Shaun Harbinger: Storm

A dark shape jutted out into the water like a bony finger. I turned the wheel to steer us clear and saw a second identical shape farther away.

“It’s the marina jetties,” Lucy said.

This was perfect. We needed a rowboat to get to and from shore easily. We could pick one up here then sail to a more remote part of the coast. I could row ashore while Lucy stayed with The Big Easy . I started to feel more optimistic about the plan.

“We can get fuel and a rowboat,” I said. “We don’t need to stay here long.” I guided the boat along the weathered wooden jetty. Through the fog, I could see the bulky dark shapes of moored boats bobbing on the gentle waves. I cut the engine. Lucy jumped onto the jetty with our mooring rope and tied us off when we reached the fuel pump.

I climbed down the ladder to the aft deck and grabbed my baseball bat. “I won’t be long,” I said as I passed Lucy, who was already operating the fuel pump. She didn’t reply. I couldn’t blame her for being angry.

The wooden slats creaked beneath my boots. I held the bat loosely in my hands and crept along slowly, knowing that if there was anyone else on this jetty, I wouldn’t see them until they were a few feet in front of me. I risked a glance backward. The Big Easy was no more than a dark shape in the grey. I couldn’t see Lucy.

I peered at each slip I passed, looking for a rowboat. The boats here were mainly pleasure craft, used for fishing weekends or excursions out to sea on sunny days. Some of them belonged to the marina and were hired out to casual boaters. These boats had the slogan “Sail To Your Destiny” painted on the hull beneath the boats’ name and number.

A few fishing vessels were among them, littered with lobster traps and nets, working boats whose work was done forever. Most of these craft would never go out to sea again. Their owners were either dead or shambling around the city looking for human prey, thoughts of sunny pleasure trips far from their rotted minds.

I didn’t find a rowboat until I reached the shore. There, sitting on the pebbled beach beneath the marine supply store, sat a tidy-looking pale yellow wooden boat complete with oars stowed under the seats. She was flooded with rainwater but I could tip that out and be rowing back to The Big Easy in no time.

I dropped from the jetty and went over to the yellow boat. The pebbles made a crunching sound beneath my boots. It sounded too loud in the otherwise quiet fog-enshrouded morning. If anybody was around, I had just given away my location.

Standing by the boat, my hands gripping the smooth wood of the baseball bat tightly, I listened. All I could hear was my own breathing and the soft whisper of the waves lapping up onto the pebbles. A far off clunking sound told me Lucy had replaced the fuel line onto the pumping machine. The big Easy was fuelled and ready to go.

So was I. My noisy trek across the pebbles had unnerved me. I wanted to get out of here. Now.

I wasn’t even sure I wanted to come ashore again today, even under cover of the fog. The lack of visibility suddenly felt dangerous. There could be a herd of zombies standing on this beach only a few feet from me and I wouldn’t even know it until they reached for me.

Enough scaring myself. I needed to leave.

I laid the bat on the pebbles and gripped the edge of the rowboat, pulling up with all my strength to tip out the accumulated water. It sloshed noisily around inside but it made the boat too heavy to tip. Great. Just great. I stood and stretched my aching back then squatted down and placed my hands against the slippery hull of the rowboat.

Pushing with my legs, I managed to move it over onto its side far enough that water came flooding out onto the pebbles. The oars clattered loudly against the inner hull.

I heard another sound: footsteps crunching on the pebbles behind me. Rapid and rhythmic. Not zombies. But probably still as dangerous.

I dropped the boat as quietly as I could but the oars banged against the hull again.

The footsteps increased their pace toward me.

I looked toward the jetty. I could run back to The Big Easy but what if they followed me? We couldn’t untie the boat and be underway before they had a chance to get on board. At the moment, The Big Easy and Lucy were safe in the shroud of fog. I wanted to keep it that way.

Picking up the bat, I crept across the pebbles to the cement walkway in front of the marine store and crouched there, flattening myself against the rough brick wall. I was too exposed here. I could still see the rowboat, which meant if anyone stood there, they could see me.

The footsteps were getting louder.

I pushed on the glass door to the marine supply store and slipped inside. Something touched my neck and I thought for a terrifying moment that I had stumbled into a zombie but it was just a wetsuit hanging on a rail. I sat in the darkness and tried to calm myself down. My breathing sounded so loud I was sure anyone outside the store would be able to hear it.

The footsteps stopped and I heard voices. Men’s voices. I couldn’t make out the words through the door. I wished I had hidden further back among the shelves of the store. What if they came in here? I was so close to the glass door, they would trip over me.

I inched across the cold tiled floor looking for a hiding place. The store had been the source of the clothes I now wore and it looked like it had been looted by others as well. The clothing racks were almost bare and most of them had been tipped over onto the floor. The wooden shelves that ran down the center of the store had been pushed over and lay in pieces like broken bones on the hard floor.

Sliding back into the shadows at the back of the store, I tried to avoid the splinters of wood and lengths of chrome rails. I had to be silent. Sitting in the dark, leaning back against the wall, I tried to control my breathing.

I waited there for at least five minutes, bat clutched tightly in my hands, before I dared move back to the door. I peered through the dirty glass.

The fog had lifted slightly. On the pebbles, the yellow rowboat sat alone, waiting for me. I had to get out of here. Lucy was right; coming ashore here was a stupid idea. As soon as I rowed that little yellow boat to The Big Easy , I was never going to come back to this city again.

There was no sign of the men I had heard.

I opened the door and slowly put my head out, listening.

All I could hear was the whisper of gentle waves rolling over the pebbles and the distant rumblings of engines somewhere in the city. I stepped outside. The baseball bat felt heavy. I didn’t want to use it on living people but I would if they stood between me and The Big Easy .

I strode quickly to the rowboat, grabbed the cold damp wooden edge of the stern, and dragged it across the pebbles toward the sea. The cold water ran into my boots and soaked the bottom of my jeans as I waded in to better pull the boat into water deep enough to float it.

Satisfied that the boat wouldn’t touch the bottom even when it held my weight, I threw the bat in and clambered after it. By the time I was in the rowboat, I was wet, cold and breathing hard. I didn’t have time to take a breather; I was barely six feet from the shore. If the waves took me any closer to the beach, I’d be grounded. I didn’t want to get into the freezing water again to push the boat farther out.

I picked up one of the wet oars and slid the blade into the water to push the boat out to sea. The oar sank into the pebbles on the sea bed. I put my weight against it and pushed. The boat moved farther out from shore.

I dragged the oar back in and pushed it into the metal oar lock on the side of the boat. It went in with a loud clunk .