Balestone (27 page)

Chapter 3

The days that followed were much the same—short periods of productive work followed by binge drinking. Todd woke up sick, vomited over the side of the ship, drank some water, forced down a can of food, and then went to the cockpit on top of the ship’s cabin. Todd was losing weight, and he felt sick all the time, but he didn’t care. He was alive and he wanted to be dead, but he couldn’t just kill himself. He had vowed never to let himself succumb to the plague, and he had promised Helen not to drown himself in the ocean. Instead he drowned himself in bourbon.

Each day he sailed a few miles up the coast of Florida, before his grief drove him back to a bottle of whisky. He had to begin each day raising the anchor, which meant cranking the anchor’s manual ratchet. It was hard work, especially for a hung-over, weak man. Still, he did it each day and forced himself to eat. It wasn’t enough food, and he knew he would soon be seriously ill if he didn’t eat better, but his stomach wouldn’t hold much. He had vitamins that he took religiously and canned fruit, which he tried to eat a little of each day. He hated to think of the food he was wasting when his stomach refused to take in any more. The yacht had a decent-sized refrigerator and even a deep freezer, but he had taken them off line due to the high-energy consumption of the appliances.

Sweat was a normal occurrence since Todd couldn’t use the yacht’s air conditioning, only now his sweat stank of booze. He showered occasionally, but mostly he just drank and slept. One night he fell asleep without dropping the anchor, and when he woke up, he found himself dangerously close to shore. The depth finder showed only a few feet between the yacht’s keel and the bottom of the ocean. The waves were pushing the ship toward land, and Todd was forced to fire up the main engine to move the boat farther out to sea.

It was almost two weeks after Helen’s death when Todd finally decided he needed more supplies. He was down to a third of one water container, and his food supplies were dangerously low as well. He still had plenty of whisky, but he knew that wouldn’t sustain him. He began to look for a place to resupply. The coast was filled with houses, and since Todd didn’t need fuel, he began to search for a home that might have what he needed. Almost all the massive homes along the coastline would have some food, but after an hour of searching Todd found one. A sturdy looking house with security shutters over the windows and a small rowboat tied to the dock, which extended out into the ocean from the sandy beach.

Todd found his mesh bag and put his shoes in it, then he hung the life jacket around his neck and set the yacht’s anchor. Finally, he checked the radar to ensure there weren’t any moving boats within a few miles of the
Great Escape
. Occasionally Todd saw other ships plying the open sea, but they usually steered clear of one another. The world had become a lonely, frightening place, and Todd guessed that it was only going to get more difficult to survive. He tried to convince himself that losing Helen and the baby had been a blessing in disguise, that they were better off not forced to struggle or suffer in the Zompocalypse, but he couldn’t quite believe it. And yet, despite his fear and the pain of his grief, a tiny flicker of hope that things might somehow, someway, get better was beginning to shine in the recesses of Todd’s mind. It was linked to his will to live and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake it.

He jumped into the cool, clear water. Todd had anchored nearly a mile from the coast. The water beneath him was dark and deep, but he could see his body below the surface. He slung the pull strings of the mesh bag over his shoulder and began swimming toward the shore. He was soon tired, but the life vest kept him afloat and the waves helped push him toward the dock. When Todd reached the dock he pulled himself out of the water and laid on the rough wooden platform. It took several minutes before he could catch his breath. His diet and drinking habits had caught up with him and stolen his strength.

Todd checked on the rowboat. It had a small motor and two long oars. Todd thought the little craft seemed sound enough. He would use it to get whatever supplies he could find back to the yacht. He had no idea how deep the water was, or if he could have gotten the
Great Escape
to the dock. There were no large ships in the area, only small boats and recreational watercrafts. Todd wasn’t ready to take any chances with his ship, so he swam in and would row back out with his supplies.

The walk up the long dock was creepy. He could see houses built almost on top of one another up and down the beach, but there was no sign of any people. Life had ceased to exist in this once happy part of the world. Todd could imagine the families who spent their summers and weekends in the large homes. He could almost smell the barbeque grills charring meat and hear the stereos playing classic songs as he made his way toward the house. It was all a fantasy, but it was a good fantasy—one that made the flickering hope in his mind a little brighter.

The dock was built up the beach and connected to the well-maintained deck of the large home. The house itself looked almost like a fortress. It was large and boxy, not nearly as extravagant as some of the homes on either side. The windows were all battened down, and Todd guessed the doors would be double bolted too. He would have to get lucky just to get inside, but he recognized the type of owners who had been the last occupants. They were Preppers, the kind of people who believed in being prepared for disasters of all kinds. They might still be alive inside and that would present a different set of problems. He didn’t want to get shot before he could get the supplies he needed.

He tried knocking softly at first. He waited patiently and listened, but there was nothing but the sounds of waves rolling onto the sand. Todd knocked more loudly, then when no one responded, he took a chance and banged on the door. Sound attracted the zombies, and Todd guessed there were at least a few lingering around, but he hadn’t spotted any yet. There was still no response from inside the house, so Todd went to the nearest window. It took him nearly ten minutes to pry the security shutters from the window, but once he did, he was able to use a plank of wood to break the glass to get his first look inside the home. It was dark, but the beam from his flashlight revealed exactly what he needed to see. There was a sturdy-looking counter just inside. He heaved himself up and climbed through the window, turning his body onto the counter until he could get back to his feet.

He was in the kitchen, which was large and clean. He made a sweep through the cabinets and found the usual canned foods. There was nothing special in the kitchen, and Todd left most of it in the cabinets, setting out a few things that he would take back. There were two floors above him, but Todd took the wooden stairs down into the home’s basement. The lowest level was not finished out, with concrete floors. There were wooden studs but no sheetrock or paneling to cover the walls or hide the pipes and wires that ran up into the living areas of the home. Still, the basement proved to be a virtual treasure trove of emergency supplies. There were shelves filled with MREs and over a dozen of five-gallon water bottles that would fit on Todd’s water cooler. And in one corner, there was a large gun safe.

Todd checked the door of the safe. To his surprise and delight, it swung open on silent hinges. Inside was a small arsenal. Todd and Helen had taken a hunting rifle in one of their first supply runs, but Helen was afraid of guns and the sound of gunshots attracted zombies as much if not more than anything. Still, Todd was alone now. The weapons represented a sense of safety he was desperate for. He selected what looked like a military rifle. It was heavy, but the weight seemed fitting for such an impressive weapon. He searched for a moment then found the magazine release. The weapon was loaded. Todd popped one of the long, brass bullets from the magazine and shined his flashlight on it. It said .223, and a quick search revealed several large canisters of the same kind of ammunition.

Todd began making a small pile on the floor in the center of the room. He set out all the ammunition he could find and then the gun next to it. Then he went back and found a 9mm and .45 caliber handguns. He tucked one of the guns into his waistband and set the other with the rifle in the middle of the room. He found boxes of ammunition and added them to his haul. Finally, he began filling his mesh bag with the MREs. It took over two hours to carry everything from the Preppers’ home to the rowboat, and Todd guessed he had several hundred pounds of supplies. Still, he hadn’t run into any zombies or any survivalists, so he counted his day a success.

When he got back to the yacht, he spent another long hour organizing and stowing everything away. He guessed he now had enough food and water for a few months. He was just about to untie the rowboat from the back of the yacht and make his way farther up the coast when he noticed something on the dock.

A man was standing there, watching his boat through binoculars. Todd felt his heart began to race with fear. He had been pleasantly surprised once he finished stowing the supplies that he hadn’t thought about Helen since he first left the ship that day. He didn’t want to forget her, but he didn’t want to be burdened by his grief over her either. Now, those thoughts disappeared as he raced up the steps to the cockpit and snatched up the long binoculars he kept hanging from the captain’s chair. He looked back at the man standing on the dock. The man’s clothes were frayed and stained from hard use. His hair was long, and he wore a heavy coat despite the heat. The man saw Todd looking back at him and lowered the binoculars.

Todd didn’t know what to expect, his hands were sweaty and tight on the contoured grip of his binoculars. He had to constantly readjust the binoculars as the ship swayed with the waves, but one thing was certain, the man was pulling something out of his coat. It was flimsy and white. The desperate-looking man held it over his head. It took Todd a long moment to see what it was, but eventually he focused on the word printed on the sign.
Help.