by Gray, W. S.
“Come on!” Harry said, yanking on Trey’s arm.
They moved across the desk, navigating through the moving crowds and cacophony with a curious mix of vague apologies and curses. A long tower rose high into the violet night sky, its top obscured by thick, low-hanging clouds. A nasty breeze whistled as it flew past, abrading their skin with its coarse cries as it went on its witch’s path. Raising a hand to cover his face, Trey heard a helicopter clipping through the air above the sea and the clamoring of the crew.
Startling, Trey turned when someone spoke loudly close by. It sounded as if it were right next to his ear. Blinking, he realized Maxime had somehow materialized. The Frenchman stood almost directly next to Trey. He talked in quick bursts of French, elevating his tone to be heard over the noise of the ship.
“He says, first off, thanks for saving one of his guys,” Harry said, tapping one foot impatiently as he relayed the message. “He also wants to show us our bunks and all that.”
And without further ado, the man began leading them down into the interior of the large warship. As they entered the vaguely antiseptic-smelling, tight corridor that would take them to their new home for the foreseeable future, Trey heard a loud crash. The craft shook. Stumbling forward, he reached out one arm to catch himself from falling.
Harry collided with Maxime. The two of them, however, recovered much quicker than Trey. And they were instantly rushing back toward the deck, pushing past Trey without so much as a warning. They practically trampled him as they hurried to return to the frenetic area.
Trying to figure out what was going on, he vaguely recalled having heard a helicopter not long ago. Then things clicked. Trey turned and followed along behind the other two, only barely catching a glimpse of his dad’s moving shoulders as they receded into the mass of humanity moving toward a bright orange fire burning toward the edge of the back of the ship.
“Shit,” Trey said. He instinctively glanced back toward the ground, where he instantly recognized the paucity of zombies. This was followed by a major oh-shit moment as his mind tried to think of where the infected creatures could have possibly gone. It didn’t seem plausible that they’d all been so quickly eradicated by the French military members. Even if they had performed bravely and demonstrated their competence over the last few days.
“Fuck!”
Trey turned and looked toward the site of what had to be a helicopter crash and then back toward the zombie horde moving with startling rapidity up the gangway. “Zombies! ZOMBIES!” he screamed. He jumped up and down and pointed. He strained the limits of his voice as he shouted. The force of his effort burned his throat. But he continued on until he felt aware of his dad’s presence beside him.
“We’ve got bigger problems,” Trey said, leaning forward, out of breath from the exertion.
Harry barked a few orders and then began rushing toward the mob of the undead. Within a few seconds, the air around the deck erupted in a hellish howl as dozens of soldiers unleashed volleys of gunfire, all directed on the nefarious entities all concentrated on the narrow walkway leading up to the ship. Creatures fell off the side, hitting the dark water with a rough smack and a slight splash. Some of them did a macabre dance as their bodies were riddled with bullets. They pirouetted and waved their arms as they were hit with hot brass.
Trey stood there, staring dumbly. He still hadn’t fully recovered from Enzo’s death, much less everything else that had rushed at him since the world had decided to implode. His ears rang. His heart raced. Sweat formed on his palms. He felt his guts tighten as he watched the carnage unfold, not really seeing it but observing the scene, nonetheless. His legs seemed to have been suddenly filled with concrete.
Someone shoved him. A soldier rushing to join the fray.
Turning, Trey saw that the blaze at the other end of the ship had been expeditiously extinguished. That was quick, Trey thought. He noticed a number of people standing around what appeared to be a helmeted corpse, their body language somber. The blackened body of the former craft sat near them, a testament to the old adage that whatever could go wrong would.
However, maxims didn’t always tell the full story, Trey reflected. Because going wrong in a helicopter could often mean someone died.
“Damn it, son, snap out it,” Harry said, his voice hoarse. He’d materialized suddenly next to Trey, breathing heavily, his face a ruddy mask of anger and contempt. “You have to do something,” he said. “All these soldiers here…”
Harry looked down at the ground. He bit his lower lip. His expression changed dramatically in the short span of a few seconds. When he looked back up, the former Army Ranger smiled. “Hey, son… sorry. I was still amped up from the fight,” he said. “But, I’m serious. All these French soldiers, they’ll notice shit like that. Doesn’t matter if you dragged one of their guys up,” Harry said. “And… some of them will never forget what happened to Enzo,” he said.
Then Maxime once again interrupted. He addressed Harry.
“Let’s go find our lockers,” Harry said, smiling sadly. “Could be a long trip.”
Chapter 11
He woke up.
Something had startled Trey awake.
Blinking, he slid back the green fabric cover the acted as his barrier to the outside world. Trey yawned. He glanced around, squinting, trying to see through the poor light cast by the little lamps set into the metal walls.
Trey jumped when he heard a loud BANG! from somewhere nearby. His heart skipping a beat, he glanced around, trying to determine where the noise had come from. When he noticed a skinny, shirtless man with a crude tattoo of an anchor in faint blue ink on one bony shoulder standing in front of one of the white lockers nearby, Trey smiled and began sliding back his cover. He wanted to return to his slumber. It’d been a while since he’d gotten any sleep, and Trey didn’t want to let anything ruin the opportunity any more than he had to.
However, as he closed his eyes, something clicked. That’s my locker, Trey thought. He jumped down from his bunk, cursing as he hit his head on the low, metal top of the bed. Landing on the floor awkwardly with a loud thud, he held up one hand to gingerly touch the painful bump on his noggin while he tried to re-orient himself. What was I doing…
Seeing the emaciated figure turn around, Trey recalled in an instant why he’d decided to so abruptly hop down from the relative comfort of his small bunk. “That’s my locker,” he said. Then Trey shook his head. Of course, this motherfucker doesn’t understand me, he thought. “Dad?” Trey called out, trying to conceal the panic in his tone. He didn’t want to give the guy anything.
However, the man advanced. His rigid body posture and the menacing glint in his tired green eyes communicated clearly his intent. One didn’t need to translate malice. It poured out of every pore in the creature’s body. He exuded the foul, inimical emotion. With his clenched fists and tightened jaws, his thin, angry frown slicing across his stern face, the scoundrel-soldier appeared more than ready for a fight.
“Dad!” Trey said again, adding some urgency to his tone.
Not wanting to waste time or divert his attention by lifting his thin bed and rifling through the compartments underneath, Trey scoured the room for any sign of a possible weapon. As he did so, he became aware of the collective stare of the small area. Trey ignored that. If he got his ass kicked, it didn’t much matter if it were in secret or witnessed by a crowd.
As the man lunged forward, Trey took a step back. He delivered a swift upper-cut to the guy’s face. It hurt his hand. He felt the impact of the blow as it was absorbed through his wrist and arm. Trey didn’t wait to see what effect his strike had on the aggressor, however.
He needed to seize the initiative.
Taking the attacker’s head with both hands, Trey kept his eyes out for the guy’s hands. He maneuvered the figure backward a bit as he tried to think of what he should do.
Then, as the guy regained some of his composure and began to swing, Trey took the man’s head and, as he swung it downward, drove hi
s knee up into it.
“Stop!” Harry called out. “Arretez,” he said.
“Nice time to join me, dad,” Trey said. “Thanks so much for your help,” he said.
“Shut up,” Harry said, reaching out and trying to break up the fight. “What’s going on?” he asked, out of breath from the sudden exertion.
“This dude was at my locker. Then he came at me,” Trey said, releasing his hold on the man and stepping back.
However, as he did so, the character flew back into action, again lunging for Trey.
“Fuck me,” Trey said. This time, however, he stepped out of the way, allowing the anonymous attacker to go forward and past him. “He won’t give up,” Trey said, looking toward his dad.
When Trey looked at the man, he smiled at the thick wad of blood covering the lower half of his face. The guy wiped at it and then rushed forward once again.
Harry intervened this time, grabbing the guy’s wrist and twisting it up behind the man. Harry maneuvered the attacker out into the narrow corridor just outside the small room where their bunks were contained. Shoving the character against the metal wall, he immediately launched into an interrogation of the figure.
But Trey wasn’t privy to what was happening as the man spoke in rapid-fire French.
“What the fuck are you saying?” Trey asked. He watched as the attacker grumbled and moaned, writhing in pain and panic as he was subjected to another brutal round of interrogation. Trey observed his father punching the man in the gut. He saw Harry spit on the figure.
Finally, after perhaps a full five minutes had lapsed, the attacker and would-be thief relented. However, it seemed he’d done so more in response to the sudden presence of Maxime on the scene than out of any anguish induced by Harry’s unremitting aggression.
Harry relaxed and let the man down, listening closely as the figure spewed out a bevy of words. He shoved the attacker as he fled down the hallway, only to pause reluctantly, stiffening, when addressed by Maxime.
Another tense exchange in French occurred. Trey followed it as closely as he could, considering the fact that he couldn’t speak their language. I have got to start learning French, he thought as he watched Maxime’s body language. He’d seen enough of the man to get some idea of how he reacted to certain things. He certainly appeared to be angry, Trey deduced. But at whom and for what, he couldn’t readily identify.
As the attacker slunk away in defeat and ignominy, Trey redirected his attention back to his father, who’d launched into a serious, and tense, discussion with the senior French military figure. For a second, Trey almost thought his dad might actually strike Maxime. He doubted that would be a good idea. But he began to wonder just what they’d do if there ever came a time where they needed to escape their French protectors.
In the middle of the ocean.
Shivering as he briefly recalled the horrors of his most recent ship voyage, Trey silently vowed to never again set sail if they managed to make it through the international leg of their zombie apocalypse journey alive.
Finally, however, all concerned parties seemed to relax. Harry turned and, smiling awkwardly, began translating. “So, apparently that was a friend of the Marine you killed… sorry, uh… Enzo?” Harry said, scratching his head. “Sorry. I just woke up to you beating some random dude’s head in,” he said.
Frowning, he shook his head. Then he glanced over at his son, as if making sure he were seeing the right person. He chuckled. “You never cease to amaze me, Trey,” he said.
“Just tell me what’s going on,” Trey said. “I’m tired of not ever knowing what these people are saying,” he said.
“Well, okay…” Harry said. Then he paused, gathering his thoughts. “So, that guy apparently just had something against you. He’s not terribly confident in the, uh, shall we say, decisions of his command,” he said. “So, it seems the guy just had a bit of an ax to grind, and he decided to do it,” Harry said.
“How did he even find me?” Trey asked.
Harry opened his mouth as if to speak. Then he raised one finger and seemed to think about the question. “You know, that’s not a bad question,” he said. Then, shortly thereafter, he chuckled and shrugged. “Oh, hell… it’s not like you’d be that hard to locate. I mean, we’re the only American bastards on the ship. Plus, now that I think of it even more… I’d bet the whole crew is talking about us,” he said.
Maxime said something.
Harry nodded, as if agreeing with the man. “Maxime here just raised a good point. He says that some people are also jealous because we even got beds. They have people sleeping up on the deck, crazy as that sounds. Ship’s only supposed to normally carry around 200 or so. But we’ve got about 400. So… yeah,” he said. “I’d honestly not thought of that part,” he said.
As they stood there, a tense silence hovered in the stale air. Then Maxime smartly turned and walked away, his footsteps carrying down the tight corridor. He didn’t say anything to mark to departure.
Watching the man leave, Trey tried to get a read on the enigmatic figure. “What’s his deal, anyway?” Trey asked. “And how does he always… just appear?” he asked.
Harry shook his head. “I don’t know, son. But maybe we should just try to get some sleep and not think too hard. We’ll have plenty of time to do that later,” he said. “Personally, I’d like to catch up on some Zs. I’m not getting any younger,” he said. Then he quietly returned back to their room.
Reluctantly following suit, Trey went back to his bunk. He heard several of the French soldiers in the room as they shoved their thin little curtains shut, closing out the world. The fact that they’d so obviously been talking about, even conspiring against, him in his absence only served to fuel and exacerbate his paranoia. Trey clenched one fist. He stood at his bed for several seconds, one foot poised on the ladder, internally debating whether or not to go off on the figures sharing the space with him.
However, thoughts of Sofia penetrated the bubble of his righteous indignation. Trey shivered. Realizing that he needed to be cautious and subdued in his approach, not for himself but for his family, Trey elected to return to the relative comfort of his bunk.
Sliding the curtain shut, he cloistered himself away on his thin, uncomfortable mattress. Lacing his fingers behind his head, Trey stared blankly up at the metal above him, enshrouded by an angry, buzzing swarm of thoughts.
Not even realizing that he’d been bouncing one foot up and down on the mattress, thus, shaking the entire bed, Trey jumped when he felt something strike the metal underneath him. Startling, he looked around, trying to figure out where the sound had come from. Then he realized it. A wry smirk on his face, he muttered a vague apology in case anyone was listening and then silently told his legs to stop their anxious assault on the furniture.
Unable to forget the fact that his entire journey into Hell had begun on a ship- though a much nicer one- Trey couldn’t help but become anxious as he wondered if this leg of his trip might share a similar ending. God, I hope this doesn’t turn out like that… he thought. Trey found himself plunged into graphic memories of the horrors he’d encountered on that cruise ship.
It was only then, as Trey chased various itinerant thoughts through the desiccated valley of his mind, that it struck him that he hadn’t been apprised of where his wife and daughter had gone. He knew they were on the same frigate. But it began to disturb him that he didn’t know their exact whereabouts on the large boat. Fighting the urge to once again begin bouncing his foot up and down, thus, indulging the newfound case of Restless Leg Syndrome he seemed to have acquired as part of the entire traumatic series of events he’d been thrown into head-first, Trey forced himself to take several deep breaths.
Resisting the urge to call out to his father, Trey simply waited. He knew he needed sleep. But he couldn’t see how he’d manage to calm down enough to actually succeed in that goal. Especially since he’d last been woken up by a French Marine armed with a thirst for revenge. Thoughts of his l
ittle girl and his wife, helpless and alone, paraded through his mind, mercilessly tormenting and taunting him.
He wanted to go find them. He needed to jump down and go look for them.
But he knew he couldn’t.
How the fuck did I get stuck on a god damned French frigate, anyway? he thought.
Even though Trey recalled in vivid detail exactly how it had come to pass that he’d been given passage across the ocean on a French military ship, he still couldn’t quite comprehend it. It was all too surreal. Too weird. In his mind, it seemed like something extracted from a bad Hollywood movie. Maybe one of those cheesy, pulpy indie novels that had seized America’s literary landscape. Trey just had a hard time believing that his experiences were really real.
Blowing out a thick burst of air, Trey closed his eyes. He smiled as he thought of his wife. Melody had been such a wonderful storyteller. She’d managed to bring such joy and excitement to the otherwise banal existences of her readers. Every day, Melody had come to him or messaged him, animatedly providing some new story about how one of her fans had reached out to her. He experienced a tinge of sadness and regret, then, as he recalled those happier- or merely less hectic- times. I wish I would have actually really read one of her stories, he thought.
Dwelling on the days when he’d been an overworked lawyer and his wife had been a successful independent romance author, Trey couldn’t help but smile. He wondered what Jerry was doing right then, with the world collapsing around them. Fucker probably wants to charge the zombies billable hours. He chuckled.
Then, following on the heels of those relatively sanguine thoughts, Trey started to explore what could have been. That is, if the zombie apocalypse hadn’t intervened to shatter all semblances of normalcy.
Then he did actually manage to fall into a fitful slumber.
Chapter 12
A siren woke him up.
Trey blinked. He yawned. He heard people scurrying about.