Sadie Walker Is Stranded

  Shane nodded. “Probably.”

  I hadn’t talked to him much about his grandfather. Surviving in the city was more about learning to readjust normal things—no electricity, different food, different ways to clothe and entertain yourself … But if we were headed for a prolonged stay in the wilderness, well, that was nothing like giving up fresh vegetables for canned or finding a renewed appreciation for books and knitting. It took a kind of rugged perseverance I’m not sure either of us possessed. I would just have to channel my dad and maybe some Allison Hewitt, and forget about the doubts creeping around in the back of my mind.

  I wasn’t the mothering type, not like my sister, Kat, but that was going to have to change.

  “Maybe we’ll hold off on fishing for a while,” I suggested, suffering flashes of Shane being yanked into the bay by the end of a fishing line. “But there’s some cool stuff we can do … building fires and shelters, making traps…”

  “I guess.”

  And that was why I wasn’t the mothering type. For all your effort and care, a kid could just blow you off and make you feel two inches tall. But really … I couldn’t blame Shane. Why should he get excited about fires or camping when every part of his life he had ever enjoyed had been ripped unceremoniously away? I was the only thing he had left. Put that way, I couldn’t help but sympathize with his moods.

  Kat was always better at this stuff. She didn’t wind up with someone like Carl and his sicko friends. Some internal compass kept her on the straight and narrow at all times. She understood kids and they loved her right back. She knew how to glide through the awkward moments when a child looked at you like Shane was looking at me then. Like maybe this was all a mistake. Like maybe he wished he had been on the train when his parents were killed and not stuck with me on a slow boat to nowhere.

  “You’ll see,” I promised, swallowing a knot of emotion I wasn’t sure would ever go away. “You’ll see, big man. It’s going to be an adventure.”

  * * *

  The bickering started as dusk fell, but I couldn’t rouse enough energy to care. Someone would decide something. That was enough. The bare facts were impossible to ignore: we were on the boat and there were only two choices—keep going until we found a good place to stop or just keep drifting until we starved, were eaten, or went crazy.

  I stayed put with my little boy sentry huddled there stiff and quiet. Andrea stopped over with my clothing. She seemed to hesitate, but left without a word. Dry enough, I pulled on my thermals and sweater and curled up in the soggy blanket, herding Shane into the spot in front of me.

  A chill had crept into my bones, the iciness of the water driven inward. When the darkness came on, swift and foggy and damp, I was glad for the privacy of shadows. The boat felt emptier without Arturo, aimless. It was easy to start crying. I had been saving up. Shane fell asleep curled against me, wheezing with the quiet intensity of a child’s deep rest. I thought of poor Arturo, dead and abandoned. I thought of those bastards who had tried to take Shane. And Carl … Carl. I pictured him in the water instead of Arturo, his leg bobbing up and down like a decoy duck. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been so angry. This was worse than the initial outbreak, worse than losing family and friends and a home because it was just so damn lonely. Even with Shane there, or maybe especially because Shane was there. He was the only thing left, the last remnants of a family I could never get back again.

  On rare occasions my even temperament keeled over like a flagpole in a gale, so sometimes it helped to release a valve and let out some steam. But there was nothing to punch, no pillow to abuse or solitary space to throw a screaming fit. So I shoved my hand into my face and sobbed into it, wondering what the hell I was doing on a boat in the first place and how to get off of it. I closed my eyes and saw the Golden Princess upended in Bell Harbor. Evil in the water. Terror in the water.

  As if in coy response, the sound of the waves gathered up against the boat, pushing us toward our unknown destination with a lush rushing sound. Uncle Arturo, rest in peace, had gone to his death with our destination locked somewhere in his mind. Now we would never know.

  Even as I sulked and tried to cry silently, I felt his eyes on me. Moritz watched me over the top of his tin cup, nodding his head and pressing his lips together in an awkward grin of apology whenever I caught him doing it, as if to say: I can’t help but look at you and I’m sorry that I must.

  It wasn’t a comfort, it was an invasion. I’d known Andrea for years and trusted her, but that was it. I didn’t know these other people. I hardly even knew Shane, so strange and aloof despite his young age. A bloodstained nurse, an eager teenage boy, and a deposed art critic playing superhero … I didn’t know them. How could I? Two days on a boat? I shuddered and sank down into the warmth of the blanket; I didn’t know them and there was nowhere to go, just the boat and the endless inexorable current of the sea.

  FIVE

  Shane and I woke up the next morning beneath a cavernous pile of blankets. I hadn’t remembered falling asleep or being tucked in, but there was no mistaking the heap of blankets keeping me warm and snug. It was a small gesture, but one that might have kept me from growing weak from the cold. It was time to wake up, I thought, time to wriggle out of the sticky, safe cocoon and do something.

  My newfound determination flagged a bit when I realized I was the only person awake. It proved difficult to rouse the troops when most of them were snoring peacefully. The others dozed at various intervals around the deck, curled up like shrimps on a roasting pan; Andrea had snuggled up to a pile of sweaters in the cockpit. She slept with furrowed eyebrows and I couldn’t help but wonder if she missed her uncle, if they had been closer than I thought. It was always tough to tell; affection in one culture seemed like apathy in another. She was probably supposed to be maneuvering the boat. Lucky for us, we coasted through a broad bay, a safe distance away from the tangle of trees on the shore.

  Shane never made much noise period, and he was mute in sleep, his little chest going up and down with the rhythm of the waves pushing us along.

  Andrea started awake even as I watched. Realizing her mistake, she quickly stood up and surveyed our situation. I took one blanket for myself, left the rest for Shane, and shuffled over to the cockpit, sitting down on the shallow steps leading down toward her position at the helm. Only a scant few yards from Shane, I still felt nervous, jumpy from fear and the hungry hole in my gut, as if this brief period of safety was destined to be interrupted with tragedy. Accordingly, I kept one eye on him as I sidled up to Andrea.

  “Morning,” I said, not knowing how else to start.

  “Morning. You feel okay? Need a valium?” Even voice, eyes steady. She did me the favor of believing I could cope.

  “I’m fine. Shaken, but fine. You know, the nice thing about being chased in the water is that there’s easy clean up when you shit yourself,” I said. She laughed indulgently. “But really, I’ll be back to normal soon. You guys took good care of me.”

  Andrea nodded and looked away, ponytail bouncing. I couldn’t tell if she was proud or embarrassed. “And you? How are you holding up?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” she replied, letting out a sigh that deflated her whole chest. “I’m worried.”

  “Really?” I asked lightly. “And here I thought things were going along without a hitch.”

  She smirked and then quickly covered it up. “Fuck you. Things could be worse.”

  “I don’t know, Andrea. Name me one thing worse than aquazombies. Go on, name one.”

  She thought for a moment, her head quirked to the side. “Zombies with wings?”

  “Jesus. That is worse.” We were silent for a moment. She looked at Shane, her gaze a little unfocused and far away as she tipped her head to the side, a silent question forming. I don’t know what she was thinking, but personally I was trying hard to blot out the mental image of the undead descending from the sky.

  “Were you two close?” I asked softly.

&nbs
p; Andrea flinched, her jaw tightening as she looked away and muttered, “Not really.”

  “Still … doesn’t make it any easier.”

  “I’m pissed,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m fucking pissed at that idiot for dying and leaving us on this fucking stupid-ass boat in this huge-ass bay. We’re up a creek, Sadie. We are up a creek in the biggest way…”

  “I get that,” I replied, keeping my voice down. “But it’s not his fault. He was trying to help us.”

  “Yeah? Well fuck him for that too.” She blinked, hard, no doubt using every muscle in her face to keep the tears from dropping. This was her way. She probably loved the salty old bastard to death, but she’d be the last to say it.

  “So where we headed?” I asked.

  The sunrise was breathtaking. Long washed streaks of orange and pink glowed behind the tree line. Above the bright colors, the sky turned navy blue and then faded, up and up until it was white again with clouds. Nature went along cheerfully, oblivious to the world of humans falling apart like so many scattered and bloodied Jenga blocks. A cool, swirling mist disintegrated around us, replaced by a breeze that carried the heavy scent of pine from the forest. People came to these areas to fish and camp and get in touch with nature again. I could see why. My dad would have loved to come here. Besides us, this was what kept him going, what made his office life tolerable.

  Then I remembered the watery marauders we had met yesterday and looked harder at the shore. Maybe it wasn’t so gorgeous after all. There were creatures in those woods, not just bears and mountain lions or whatever else, but things with a hunting instinct that defied reasonable thought. I shivered as Andrea turned and glanced at me.

  “If I’m reading this chart properly, which there’s about a fifty-fifty chance of, then Cassandra’s right. We’re getting close to the San Juan Islands. I don’t know what the fuck, though. I mean, look.” She pointed out beyond the nose of the ship. “Can you make heads or tails of this shit? What’s on the map does not look like what’s in front of my eyes.”

  I consulted the chart and then gazed at the jagged lines of pebbly shore all around us. She was right. They looked nothing alike.

  “Can Noah read it?” I asked. “Your uncle kinda took him under his wing.”

  “Maybe,” she replied, shrugging her slender shoulders. “We can consult him, but it’s one giant gamble. I think our best bet is to just go until we see a shore that looks open and safe. If we manage that without fucking it up we might have a fighting chance.”

  A fighting chance? To do what exactly?

  “And then what?” I grunted. “We go bamboo?”

  “Well, no,” she reasoned. “It’ll be temporary. If we wait a few months, things might get better and we could sail back down to Seattle, see what’s what. If the harbor’s cleaned up and it looks secure we’ll land, pick up where we left off…”

  It was as good a plan as any, if a bit naïve and delusional. I couldn’t fault her for high hopes; I wanted to believe it too. She made it sound so easy. Shane and me back in our old haunt, or we could find a new one, start fresh. It was tempting to imagine. I nodded. “Okay, then.”

  “You’re not so sure.” Andrea tossed me one of her hard, studying looks. Apparently I had to display Mickey Mouse Club levels of giddiness about this latest suggestion of hers. I smiled, faking it.

  “No, I think you’re right,” I said. “I think that sounds solid.”

  Andrea turned back to the chart, leaving me with my thoughts and my own lie hanging over my head. It didn’t sound solid, it sounded ridiculous. After all, what were we? A drug dealer, an illustrator, an art critic, a child, a nurse and a teenager? It sounded like a setup for a bad joke, not a crack survival team. I knew a thing or two about the wilderness, but I wasn’t confident that knowledge was extensive enough to keep us going.

  “We should talk to everybody,” I said forcefully. Direction. We just needed direction. “We’ll round them up and let them know the plan.”

  Noah had woken up by the time I left Andrea alone at the helm. She needed her space—that much was clear. She telegraphed her moods like a stop light; today she was flashing red and I’d let her be. I noticed the teenage boy stretching and pulling on another layer of sweatshirt. Moritz and Cassandra still slept, curled up at opposite ends of the boat. I envied their restfulness; yesterday had been exhausting, in more ways than one.

  Shane only roused enough to sit up and glower out at the water, hands tucked into his lap.

  Noah saw me sitting at the stern, swathed in blankets, my back resting against the railings and my body swaying with the rhythm of the waves. He came and sat beside me, swimming in his too-big sweaters. He had something tucked into his hand, half-hidden by his waist. For a while we were quiet, the sloshing of the water against the boat serving as a welcome distraction. Finally I looked at him. His face was so young, but he wore his struggles on his sleeve, too mature and calm for someone his age.

  “Where are you from?” I asked. This was a natural post-Outbreak conversation starter and one I’d had lobbed at me hundreds of times in the last few months.

  “BC,” he replied. “Vancouver.”

  British Columbia. Another transplant. He didn’t mention family and as a rule, that meant they were probably out of the picture. I forced a smile. “You’re not too far from home, then.”

  “Nope,” he said. “And we’re getting closer by the minute.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. We were headed in a generally northern direction.

  “I just hope we stop before Alaska,” I murmured.

  “What’s in Alaska?” he asked.

  “Exactly.”

  We fell back into companionable silence. I don’t know how long we sat there, perched like sunning seagulls at the end of the boat. After a while, Noah handed me a thin stack of worn paperbacks. He had obviously been secreting them away for just this moment. If I weren’t so fucking bleary-eyed and afraid I might have actually jumped for joy. I had exhausted my patience with cards (and more specifically cards with Andrea, the damn dirty cheater) and the sight of so many ways to pass the time made me want to hug him forever.

  I looked through the stack as he awaited my verdict and chewed his thumb nail. Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, Mickey Spillane …

  “You’re way too young to have taste this good.”

  “They’re my pop’s,” he said shyly, but his cheeks reddened from the flattery. “He used to read them to me over breaks, you know, Christmas and Easter and stuff. I took them from the house. I couldn’t just leave them there.”

  “How many times have you read them?” I asked. The yellow pages were beyond dog-eared.

  He blew out a long breath. “No idea, hundreds of times. Memorized by now. You borrow them for as long as you need.”

  “That’s generous,” I said. “Thank you.”

  My heart cracked a little at his bashful smile. He had a heartthrob’s face hidden beneath a stubborn layer of baby fat and the torrent of dark curls falling over his forehead. In a few short years he would be a lady-killer. Looking at him made me want to throw something. Don’t get me wrong, he was good company, but he didn’t belong here. Noah should have been at the junior prom, picking out a corsage, buying his first car, chasing girls. Instead he was here with us, headed for nowhere on a boat with no captain. I snorted inside my head. That would be a good title for one of his hard-boiled detective novels—On a Boat With No Captain.

  Noah pointed to The Maltese Falcon in my lap. “Start with that one.”

  “All right. And after that?”

  “The Big Sleep.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  Noah got up then, his job seemingly done, and stuck his hands into his pockets. He sidled away, leaving me to stare down at the stack of novels. He was bummed, lonely, trying to cope. It was tempting to call him back and ask if he was okay. He and Arturo had formed a bond. Nobody wanted to discuss it. I felt fortunate that I hadn’t been there to see him get pu
lled down. Sure, I had seen his leg bobbing in the water, glimpsed the carnage, but Noah and the others had seen worse. So I let it lie and watched Noah go his own way, which—obviously—wasn’t far.

  I had never really gotten into the detective mystery thing, but the escapism certainly sounded tempting. There was no telling how much longer we’d be confined to the ship. We had islands, water, trees … but a direction? I suppose so. Not really. Vaguely.

  In the meantime, dames and dicks and the thrill of the chase would have to be my life raft.

  SIX

  Rousing speech. Right. Nothing I couldn’t handle. I turned down Andrea’s generous offer of some pills to steady my nerves. If I was going to lead, it would be by example.

  “It’s no secret,” I started, looking from face to face, clinging to the cockpit railing to keep from tumbling over in the middle of my brilliant State of the Union. “… Look … It’s no secret that we’re in trouble, but Andrea and I have talked it over, and we think there’s a solution that should please everybody and keep us safe for the time being.” Andrea nodded, lending her silent support. Cassandra sat curled up in a ball at Moritz’s feet, her gaze settling somewhere on the middle distance. Little Shane was kind enough to hold eye contact when I looked at him. “We’re going to stop at the next beach that looks open or at the next sign of civilization. We can wait out the trouble in Seattle, and head back when everyone feels ready.”

  “I can help navigate,” Noah put in shyly. “I think I’ve got a handle on it.”

  “And we’ll ration the food carefully,” Andrea added.

  That seemed to be all there was to say.

  “We’ve got food and a boat,” I said in closing. “That’s more than enough if we’re resourceful.”