The Apocalypse Fugitives

by Peter Meredith

  "Should we gag him?" a sallow-faced woman asked.

  "Then how would he talk?" Shawn snapped. "Torture is useless if the guy can't talk."

  "I meant for now," she said. "Also, there's something we're overlooking: what if he's not a bandit?"

  Shawn rolled his eyes. "Clara, please. Look at him."

  She did look at him, very intently. Her sad brown eyes roved every inch of his face before she declared: "He's not one of them. I'm sure of it."

  The group grew unsettled over her statement. Shawn's anger wilted out of him and gingerly he took his wife's face in his hands. "You said you were blind folded, Clara. This could be one of them. This could be one of those murdering, rapist mother-fuckers who took our daughter."

  "I'm not," Grey said. "I'm Captain James Grey of the US Army currently based out of Glenwood Springs, Colorado. My identification is in my front right pocket." It was all he had left in his pockets. When they had caught him digging Sarah's grave they had taken everything else of value from him: his M4, his bayonet, and all his ammo, minus one bullet. Grey had managed to get one shot off; a warning shot to Neil and Sadie, and more importantly to Jillybean. As much as he liked Neil, Grey knew that Jillybean was the key to any rescue attempt.

  Shawn made no move to check his ID so Clara stepped around him and searched until she found the laminated card. She began to smile in relief. "He's in the army alright. He's a captain just like he said."

  "No, he was in the army," Shawn said. "The army is gone, honey. Just like the country is gone. And you saw the raiders same as us. What do they wear? Camo, just like this guy. And what do they drive? Humvees just like this guy. And what kind of guns do they have?" he answered his own question by holding up Grey's M4.

  Michael watched all this leaning on the rail with the fake shrubbery biting into his back and a cloud of gnats floating over his head. "I'm sorry, Clara, but we're going to have to torture him. There's no other way we'll get any information out of him."

  "I could just tell you what I know," Grey said. Clara looked at him sharply, while Michael gave him a benign but unbelieving grin. "There are five of us," Grey told him. "Two men, a teenager, a seven-year-old girl and an infant. We stopped down at Smith Road to bury one of our friends."

  "I didn't see any girls, or a body," Shawn said. "Anyone see this body he was burying?" The other eight males of the group shook their heads as one. Shawn gave a low barking laugh. "Me neither. But you know, I am willing to believe you had some girls in tow. That fits the bill nicely."

  "A little too nicely," Michael said, waving at his halo of gnats. "Pull up the anchor, John. I think we should do this in Black Canyon Cove. It's the least assessable spot from Smith Road."

  "You're really going to do this?" Grey asked. "You're going to torture an innocent man?"

  "Innocent?" Michael demanded. "We're supposed to believe you just showed up and headed right for us by accident?" Grey started to answer but Michael cut him off. "Just like back in Birmingham? And at Oak Mountain? And again on the interstate? Then ten days ago at Sandy Bottom Beach? Were each of those accidents, too?"

  "I don't know anything about those other incidents."

  "I wish I could believe you," Michael said. "Once is a coincidence, five times is a very clear pattern. Really, if I was you I'd shut up. All you're doing is making Shawn angrier and we both know he doesn't need the incentive. Instead, you should pray while you can."

  Since it was the only thing he really could do, Captain Gray dropped his chin to his chest and prayed as the spool's handle was cranked and the anchor was drawn up. Once it was pinned in place, Shawn started the electric motor humming and the Floating Island began to slip very slowly away. The electric motor was little more than a suped-up fishing engine designed for steerage, not propulsion; at full power they would be lucky to go at the speed of a Sunday stroll.

  That was by design. They moved so slowly that the average person wouldn't even notice them moving at all.

  The electric hum lulled the group into sleepiness. Some slunk into their tents while others lounged around on pillows or in chairs in the communal area. Michael hadn't budged. He eyed Grey close like a coon dog staring up at a dinner table. Grey saw that there would be no slipping his bonds unseen, no sly escape. The best he could hope for was a wild plunge into the water when the sun went down, which wouldn't be for another half hour. Even that probably, almost certainly, would be a waste of energy. With his hands tied behind his back it would be a struggle just to stay afloat.

  Out of curiosity Grey stood to get a look around. Michael tensed, while Shawn with his hand on the motor looked ready to fly across the boat. Grey ignored them. The boat was rounding a jetty of land; after they passed it they would be in open water with the closest land a half mile away.

  With a sigh, Grey sat back down again.

  "More angle, Shawn," Michael ordered. "Let's not give our friend even a ghost of a chance." He turned back to Grey and appraised him. "I know you're thinking about jumping in. It's obvious."

  "Of course it's obvious," Grey retorted. "Look at my options. I stay on board and chug slowly to my death or I go for one last swim."

  "Who said anything about death?" Michael asked.

  Grey snorted derisively. "Please, if I confess to anything you'll have me executed after the fact, and if I don't confess, are you going to pat me on the back and say: no hard feelings?" Michael shrugged a little but held his tongue. Grey went on, "When I look at you guys, all I see are scared villagers with pitchforks and torches, and to you anything else looks like Frankenstein's monster."

  "Nice try," Michael said after a moment of contemplation. "The problem with your analogy is that you look and act exactly like Frankenstein's monster. We'd be fools not to grab our pitchforks."

  "You're fools alright, and cowards," Grey sneered. He lowered his voice to an angry hiss, "And you're the most cowardly one of all. You could prove me innocent just by sending some men back up to Smith Road to check on my story, but you won't, will you?"

  "And risk more of my people now that you're friends are ready for us?" Michael shot back. "Sorry, but we've taken too many risks already. Look around. How many men do you think I have to spare running around the forests right before sunset?"

  "You shouldn't talk to him, Michael," Shawn said. "He'll fill your head with so much crap that you won't know which way is up. Come over here. He's not going anywhere."

  After a last hard look, Michael went to sit with his brother, leaving Grey alone on his own pontoon. They didn't seem to care too much if he jumped in. They were in open water now, jumping in would be futile. Grey lay back on the deck figuring he would try to get some sleep at least, when a silver glint caught his eye.

  It was the very tip of a knife, going up and down, cutting at the rope holding his pontoon to the other eight. Pontoon platforms sat on two large aluminum tubes, generally about a foot over the water. Someone was in the open space beneath the platform.

  "Jillybean," he breathed. "Not yet." He didn't know for certain that it was her under the boat, but it was the safest bet he could have ever wagered on.

  Either she didn't hear him, or she had her own plans and the knife kept going. Grey worked his way to his feet. Michael and Shawn tensed, but Grey shook his head and said loudly. "I'm not going to try to escape, at least not when it's light out. Maybe if I waited thirty minutes or so I would then, but not now."

  Had Jillybean heard the inflection in his voice? Would she wait? In his periphery he saw the knife tip pause for only a second before it went back to work.

  Shit!

  Grey went to the railing and leaned there, letting a new wind blow in his face, hoping to draw everyone's attention to him and not down at the crevice between the boats. "Especially with me tied up like I am," he added.

  The knife kept going, cutting like crazy. It wasn't difficult. The ropes around the boats weren't inch-thick maritime ropes designed to hold freighters in place, they were quarter-inch nylon and meant for the
day-sailor to take his fifteen-foot Sunfish out for the afternoon. The knife was going through them like butter and in seconds one side of his pontoon was free and a crack opened up.

  "The dark won't save you," Shawn said. "This motor isn't the fastest, but it's a long way to shore now. Longer than you think."

  Grey knew exactly how far they were from shore, but Jillybean was already committed. He was trying to think of something to say when the tip of the knife reappeared at the front of the boat where they were still connected to the larger mass of boats. He saw they were less than a minute from separating. What would happen then? Would Michael and Shawn try to leap across as the boats slowly separated? Or would they just shoot him?

  Words suddenly failed him when he need them most, but luckily for him, Clara took that moment to stand up in the middle boat and state baldly, "I think torture is the wrong thing to do."

  Shawn slammed his hand down with a heavy thump which vibrated throughout the pontoons, all except the boat Grey was on—his was no longer attached to the others. There was a two-inch gap separating his from the rest.

  "Things are about to get interesting," he whispered.

  Chapter 8

  Ipes the Zebra

  Lewis Smith Lake, Alabama

  Why am I even here! Ipes wailed. Jillybean was clinging desperately beneath the pontoon boat, holding to a rusty strut with one hand while she cut at the ropes with the other—Ipes was clinging even more fiercely to the inside collar of her shirt. These types of boats were strange and scary to the little zebra, especially from beneath. The water was right there! And the tubes the platforms sat on were large and slippery and looked alarmingly like torpedoes.

  He's already asked once if they could blow up with her continually touching them like she was, but Jillybean hadn't deigned to answer such a silly question.

  "You're here because you wouldn't let me leave you on shore," Jillybean said under her breath. When they first saw the Floating Island drifting further out onto the lake she had done the smart thing and hadn't leapt into the water to try to catch it, much to Ipes relief. Instead, she had simply hurried along the shore to the jutting spur of land a few miles away and then, in spite of Ipes' suggestions of going back to see Neil and Sadie, whom he suddenly missed with heart-rending honesty, she had tied her sneakers around her waist and had paddled slowly into the path of the Floating Island as it came creeping along. She had counted on her disguise to be mistaken for just another zombie in the water.

  Now she had her cricket-thin legs splayed between the tubes of one boat and that of its neighbor, trying her best to reach the last rope. She had Ipes stuffed into her shirt with just his head sticking out. He felt like he was on some sort of nightmare ride at a theme park.

  I know I didn't want to be on shore before, but that was before and now I'm really starting to think you were right about leaving me. I know rescuing Captain Grey is nice and all, but this is crazy! This is really the most crazy thing you have ever done. We could drown. Or…or a shark or a trout or something could get us. And what about the motor? It could chop us into bits. Did you think about that before you dragged me along?

  "At least, I'm not trying to blow up the boats this time," she said with a grunt. "And I didn't know what my plan was going to be till I got here. Sorry if it doesn't meet your high standards of rescues."

  You could have at least waited until sunset like Captain Grey suggested. That seemed really smart. Why don't you stop cutting that rope and just hold on with two hands for a while.

  "We'll be too close to shore if we wait any longer."

  Ipes squinched his big nose in confusion. Are you saying you don't want to go to shore? I want to go to shore, and I'm pretty sure Captain Grey wants to go to shore as well. Anyone in their right mind wants to go to shore, which means you must be crazy.

  Finally, the last rope parted; Jillybean relaxed her grip and slid into the water, barely keeping Ipes from drowning.

  What are you doing? Ipes asked with growing alarm. Jillybean was treading water, letting the boats glide over her head. What about the motor? Won't we get chopped up?

  "Don't worry, the roundy-roundy thing is way over there," she said. Way over there wasn't way over there far enough for Ipes' sake. Jillybean took a deep breath and said, "Time to get dunked again." It was all the warning Ipes had before she ducked under the water to avoid the fake plants at the back of the boat. She grabbed on with one hand as they passed over her.

  The zebra came up spluttering while Jillybean came up in silence. Determined and focused she began going hand over hand, pulling herself along the back of the boat, moving ominously closer to the propeller.

  Ipes had to suddenly pee. Are you going to disable the propeller or the motor? I think you should go with the motor, it's less scary.

  "I'm not gonna touch either, silly. That would stop the boat."

  Uhhhh, Jillybean? I don't get it. How do we plan on getting away if the boat isn't stopped?

  "Stopping the propeller would stop both the boats," she said making her way gingerly around the propeller and heading for the anchor that hung from the spool above.

  Yes, I suppose it would, Ipes said. And that's bad because?

  "Sss," she hissed like a snake. It was her way of hushing him up as noiselessly as she could. People were arguing up on deck. Jillybean bobbed in the water, listening with her head turned and angled, her breath barely coming in and out.

  "How can you of all people stand there and tell me that?" Shawn demanded, furiously. From what Ipes could tell he seemed very close; only a foot or two above their heads. "Torture may be the only way to get our Amy back."

  "We could trade him," Clara said. There was desperation in her voice and an undertone of panic. "But if you do this, just think about what they'll do to her."

  "I don't have to!" Shawn practically screamed. "We've seen the bodies. We know what they do already."

  Jillybean? Ipes said. Whatever your plan is, let's do it. We can't sit here like this.

  "But what do the raiders do to them?" she asked, nervously. Ipes knew her fears better than even his own. What scared her most of all was the unknown. Zombies could eat you and bullets would kill you and lakes could pull you down into the blackness at the muddy bottom and drown you, and all these things she could handle; they were scary and yet they were also known qualities. It was the unknown that could paralyze Jillybean.

  Jillybean! Come on. Those raiders aren't even here. They could be fifty miles away.

  "You're right," she whispered. With a deep breath she began to pull herself up. For her the trees and the struts and the railing were a simple ladder, and she went up forgetting only one thing.

  Jilly! Help! Ipes cried as he slid down her shirt and dropped into the water.

  "Farts!" she cursed her worst curse, before retracing her holds and reaching out with one of her tiny feet and grabbing Ipes' right ear with her toes.

  Ew. You look like a monkey, he said as he was hauled upwards.

  "At least I don't smell like one," she shot back. "Boy, this would be easier if you weren't so fat," she griped.

  It's water-weight, I swear. I haven't had a cookie in weeks.

  "Sure you haven't," she said, taking hold of him by the scruff of the neck in her teeth!

  This is weird, he commented. The feeling was strange and gentle, and if he wasn't so sure that she was climbing to their death he might have been lulled into sleepiness. Instead he had a front row seat as she climbed up the back of the boat and slithered a skinny arm under the rail, following the line of the anchor.

  She saw the spool and the hand-crank and the pin holding the line in place. With two very giant looking adults standing only inches from her, she pulled the pin on the spool. There wasn't even a splash. The group that had kidnapped Captain Grey had designed the anchor system for ultimate quiet and the spool barely hummed as it let out its line.

  Now what? Ipes asked. You didn't want the two boats to stop but I think they are gonna when
the anchor hits the bottom.

  The little girl scrambled back the way she had come. For Ipes, going down was more scary than going up. She climbed with her chin jutted over one shoulder so she could see where she was going and this left Ipes dangling over the churning water above the propeller with only her teeth keeping him from a certain death.

  Jillybean? Do you still have your baby teeth? Do they feel lose to you? They feel lose to me.

  In her haste, she ignored him. They were on a time crunch. If the anchor bit into something before she got to Captain Grey's boat they would find themselves in deep trouble. Unfortunately, the anchor fell through the depths faster than Jillybean had reckoned and it fetched up on something sturdy. The Floating Island shook as the eight pontoons that were still tied together lost their forward momentum.

  Free of the others, Captain Grey's boat banged into the pontoon in front of it and then, as the entire Floating Island, still being driven by the electric motor, started to yaw to the right it began to spin off to the left.

  Jillybean saw the angles working on the boats and the energies being released. She summed up the answer to an unspoken equation in a fraction of a second and dove into the water, inches from the propeller.

  Noooo…Ipes cried before the cool water rushed all around him and choked off his words. He felt like he was drowning or rather he felt like a sponge that was drowning which was worse in a way. Then Jillybean broke the surface and was swimming as fast as she could.

  Above they heard someone yell: "What did you do?"

  "Me?" Captain Grey asked with faux innocence. "My hands are tied behind my back. I didn't do anything."

  "It's the anchor," a woman shouted. "Someone let it out."

  "Farts!" Jillybean cursed around a mouthful of Ipes' blue shirt as she realized that her scheme was unraveling too quickly. She reached the free pontoon just as the people on the Floating Island rushed for the anchor.

  In seconds she had climbed the trees and vaulted the rail like a monkey. Rudely, at least in Ipes' eyes, she dropped the zebra on a cardboard box and rushed to the captain, pulling her knife as she went. The boats were now twenty yards apart and the distance was growing with every second.