The Darkest Place: A Surviving the Dead Novel (19 page)

I blinked again, still not believing what I was hearing. “I don’t have time for this.” I walked out the back door without another word.

Lola answered on the third round of knocking, eyes glassy. She swayed unsteadily in the doorway, trying to focus her vision and not finding much success. “Caleb?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Sumthin’ I’cn do for you?” Her breath reeked of wine.

“We have a problem. A big one.”

The eyes settled, coming to rest somewhere around my chin. I wondered how many of me she was seeing. “Wha’ problem?”

“You should come take a look.”

She stepped outside, not bothering to shut the door, weaving a drunken line across the front yard. “Wha’ isit?”

I grabbed her around the shoulders to keep her from falling over. “How well can you see right now, Lola?”

“Jus’ fine.” She tapped her glasses.

“You see that over there?” I asked, turning her to face northward.

She looked, squinting in the distance. “S’people over there.”

“Not people, Lola.” She looked up at me. “Infected.”

She looked again and went rigid in my arms. “Oh shit. Oh fuck, ohfuckohfuckohfuck no. We hav’ta get outta here.”

She struggled, trying to run away down the street. I held her by the arm. “We’re going to do that Lola, but running won’t help. You see that boat down there?”

Her eyes tracked down my arm to where I pointed. “We’re going to take it out and wait until they move on.”

“’Kay. Cn’I come with you?”

“Yes, Lola. That’s what I’m here for.”

I half-carried her back to the cabin. Lauren had dragged the dinghy ashore and gone back inside to retrieve more supplies. I had Lola sit down, pushed the boat into the water, and drove her to the cabin cruiser. Getting her from the dinghy to the fantail was a bit dicey, but I managed to keep her from falling overboard.

“Just stay here,” I said after pushing her onto one of the white bench seats under the deck canopy. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“’Kay.”

“Don’t move.”

She stretched out on the seat and closed her eyes, glasses hanging askew. “’Kay.”

I pulled her glasses from her face and stowed them under the opposite bench, then went to the control panel and turned the engine over. The fresh water tank was full, which was good, and the fuel was at half, which was plenty. Once out in the deep water, all we had to do was set anchor and kill the engine. Didn’t take much fuel for that. The boat had a separate generator to power the electrical system, so we would have electricity without having to run the less efficient five-liter V8 main motor.

Finished, I killed the engine, climbed back down to the dinghy, and drove ashore. Lauren and Sophia were headed toward me with a final wheelbarrow of supplies while Lance nailed the last two-by-six over the plywood covering the back door.

“Is Lola with you?” Lauren asked.

“More or less.” I jumped back over the gunwale and stacked the contents of the wheelbarrow so the weight was evenly distributed. That done, I drove the women to the cruiser. This time, I tied the dinghy to the fantail cleats to make unloading it easier. When it was empty again, Lauren and Sophia went up to the forward lounge, carefully avoiding Lola, who now lay with one arm hanging from the bench, snoring loudly. I untied the dinghy and said, “Be back shortly.”

Back ashore, Lance had just finished the last of his preparations. I helped him put his tools away, then waited while he gathered his weapons. Finally, we made our last trip to the cruiser and secured the dinghy astern. At the controls, Lance leaned against the captain’s chair, cranked the engine, and eased the boat forward to slacken the anchor lines. When they had enough play, I used the windlass to bring them up.

“Where we headed?” I asked.

“Hundred meters or so from shore should be far enough. You know what kind of anchor this thing has?”

“Thirteen-pound plow, fourteen feet of anchor chain, couple hundred feet of line. Line and chain are both half-inch.”

Lance disengaged the bow thruster and eased forward on the throttle. “Should be plenty.”

He steered us straight out until he estimated we were far enough from shore, then turned north toward a pair of thin islands jutting out from a shallow cove. Five minutes of putting along at seven knots brought the nearest island about a hundred meters from our port bow.

“This spot should work just fine,” Lance said. “Water’s about seventy feet deep, rises pretty sharp when you get close to the island. If we have to jump ship, it’ll be a close swim.”

I went forward and dropped the anchor. Lance reversed the propeller and eased backward until the scope of the line was forty-five degrees from the bow. The anchor dug in firmly until we stayed put with the throttle in reverse at four knots, much stronger than the Guadalupe River’s lazy current as it pushed through the lake.

“So what now?” I asked, staring at the shore. It was mid-afternoon, plenty of daylight left. To the north of the cabin, I saw the horde reach the edge of the peninsula and head straight for Colleen Drive. At best estimate, we had escaped them by about fifteen minutes.

“Now we stow the supplies,” Lance said. “Not a good idea to leave them on the deck.”

It was the work of less than five minutes to form a human chain, hand everything down to the galley, and stash it in cabinets and stowage compartments. The only thing left out was a case of Jameson’s Irish Whiskey. “Who brought that aboard?” I asked, pointing.

“I did.” Sophia grabbed a bottle. “Where are the glasses around here?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetie,” Lauren said. “Your father wouldn’t like you drinking.”

“Well, my father isn’t here. So unless you wanna tie me down, I’m getting drunk.” She shifted her chestnut eyes back to me. “Glasses?”

“Cabinet behind your head.”

She turned and grabbed two glasses, then pointed at Lance. “What about you?”

His face didn’t move, just a slight head tilt to the left. “Why not? Got nothin’ better to do.”

“Jesus Christ,” Lauren said disgustedly, standing up to leave. “You people are unbelievable.”

We watched her stomp up the ladder to the main deck and slam the door behind her. I looked over at Lance.

“Think I should go talk to her?”

“Right now? No. What’s her problem, anyway?” He went to the counter and let Sophia pour him a drink.

I sighed and stared at the door. “If I knew the answer to that I wouldn’t be asking for advice, Lance.”

“All right then,” he said, handing me two glasses. “Take this to her and set it down beside her. Don’t say a word. Just sit down close by and don’t look at her or speak to her. Sooner or later, she’ll crack. Won’t be long after that she’ll pick that drink up and ask for another.”

“You think?”

He shrugged. “Got nothin’ to lose trying.”

I took the glasses.

She lasted five minutes.

During that time, I gassed up the generator, switched on the radio, dialed in to the frequency Dad and the others used on their handhelds, and sent ten messages at thirty-second intervals.

No response.

Frustrated and scared, I slammed the mike down in its cradle.

“They’re probably just out of range,” Lauren said.

I turned to look at her. She sat with her back to the sun, outlined against a tangerine sky, legs crossed and bouncing nervously. Lola snored away on the bench behind me, oblivious.

“Yeah.”

“We’ll probably hear from them soon.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Silence for a while, then she said, “This is for me, I assume?” She took the drink from the cup holder on the back of the bench and held it up to the light.

“You assume correctly.”

“What the hell, maybe Sophia has the right idea.” She took a sip and made a face.

“Isn’t this supposed to be the good stuff?”

“I guess so. I get the impression people drink it more for the effect than the taste. Kind of like coffee.” To punctuate, I drained half of mine in a single gulp. My stomach was still empty from throwing up earlier, so I felt the buzz almost immediately.

“So what do you think of her?” Lauren asked.

My eyebrows came together. “Who?”

“You know who.”

I looked back at Lola. “I think she needs a therapist.”

Lauren gave a slight laugh and shook her head. “That’s not who I meant.”

“Sophia?”

She nodded.

“She’s all right, I guess. Kind of a smartass.”

“I think she likes you.”

I stared at her flatly. “Maybe you’re the one that needs a therapist.”

“Call it a woman’s intuition.”

I turned back in the captain’s chair to stare across the bow. The second half of the drink went down the hatch easier than the first. When I could talk again, I said, “Even if she does, which I doubt very much, I’ve got more important things to worry about.”

“We all do, Caleb. But you shouldn’t let that distract you from what little pleasure there is left in life.”

I watched her drain her drink, then get up from the bench. “There a stateroom on this thing?”

“Down the ladder, first door to your left.”

“I’m going to take a nap. Come get me if you hear from your father.”

“Will do.”

She opened the door and took a few steps, then hesitated, eyes fixed on her feet, refusing to look up. “Caleb … I just want you to know I love you, and I always have. I know I’m not your real mother, but I love you as much as any woman ever loved her own flesh and blood. No matter what happens, I want you to remember that. Okay?”

Something in her tone made my stomach feel heavy and my blood run slow in my veins. “I know, Lauren. I’ve never doubted that for a second. You’re the best mother a guy could ask for. And for the record, I love you too.”

She gave a weak smile, still not looking me in the eye, and went belowdecks.

A gentle breeze blew across Canyon Lake from the east, stirring the water and sending white waves lapping at the western shore. The fabric of the canopy flapped lazily as the deck rocked slowly beneath me, a strong hint of rotten fish smell lingering in the air. I turned the empty glass in my hand and wondered why people like me hung on to life so hard when we were all destined, sooner or later, to lose our grip.

*****

It became a cycle.

Crank up the generator. Wait for the little amber light. Send out the message. Wait. Curse. Put the mike down. Turn off the generator. Stew for an hour. Repeat.

Night fell. Still no contact. Finally, I ran the generator until the batteries in the engine compartment were charged and left the receiver on. It takes a lot less power to receive a signal than to transmit one, so I felt confident the batteries would hold out overnight. That done, I sat and waited.

Lance brought me a plate of food. Chili, I think; I didn’t really look at it. After the tasteless mechanical function of mastication, swallowing, and the first stages of the digestive process, I went belowdecks and deposited bowl and spoon in sink and applied the necessary rinse.

Finished, I looked around. The door to Lauren’s stateroom was closed. Lance sat shirtless and sweating at the table, rifle dismantled, cleaning kit on display, hands moving with the exaggerated slowness and precision of the experienced drunk. At some point, Lola had moved to one of the fold-down cots forward of the galley and resumed sleeping it off. Sophia had changed into a bikini and sat in front of an open porthole, the evening breeze blowing over her bronze skin. My gaze lingered there for longer than I wanted it to, distracted by the sheen of sweat covering her chest and thighs. Sophia looked my way and smiled, eyes more than a little glazed.

“It’s a lot cooler above decks,” I announced. Lance grunted. The door to the stateroom remained closed. Lola snored.

Sophia stood up.

“Fuck it. It’s hot down here.”

I turned, climbed the ladder, and held the door for her. She took a hand I didn’t realize I had reached out and let me help her to the main deck. There was a bottle dangling from her right hand.

“Thanks,” she said as she stepped up to the forward lounge, a little extra sway in her hips. I thought about what Lauren told me and wondered if that over-emphasis of stride and flex of buttocks was for my benefit, or just something girls did when they were drunk.

I sat down in the captain’s chair and watched Sophia stand on the forecastle, long hair hanging loose and blowing in the breeze. She held her arms out and turned a slow circle to let the air dry the moisture from her skin.

“God that feels better,” she said. When her circuit brought her facing me, she tilted her head and held out the bottle. I held up a palm and shook my head.

“Come on,” she said and walked closer, that same sway in her hips, breasts shaking slightly under the fabric of her halter top. I am firmly convinced every girl in the world stands in front of a mirror and practices that bouncing walk to maximize its brain-dimming effect on the male of the species. She stopped in front of me, arm outstretched, holding the bottle close enough to my face to read
Sine Metu
.

“I’d rather not,” I said.

“What’s the matter, you a lightweight?”

I frowned at her. “No, I’m just not a drunk.”

“Not yet. But you will be.” She giggled and took another pull from the bottle.

“You’re going to feel like shit tomorrow.”

“Probably.” She turned and hurled the mostly-empty bottle over the side. I had to give the girl credit: she had an arm. The bottle sailed high and flipped over no less than eight times before it splashed down in the lake. I watched it float through the ripples and was about to say something about her future in professional sports when I felt a warm firmness press against one hip, then the other. When I turned my head, my view was obscured by the pebbled surface of Sophia’s breasts.

“Sophia …”

“Shut up.” One of her hands went behind my neck while the other pulled a string and let her bikini bottom fall away. A warm heat settled over my hips as she pressed her lips against mine, gently at first, then urgent and searching, forcing my mouth open, her soft tongue touching mine. She began to rock slowly back and forth, grinding her hips in a figure-eight.

My heart sped up until I thought it would burst. Fire roared through my veins. I ran trembling hands up Sophia’s back, then down to her ass and gripped her hard. She moaned against my mouth and reached down to fumble at my belt. I broke off the kiss and closed my lips over one of her breasts, sucking, swirling my tongue. She gasped and arched her back, fingernails digging into my skin, hips grinding faster and faster. I kissed my way up to her neck and bit down gently, eliciting a small, husky gasp. Seconds later, I felt her fingers wrap around me, gliding up and down, the warm wetness between her legs achingly close.

In that moment, I had a choice to make. I knew Mike would not approve of what I was about to do, nor would my father.
Don’t do this
, I told myself.
This isn’t right
. But her skin was so soft, and her taste sent my mind spinning, and her hand felt like magic as she kept our mouths together and stroked. Her heat was so close, all it would take was a lift, a bit of positioning, and then a warm, delicious plunge.

I wish I could say I stopped myself. I wish I could say I pushed her away and said,
Not like this, Sophia. You’re drunk. If you really want to do this, come to me sober and we’ll see where it takes us.

That would have been the smart thing to do. The honorable thing.

But that’s not what happened.

*****

I awoke to the sound of static.

“Fox, this is Eagle, do you read? Over.”

My head rose from the bench, swirling with grogginess. I had been in the middle of a dream, a bad one, but could not remember the details. The world around me was dim gray, a cool wind blowing over my skin, and I had something firm and warm that smelled faintly of body odor and sex wrapped in my arms. Distantly, I wondered what all this talk of foxes and eagles was about.

“Fox, this is Eagle, come in Fox. Over.”

There are moments when you wake up in a strange place and nothing is clear. There is no recall. You feel disoriented, wondering where you are, how you got there, and what happened beyond the gauze of unremembered time. It is not a good feeling. Then the cobwebs clear, and you remember where you are, how you got there, and you spring up in a moderate state of panic, hand fumbling for the radio.

“Eagle, this is Fox,” I said in a voice thick with sleep. “Read you loud and clear, over.”

“Thank God,” Blake said. “Please tell me y’all ain’t in the cabin. Over.”

“No, we’re not. We took the boat and anchored out away from shore. Over.”

“Everyone all right? Over.”

“Yes. Can we stop saying
over
already?”

A chuckle. “I guess there’s no harm in it.”

“How are you guys?”

A silence. “We’ll talk about it when we get back.”

“I don’t like the sound of that, amigo.”

“Everything’s fine.”

“I know when you’re lying, Blake.”

A sigh. “Listen, those infected still have the cabin surrounded. We’re going to try something to get them out of there. Keep an eye out, but don’t approach until we give you the all clear. You copy?”

“Roger that,” I said. “What are you going to do?”

“Something probably not very smart. Shouldn’t take us more than an hour or so. We’ll be out of range for a while, but we’ll be back in touch with you as soon as we can.”

“Okay. I’ll let the others know.”

“Thanks, kid. Talk to you soon. Out.”

I hung the radio on its cradle and looked down to see Sophia staring at me.

After spending ourselves the night before, she had lain exhausted against me for a while, arms tight around my neck, her labored breath warm against my neck. Then she sat up, smiled sweetly, and told me she had wanted to do that for years. We kissed, and after a few minutes I felt a certain part of me come back to life, so I carried her to one of the wide benches where we made love again, slowly this time. Afterward, I got a blanket from belowdecks and we fell asleep to the sound of wind over water.

She reached up a hand to my cheek and smiled wanly. “My fucking head hurts.”

I laughed. Not just a chuckle, but a full-bellied guffaw that brought tears to my eyes and made my stomach cramp just a bit. Sophia slapped me, but without much enthusiasm.

“You’re such an asshole.”

I leaned down and kissed her. She smelled of sweat and sex and the whiskey she drank the night before, but I didn’t care. Something inside me, something ratcheting down with each passing day, something I knew was starting to fray at the seams, to pop its stitches, to bleed through the bandages, had finally let go. It felt good, and I didn’t ever want to feel any other way. I wanted to lay on that bench with Sophia and feel her soft lips against mine and forget the whole damn rest of the world.

I was beginning to consider an encore performance when Sophia gently pushed me away. Her skin was flushed, breath coming quickly, nipples erect against my chest. “Settle down, stud. We need to wake the others.”

I groaned and pulled her closer. “Do we have to? Can’t we just lay here for a while?”

When she looked at me, all the sarcasm and cynical mockery she’d shown over the last few weeks was gone. There was something else in her eyes, now. Something kinder, and open, and warm, and it pulled me in like a singularity consuming a star.

“Believe me, Caleb, there’s nowhere I’d rather be. But this is important. My Dad is out there. Yours too.”

The sun chose that instant to break the horizon, piercing the clouds and lighting Sophia’s face a bright shade of honey gold. I watched the way her irises seemed suspended in that burnished glow, as if floating in amber. “You’re right.” My thumb traced her cheek and came to rest at the corner of her mouth. “Just one question.”