Savage: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel (5 page)

R
oman marched through the
Kirkland
’s
narrow passageways with a face of thunder.  Various crewmen and civilians
stepped aside to let him pass, but he made no acknowledgment of them.  He
just kept his eyes forward and walked wherever he wanted – God help any
man who got in his way while he was in such a mood.

Up ahead, the bulkhead hatch was open, allowing access
to the aft deck.  The aft deck’s intended purpose was as a
helicopter-landing pad, but without a Lynx helicopter it had been designated as
the ship’s main common area.  Even now, exposed to the cold biting winds
of January, a third of the ship’s personnel mingled outside on the deck beneath
the drizzling rain.  Most men liked to play cards of an evening while the
few women aboard sat on their knees.  Not as many women had survived the
plague as men, so their company was a luxury.

Roman glanced around, searching for someone, but was
hailed by one of the ship’s officers before he could locate them.  The man
who approached him was a weasely petty officer named Dunn.  No one aboard
the ship was true military, but Samuel had instigated Navy rank and given out
uniforms in order to help him command the fleet – it gave some men an
inflated view of themselves.  Petty officer Dunn was tall and blonde, but
had the facial features of a rat.  Roman found the man irritating –
as he found all men irritating.

“Roman, good to see you returned to us,” he
said.  Roman said nothing.  He eyeballed the man scornfully. 
Dunn shifted awkwardly, cleared his throat and continued.  “The captain
has instructed us to dispense justice.  One of the civilians has been
found stealing liquor.  We found a supply of contraband beneath his bunk
after somebody informed on him.  Your input would be welcome.”

“Who informed on him?”

Dunn frowned.  “Does it matter?”

“Wise to know which men like to tell tales, so that I
can better hide my own misdeeds.”

Dunn laughed nervously.  “Yes,
erm
, very witty.  We have been instructed to put the
man to death.  We were just discussing the method.  If you were to
take part it would-”

“You’re going to put a man to death for stealing?”

“Well…yes.  The captain told us that a thief has
less honour than a murderer, for at least a murderer has the courage to face
the victim of his crimes, instead of slinking around behind their backs.”

“Not always,” said Roman.  “Samuel does like his
speeches, doesn’t he?  Perhaps he expects to be quoted someday.”

“The captain instructed that the man be shown no
leniency.”

Roman looked across at the baying mob at the rear of
the ship and narrowed his eyes.  “I agree.  But lack of leniency does
not mean that the sentence should be harsh to begin with.  Let me see this
man.  I’ll deal with the bloody matter myself.”

Dunn shrugged.  “It is not your place. 
Your
input would be most welcome, but only an officer of the
fleet may-”

Roman shoved the man aside.  “Tell someone who
gives a shit.”  He approached two crewmen at the rear of the ship.
 The barrel-chested pair
were
holding the guilty
man down on his knees.  The prisoner was dirty and unshaven.  His
bloodshot eyes betrayed his fondness for alcohol.

Roman pointed his spear arm at the two crewmen. 
“Stand him up.”  The crewmen allowed the civilian to stand.  “What’s
your name, civilian?”

The man sighed and shook his head, beaten and
defeated.  “Wade Cannon, sir.”

“That’s quite a name.”

“American, sir.  I was a tourist when…”

“When the dead started walking around like the world
was a horror movie?”

The man nodded, his droopy eyes solemn.

Roman asked another question, an important question.
 “Why do you drink?”

The thief shrugged.

“I’ll ask you again and I suggest you answer.” 
Roman slid his antique sword from the scabbard at his belt.  The sword had
belonged with a suit of armour at an old castle he had come upon during the
first days of infection.  It was as sharp as any modern blade and ten
times as threatening.  “And don’t bullshit me.”

“I miss my family,” the man spluttered.  “My wife
was with me at the start…but she didn’t make it.  My two sons were still
back in Skokie staying with their uncle during the holidays.”

Roman lowered his sword so that it pointed at the
ground.  “You don’t know what became of them?”

The thief shook his head.  There were tears on
his cheeks.

Roman sighed.  “So you drink?  Even when the
alcohol is not yours to swallow?”

The American shrugged.  The man was beyond
caring.  There was no joy or hope left inside him to drive him onwards
– no reason for living.  Roman understood. 

The man needed to be given a reason.

Roman nodded to the crewmen.  “Hold him back
against the rail.  Spread his arms out.”

The American struggled, but his defiance was
half-hearted.

“Looks like somebody’s taking a trip overboard,” said
Dunn with a grin on his rattish face, but the man was wrong. 
Nobody is
dying today,
Roman decided.
 
Especially not for
that prick, Dunn’s, amusement.
 

Roman pressed up close to the American and looked him
hard in the eyes.  “I think you’ll find that pain and personal loss is
preferable to death.  It will help you to focus on something tangible
– a pain you can feel.  Losing part of yourself can be
cleansing.  I know from personal experience.”

The man looked confused.

Roman swung his sword and lopped off the American’s
left hand.  It tumbled backwards into the sea.  The man screamed,
blood jetting from his wrist.  Roman prodded his chest with his spear arm
and shoved him back against the railing, cutting short his screams.  The
man’s eyes were wide as Roman spoke to him. 

“Now your loss is plain for all to see.  You are
not the man you were anymore…so be someone else.  Find your pride instead
of a bottle, and focus on the pain I have given you.  It will remind you
that you’re alive.  One day, if you choose to seek me out, you may try to
exact your revenge.  Focus on that, the future, not the past.”  Roman
stepped away from the man and let him resume his howling.  He sheathed his
sword, turned to Dunn, and said, “Get his arm patched up and then leave him
alone.  He’s paid the cost for his actions and should be treated the same
as anybody else.”  The petty officer was white as a sheet, but he nodded
vigorously as Roman left him to his duties. 
He wanted blood.  I
gave it to him.

At the inner edge of the aft-deck, near the giant
shutter doors that led to the ship’s vast equipment house, was the man Roman
had been hoping to see.  The man was rough and slender, wrapped in an
oversized jumper, but there was no mistaking his identity.  When Roman was
sure nobody else was watching, he gave the man a great big smile.  “There
you are, Harry.  I’ve been looking for you.”

Harry smiled.  Wrinkles creased at the corners of
his eyes.  “The mighty Roman has returned to us.”

“A name given to me, not asked for.”

“Maybe you should tell people your real name,
then.  They would have no need of silly nicknames.”

“I tell my name to friends – and you’re the only
one.”

“I’m honoured.”  Harry nodded over to where the
one-handed American was being carried across the deck to receive medical
attention.  “A bit of a bloody business you were involved in, there. 
You do enjoy your drama.”

“They were going to kill him.  I did him a
favour.”

“Doubt he sees it that way.”

“He will, if he has any sense.  If not, he’s free
to take a swipe at me and I’ll take his other hand.”

“Come on,” said Harry, shaking his head and
smirking.  “Let’s take in some air and chat for a while.  And talk
normally,
instead of giving me that whole warrior routine
you give everybody else.  You sound like a right
prat
. 
I almost miss the way you used to talk when I met you,
blud
.
”

Roman huffed and nodded.  “Just my way of having
a bit of a laugh,
innit
?
  Got to
entertain myself somehow,
geezer
.”  

Harry smiled.  “That’s better.  You almost
sound a like a real person again.  Sometimes I think you imagine yourself
a lord with that sword at your hip.  I preferred you as a gangster. 
Steph would be laughing her arse off if she could hear you sometimes.”

Roman nodded.  “You ever wonder if she made it?”

Harry sighed and shrugged.  “I doubt it.  I know
she was working in a bar in Manchester when things went bad.  Manchester
wasn’t good.”

“Well, we can hope she’s out there someplace, I
guess.”

Harry nodded.  “She was a tough chick.  If
anyone could make it, it’s her.  She used to keep us two in line.”

Roman chuckled, but inside he pushed aside memories of
his past.  The man he’d been before the infection had a complicated
past.  The new world was miserable and dangerous, but it was simpler at
the very least and it gave everybody a fresh start.

The two of them strolled over to the portside
promenade deck where they leant over the gunwale and stared out at the frigid
sea of the English Channel.  Harry took in a deep lungful of air. 
“Beautiful, isn’t it?  Did I ever tell you I used to own a little boat years
back?  I had it docked in Southampton.”

Roman nodded.  Harry had been a successful
businessman once, but had lost it all to booze long before the world had ended
for everybody else.  Harry had been a broken, grief-stricken soul years
before everyone else became one.  “Tell me about her,” Roman asked his
friend.  It was good to talk about old times with a friend, although he
preferred to hear the stories from others than speak of his own dirty past.

Harry stared into space and smiled.  “It was a
60-footer princess yacht, the name
Blue Saloon
painted on her bow. 
Huh, I guess even then I loved the booze a little too much.  It was never
empty of a crate or two of wine.”  Roman nodded.  Harry had been an
alcoholic when they’d met, but had cleaned
himself
up
soon after.  He’d been clean and sober for almost the entire time they’d
been friends, but Roman knew that alcohol had taken a lot from his
friend.  The death of his wife and son in a car accident had pushed him to
the brink of madness and booze had been the only understanding friend he could
find. 
He drank to forget the things he lost, but all he did was lose
whatever few things he had left.

But even the apocalypse hadn’t tipped Harry off the
wagon.  He turned his nose up at any drop of plonk placed in front of
him.  He was a stronger man than most, by far.  But sometimes Roman
sensed a brief glimmer of weakness in Harry’s eyes lately, like he was getting
tired. 

“I had some of the best times of my life on that
boat,” Harry chuckled, “even if I
was
on the firewater at the
time.  My son used to love dangling a fishing line into the water, trying
to catch crabs near the seawall.  He never caught anything, bless him, but
he always enjoyed it.  It was the hope of catching something that kept him
there, I think.  My son was always optimistic; he always saw the best
outcome for everything.  He took after his mother in that way.  I was
the opposite.  I wished you could have met him.”

Roman patted his friend on the back.  “Me
too.”  He knew that even now, years later, the wounds were still
raw.  Harry’s memories of his wife and child were like flayed skin that
never healed.  “At least you didn’t lose your son to this shithole
existence,” Roman said.  It was the only upside he could think of.  “Most
men did.”

Harry ran his hand along the gunwale and nodded. 
“I know.  If anything I’m lucky that I didn’t have to watch him get torn
apart by the dead.”  Harry sniffed in another deep breath of sea air and
changed the subject.  “You think they will ever truly rest again, the
dead?  You’ve been out there on land.  What do you think?”

Roman stared out at the cold grey sea and thought
about it.  “I don’t know,” he said honestly.  “The dead are falling
apart at the seams, but most of them still walk.  I think they’ll keep
going until there’s nothing left of them but dust and bone.  Even then
they might not stop.”

“Maybe they’ll stop when there’s nothing left of us,”
said Harry.

“Maybe you’re right, although it’s a bloody miserable
thought.  You haven’t got any cheerier with age, have you?”

The two of them laughed and Roman stared out at the
boats and ships floating beside the
Kirkland
.  All of the men and
women on the ragtag group of vessels were safe and well-fed for the time being,
but he often wondered what their end game was, their plans for the
future.  Were all these people, families and strangers, content to float
around the seas for the rest of their lives?  Would humanity ever regain
the earth?  Samuel spoke of an army.  Was that what they needed? 
An army to reclaim what they had lost?