speaking. He passed them back to Miguel before turning to Nikolai, who was stern-faced at the controls.
“They’re all infected?” Clay asked, knowing the answer.
Miguel nodded. “Yes, this is the third time this morning that I have moved closer to shore. Each time we were greeted with those things. I don’t know how there can be so many of them. It’s only been days since they reported the outbreaks in Chicago.”
“Huh,” Clay grunted. “And how much further do we have to travel before we reach the plane?”
Looking at a flat-panel display, Nikolai pressed a soft rubber button then looked back. “We’ll be there in a couple hours. It’s further from cities, on the back side of the Dunes, so I’m hoping the beach is deserted there.”
“No,” Clay said. “Those things are all moving north along the beach. They’re probably coming up from the cities and following the path of least resistance. I imagine everywhere we go, we’ll find them marching north. We’ll have to make some sort of distraction to the south, something to hold them back long enough for us to get inland.”
“A distraction?” Miguel repeated. “What do you have in mind?”
“How sure are you that this plane is going to be there, and that you’re going to be able to fly it?”
Miguel shrugged and looked at Nikolai before turning back to Clay. “It’ll be there, and it’ll fly. Nikolai’s father guaranteed it.”
“Okay then. I suggest we set the autopilot on this thing to cruise south along the shore with the loud speakers blasting. If it does what I think it will, that’ll turn most of those things around to follow it.”
“Well, if they are all following us, how will that help us get to shore?”
Clay looked over the windshield and onto the covered bow of the boat. “The dingy,” he said. “We’ll drop into that and wait off shore just long enough for the decoy to take effect. Then we get ashore, cross that dune line, and find your plane.”
“And if you’re wrong, we’re stuck out here in a dingy?” Nikolai asked suspiciously.
“Trust me, when they see this boat within their grasp, they’ll come a running. Do a practice run, if you like.”
Disengaging the autopilot and easing the throttle forward, Nikolai grinned. “I think I just might do that.”
Clay turned his head to sweep the pilothouse. “Do you have any weapons onboard?”
Miguel pointed to a red canvas bag attached to the bulkhead. “Only a flare pistol and a fire axe.”
“Flare pistol, yeah, that might come in handy. Make sure we take it tonight when we depart.”
“Tonight?” Miguel said, his voice rising.
Throwing up the palm of his hand and looking to Nikolai for support, Clay said, “Well, yeah. You expect us to rush up a beachhead in broad daylight? Even with a major distraction, we’re likely to be spotted.”
“No way,” Miguel said, shaking his head. “We have to go in the daylight. I can’t take off and navigate an aircraft in the dark. It’s not happening.”
“I agree, we go in daylight,” Nikolai said, nodding.
“Nope,” Clay hammered back. “We won’t make it off the beach if we go in daylight. You can see those things up and down the horizon, and only one has to spot us. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Once they start screaming they’ll swarm on us.”
Miguel balled his fist and moved to the doorway, his face turning red. “I cannot fly at night. If we must leave at night, we may just as well stay here.”
Rubbing his beard, Clay watched the frustration on the younger man’s face. “You really can’t fly at night?”
“No, and it would be madness scrambling around an unknown airfield, trying to secure an aircraft, and don’t even talk about trying to take off on a small field with no runway lights.”
“Pre-dawn then?” Clay said.
“I told you—” Miguel said, but stopped when Clay raised his index finger.
“How far is the hike to the airfield?” he asked.
Opening a small binder on the dash to his front, Nikolai removed a map neatly folded and wrapped in plastic. Clay was impressed to see that the man had already drawn a route in grease pencil and had notes written on the side. “I think if we push through, we can do it in under an hour. It’s uneven terrain, considering it is the Dunes, but we are only talking a bit over three miles. We must hustle, but it can be done.”
“Okay, then we set out two hours before sunrise. By the time we hit the airfield, the sun will be showing its pretty face,” Clay said as he turned and looked at his pilot. “Does that work for you, Miguel?”
The bearded man smiled and nodded his head. “That works for me. Thank you, Clay.”
“Look!” Nikolai shouted, pointing toward the shoreline.
Clay spun his head. Just as he’d predicted, the things had taken notice of the boat running parallel to the beach. The nearby infected had stopped and were turning toward it, some even wading out into the water with arms reaching for them. Clay tried to hide the horror on his face and saw the same reflected in the eyes of the two men in the pilothouse with him. He shook off a chill, knowing that by the next morning he’d be on that sand, trekking with those things close by. No, he said to himself, the distraction will work.
“That settles that then. The boat diversion works, and tonight with the running lights on, I suspect it will work even better. Captain, might you take us back out of sight until the sun goes down? No need to gather a party on the beach,” Clay said before shifting his shoulders like he had when he first woke. He retrieved a cup from the hook and filled it with coffee.
Clay sat in an empty chair and watched as Miguel followed the instructions, moving them east away from the coastline. The old man sipped his coffee and looked at his unlikely travel companions. And then he laughed to himself, wondering if he’d just taken command of this crew.
34
Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore, Michigan City, Indiana
March 30th
They powered off the motor, letting the boat drift freely in the water. They’d cut every light to make the ship invisible on the dark waters of Lake Michigan. Clay looked up in the cloud-covered sky and could barely see the moon trying to shine through.
Nikolai had been right about the location of the airfield. They’d been observing the beach from afar since the sun went down. There were still mass populations migrating north, but the numbers of homes and people beyond the beach had all but disappeared.
“By my phone, it’ll be sunrise in two hours,” Nikolai whispered. The man was standing in the pilothouse behind the controls. Miguel was on the dive deck with Andrew, readying the dinghy.
“We need to go then,” Clay said, nodding his approval. “As long as you’re sure about the plane. If you have any doubts, now is the time to change plans. We could turn and head for an island up north.”
Nikolai shook his head. “No, my father says the plane will be there, so it will be there.”
“Who is he?” Clay asked. “Why are you so confident?”
The younger man smiled and shook his head. “He’s no secret agent or super connected politician, if that’s what you’re asking. He has a lot of real estate holdings. He buys and sells property, and my father knows of this private field. He was able to make a few phone calls before things collapsed, and
a friend confirmed that a plane would be there waiting for us.”
“How do we know someone didn’t have the same idea and it’s already gone?”
“I’m not saying it couldn’t happen, but this place is off the road. It’s a secluded field, and with the speed of what happened, it’s unlikely that anyone else who knows of the fields would think to go there. If they did, then—I.D.K., Clay,” Nikolai said, spelling out the abbreviation for “I Don’t Know.”
Clay looked down to the dive deck and could see that Andrew and Miguel had the dinghy loaded with their bags, and Rufous was already seated in the boat, ready to go. He unslung his rifle and checked that the magazine was firmly seated. He went to take a step, but before he did, he stopped and looked at Nikolai again. “How are you with a handgun?”
“I can shoot,” the man replied.
“Good enough for zombies, I reckon,” Clay said. He undid his gun belt and passed it off to Nikolai. “I’ll be wanting that back, but I imagine if we get into trouble, the more guns in the fight the better.”
Nikolai held the belt and adjusted it so that it would fit his slim waist. “Thank you, Clay,” he said before looking at the console. “I’m going to start powering up the boat now. I’ll turn on all the cabin lights, including the spotlight, and I’ll lock the horn. That should be enough to get some attention. I have the GPS path already set. The boat will be trolling slowly along the coastline. It won’t be a hard tug, but you’ll want to be in the dinghy before I hit the throttle. As soon as I join you, we can cut free and watch her go.”