Chapter 18
When I reach them in the parking lot, Keisha and Ramsey are talking quietly while January and Lucia add to a growing pile of sticks.
I let my boots scrape the ground so they hear me coming.
Keisha and Ramsey startle at the sound, and I see Keisha go for the knife around her waist automatically.
She’s starting to adapt, and I feel proud of her.
When she sees it’s me and not a carrier, she drops her hand, but it takes several seconds for her fear to change into relief.
As I approach them, Keisha braces for the news. I can see by the serious look on Ramsey’s face that Keisha’s filled him in. Lucia also seems to know something’s happened, but Jan prattles on about the great sticks she’s found with no signs of stopping.
“Jan, cool it. I need to tell you guys something.”
She looks slightly hurt but shuts up and gives me her attention. I decide to be frank and to the point.
“You guys all saw that Patrick was bitten by the carrier.”
“Where is he? Is he okay? We found him some sticks for a splint! Just like he asked!” January says, oblivious.
“Jan, when people get wounded by the carriers, they get sick. We’ve talked about this. Patrick knew what was going to happen to him,” I explain.
“He’s going to turn into one of the monsters?” Jan asks, her chin beginning to wobble.
“He would have, Jan. But he asked me to make sure he didn’t hurt any of us. I took care of him. He’s dead now, and he won’t come back like the others. He didn’t feel any pain.”
“He’s dead too? Like all the rest? Who is gonna take care of us?”
“Me and Keisha will, Jan.”
For the first time since I’ve known her, January is silent. She stares into the distance at nothing, not crying, not screaming. Just…staring. It rattles me more than any tantrum could.
“He…um. His body is down by the river. He wanted me to let you all say goodbye and…you know…pay your respects,” I say awkwardly.
I turn to walk back to Nurse Patrick’s body, and the others follow me. I hear sniffles, but I don’t turn around to see where they’re coming from. It doesn’t matter. This isn’t going to be easy for anyone.
As we approach the riverbank, Nurse Patrick’s body comes into view.
Jan and Lucia each take one of Keisha’s hands.
His body is just how I left it. His hands are still folded gently across his chest with only a little blood darkening the dirt near his neck.
He looks at peace. Keisha looks at me and gives me an approving nod.
I did the best I could. I think she can see that.
Somehow Keisha knows what to do next. She takes a deep breath, steadies her voice, and speaks.
“Patrick was the kind of person who saw the best parts of you and believed that those parts mattered more than anything else. He didn’t use your past against you.
He didn’t take advantage of your weakness even though he could have.
He wasn’t a snitch.” A tear-filled smile brightens her face, and she takes a deep breath, trying to find the right next words.
Ramsey looks on, clearly trying to decipher who Nurse Patrick might have been to us, but thankfully he doesn’t ask, and Keisha doesn’t give anything away.
“He wanted us to live, and he died trying to make sure it happened. For that, we are forever grateful.”
Keisha’s words ring true to me. She’s right. Nurse Patrick was decent. He didn’t wield his power like a weapon. He didn’t look at us with pity or fear. He was good. Truly good. And now he’s gone.
Keisha’s silence lets me know it’s time. I grab Nurse Patrick’s wrists and attempt to drag him into the water. When he sees me struggling, Ramsey grabs his ankles, and we wade into the water and let Nurse Patrick go.
The current carries him for a moment, then he sinks below the surface. It’s done. Behind me, the girls sob. Ramsey comforts Keisha, who comforts Jan and Lucia. I stand in my soggy clothes and watch the spot where he disappeared, hypnotized.
I’m not sure how long we stay there on the edge of the river.
I try to be patient and give them the time they need to mourn the loss of Nurse Patrick, but time moves slowly.
Soon, I notice the sun has moved behind us and the sweltering summer heat has been quelled by a soft breeze.
I let the sound of the leaves blowing in the trees calm me while I wait for the others to be ready to move on.
Lucia’s quivering voice rises above the sniffles, breaking me out of a trance. “What is that?” she asks, alarm rising in her voice.
“What is what? I didn’t—”
She cuts me off. “That.”
Lucia points upstream. Then I see it too.
“Ramsey, what the hell is that?” I say, turning to him for an explanation.
“It’s a barge,” he says matter-of-factly.
I roll my eyes. “Okay, what the hell is a barge? It looks like a damn floating freight train. Who’s on it? What is it doing?” I ask impatiently.
“It is kind of like a freight train,” he explains. “It’s probably full of grain or lumber, heading south toward the Mississippi.”
“Okay, but the world is basically over. Why is it still coming?” I ask.
“I’m not sure,” he says, never taking his eyes off the barge.
It moves painfully slowly, but the current keeps pulling it toward us. We wait. Soon I think I can see people aboard. I wish for a pair of binoculars to see better.
“Look! Right there! There are survivors on the boat!” Lucia says hopefully. “I bet they’re headed toward a shelter, or maybe there aren’t even any carriers down south. We could go with them.”
I weigh the possibilities in my mind and silently wish Nurse Patrick were here to help make the call.
On one hand, if these people really are heading toward someplace safe, hitching a ride feels like the logical thing to do.
But another part of me is excited by being out here on my own, fighting through it.
There’s really no way to know if these are good people.
For all we know, teenage girls are already fetching a pretty penny on the brand-new apocalypse black market.
“I don’t know, Lu. It’s a risk either way,” I say, wavering.
“It might be the safest way to move south. And like Lucia said, maybe they’re headed toward a shelter. Maybe that barge is a shelter,” Keisha says with a spark of hope.
“Y’all can always stay here, you know?” Ramsey says, but no one responds.
Instead, we watch the barge move closer, and I realize I’m going to have to make the call soon.
As it moves toward us, the size of the barge is striking.
It’s like a floating island, easily as wide as a house.
The benefits of living on a mobile object, safe from the carriers and surrounded by an infinite supply of water and fish, finally win me over.
“Okay, let’s go get our backpacks from inside.
We can see if they’ll let us aboard,” I say, resigned.
Keisha’s grateful eyes let me know I’ve made the right decision.
We race inside and up the stairs to where we left our packs.
Ramsey follows us, and when I glance over my shoulder, I can see a conflict playing out on his face.
I don’t have to wait long to find out what he’s wrestling with.
As we grab our things and turn to run back outside, he speaks.
“I meant what I said. You could stay here. With me,” he says, looking intensely at Keisha.
“I…” Keisha begins, conflicted. Her eyes flit to mine as she continues. “This could mean safety for us. Real safety. We can’t stay,” she finishes.
Ramsey’s hope turns to sadness. Unbelievable. We’ve only been here a few hours, and already Keisha’s got this guy pining for a future with her. A beat of silence weighs heavily in the air as Keisha struggles with what to say next.
“We have to go,” I say, breaking the tension.
We run back to the river and see that the barge has made steady progress. It’s just a few hundred feet away now. We load our gear into the canoe, and then Keisha looks back at Ramsey.
“Do you want to come with us?” Keisha asks.
What the hell? I try to hide my annoyance. He’d better say no.
“Naw, I’ve got business here,” he says. “It sure was nice meetin’ you all, and I’m real sorry about your friend. I hope you find some place safe from all this,” he says, gesturing at the world in general. “Let me give you a push.”
“Thanks, Ramsey,” Keisha says. “We’re grateful for your help today.”
“My pleasure. Safe travels.”
He gives the canoe a hard shove out into the middle of the river. Downstream the barge is inching closer. The people on deck move back and forth along the barge.
It’s tough to see their faces, but I’m certain they haven’t noticed us yet.
“We need to get their attention,” Keisha says as I paddle us toward the barge. “Do you think they’re close enough to hear us from down here?”
“Only one way to find out,” I say. “Let’s give it a shot.”
“Hey! Down here! Hello!” Keisha shouts.
Lucia and January follow her lead, waving their arms. I join in, amplifying their calls for help. Soon, I can see the people on board make their way toward the front of the barge. They see us. This is it.
As the barge approaches, a ladder comes into view, rising out of the river and bolted all the way up the side of the structure.
“Look! There’s a ladder up the side. That’s how we get on board! Row toward the barge. We have to catch that ladder,” I say.
We row hard with our paddles, aiming for the ladder while January keeps waving wildly at the people on board. I see they’re still gathering on the edge. There must be twenty of them, but they’re not shouting back at us. They’re not waving or trying to communicate. They’re not helping.
Goddammit. They’re not people.
That’s when we hear the moans. The loose flesh of their faces comes into focus.
I can see the shape of their hollow eyes, their skin scorched by the sun.
I smell the familiar stench of black bile.
This ship’s been taken by the dead, and we’re directly in their path.
A deafening screech fills the air, and not even the summer heat can soothe my goose bumps.
The barge comes close enough to block out the sun, casting us in shadow. What must be thirty bodies press against a thin guardrail, reaching for our boat. I stare in horror. They’re right on top of us.
“Oh my god,” Keisha says.
“We need to move! Now!” I shout.
Our frantic paddling sends the carriers above us into a frenzy. Their screams pierce the air as they reach for us. We paddle hard, but the barge creates its own sucking current, pulling us closer to its side.
“Keep paddling!” I urge the group.
From the shore, Ramsey waves frantically. There’s nothing he can do to help us from there. We’re on our own.
Then the first carrier falls.
It splashes in front of us, causing a wave that sends our canoe rocking from side to side. The carrier stays afloat by sheer will, waving its arms, trying to get closer to us.
Another carrier tumbles from above. Then another. We paddle hard and manage to push ourselves a few feet from the barge, nearly escaping its pull. Then everything crumbles.
I watch in horror as a carrier flips over the guardrail directly overhead.
I brace for impact, crouching down, covering my head, and squeezing my eyes shut against my will.
The impact makes my teeth knock together, and for a moment I lose my center of gravity.
The canoe bucks wildly, and I get a sinking feeling that this is the end.
January screams. I force my eyes open. The carrier has landed awkwardly on top of her, the top half of its body flailing in the water. Its legs crush January as she tries desperately to squirm her way out from under it, but she’s pinned.
Our boat tips precariously, and carriers keep falling, splashing down all around us.
“Keisha! We have to get out! Swim for the shore! Lucia, come on!”
“We can’t leave Jan!” Keisha shouts, her eyes wild.
“We don’t have a choice! Let’s go!” I urge over January’s screams.
Keisha turns away defiantly. She grabs January’s hand and pulls.
She stands to get more leverage, and the boat rocks harder.
Another carrier splashes into the water beside us.
Screeches crescendo above. Jan screams louder, and finally, we’re out of luck.
From the water, a set of decaying hands grips the side of the boat, sending us tumbling into the river.
The shock of the cold water steals my breath, and I sink below the surface.
The weight of my machete and wet backpack pull me farther into the dark, muddy river.
As I sink, I imagine Nurse Patrick’s body below me.
I imagine the carriers above. Neither fate feels fair.
I shrug off my backpack, letting it sink to the bottom, and swim harder with every ounce of strength I have left.
Finally, I burst through the water’s surface, gasping for air, greedily sucking oxygen into my starving lungs.
The flood of oxygen brings everything back into focus, and I look desperately for Keisha.
But all I see is January, splashing just a few feet in front of me, struggling to stay afloat.
She sees me and begins to paddle closer, tears and river water staining her pink cheeks.
“Quinn! Quinn, help!” she cries.
I ignore her and keep looking for Keisha.
A few feet behind me, the sounds of splashing, screaming, and snapping jaws is all I can hear.
Rotting flesh is all I can smell. Flailing bodies leaking dark, oily ooze into the water is all I can see.
To my left, but far beyond my reach, is our upside-down canoe.
As I’m frantically scanning the landscape for solutions, something pulls at me from beneath the water.
It grips at my arm and squeezes tight, then digs into my ribs, sucking the breath from my lungs.
I go under. My heart beats wildly, and I can’t seem to find purchase or push myself upward toward the precious air at the surface.
I reach for my belt and feel for the familiar bulge of my hunting knife in its holster next to my machete.
I grip the knife as I’m pulled farther and farther down into the dark water.
Desperately, I drive the knife into the thing that’s holding me.
I know that stabbing a carrier anywhere but their brain won’t help, but I can’t make sense of the form that’s weighing me down.
My aching lungs urge me to keep at it. I stab and stab until finally, I feel the weight lift.
I break through the water just as the edges of my vision start to go blurry. I suck air into my burning lungs. Once I’ve gathered my wits, I see what was pushing me down, surrounded by a halo of muddy red water. The thing I had stabbed relentlessly.
January.