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KATE
The woman’s name is Susan. Her husband is Gary. The two of them are high school sweethearts who grew up in Eureka, the aging crown jewel of the logging era of Northern California. The city is ten miles south of Arcata. They graduated from Humboldt University and took out a loan to buy their charter boat. They’ve spent the last eight years catering to the tourist industry: deep-sea fishing, kayaking, diving, and whale watching.
“We’ve been living at sea since the beginning,” Susan tells us, eyes glassy as she watches Ash tend to Gary’s leg.
The man looks like he was fed to a paper shredder. It’s hard to believe he’s still alive.
“We came into the bay to siphon gas from other boats,” Susan tells us. “There were bodies floating in the water but we didn’t think much of it. They were real dead bodies, not zombies, so we didn’t worry. Gary climbed out on the rope ladder to pull us in close to another boat. He was in the water up to his knees.” She swallows, wiping tears with the back of her hand. “It all happened so fast. I saw something big moving through the water.” She gives a shaky laugh. “Have you ever seen a great white in the wild?”
We all shake our heads. Jenna pulls a bottle of water from her backpack and passes it to Susan.
“The one who attacked Gary was bigger than any I’ve ever seen. Like a small car. He came out of the water so fast. I was standing there with Gary. I grabbed his arm. We both went down, but I had my feet wedged against the inside of the boat.” Her eyes glow with exhausted ferocity. “No way in hell was I letting go of my husband.” She takes several gulps of the water from Jenna. “It all happened in less than thirty seconds. The shark swam away and I pulled Gary to safety.”
Susan wraps her arms around her knees. “That was yesterday. I bandaged him up as best I could. We’re low on fuel but I was too afraid to try and get more by myself. From all the reports we’d heard, Eureka is overrun with zombies. I figured Arcata was my best chance at finding help. Besides, it was the only place I could get to with the fuel we had. So here we are.” Her laugh is shaky, tinged with the trauma of her experience.
Jenna makes a soft sound of sympathy in the back of her throat, kneeling down to put an arm around Susan. The other woman leans into her embrace, but her eyes travel to the bunk bed.
“Is he going to make it?” she whispers.
Ash doesn’t look up from where she stitches one of the nasty tears in Gary’s leg. “I’m going to do my best, ma’am. Once I get him sewn up, we need to get him back to Creekside.”
I’d known there was a high probability we’d have to transport an unconscious man through Arcata all the way back to Creekside. Which is why I brought such a large party of strong young men. But I hadn’t factored in the danger of the alphas.
“Bro, remember that time Jason got shot in that drive-by on Seventeenth?” Jesus asks.
Reed lets out a long whistle. “That sucked. Our car was, like, ten blocks away.”
“But remember when we stole those shovels out of that shed and made a stretcher?”
Reed’s eyebrows fly up. “Yeah.”
The two of them turn to Susan. “What do you have around here that can be made in to a stretcher?” Reed asks.
Thirty minutes later, we have a makeshift stretcher cobbled together from boat railing and rope.
“Who would have thought first-hand experience in a drive-by shooting just might save the life of a man attacked by a shark in a zombie apocalypse?” Carter says as Reed and Jesus take the stretcher into the hold to retrieve Gary.
“Johnny is going to have a field day with this,” I reply.
“He’s going to be pissed he didn’t get to come,” Jenna says.
Most likely. Johnny is always up for an outing when he thinks he has a chance to experience something exciting enough to go into the book he’s writing. Books, actually. He’s writing at least two about the apocalypse, maybe three. It’s hard to keep track.
I stand at the railing of the Fairhaven, staring back in the direction of Arcata. “We can’t go back the way we came.” In my mind’s eye, I keep seeing the swarm of zombies we encountered with the alpha in its midst. “The risk is too great. We won’t be able to run fast with the stretcher. We could lose Gary if we get ourselves into a position where we have to sprint.”
We could lose Gary anyway, though I keep this to myself. I’m going to do everything I can to get him safely back to Creekside.
“You think we should head west and go the long way around?” Carter asks.
“No.” I shake my head. “The stretcher is heavy. The shorter the distance we have to travel, the better. I think we need to try and get across Highway 101.” I try not to flinch as I say those words. “It’s a straight shot back to campus once we’re on the other side of the freeway.”
Jenna and Carter look at each other, then at me. Neither of them says a word.
“It’s risky,” I admit.
Carter heaves a sigh. “We just made it across Samoa Highway. We’re practically lane jumping pros now.” Despite his attempt at levity, it falls flat. The seriousness of our situation has us all on edge.
“Ben’s car alarm trick was a good one,” Jenna says. “He went for one of the shinier, newer cars to make sure it had one. We can do the same thing to get across 101. It’s a solid tactic.”
I resist the urge to wring my hands. I can’t let my kids see how worried I am about this mission. It was my idea to come out here to help Gary and Susan in the first place.
Jesus and Reed bring the stretcher out of the hold, Gary’s slack body secured in place with ropes.
Seeing Susan’s pinched, exhausted face, I know we did the right thing. Good people are worth fighting for.
Once everyone is assembled on the upper deck, I say, “I have a plan for getting back to Creekside.”
As I lay out the details, I watch Ben’s mouth twist into a grimace. To my surprise, he doesn’t insult the idea or even argue. Rather, he stomps to the side of the boat and climbs over the edge.
“We’re burning daylight,” he calls. “Let’s get moving. I’m pretty sure none of us wants to cross 101 in the dark.”
No one has anything to say to that. We gather our belongings and exit the boat. As I swing down onto the rope ladder, Susan lightly brushes my hand.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “I know how much you all risked coming here to help us.”
I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile, even though my stomach is already lumpy with anxiety over the mission. “Good people need to help one another,” I reply. “It’s the only way we’re going to survive.”
And even though I truly believe that, I wish helping good people wasn’t so damn scary and dangerous.