Stranded Series (Book 5): Into The Gulf

by Gray, W. S.

  However, the guard hesitated, glancing from Melody to Trey. Then after several seconds, he disappeared back around the corner without a word, leaving them to their marital spat.

  “How did that even enter your dirty little mind, anyway?” Melody asked. “Here we were, having a decent time. We were talking about your daughter, for Christ’s sake. How do you equate Sofia with… with THAT?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, sweetie,” Trey said. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?” she huffed. She cackled. She threw up her arms. “He’s sorry,” she said. “You better be fucking sorry, Trey. Because that was a really fucked-up thing to bring up. Especially right now,” she said.

  “It was a really dumb thing to say,” Trey said. He groaned as he fought to sit up. The effort hurt him. But he needed to do it. Looking at her, he pleaded with her with his eyes. “I’m sorry, okay?” he said.

  “Well, I still want to know what was going through your sick head. What made you think that this was a good time to just up and ask me that? I mean, is there ever a good time to ask your wife about the time she was raped by a fucking zombie?” she asked. She jutted out one hip, placing a firm hand on it. And she glared at him. A hard, menacing glare.

  Trey shivered. Even after firing a heavy machine gun into mobs of people, even after slaughtering hordes, he still nonetheless could be easily intimidated by his wife’s mean looks. He averted his gaze.

  “I said I’m sorry,” he said meekly.

  “I know you did, Trey,” Melody said, suddenly slumping down into her chair after righting it. She leaned forward, putting her head in her hands. “Don’t touch me,” she said, preempting Trey’s attempt to provide solace. She remained silent for several moments, sitting right next to the husband who’d just angered her. Finally, she spoke, her voice quiet and solemn. “You asked about what life will be like?” she asked. “Well, Trey, life will be full of people given over to their worst impulses because the rules are gone. There is no society to constrain them. There are no real consequences, other than death. And I think most of us- including me- have had plenty of moments recently where death would be a welcome relief. A reprieve, really,” she said.

  “Sofia will inherit a world where men will gangrape someone weaker than them. And then, when that isn’t enough, they’ll have some fun by degrading and humiliating their victim,” Melody said. And then she began to sob.

  Chapter 17

  “What happened to your face?”

  The Bishop raised one eyebrow and smiled uncomfortably as he stared. He leaned against the bed, gripping it with one hand as he tried to fathom the trouble Trey had managed to get himself into. “I mean, you’re in the sick bay,” he said. “You’re not supposed to be in worse medical condition after going to the hospital,” he said.

  Trey smirked. He reached up unconsciously and felt at his face, wincing as he touched his cheek. Then he shrugged. “Guess I just got used to it,” he said.

  “Used to what?” Bishop Bronson asked.

  “The pain, dad,” Trey said. He shook his head. “Now, tell me I’m getting out of here,” he said. “I meant it when I said I’m walking out of here after fourteen days, regardless of what you have to say.”

  The Bishop licked his lips. He looked over at Melody. Seeing that she offered him little in the way of support, he frowned. “Well…”

  “Don’t do it. Don’t give me bad news,” Trey said. “I’m telling you, I am NOT in the mood for bad news right now,” he said.

  “No, I’m not giving you bad news,” the Bishop said. “Well, that is, depending on one’s view of bad.”

  “What’s THAT supposed to mean?” Trey asked. “I don’t like the sound of that,” he said.

  “So, technically, you are free to go,” the Bishop said.

  “Technically?” Trey asked, raising one incredulous eyebrow.

  “Yes, technically. If I’d meant something else, I would have said something else,” the Bishop said. He looked down at the ground. Stepped back and began fidgeting with his hands. He cleared his throat. “So, before I go on, I’d really like to know what happened. I’ve been, uh, I’ve been way too busy to try and keep track of everything down here. I kind of assumed- wrongly, it appears- that everyone would have everything taken care of in my absence. Kind of hard to believe that you could manage to mess things up even when half-conscious and under armed guard,” he said.

  “Well, it was the whole ‘armed guard’ thing that you had to watch out for,” Trey said.

  “What do you mean?” Bishop Bronson asked.

  “All these questions. And, yet, I’m the one under quarantine. Or in prison. Guess it depends on your perspective,” Trey said, chuckling. He shook his head. “I woke up and didn’t see Melody. I thought something had happened. So, I started freaking out. As I was in the process of said freaking out, my wonderful little frog-eater decided it was time to drop his white flag and come hit me in the face with his rifle,” he said.

  The Bishop laughed. Then he caught himself, raising a hand to cover his mouth. He took several seconds to recover.

  “I’m glad you think this is so fucking funny,” Trey said as he waited for the other man to speak.

  “No,” the Bishop said, holding up one hand, palm-out. He raised a fist to his mouth and coughed. “No, it’s not funny,” he said. Then he became sober. “I apologize. It really wasn’t good for me to react like that,” he said.

  “No, it wasn’t,” Trey said.

  “You’re right. It wasn’t. And I’m sorry,” Bishop Bronson said. Then he cleared his throat one last time before getting back into the conversation. “So, the thing is, Maxime isn’t sure what job you should do.”

  “What do you mean?” Trey asked. He shook his head. “Is that it? Jesus. Just have me go wash the desk or scrub toilets. Something. Anything. I really need to get out of here. It’s driving me fucking crazy,” he said.

  “Okay. Well, I mean, we suspected you might say that. But… it’s not always that easy. Or simple,” the Bishop said.

  “I’m still not following you, here. Someone gives me a toilet brush. I use it to scrub a toilet. Sounds pretty damn simple to me,” he said. “What’s not simple about that? I mean, I may lack your illustrious religious pedigree. Perhaps you may have some divine wisdom with which to impart upon me,” Trey said.

  “Please, don’t be rude,” Bishop Bronson said.

  “I’ve been locked in a damned hospital room for my own protection for two weeks. It’s kind of hard not to be,” Trey said. He sighed. “Look, Bishop. I respect the Hell out of you. I really do. And I know there was some reason for my bringing you along. Which, by the way, I’m still somewhat glad I did. Otherwise, I might have even made it on this Godforsaken boat,” he said.

  “I sense a but here,” Bishop Bronson said.

  Trey offered up a tight smile in response. “Yes, very perceptive. A very big but indeed,” he said. He held up a hand to silence Melody’s snickering. “Look, I want out of here. And I am planning on getting out of here. Today.”

  “Well, the problem is, any job he gives you will be judged by the others. But, some of the jobs that are less-than-desirable have already been delegated out. So, to assign you to the unpleasant take of cleaning toilets would mean unassigning someone. And then trying to re-assign them,” Bishop Bronson said. “Which, of course, will also cause some people to have hurt feelings,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, but I thought we were talking about professional soldiers. You know, grown-ass men who train to help kill people for a living,” Trey said. “Remind me why we were talking about hurt feelings again,” he said.

  Melody snickered.

  “It’s about morale, Trey. People have been cooped up on this boat just like you. And most of them haven’t been given the convenience of plenty of rest and round-the-clock room service,” Bishop Bronson said. “If Maxime rubs too many people the wrong way, he could risk having some serious breaches of discipline. Without the illusion
of command, the entire hierarchical structure of military life crumbles,” he made a motion with his hands and mouthed the word boom.

  “Okay,” Trey said. “I get it. I guess. I don’t see my dad ever having to deal with shit like this,” he said. Then he cocked his head. “Hey, where is he, anyway?”

  “He’s with Sofia,” Melody said. She looked toward the Bishop for confirmation. Then she nodded and went back to her silent observation.

  “Let’s just go talk to Maxime,” Trey said. And, with a maximum exertion of will, he managed to get down from the bed. He had to grip it with trembling hands to maintain his balance. Trey experienced a wave of dizziness as he stood there, trying to fight the rising tide of harsh pain that threatened to undo any vestiges of sanity he had left.

  But, finally, the pain subsided. Trey took a deep breath. Then he smiled and opened his eyes. “Let’s go,” he said.

  “Wait, you want to…”

  “Yes, I want to go talk to Maxime. I told you I’m leaving this room after fourteen days. Your job was to help facilitate that,” Trey said. “I have too much to lose by remaining down here, feeble and alone, looked after by one of the French guards who are supposedly a threat and my wife,” he said. “I’m sick and tired of this shit. I never really asked for this, to begin with. You know? I was okay with them continuing to come after me then. And I’m okay with it now,” he said. “What are they going to do to me that I haven’t faced at least a dozen times already?” he asked.

  “Well, okay then. I guess let’s go talk to Maxime,” Bishop Bronson said. “I can’t wait to see what he thinks of all this,” he said.

  “As long as he thinks of something for me to do, I don’t care,” Trey said. And he began promptly shuffling toward the door.

  Chapter 18

  Waves rose above the ship.

  On both sides.

  Trey paused to stare out at the massive waves. He listened to the ferocious roar of the wind. He fought to maintain his balance as the ship listed to one side, then dramatically went the other way. His heart raced. His mind went blank. All he could do was stand there in awe, waiting to find out if this were the moment he was to die.

  As the passed through the tumultuous seas, Trey caught a glimpse of tall rocks rising in the distance. The grayish, jagged peaks seemed to conspire with the thick and angry clouds that hovered low on the horizon. A thick mist fell almost sideways from the skies, attacking Trey with merciless precision. Stabilizing himself with his mop, Trey watched as they once again encountered large waves that rose up on either side, blocking out everything but the very heavens above.

  Harry stood nearby. He also watched the terrifying display, his features fixed in both dismay and a profound respect for the sheer power of the sea.

  Despite how close they were, Trey had to shout to be heard over the howling winds and the stormy sea. “Crazy, huh?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

  Harry nodded. Then he pointed. “Cape Horn,” he said.

  Peering out into the grayish mists, Trey could just barely make out yet another tall rock rising up out of the bi-polar waters. Trying to find some meaning in the edifice, Trey finally shrugged. He couldn’t decipher anything from the presence of a bit of stone. “So?” he yelled.

  “Well, we’re heading into the Atlantic,” Harry said. “Closer to home.”

  Thinking of home, Trey couldn’t help but shake his head. They weren’t closer to home. Because home no longer existed. Home connoted a place of warmth. A place where one was comfortable. A place where one could be accepted and loved. A place where zombies and foreign soldiers didn’t constitute a constant threat to your entire existence.

  Returning to the thankless task of moving his dirty mop around on the surface of the main deck, Trey tried to lose himself in the repetitive nature of the job. With his dad there, enduring the same shame, it made things slightly more palatable. But, nonetheless, he was beginning to regret having so ardently sought release from his relatively comfortable confines down below. “Why are we mopping a wet deck?” he asked.

  “What?” Harry yelled.

  Trey turned. He paused, leaning against his mop. He smiled and shook his head. He almost wanted to egg his dad on. Get him going. He had a notorious temper, and Trey figured it might be fun to see the old man go off on a tangential tirade. Break up the monotony a bit. But he stopped himself. Instead, he returned once again to the job at hand.

  After several minutes of useless work, Trey heard something. Turning, he noticed a sudden flurry of activity toward the other end of the boat. Staring, he looked down and made sure that he was continuing to slide the dirty mop around, just in case someone happened to walk by and notice him. The last thing Trey wanted was for someone to accuse him of not mopping up the constant rain from the deck.

  Within minutes, the single remaining helicopter on board the French frigate was off, gliding through the gray, stormy skies. “Where are they going?” Trey asked, raising his voice. The constant strain of having to yell was wearing on his throat. He cleared it as he waited for a response from his father.

  As Trey stood there, watching the craft recede into the angry mists, he couldn’t help but experience a wave of anxiety. He knew something was wrong. It had to be. Otherwise, the French wouldn’t have taken the risk- or gone to the extraordinary effort- of putting the bird up into the air. He somewhat doubted that they’d go to that level of trouble for a pile of rocks. And, glancing over at the tempestuous ocean, whose waves still rose up intermittently to blot out all views of the horizon, Trey harbored serious questions about the viability of any refugee issues. Not where they were. Anyone crazy enough to brave these stormy seas would likely be dead within minutes of departing the relative safety of dry land.

  “Where are they going?” Harry asked.

  Trey jumped. Pivoting, he faced his father. He hadn’t realized the man had come closer. Trey’d been so lost in thought. Shivering from the cold and fear pulsing through him, he smiled. “I just asked you that,” he said. But he felt an urgent need for an answer to that pressing question.

  Because, deep down, he knew.

  Seeing a stiff-backed French soldier marching toward them, Trey made himself appear busy. He put his head down and began swishing his mop back and forth with exaggerated gusto. After all he’d endured, plus the fervent admonitions of the Bishop and his daughter, Trey needed to avoid any and all possible drama with the foreign crew. Whatever anger and resentment they’d harbored toward him had been temporarily quelled by the efforts of Maxime and the Mormon leader. But Trey understood that even one small infraction could re-open old wounds.

  When the soldier stopped in front of them, Trey waited for his dad to address the man. He kept moving his mop. As he did so, his heart racing, he tried to think of something that he might say to placate any ire on the part of the military figure. He fought the urge to look up and inspect the person’s uniform. Despite the fact that Trey had had no prior direct experience with the military, in particular the French iteration of such, he’d gained some insights into their rank structures while in their company. Nonetheless, whether or not the guy in their presence was in a leadership position offered little in the way of practical intelligence.

  Harry began talking. Trey listened in, trying to decipher any meaning from their tones. Which was difficult, with all the commotion going on around them. The entire deck, previously unoccupied save for Trey and his dad, was now consumed by a frenetic frenzy of activity. People moved about somewhat aimlessly, and Trey fought the urge to smile knowingly. Seeing some of the troops walking around in circles, pretending to be busy, he felt like he understood exactly what it was they were doing.

  The subtle art of pretending to be busy, Trey thought.

  The sea had decided to take the moment to take its unabating and relentless assault on their boat to the next level. It listed to one side. People shouted as several members of the crew lost their footing and slid down the deck, moving rapidly toward the slick steel rails.
Once they hit those, they’d experience a big dose of pain before being plunged into the cold waters below.

  Abandoning his useless mop, Trey rushed to the aid of the French soldiers. Part of the impetuous act was instinctive. He needed to help. He didn’t want to witness people being hurt. It seemed even more imperative, now that he’d both caused and seen humans significant pain, to try and prevent others from unnecessarily enduring it. The wanton infliction of anguish was something he’d thought was funny, back when he’d been insulated by his profession and privileged status.

  However, he also understood that he needed to go above and beyond in order to protect himself from the constant threat of ambush. There were still French soldiers on board who harbored anger and resentment. People that would never forget what’d happened to Enzo, nor accept what Maxime had concluded in a secret hearing.

  Grabbing hold of a mildly overweight man’s arm, Trey steadied him. He gripped the figure’s elbow as the boat once again listed to the side. As he did so, Trey smelled the ocean before he saw it. A vast wave rose up and crashed down over the rails, spraying everyone exposed to its angry assault in the face with a blast of frigid water.

  Cold wind whistled past as it attacked any exposed skin. Pulling the anonymous male soldier toward the arched opening that would lead them into the relative safety of the nearest stairwell, Trey tried to search the deck for any sign of his father. Not seeing Harry, Trey decided to push forward.

  It took far too long to reach the stairwell. And when he did, Trey had to wait. For a line had formed as people tried to move inside. Trey shivered. His legs trembled. Burgeoning panic spread like a coronavirus through his mind. All he could was stand there, listening to the angry wind and irate sea as they hectored the vessel that had dared to enter their domain.

  She wants a sacrifice, Trey thought. He almost turned back to look at the water. To accuse the ocean with his gaze.

  But he also began to feel a certain superstitious awe for the great body of water. Trey couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of respect- mixed with abject terror- for the ocean’s capacity to challenge even a modern naval craft designed specifically to withstand such obstacles.