“Probably pull the tree down on our heads, huh?” He laughed.
Sanjit and Virtue went down. The rest were told to stay put, stay away from the cliff, and wait.
Twice Sanjit lost his footing and slid down on his butt till he managed to stop by digging his heel into a shrub or rock outcropping. The rope ended up being no use at all for the descent. It lay off to the right of the path, far out of reach.
The boat, the Fly Boy Two, was still there, battered, rusting, algae sliming around the waterline. It wallowed in the gentle swell, its bow seemingly hanging on for dear life to the rocks it had hit months earlier.
“How do we get onto the boat?” Virtue asked when they had reached the bottom.
“That’s a really good question, Choo.”
“I thought you were invincible, Sanjit.”
“Invincible, not fearless,” Sanjit said.
Virtue made his wry smile. “If we climb up on that rock, we can maybe grab the guardrail on the bow and pull ourselves up.”
From down here the boat was far larger. And the gentle motion that rocked the crumpled bow back and forth looked a lot more dangerous.
“Okay, little brother, I’m going to do this, okay?” Sanjit said.
“I’m a better climber than you are.”
Sanjit put his hand on his shoulder. “Choo, my brother, there aren’t going to be a lot of times when I’m brave and self-sacrificing. Enjoy this one. It may be the last you ever see.”
To forestall further argument Sanjit climbed up onto the rock spur and made his way carefully, cautiously, to the end, sneakers slipping on rock coated with algae and salt spray. He leaned with one hand against the white hull. He was at eye level with the deck.
He grabbed the frail-looking stainless-steel rail with both hands and pulled himself up until his elbows were at ninety-degree angles. The danger zone was just below him and if he let go, he’d be lucky to survive with just a crushed foot.
His scramble aboard the boat wasn’t pretty, but he made it with only a scraped elbow and a bruised thigh. He lay panting, facedown on the teak deck for a few seconds.
“Do you see anything?” Virtue called up.
“I saw my life flashing before my eyes, does that count?”
Sanjit stood up, bending his knees to roll with the boat. No sound of human activity. No sign of anyone. Not exactly a surprise, but in some dark corner of his mind, Sanjit had almost expected to see bodies.
He placed his hands on the rails, looked down at Virtue’s anxious face, and said, “Ahoy there, matey.”
“Go look around,” Virtue said.
“That’s ‘Go look around, Captain,’ to you.”
Sanjit strolled with false nonchalance to the first door he found. He’d been on the yacht twice before, back when Todd and Jennifer were still around, so he knew the layout.
It was the same eerie feeling he’d had that first day of the big disappearance: he was going into places he didn’t belong, and there was no one to stop him.
Silence. Except for the groan of the hull.
Creepy. A ghost ship. Like something out of Pirates of the Caribbean. But very posh. Very nice crystal glasses. Little statues stuck in alcoves. Framed movie posters. Photos of Todd and Jennifer with some kind of famous old actor.
“Hello?” he called, and instantly felt like an idiot.
He went back to the bow. “No one home, Choo.”
“It’s been months,” Virtue said. “What did you think? They were all down here playing cards and eating potato chips?”
Sanjit found a ladder and hung it over the side. “Come aboard,” he said.
Virtue climbed up carefully and instantly Sanjit felt a little better. Shielding his eyes he could see Peace up at the top of the cliff, looking down anxiously. He waved to show everything was okay.
“So, I don’t suppose you’ve found a manual for the helicopter lying around?”
“Helicopters for Dummies?” Sanjit joked. “No. Not exactly.”
“We should look.”
“Yeah. That would be great,” Sanjit said, momentarily losing his jaunty sense of humor as he looked up at Peace on the cliff. “Because just between you and me, Choo, the idea of trying to fly a helicopter up out of here scares the pee out of me.”
Six rowboats set out from the marina under bright stars. Three kids in each boat. Two pulling oars, one at the tiller. The oars stirred phosphorescence with each stroke.
Quinn’s fleet. Quinn’s armada. The Mighty Quinn Navy.
Quinn didn’t have to take a turn at the oars; after all, he was the boss of the whole fishing operation, but he found he kind of liked it.
They used to just motor out and drop their lines and trail their nets. But gasoline, like everything else in the FAYZ, was in short supply. They had a few hundred gallons of marine fuel left at the marina. That would have to be saved for emergencies, not for daily work like fishing.
So it was oars and sore backs. A long, long day that started long before dawn. It took an hour to get everything ready in the morning, the nets stowed after they’d been dried, the bait, hooks, lines, poles, the boats themselves, the day’s food supply, water, life jackets. Then it took another hour of working the oars to get out far enough.
Six boats, three armed with poles and lines, and three dragging nets. They took turns because everyone hated the nets. It was more rowing, dragging the nets back and forth slowly across the water. Then hauling the nets up into the boat and picking fish and crabs and assorted debris out of the cords. Hard work.
Later, in the afternoon, a second batch of boats would go out to fish mostly for the blue water bats. The water bats were a mutated species that lived in caves during the night and flew out into the water during daylight. The only use for the bats was to feed the zekes, the killer worms that lived in the vegetable fields. The bats were the tribute kids paid the zekes. The economy of Perdido Beach was doubly dependent on Quinn’s efforts.
Today Quinn was with a net boat. He’d let himself go for a long time, getting more and more out of shape in the first months after FAYZ fall. Now he was kind of enjoying the fact that his legs and arms, shoulders, and back were getting stronger. It helped, of course, that he had a better supply of protein than most people.
Quinn worked a long morning, him and Big Goof and Katrina, the three of them having a pretty good day of it. They hauled up a number of small fish and one huge one.
“I thought for sure that was the net being snagged,” Big Goof said. He stared happily at the almost-five-foot-long fish in the bottom of the boat. “I believe that’s the biggest fish we ever landed.”
“I think it’s a tuna,” Katrina opined.
None of them really knew what some of the fish were. They were either edible or not, either had a lot of bones or didn’t. This fish, slowly gasping his last, looked very edible.
“Maybe so,” Quinn said mildly. “Big, anyway.”
“Took all three of us to haul him aboard,” Katrina said, laughing happily at the memory of the three of them slipping, sliding, and cursing.
“Good morning’s work,” Quinn said. “So, guys. You think it’s about time for brunch?” It was an old joke by now. By mid-morning everyone was starving. They’d come to call it brunch.
Quinn dug out the silver coach’s whistle he used to communicate across his scattered fleet. He blew three long blasts.
The other boats all dug in their oars and began heading toward Quinn’s boat. Everyone found new energy when it was time to assemble for brunch.
There were no waves, no storms, even here, a mile offshore; it was like lolling in the middle of a placid mountain lake. From this far out it was possible to believe that Perdido Beach looked normal. From this far out it was a lovely little beach town sparkling in the sun.
They broke out the hibachi and the wood they’d kept dry, and Katrina, who had amazing skill with these things, started a fire going. One of the girls in another boat cut off the tail section of the tuna, scaled i
t, and sliced it into purple-pink steaks.
In addition to the fish they had three cabbages and some cold, boiled artichokes. The smell of the fish cooking was like a drug. No one could really think of anything else until it had been eaten.
Then they sat back, with the boats loosely roped together, and talked, taking a break before they spent another hour fishing and then faced the long row back into town.
“I bet that was tuna,” a boy said.
“I don’t know what it was, but it was good. I wouldn’t mind eating another few slices of that.”
“Hey, we have plenty of octopus,” someone joked. Octopi weren’t something you had to catch; they sort of caught themselves, a lot of the time. And no one liked them very much. But everyone had eaten them on more than one occasion.
“Octopus this,” someone said, accompanying it with a rude gesture.
Quinn found himself staring off to the north. Perdido Beach was at the extreme southern end of the FAYZ, snugged right up against the barrier. Quinn had been with Sam when in the first days of the FAYZ they’d fled Perdido Beach and headed up the coast looking for a way out.
Sam’s plan had originally been to follow the barrier all the way. Foot by foot, over water and land, looking for an escape hatch.
That had not quite happened. Other events had intervened.
“You know what we should have done?” Quinn said, barely realizing that he was speaking out loud. “We should have explored all that area up there. Back when we still had plenty of gas.”
Big Goof said, “Explore what? You mean, looking for fish?”
Quinn shrugged. “It’s not like we’ve exactly run out of fish down here. We almost always seem to catch some. But don’t you ever kind of wonder if there’s better fishing farther north?”
Big Goof considered it carefully. He was not the sharpest pencil in the box; strong and sweet, but not very curious. “That’s a long row.”
“Yeah, it would be,” Quinn acknowledged. “But I’m saying, if we still had gas.”
He pulled the visor of his floppy hat low and considered taking just a brief snooze. But no, that wouldn’t do. He was in charge. For the first time in his life, Quinn had responsibility. He wasn’t going to screw that up.
“There are islands up there,” Katrina said.
“Yep.” Quinn yawned. “I wish we’d checked all that out. But Goof is right: it’s a long, long row.”
FIFTEEN
29 HOURS, 51 MINUTES
BRIANNA TOOK BRITTNEY in, as Sam asked. She gave her a room.
Sam had instructed her not to tell anyone. She was fine with that.
Brianna respected Astrid and Albert and the others on the council, but she and Sam, hey, they had been in battle together many times. He had saved her life. She had saved his.
Jack was also at Brianna’s, but she didn’t think that was really Sam’s business, or anyone’s. Jack was doing a little better. The flu seemed to have a short shelf life, just one of those twenty-four-hour things. Jack had stopped coughing quite so spectacularly. The walls and floor were safe again. Besides, one of Jack’s charming quirks was that if it wasn’t on a computer screen, he pretty much didn’t see it. So she doubted he would notice their new roomie unless she came with a USB port in her head.
Sam had also asked Brianna not to do anything other than feed Brittney, maybe help her wash up a little, though the closest thing to a shower now was walking into the surf.
“Don’t ask her questions,” Sam had said quite clearly.
“Why not?”
“Because we may not want to hear the answers,” he had muttered. Then, he amended that. “Look, we don’t want to stress her, okay? Something very weird has happened. We don’t know if this is some kind of freak thing or something else. Either way, she’s been through a lot.”
“You think?” Brianna had said. “What with being dead and buried and all?”
Sam sighed, but tolerantly. “If anyone’s going to question her, it probably shouldn’t be me. And definitely not you.”
Brianna knew what he was saying. Despite keeping Brittney under wraps, Sam probably figured it would all have to come out soon enough. And he probably figured if anyone was going to question Brittney, it should probably be Astrid.
Well…
“So, Brittney, how are you?” Brianna asked. She had been up for a few minutes, which was a long time for Brianna. In a few minutes she had been able to run down to the shore, fill a gallon jug with salt water, and run back to the house.
Brittney was still in the room where Brianna had put her. Still on the bed. Still lying there, eyes open. Brianna wondered if she’d slept at all.
Did zombies sleep?
Brittney sat up in the bed. Brianna set the water down on the nightstand.
“You want to wash up?”
The sheets were smeared with mud, which wasn’t much dirtier than they usually were. It was amazingly hard to get things clean by swooshing them around in the ocean, even when you could swoosh at super speed like Brianna.
Things still came out kind of dirty. And crusty with salt. And scratchy. And they gave you rashes.
Brittney sort of smiled, showing her dirty braces. But she showed no interest in cleaning up.
“Okay, let me help out.” Brianna took a dirty old T-shirt off the floor and dipped it in the water. She rubbed at some mud on Brittney’s shoulder.
The mud came off.
But Brittney’s skin did not come clean.
Brianna rubbed some more. More mud came off. No clean skin showed through.
Brianna felt a chill. Brianna wasn’t scared of much. She had grown accustomed to the fact that her super speed rendered her almost invulnerable, unstoppable. She had gone toe-to-toe with Caine and walked away laughing. But this was just plain disturbing.
Brianna swallowed hard. She wiped again. And again, the same thing.
“Okay,” Brianna said softly. “Brittney, I think maybe it’s, like, time for you to tell me what’s going on with you. Because I’d like to know whether you’re sitting there thinking you’d like to eat my brain.”
“Your brain?” Brittney asked.
“Yeah. I mean, come on, Brittney. You’re a zombie. Let’s face it. I’m not supposed to use that word, but someone who rises from the dead and climbs up out of their grave and walks among us: that’s a zombie.”
“I’m not a zombie,” Brittney said calmly. “I’m an angel.”
“Ah.”
“I called upon the Lord in my tribulation and he heard me. Tanner went to Him and asked Him to save me.”
Brianna considered that for a moment. “Well, I guess it’s better than being a zombie.”
“Give me your hand,” Brittney said.
Brianna hesitated. But she told herself if Brittney tried to bite it, she could snatch it back before she sank her teeth in.
Brianna extended her hand. Brittney took it. She pulled it toward her, but not toward her mouth. Instead, she placed Brianna’s hand against her chest.
“Do you feel it?”
“Feel what?” Brianna asked.
“The quiet. I have no heartbeat.”
Brianna felt cold. But not as cold as Brittney. Brianna kept her hand in place. She felt no vibration.
No heartbeat.
“I don’t breathe, either,” Brittney said.
“No?” Brianna whispered.
“God saved me,” Brittney said earnestly. “He heard my prayers and He saved me to do His will.”
“Brittney, you’re…you were down there in the ground for a long time.”
“Very long,” Brittney said. She frowned. The frown made creases in the mud that smeared her face. The mud that could not be cleaned off.
“So, you must be hungry, right?” Brianna asked, returning to her primary concern.
“I don’t need to eat. Before, I took water. I swallowed it, but I didn’t feel it go down. And I realized…”
“What?”
“That I didn’
t need it.”
“Okay.”
Brittney smiled her metal smile again. “So, I don’t want to eat your brain, Brianna.”
“That’s good,” Brianna said. “So…what do you want to do?”
“The end is coming, Brianna,” Brittney said. “It’s why my prayers were answered. It’s why Tanner and I came back.”
“You and…okay. When you say ‘the end,’ what’s that mean?”
“The prophet is already among us. She will lead us from this place. She will lead us to our Lord, out of bondage.”
“Good,” Brianna said dryly. “I just hope the food’s better there.”
“Oh, it is,” Brittney said enthusiastically. “It’s cake and cheeseburgers and everything you would ever want.”
“So you’re the prophet?”
“No, no,” Brittney said with modestly downcast eyes. “I am not the prophet. I am an angel of the Lord. I am the avenger of the Lord, come to destroy the evil one.”
“Which evil one? We have a few. Are we talking pitchforks?”
Brittney smiled, but this time her braces did not show. It was a cool, wintry smile, a secret smile. “This demon does not have a pitchfork, Brianna. The evil one comes with a whip.”
Brianna considered this for several seconds.
“I have someplace I have to be,” Brianna said. She left as quickly as only she could.
“What do you want for your birthday?” John asked Mary.
Mary shook poop from a napkin that was doubling as a diaper. The feces dropped into a plastic trash can that would be taken out later and buried in a trench dug by Edilio’s backhoe.
“I’d like to not do this, that would be a great birthday,” Mary said.
“I’m serious,” John said reproachfully.
Mary smiled and inclined her head toward his, forehead to forehead. It was their version of a hug. A private thing between the two members of the Terrafino family. “I’m serious, too.”
“You should definitely take the day off,” John said. “I mean, you have to get through the whole poof thing. People say it’s kind of intense.”
“Sounds like it,” Mary said vaguely. She dropped the diaper into a second bucket, this one half filled with water. The water smelled of bleach. The bucket rested in a little red wagon so that it could be hauled to the beach. There, laundry workers would do an indifferent job of washing it in the ocean and send it back still stained and itchy with sand and salt.