are literally jacks that extend down, raising the platform and stabilizing it on the surface. It’s a little smaller than a full-blown drill ship. They’ve got motion compensating motors and all that shit. But anyway, yeah, they’re out there. Not just confined to the Gulf. The oil companies are forever drilling test wells just to see what’s down there beneath the ocean floor.”
Mitch asked aloud what I had been thinking. “So why couldn’t we just go to that rig?”
“There would still be zombies,” Chief Maxey said. “Even a small platform would have a crew. The company man, the tool pusher, driller, derrick man, floor hands, cooks, and roustabouts. Unless they evacuated the crew before everything on the mainland collapsed, they’d still be there.”
“Yeah,” Mitch said slowly, “but they wouldn’t necessarily be zombies. If they had no connection to the mainland, then there’s no way they’d have caught Hamelin’s Revenge. You’ve got to be exposed to it—bitten or come into contact with infected blood—to turn into one of them, right? Only thing that could get them would be the birds and the fish, and neither of them are carriers. Those crews could still be alive. They could help us.”
“He’s got a point, Chief,” Turn said. “In the Gulf, it’s pretty common for shrimp boats and the like to pull up and trade their catch for diesel. Stands to reason the same would go for Atlantic platforms. We could trade for supplies. They’d probably welcome us, especially now.”
“But we don’t have anything to trade.”
“We’ve got transport,” Turn said. “I doubt the oil company is sending a helicopter to pull them off the jack-up anytime soon. But we can. We’re their ticket off the rig.”
“Okay,” the chief argued, “but what if they don’t want to leave? What if they’d rather stay? Then what? What else do we have to trade?”
“The women,” Runkle suggested. There was no hint of humor in his voice. The guy was serious.
We stared at him in disbelief.
“Fuck that,” Hooper said. “The women are ours. We ain’t trading them. Need them for breeding purposes.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” Mitch slammed his palm down on the map. “Do you hear yourselves? You’re talking about fucking slavery—like the women onboard are something to be used for barter or a harem.”
“You mean they ain’t?” Hooper grinned wide enough to expose his missing teeth.
My hands curled into fists. I kept them at my sides. It was hard to do. I noticed Mitch tense up, as well. He was shaking with anger and his face turned red. Chief Maxey interrupted, defusing the mounting tension.
“Knock it off, all of you. Officer Runkle. Mr. Hooper. While your contributions to this ship are valuable and needed, I won’t stand for that nonsense. I don’t ever want to hear either of you talk like that again. Not while you’re on my ship. Do I make myself clear?”
Hooper shrugged. “Whatever, man. I was just fucking around.”
“You’ve been doing that a little too much,” Turn said.
“Runkle?” Chief Maxey glared at him. “Do you understand me?”
Runkle nodded, but said nothing.
“So what’s the plan, Chief?” Turn turned back to the map. “We need a decision.”
“We’ll try for the small station near Virginia Beach—the one surrounded by the national forest. It should be fairly deserted. If we have no luck there, then we’ll consider Mitch and Lamar’s suggestion and try the oil rig. Fair enough?”
We all agreed that it was. Then we began planning the expedition. According to Chief Maxey, we’d have to take the lifeboat into shore, because the water at the station was too shallow for the
“We need one more,” Chief Maxey said. “Basil, how about you? Want to join the shore party?”
Basil looked startled. “Me? Why?”
“You’ve got National Guard training. It would be helpful.”
“Yeah,” Mitch agreed. “You know how to use a firearm, right?”
“L-look,” Basil stuttered, “thanks for the vote of confidence, but I can’t do it. No way. I just spent the last two weeks hiding out in a fucking restroom stall at the Baltimore Zoo. I barely made it out alive. There’s no way I’m going back into that shit again.”
“Pussy,” Hooper teased. “Chicken shit motherfucker.”
“Fuck you, man!”
Basil charged him, fists raised, jaw clenched. Runkle stepped out of the way. He looked eager to see them fight, and he licked his lips. Turn and Chief Maxey intervened, stepping between them. Basil tried pushing past the chief, but Maxey refused to budge.
“Come on, pussy,” Hooper shouted. “What you got for me, huh? You ain’t got nothing. Bring it. I dare you. Fucking bring it.”
Turn shoved Hooper backward. Hooper took a swing at him but Turn sidestepped. Suddenly, Mitch had his pistol out of the holster and pointed at Hooper’s head.
“Back the fuck down.” He motioned with the pistol barrel. “Right now.”
Hooper’s eyes grew wide, but he backed down. “You gonna pull a gun on me?”
“Sure looks that way, doesn’t it?” Mitch turned to the chief. “See why it’s a good idea not to lock up all the guns?”
Chief Maxey wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand and then stubbed out his cigar. “I don’t give a shit who is at fault here. Each and every one of you will stand down right now, or I’ll throw you all in the brig. This is not a democracy, goddamn it, and I am in charge. What is wrong with you? Fighting? Pulling guns on each other? If I’d have known it was going to be like this, I would have left all of you back on the pier.”
“I’m sorry.” Mitch holstered his weapon. “Didn’t think you’d want your first mate getting the shit beat out of him.”
“Thanks,” Turn muttered.
“I’m sorry, too,” Basil said. “But I’m not going ashore and I don’t care what anyone thinks. I can’t do it.”
“Why?” Tony asked. “What happened to you at the zoo, man? We’ve all been through shit. What’s your story?”
Basil shuddered. “You don’t want to know.”
“Yeah,” Tony said. “I do want to know. Think we
Basil didn’t respond. He walked over to the round window, put his hands behind his back, and stared out at the sea. When he finally spoke, we had to strain to hear him.
“I always loved the zoo. It was my favorite place to go when I was a kid. I grew up in Glen Burnie. Every weekend, I used to beg my parents to take me. We went maybe four times a year. When I became an adult, though, I got one of those lifetime memberships and went every chance I got. At least once a month. And when my wife and I first started dating, I used to take her to the zoo, too. She loved it as much as I did. I proposed to her in front of the monkey exhibit. It was our place, you know? Every couple has a place. Ours was the Baltimore Zoo.”
None of us spoke. The only sounds were the constant cries of the seagulls and Tony’s lighter as he lit another cigarette…
“So,” Basil continued, “we’ve got a good life. I’m doing Web stuff for Northrop. My wife, Kelli, is working for Southwest Airlines at BWI. We’ve got a nice house in Glen Burnie, near where we both grew up. Everything’s fine. Then her period is late. She takes one of those home tests where you pee on the stick, and it says she’s pregnant. And then, along comes Hamelin’s fucking Revenge. You guys remember how it was, when it first started. It was happening elsewhere. Localized. New York City is a long drive up Ninety-five, right? It wouldn’t spread to here. But it did. The last time I saw Kelli was when I left for work. She was going to be late coming home that night. She had a doctor’s appointment after work—they were going to tell her if the pregnancy test was correct or not. I got home and made dinner for us. Even stopped off at the store and got a bottle of that sparkling cider, because if she was pregnant, I didn’t want her drinking wine. Lit some candles and then I waited. She called from the car—the cell
