Chapter 28 #2
We float in the shadow of the bridge, and time seems to slow.
Every nerve ending is alive with the anticipation of what comes next, and I try to force myself to formulate a plan.
Finally, daylight hits the tip of the boat where Lucia was sitting.
We’re out of time. I panic. Keisha is going to be exposed first if I don’t do something now.
I grip my paddle and row it hard against the river’s current to spin us around so I’m the first thing the farmer sees.
It takes all my strength, but the boat turns just in time.
I set down the paddle and pick up my hunting knife.
It feels foolish in my hands, but I’m out of options.
“Get down, Keisha.”
“I can’t! Quinn, she’s…she’s…”
I hold the knife tightly, pull my arm back, and wait. The light hits my eyes, blinding me for a moment as we inch out of the shadow of the bridge. I try to focus, squinting against the sun to find my target.
Another screech followed by a deep moan pulls my eyes to the left as something moves on the bridge.
I don’t think. I just throw. My knife hits the side of the bridge with a loud, heart-sinking clang.
From the corner of my eye I see the farmer dart away, but a group of carriers instantly appears at the edge of the bridge, and I realize I’ve just made a big mistake.
Shit. I count the carriers leaning against the edge of the bridge with outstretched hands.
Five. One of them wears a snarling expression with a gaping neck wound that’s stained its entire T-shirt a dark crimson.
My stomach drops as I realize what will inevitably happen next.
The carrier’s milky eyes find us, and it leaps for our boat.
I can’t believe this is happening again.
I grab my paddle and brace for the impact. “They’re coming down! Keisha, watch out!” I yell helplessly.
It’s like the barge all over again. Bodies splash into the water next to us, blinding me with the spray of water. The waves rock our boat from side to side, slow at first, and then a violent pitch to my right nearly tosses me overboard.
The carrier with the bloodstained T-shirt grips the side of the canoe with white knuckles, reaching for Keisha and Lucia.
His eyes are empty. His jaw works back and forth in anticipation of flesh.
He tips his head back and screeches. The noise is deafening, and I resist the urge to cover my ears.
I drop my paddle and reach for my machete.
The carrier pulls down on the edge of the boat, and it takes everything we have to keep from tipping over. I can hear other carriers splashing nearby. I know they can’t really swim, but they’re still a threat. We have to get out of here now.
The carrier is just out of reach, and I have to be careful not to tip the boat by shifting my weight too dramatically. Swinging my machete could mean the end of us.
“Give me her knife!” I shout to Keisha. She freezes, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.
I don’t have time for this shit. I rip Lucia out of her arms and grab the knife at her hip, then let Lucia fall to my side.
From the corner of my eye I see Keisha’s horrified look as she gathers Lucia’s limp body back into her arms.
I steady myself, aim carefully, then plunge Lucia’s knife into the carrier’s eye. I wait for his body to go slack. Except he doesn’t stop reaching. I didn’t stab deep enough.
I look over at Keisha, holding Lucia in her arms, trying to lean away from the carrier to keep the boat balanced.
“Kick it! Keisha, kick it!”
She knows exactly what I mean. Her foot is a hammer, slamming into the hilt of the knife. The blade sinks deeper into the carrier’s skull, finishing the job I started. I see the moment what’s left of him dies as his body goes limp and his grip on the boat loosens.
Our boat rocks backward, trying to find its center of gravity, and we shift our weight again to avoid tipping.
Once the boat steadies, I look down into the water and watch the carrier sink into the dark river.
On the bridge, the farmer is standing on top of his rusty red pickup truck, out of reach of the carriers, who screech desperately, trying to get a piece of him.
His shotgun must be empty. I search his expression for the fear he must be feeling, but instead he smiles and waves at us as we slip farther away.
A heavy sigh of relief leaves my lungs, but the sound of it is drowned out by the splashing of nearby carriers and Keisha’s sobs. She’s still holding Lucia in her arms, the red stain on her shirt growing darker and bigger by the second.
I count the splashing carriers. One, two, three, four. Three are far enough away that they’re not a concern. One of them seems to be getting closer. Too close for comfort.
I pick up my paddle from the bottom of the canoe and find it’s sticky with blood.
I ignore it and plunge the paddle deep into the water, pulling with all my strength to move us away from the bridge and the echoing moans.
After a few hard rows, I’ve made enough progress to turn around and check on Keisha and Lucia.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement along the shoreline, and my heart hitches. A chorus of screams fills the air.
My stomach drops, and every hair on my body stands on end.
The noise of the gunshots and the screeching carriers from the bridge has drawn every monster in the area to the shore, and they’re following the only moving object they see. Now, dozens of rotting bodies line the shore.
I whip my head to the other side of the river and find the same horrifying result. I’m suddenly very glad we didn’t try to go looking for a pharmacy. It looks like these nearby towns weren’t as lucky as Naples.
There have to be at least fifty of them lining both sides of the shore.
They screech and moan, fixed on the movement of our boat.
They move fast in our direction until the water’s too deep for them to find their footing.
Then they splash and scream as the current carries them along the river at its own pace.
The river is wide, and we float in the center where the water is at its deepest. I’m not worried about these carriers.
I know they can’t reach us. We have plenty of time to paddle away.
What scares me most is how many of them showed up and how quickly they came after the gunshots.
Until this point, I’ve only seen a few at a time up close.
This is different. This is bad. And they’re so fast. Suddenly I’m afraid to go back to the shore, and I realize we’ve been really, really lucky.
Just how bad has it gotten outside of our little bubble on the river?
I wish I could tune into the news. There’s no going back to the way things were.
There’s no saving humanity. But I wonder how many people are still alive and how they’re outmatching these things.
Where are they finding food and water? What will happen in just a few months when winter hits?
There are too many what-ifs. My heart hammers wildly, so I try to center myself in the here and now, just like my therapist taught me back at the Pegasus Center.
I focus on one thing I can see. The handle of my machete strapped to my hip.
One thing I can touch. The weight of the paddle in my hand.
One thing I can hear. Screams of the dead.
One thing I can smell. The stench of the horde hits the breeze, and I gag. Therapists never prepared us for the apocalypse.
I paddle harder, trying to pull us toward fresh air and safety. Behind me, Keisha’s sobs have turned into deep hiccups. She’s speaking softly to the tiny form lying in her arms, but I can’t make out her words over the sounds of chaos around us. I just keep rowing.