by Jay Brenham
“Deal,” Sam said quickly. He turned to Chief Norris, braced for the worst.
Chief Norris rubbed his chin with a thumb, then sighed and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Grab your stuff out of the armory. Good luck out there.”
Sam let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. For a few minutes he’d felt like an animal backed into a corner, ready to fight its way out. To say he felt relieved was putting it mildly.
Robinson took Sam down to the supply room to retrieve his bag. Next to his mattress was a steel watertight door that opened to the armory. The door was sealed shut by steel handles called dogs. When all of the dogs were latched, water could not get into the armory even if the entire space outside was flooded. On one part of the door was a padlock with a metal tamper seal to show nobody had entered since the last authorized access.
Robinson took a pair of tin snips from the work bench, cut the tamper seal, and removed the padlock. Inside the locker sat Sam’s shotgun along with the craft’s weapons and a plethora of ammunition.
“You got any more room in that bag of yours?” Robinson asked, looking over his shoulder shiftily.
“Yeah, why?” Sam asked.
“Take some of these,” he said, nodding toward the boxes of ammo in the bottom of the armory locker. “We aren’t supposed to be giving people ammo, but you’re going to need whatever help you can get. We never use the shotguns anyway and we’ll still have plenty of shells if we do.”
Sam opened up the top of his bag and Robinson dropped fifty shells in. Then he took Sam’s 870 and loaded the tube and the side saddle. Sam picked the bag up. It was pleasantly heavy now. “Thanks.”
“Don’t worry about it, boss. You’d do the same for someone else if you were in my position, and don’t say you wouldn’t. I can tell you’re not by the book like a lot of these Navy boys. More of an instinct guy like me. And my instinct says to help you.” Robinson held out his hand and Sam took it. “Good luck out there. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Sam nodded. He’d only known Robinson for a day but the man had treated him like an old friend. “Thanks again,” was all he could think of to say. It didn’t seem adequate, given the favor Robinson had just done for him.
Gloria stood by the lowered bow ramp. Sam hugged her and wished her luck. A tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away with a shaking hand. Sam could feel an unfamiliar tightness in his throat.
Pushing his emotions deep down, Sam turned and followed Quinn into the dinghy. He sat in the back and faced Quinn as Quinn began to row toward Raft City, taking Sam farther from the comforting bosom of federal protection and closer to a life of uncertainty with a group of survivors he had no reason to trust.
The little dinghy glided across the water between the LCU and Raft City. The LCU meant many things, but most of all it had meant safety. But safety for how long? A week? A month? How long until whatever refugee ship he got on kicked him off? Prior military or not, how long would it be until people—even civilians— were conscripted into service? There was no room for freeloaders in war. Soon everyone aboard one of those ships would either have a job or they would be kicked off. So yes, staying with the military meant security, but not the kind he was looking for. Staying tucked in close under Uncle Sam’s arm was not as safe as one might think. Sam was looking for freedom, not safety, and Raft City would supply that.
Quinn noticed Sam looking between the craft and Raft City. “It was a hard decision for you?”
Sam perked up. “No actually, it wasn’t. Not when I thought about someone besides myself.”
“That’s good to hear. We need people who think like that.”
Sam frowned. Quinn must have misunderstood what Sam meant. Of course he cared what happened to the people of Raft City but his motivation wasn’t altruistic. “I don’t think you understood what I—”
“I understood what you meant, and we need what you have. You may not think wanting to rescue your family is bold, but you’d be surprised at how abnormal it really is.”
They were halfway between the LCU and Raft City when Quinn stopped rowing, letting the oars hang loosely in their locks as they dragged to a stop.
Quinn sighed. “I’m not gonna bullshit you. Raft City has a morale problem.” He tilted his head. “Maybe I should’ve told you that when we were on the craft. It’s not too late to go back.”
“And?”
“And the people are scared. Most of the people who live here have never dealt with the infected. Not like you have. They haven’t gotten up close. They’re scared.”
“They should be scared. Do you understand what’s out there? What people have become?”
“I have a basic idea, yes. But not significant knowledge. I never had to escape the mainland like you did and neither did most of the residents here.”
“So what experience do you have with the infected?” Sam asked.
“The first night of the infection I was alone. By the second, other boats had tied up beside me, and I was thankful for it. Out here alone, when that was happening…honestly, it was terrifying. We were insulated out here. I hate to say this, but the people in Raft City actually had fun the first night we were together. It was kind of like a snow day when you were a kid. The infection didn’t feel permanent because we hadn’t experienced it.”
“What changed?” Sam asked. He already knew the answer but he wanted to hear Quinn’s version of events.
“By the third day we started getting a lot of boats. Word had gone out on the marine radio that a ‘raft city’ had gone up in Mobjack Bay. We were happy that more people were coming. The more the merrier, right? Band together in times of tragedy—that’s the American way.”
Sam nodded, waiting.
“That was nearly our downfall. We didn’t know about incubation periods or how the virus was transmitted from one person to another. Shortly after dusk on the third day two big boats pulled up. The boats were overloaded. People were hanging off the side, a lot of them injured. By all accounts they were lucky to make it out of the city alive. There was a third boat but it didn’t make it off the dock. So we did what we thought we were supposed to do. We did what good, humane people did: we told them where to tie up and let the refugees off the crowded boats. They slept wherever they could find space.”
Sam’s hands tightened on the edge of the boat even though he knew what was coming.
“Yup.” Quinn looked upset, as if the failure of that night was still resting on his shoulders. “They were infected, and they damn near infected the whole city.”
“What happened?”
“Exactly what you think. A lot of those refugees had been bitten. They either didn’t say anything because they didn’t know or because they didn’t want to be turned away.” He looked away. “I like to think they didn’t know. They were spread out all over the west wing.”
“The west wing?”
“It’s how we organize Raft City. I was the first boat here and other boats started to tie up with me. I have a catamaran, so there are four spots for a boat to tie up. The owners started referring to the boats by the direction in which they sat. It wasn’t intentional but it caught on. Now, each new boat is assigned a cardinal direction.
“So how did the west wing fare?”
“All hell broke loose. Thank God we had another guy who actually had some experience—he escaped kind of like you did—and he was cool under pressure. Matt Hess. Actually, that’s who you’ll be staying with. He should be the head of security here, not me.”
“Why? He didn’t stop the infected refugees from tying up with you guys and he knew the danger.”
Quinn shifted in his seat, not meeting Sam’s eyes. “That’s the thing. He did warn us but we didn’t listen. None of the people on board looked infected. To us, they seemed healthy. Injured, but healthy. Anyway, Matt was asleep when the refugees showed up. He stands the night watch and it was still a couple of hours before he went on.”
“So what did he
do?”
“He lives on the east wing but sound travels easily over water. The woman who lives with him, Jenna, woke him up when she heard the sound. Matt came running across my boat with a rifle slung across his back and a flare gun in his hand and told me to follow him.”
Sam stared at Quinn. This story was getting wilder and the worst part was that he believed every word. “Did you?”
“Hell yeah, I did. So did Jarin from the north wing. Matt looked like he had a plan, which was better than what I had. We ran to the furthest boat without any infected on it. So many of the refugees had turned and were attacking our people. The three of us unhooked the boats. Lucky for us the tide was drifting the right way. Matt took the flare gun and shot a flare into the cabin of the closest boat. The fire spread to every other ship in the west wing as it floated away. It lit up the entire bay.”
“What happened after that?”
“Most people considered Matt a hero. But there were some who said he’d been too drastic. Not everyone had been infected, they argued, so it wasn’t fair to cast off the entire west wing and burn it.”
Sam snorted. It had been the wisest course of action. He wondered if he would’ve had the foresight to do something like that. “What did Matt say to them?”
“Nothing. None of the people who criticized him said anything to his face.”
Sam nodded. “What do you think of Matt?”
“Oh, he saved Raft City. There’s no denying that. None of us would be here if it wasn’t for him. I offered him my job as head of security.”
“And judging by the fact that I’m with you and not him, he didn’t accept.”
“That’s right. He told me he didn’t have any experience, that he’d done what anyone would’ve done. He said he just thought of it before we did.”
Sam shrugged. “Maybe he’s right.”
Quinn picked up the oars and started rowing toward a large charter fishing boat along the perimeter of Raft City. “Maybe. But I didn’t think of doing it and neither did Jarin.”
The dinghy rocked as Quinn and Sam scrambled onto the aft deck of the charter boat. Large gold curved letters stretched across the deep blue hull. Options was written on the stern. Maybe the owner had cashed in stock options to buy it, Sam thought. Or maybe having a boat gave him options for how to spend his weekends and, now, how to survive.
“Welcome to Raft City,” Quinn said. “Follow me.” He walked to a ladder that led to a large tuna tower. “Since the infection, Raft City has grown so much we were forced to alter how boats tie up to one another. If you had looked at the city in the first few days it would have looked like a giant X. But now we’ve accepted so many new boats, a bird’s eye view would look more like spokes connecting concentric circles. Let’s go to the top of the tower and you can see how the city is laid out.”
Quinn started up the ladder that led to Options’ tuna tower.
“I hope you’re not scared of heights,” Quinn called down. “It’s only thirty feet up but that feels different when you’re hanging on a ladder.”
“I’m not afraid of heights. Just clowns and the Taco Bell dog,” Sam said.
Quinn looked back at him with a confused look.
“Just a stupid joke,” Sam said, feeling the flatness of his attempt at humor.
Quinn gave him a pity laugh and a nod before heading up the tower.
Sam gave an inward sigh and left his pack at the bottom of the tower but slung his shotgun onto his back before he started climbing. At the top, he pulled himself onto the platform and joined Quinn.
Raft City was laid out before them. Just like Quinn had said, the rafted boats were assembled in a series of concentric rings, with four “spokes” running from the center to the outside. A large catamaran floated at the very center. He could see land but the closest point was still hundreds of yards away from Raft City. Maybe more.
“What do you think?” Quinn asked.
Sam took a moment before answering. “I think it’s a lot of people. But it looks planned, not like a sprawling mess. How does everyone get food?”
“The city is still divided into four groups: North, South, East and West. New boats are assigned to a specific group based on where the boat before them went. It’s rotational. That way each group has roughly the same number of boats and a similar population.”
“How are decisions made?”
“Through a vote. Every day the four representatives from each group get together and discuss concerns their people have.”
Sam nodded. That made sense. “You didn’t answer the question about food. I know not everybody has a cabin full of provisions.”
“We’re capitalist, not communist. If a person wants food they need something to trade, either something of value or, if they don’t have anything, time and labor. Security is a priority here, as I’m sure it is anywhere else where survivors have gathered. If a man found himself with extra ammunition or a weapon he could buy plenty of food. The only problem with that is if a person gives up their ammunition and they run out of food they won’t have anything left to trade.”
Sam glanced down at his bag, still sitting at the bottom of the tuna tower. If he’d realized the extra ammo had become a currency of its own, he wouldn’t have left it unattended.
“Don’t worry, your bag is safe on Options,” Quinn said, without taking his eyes off of the city below. “But I wouldn’t make it a habit of leaving your belongings around. We have a strict policy about stealing here but it’s not unheard of for something to grow legs and walk off.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “What happens if someone is caught stealing?”
Quinn laughed. “You look like you think we drown people or burn them at the stake. The evidence is presented to the four leaders and myself. If we decide the suspect is guilty, they’re banished from Raft City. We have no room for thieves.”
Sam nodded. “That makes sense. People are depending on their possessions right now. It could mean the difference between life and death.”
“Exactly. Safety is paramount. That’s why I fought to find you a place to stay. You lived in the city longer than any of the people here and, more importantly, you fought your way out of it.” He glanced at Sam. “You might not believe me, but it’s the truth: most of the people here were already on their boats when the infection began, and the few who weren’t got out of the city without any major fighting. We’re refugees, not fighters. I’m not saying you’re Jason Bourne or anything, but you have experience dealing with the infected that we just don’t have. We have rotating watches, not just for infected but for regular people who wish us harm. We haven’t had any trouble so far…”
“But?”
Quinn gave Sam a wry smile. He didn’t seem surprised that Sam had guessed there was something below the surface. “Right now we’re getting by on crabbing and fishing and trading amongst ourselves. We won’t be able to do that forever. We haven’t added anyone to Raft City in days. No new people means no new supplies. We’re going to run out. Not tomorrow or the next day, but soon. We need new sources of food, water and fuel. We can’t even find people willing to venture into largely uninhabited areas to scavenge from old farm houses. Everyone is too scared.”
“That’s where I come in?”
“That’s where you come in.”
Sam knew Quinn was speaking the truth. Or, at least, he couldn’t think of any reason Quinn would lie. Still, he found it hard to believe that he’d be considered an expert in anything remotely related to tactics or weaponry. But it made sense: the people with experience were stuck in the city and the ones who’d been lucky enough to escape had done just that.
“They should be scared,” Sam said. “I’m scared.”
“Maybe that will keep you alive.” Quinn turned back to the ladder. “Let’s get you to your accommodations.”
#
“She isn’t the belle of the ball but she can still dance,” Matt Hess announced, grinning at Sam. Matt was in his late twenties or early
thirties, his skin bronzed from days in the sun. Quinn had said Matt took the night watch but in order to get that burned, he had to have been out during the day.
Matt was talking about his sailboat, a 28-foot Bristol Channel cutter named Carver. It was also Sam’s new home.
Despite being designed and built in the 1970s, it was, according to Matt, the premier boat for crossing the ocean. That was something Sam hoped not to do, though he supposed it was good to have options.
Matt wasn’t technically the owner of the boat; he and Jenna taken it to escape Virginia Beach during the first night of the outbreak. Matt and Jenna had also rescued a newborn girl from the hospital. Later, Matt had found a journal in the boat which described the previous owner’s circumnavigation around the world.
The Carver’s royal blue sides had recently been waxed to a mirror shine. The owner—the original owner, that is—must’ve had true pride in ownership. But Sam noticed Matt presented the boat with confidence too, as if he wished to continue this tradition.
With a start, Sam realized that Matt had finished the tour and was waiting expectantly for Sam’s verdict.
“She seems like a solid craft,” he offered.
“She is.” Matt ran a hand along the gunwale.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Matt looked up. “Sure.”
“Why did you volunteer to let me stay with you?”
“Quinn said you were looking for your wife and kid and that you didn’t want to freeload off the military. I liked that.”
“How about the fact that I came with a gun?”
Matt laughed. “Well, that certainly didn’t hurt, but I have my own protection.” He gestured to an AR-15 leaning against the galley sink. It was solid black and looked like something out of a movie. “More than anything, I liked the idea of a man willing to work and sacrifice to find his family. A friend of mine once told me that any of us apes can learn how to use a gun. Point and shoot, right? But not everyone is willing to risk it all for somebody else. I think that says something.”