Shaun Harbinger: Storm

Reaching for the second oar, I glanced toward the shore and froze with fear.

Two men were running out of the fog toward me. Their clothes were filthy and torn, their faces gaunt and bearded. In the old world, I would have assumed they were homeless.

In this new world they were simply survivors. They probably spent every day avoiding the army and zombies, scavenging for food and taking what they needed to survive for one more day.

One of them held a meat cleaver, the other a hand axe.

Their eyes were wild.

They splashed into the water and grabbed the boat, raising their weapons.

I picked up my bat and prepared to fight for my life.

As they grabbed the boat, it rocked violently from side to side and my boots slipped on the slick wood. I lost my balance and fell headfirst into the sea. The world became a rush of deathly-cold water as I went under. I fought for air, finding the loose pebble bed beneath my boots and pushing against it until my face broke the surface and I breathed in a lungful of cold air, standing waist deep in the sea.

The man closest to me swung the hand axe at my head. He had to wade into deeper water to reach me and the waves pushed at him, spoiling his swing. I lifted the baseball bat with both hands and blocked the blow. As the axe shaft hit the hard wood of the bat, I pulled back, yanking the axe out of the wild survivor’s hand. His weapon dropped into the sea between us with a splash.

Wild-eyed, he lunged at me.

I barely had time to get the bat between us. He grabbed it and tried to wrestle it out of my hands.

His companion was getting closer, coming around the rowboat with the cleaver held high.

I needed to move.

Now.

I jabbed the bat forward into the survivor’s face. His nose exploded and he let go of the bat to put his hands to his face. I used that split second to kick out into deeper water. The bat encumbered me and I was no Olympic swimmer but I had no other option. If I went for the beach they would outrun me and pull me down to the ground. Swimming out to sea was the only chance I had.

If I could just make it to The Big Easy with enough distance between me and the pursuing survivor, I could climb on board to safety.

I glanced over my shoulder. The man behind me moved through the waves with choppy strokes of his arms, his bloodshot eyes wild as he realised his prey might escape.

I faced forward again and pulled myself through the water in a combination of breaststroke and front crawl. I hated swimming. My parents used to take Joe and me to the local pool once a week when we were kids but it soon lost its appeal. As I got older, I drifted into the world of video games and the only swimming I participated in was on a game console.

Exhaustion hit me like a heavy weight, threatening to pull me under. Panicking, I looked behind me. The wild survivor was gaining on me.

I wouldn’t make it to The Big Easy .

Looking around, I spotted a chrome ladder on the side of the jetty. As I made for it, I squinted against the fog in an attempt to see our boat but I couldn’t see her through the grey wall. We would need to be underway as soon as I reached her, before the two survivors got on board and killed us in their crazy rage.

I reached the ladder and put my boot on the rungs below the water, pulling myself up despite the tiredness and cold.

I shouted toward the end of the jetty as I climbed. “Lucy! We need to get out of here! Untie the boat!”

Exhausted, I reached the top of the ladder and crawled onto the wooden slats of the jetty as my pursuer reached the bottom of the ladder. This was going to be tight. Would I even make it?

A moan escaped my lips as I scrambled to my feet and staggered toward the end of the jetty in a slow run.

“Lucy!” I called, “Start the engines!” It was too quiet. If the yacht’s engines were running, I should be able to hear them. I had to be close enough now.

All I could hear was rapid footsteps behind me. They beat on the wood like a drum counting off the final seconds of my life.

I pushed myself to run faster. If I could just get to The Big Easy , I had more of a fighting chance. Lucy was there and she had weapons, including the gun.

Run!

The footsteps were louder, closer. I could hear the survivor’s ragged breath, smell his sweat mixed with salty sea water.

The fuel pump appeared through the thick fog.

I looked for The Big Easy but there was no reassuring bulky dark shape where she had been moored.

Just empty sea.

The Big Easy … and Lucy… were gone.

The edge of the jetty appeared but I couldn’t stop. The man behind me was so close I had already braced myself to feel the razor-sharp edge of the meat cleaver slicing through my skin. I ran until the wood beneath my boots disappeared and I was falling towards the water, trying to grab a breath of air in my burning lungs before I went under.

The coldness enveloped me in a sudden rush and I fought my way to the surface. My lungs felt like they were on fire. The muscles in my arms barely held enough strength to pull me through the water.

I took a deep gulp of air and checked the water around me. No sign of my pursuer. I looked up at the jetty. He wasn’t there either. Maybe he hadn’t followed me into the water. He could have given up and gone back to check on his companion.

I trod water and got my breath back, taking in deep lungsful of chilly, moist air. I couldn’t stay out here much longer; I was already tiring. It would be ironic if I managed to escape a cleaver-wielding maniac only to drown in the sea.

Swimming back to the marina was out of the question; they could be waiting there for me. I had to swim across to the beach and pray the coast was clear.

As I kicked out and tried to relax into an easy breaststroke, I cursed myself for leaving the safety of The Big Easy . Lucy had been right; my plan was stupid. If I had listened to her, I would be on board right now drinking hot coffee instead of swimming in the icy sea.

My life was in danger. Alone and onshore, I had very little chance of survival. I had stupidly thought the fog would protect me but instead it had separated me from Lucy and the safety of our boat. Once the fog faded, I would be visible to both the military and the shambling nasties.

I wasn’t sure which I feared most.

After a few minutes of swimming, I headed toward the beach. The sun had burned off some of the fog and I could see the stretch of sand and the dark angle of the cliffs. The beach looked deserted.

If I could hole up there for half an hour, I could then double back and take a boat. Once I was safely at sea, I could search for Lucy. All I needed to do was wait thirty minutes or so and hope the two crazy survivors had moved on from the marina. With nothing there to kill or steal, I assumed they would lose interest and search elsewhere for victims.

I swam into the shallows and reached down with my legs, finding the soft sand. Wading through the chest-high cold water, trying to move faster despite the shifting sand beneath my boots, I scanned the beach. No movement other than a pair of seagulls fighting over the carcass of a dead fish.

The sand beneath my feet sloped upwards and I struggled up onto the beach. I stumbled out of the water and collapsed onto my back, staring up at the grey sky. I was exhausted. Every muscle ached and my breath came in harsh gasps that burned my throat. I wasn’t built for this kind of physical action. Although I had lost a few pounds since the apocalypse, I was still out of shape and unfit.

That could get me killed, especially in this situation.

I sat up and looked for somewhere to lie low. There were caves in the cliffs. If I could hide inside one of those and…