Wendy moved with confidence. The bag was secured on her shoulders, and she would not hesitate to use the knife inside it if the need arose. The bag was lighter than before, but she guessed some of treasure had been lost outside the Governor. Hopefully not too much. She wanted as much money as she could get from it when she sold it. As soon as she was safely on the boat, she’d go through it and do an inventory.
She half wanted to bump into Sigmarsson, as Lane called him. If only she’d known sooner about the knife’s power, she could have saved Teensy. That would be her one regret, she thought. But it wasn’t meant to be. She felt kind of bad about Meg and the little girl, but she told herself she’d left them somewhere safe. Another person might just have shot them all or left them to die out on the street.
Wendy had gone out of her way to take them somewhere safe. It was true that the military might nuke them, but that wasn’t her fault. She’d done all she could for them.
After years in this town surrounded by people who had no appreciation for her work, she was finally getting out. In a way, Wendy felt like maybe that treasure had been meant for her all along. It seemed strange that of all things to finally get her the life she deserved, it was treasure from a long-dead Viking. A people she’d been studying and writing about for years. She wrote her first academic paper on Thorvold Eriksson and the theory that he’d come to Provincetown. Now not only did she have proof, but she had the treasure right here in her bag. Treasure that was going to make her a very rich woman indeed.
When she’d first set eyes on the jewellery, she’d known immediately it was worth a lot. Not just for the value of the gold and silver but because it was a rare find. Some of the artifacts she knew would be sought after by museums and private collectors alike. There were some stunning examples and all so well preserved.
Wendy made her way across the parking lot at MacMillan Pier. She barely glanced up and was so lost in her own thoughts, she almost didn’t notice the zombies that had begun to gather behind her.
Wendy walked onto the pier and found Teensy’s boat slip. Tied up, just like she said it would be, was Dawn’s Crack. It was small but, Wendy knew, perfectly maintained. She took the bag of treasure off and put it on the ground. She hadn’t had a chance to properly look at it before, but she would now.
Before she could open the bag, Wendy heard a moan. Then another one. She looked up.
Wendy gasped. There were maybe thirty zombies, though Ivar Sigmarsson wasn’t among them. They had totally blocked off her exit back along the pier. Not that it mattered.
She leaned down slowly and started to untie the boat, never taking her eyes off them. They moved forward slowly, cautiously, as if they remembered their last encounter with Wendy and her group. Wendy stopped fiddling with the ropes. They were loose, but she didn’t want the boat floating off before she had a chance to get in it.
Wendy reached into the bag at her feet and felt around for the knife. Something didn’t feel right, though. Was that a fork? What the hell?
Ignoring the zombies coming towards her, Wendy pulled open the bag and looked inside.
Cutlery. Knives and forks and spoons and even a spatula. She screamed in frustration. Those cheating, lying bastards. They’d stolen from her. Taken it all. They must have switched the bags when she wasn’t looking.
At least she still had the gun. She’d find a way through this mob and get back to Whalers Wharf. She’d kill them all. Bullet to the chest for each of them. God damn them!
The zombies kept on coming for her.
As the zombies started to advance, Wendy pulled the gun from her waistband and aimed it at them.
She had maybe five shots. It should be enough to hit a few and save some bullets for the others and give her time to get on the boat. She figured she could sail down to Whalers Wharf and deal with them.
Wendy fired a shot at the zombie closest to her. Its head exploded yellow goo, and she felt a measure of satisfaction. But they were gaining on her all the time.
Wendy quickly turned and worked on the ropes tethering the boat to the dock. Damn, Teensy had tied them tight. Wendy pushed her fingers through a knot and tried to prise it loose, but her hands were greasy with sweat and shaking.
She looked up just in time to see the first zombie reach her. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. She was supposed to get away on the boat, all the way to Boston. Wendy was meant to have a good life—she’d led a good life up until now. This just wasn’t fair.
The first zombie bit into Wendy’s arm, the arm with the gun, and she howled in pain. Her arm was on fire, and she watched as the blood splashed onto her shoes and soaked into the ground.
Wendy stumbled backward, and her arm lit up with pain again, as flesh was torn from it. Part of her arm hung out of the zombie’s mouth, and Wendy felt sick.
The next zombie that came was tall, and it bent its head and bit into her neck. Wendy beat at it with her fists, but it just kept on biting and tearing. The pain set off bright white lights behind Wendy’s eyes, and she prayed she would pass out before they bit her again.
She fell, half in and half out the boat. Something attached itself to her leg, and she heard and felt a crunch. Thankfully, she didn’t feel the pain because she passed out before she was eaten alive.
* * *
Meg wrapped her legs around Lane’s waist and pushed with her arms. The loose ceiling tile moved easily enough.
“Can you see how much room is up there?” Lane asked.
“Give me a second, Lane,” Meg said.
Lois had been the one to spot the loose tile. She might just have saved all their lives. If there was enough room to crawl through.
Above the tile were a whole lot of pipes and tubes. Also the beams they sat on didn’t look strong enough to hold a full-grown woman.
“Okay, let me down,” Meg said.
She enjoyed the contact with Lane’s body as she slid down the length of her to the ground. Probably not the best time to be thinking about that.
“Well? Is it a goer?” Lane asked full of hope.
Meg felt bad. “No, I don’t think so. The pipes are too low to the tiles, and I don’t think the beams would hold our weight.”
Meg put down the seat on the questionably unsanitary toilet and sat down. At this point, she had more to worry about than a few germs.
“I might fit,” Lois said.
“No, honey. It’s too dangerous,” Meg said.
“I don’t know that we have a choice, Meg,” Lane said.
“It’s not far to the other side,” Lois said. “I can jump down just like I did in my apartment when you found me.” She put her hand on Meg’s knee. “Don’t worry, I can do it.”
“What if Wendy lied about the key?” Meg asked. “What if she didn’t leave it in the door?”
Lane sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Meg, we’ve tried kicking the door in and it won’t budge. I think this is our only option. If there’s no key, then…”
“Then Lois is stuck on the other side by herself,” Meg finished.
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Lois, it’s not going to work,” Lane said.
“Please let me try. If there’s no key, I’ll get a chair and boost myself back up. I swear,” Lois said and crossed her chest with her hand.
Meg almost smiled. Lois was so young. The idea of her being trapped on the other side without them made Meg feel ill. But really, what was the alterative? Sit in here and wait for the military to blow them up or let them out? And what if it wasn’t the military that came? What if it was Sigmarsson?
“Okay, fine. But promise me if there’s no key, you’ll get a chair from one of the stores and come right back,” Meg said.
“I swear it,” Lois said.
“Okay then,” Meg replied, feeling all kinds of guilty.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Lane said. “I’ll boost you up.”
Meg watched as Lane easily lifted the little girl up into the cavity above the ceiling tile. Lois wriggled into the space and then disappeared.
“Lois,” Lane called, “before you jump down, look to make sure there’s no zombies out there.”
“Okay,” came Lois’s muffled reply.
Meg went to the bathroom door, and the two of them pressed their ears to it. Meg could hear a thump and hoped it was Lois jumping down.
“You okay, Lois? Didn’t hurt yourself?” Meg called out.
“No, ma’am. I’m fine,” Lois replied.
In a few moments, they heard the lock scrape and click, and then the handle went down, and Lois was pushing open the door.
When she saw her, Lane laughed, whooped, and picked Lois up. She swung her around and kissed the top of her head. “Our hero.”
Meg ruffled her hair. “Well done, honey.”
Lois smiled and laughed. “See? I told you I could do it. My mom says I’m like a monkey.”
“And you are. You definitely are.” Lane swung her around one more time, then put her back on the ground.
“Okay,” Meg said. “Let’s get out of here.”
* * *
Lane tried not to think about Wendy. It was true Wendy had left them to their fate and probably would have killed them if it’d come to it, but Lane felt bad nonetheless. They’d written Wendy’s death warrant.
“You need to stop feeling guilty, Lane,” Meg said.
“I know. But I can’t help it,” Lane replied.
“She left us for dead. She didn’t exactly leave us much choice.”
“True, but we aren’t like her. I’m allowed to feel bad about what we did,” Lane said.
Meg didn’t reply.
Commercial Street was quiet. Lane was relieved and worried at the same time. Earlier, the zombies had disappeared as if by magic. It was true she had the knife, but there was no guarantee it would work a second time.
They made their way carefully along the street, stopping every so often to listen out for the telltale groan of an approaching zombie.
Soon they were back at the Squealing Pig. The same place they always ended up. It didn’t matter where they got to, the Pig always seemed to be the destination.
Lane hammered the door shut behind them. They didn’t have much time and they had a lot to plan.
“Drink?” Meg called from the bar.
“Not for me. I want a clear head,” Lane replied.
“Will it bother you if I have one?” Meg asked.
“Not at all. I think the next part is mostly on me anyway,” Lane said.
Meg started to protest, and then closed her mouth. She’d been there back at the Governor. She’d seen what had happened with the knife. For whatever reason, Lane was the one who needed to kill Ivar Sigmarsson with the langseax.
“I need to tell you something,” Lane said. “Both of you.”
Lois was only small but she’d been the one to get them out of the toilet, and she was just as much a part of this as any of them.
“Sounds serious,” Meg said. “You sure you don’t want a drink?”
Lane nodded. “I’m sure. It’s about what happened with the knife.”
“When it lit up and scared the shit out of Sigmarsson?” Meg said.
“Yeah, exactly. Right before it did that, I went…somewhere.”
“Uh-uh. I saw you standing there the whole time,” Lois said.
“I mean, in my mind,” Lane said.
Meg joined them at the table and took a sip of wine. “Sounds interesting, do tell.”
When Lane finished telling them the story of her encounter on the knarr, she felt better. It was a weird story, and she felt lighter for sharing it.
“Well,” Meg said and took a big gulp of wine, “if I hadn’t already seen what I’ve seen today, I’d say you were crazy and probably call the cops.”
“But you believe me?” Lane asked, and it was desperately important that Meg did.
“Shit, why not? If I can believe in zombies and giants shooting blue flames out of their mouths, why not believe that you went back in time and met this guy before he became a zombie?”
“I’m not lying,” Lane said.
Meg reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “I know you’re not. But it’s just so crazy.”
“You have to kill him, Lane,” Lois said. “You’re like the hero in my book.”
“What book?” Lane asked.
“My book about a boy who kills a dragon with a special sword. But the sword is only special for him. You’re the hero, Lane.”
“From the mouths of babes,” Meg said and clinked cheers with Lane before knocking back the rest of the wine.
Lane didn’t want to be the hero. She wanted to be back in her penthouse flat on the River Thames drinking expensive wine and talking shit with her stupid friends.
She did not want to be the hero of this story.
She did not want to slay the dragon.
But if not her, then who? Sure, she could do a Wendy and hightail it off in the boat. Forget this had ever happened and leave others to sort the mess out. She could do that, but she’d never be able to look Meg in the eye. All her life, she’d gone along without making any fuss, doing what she was told and living a life on the surface. This was her chance to show what she was really made of. To be Lois’s storybook hero.
She knew there was a good chance she would die—that they would all die—but what other choice did she have?
Lane finally understood she was brave. Where other people gave up and gave in, she persevered. And she had to try. For Meg and for Lois and for the countless other people who had died or who would die because of Ivar Sigmarsson and Wendy Moon.
Lane was ready.