Apocalypse Z: The Beginning of the End

head for Miguel’s boat. Piece of cake. Three minutes, tops.

Hoisting myself up onto the pier took a titanic effort. After two hours in the water, my arms were asleep. When I finally got up, I lay on the pier, gasping like a fish, totally exhausted. If one of those monsters had showed up right then, I would have been a snack in seconds. I couldn’t move a finger, let alone defend myself.

I stretched out with my eyes closed and listened hard. I couldn’t hear a thing. So far, so good. I struggled to sit up and wrangle the barrels onto the pier. But first, Lucullus. I took his carrier out of the barrel. With numb fingers, I struggled to unlock the latch. The poor guy was scared, confused, hungry, and wet, but alive. My little friend deserved a prize. He’d endured a river journey, barely complaining, terrified but stoic.

I walked toward the boat, backpack and carrier in hand. When I got to the main dock, I froze. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There were no boats. Not a single one. Not even my Zodiac. Every boat had disappeared. But how?

I sank to my knees, too tired to think, my mind a blank. My worst fear had come true. There were no boats. When the Safe Haven fell, the terrified survivors must’ve run to the docks, hoping to escape on anything that floated.

The masts of two sailboats stuck out of the water; the rest of those boats sat on the bottom of the river. Too heavy a load or lack of expertise, I guessed. They hadn’t gotten far. Gradually I noticed more. My heart stopped. Blood and bullet holes were everywhere. Signs of a fight on the pier. A fight to the death over a boat. Survival of the fittest. A scene from hell. My God…

Suddenly it hit me. Maybe all was not lost. I remembered I’d seen sailboats on the other side, anchored far from the pier. Boats on the waiting list for a slip. A pain in the ass for their owners, since every time they wanted to take their boat out, they had to be ferried to them in a Zodiac. Maybe the mob hadn’t boarded them. Maybe there was one left. I stuck Lucullus back into one barrel and my backpack into the other. As quietly as I could, I dived back into the dark waters of the Lerez.

I swam just a few strokes, but it felt like I’d swum the English Channel. My hope was fading as I swam closer. Nothing…but…wait! In the distance, with Venus reflected in the waters, I could see a swaying mast. There was one left!

Using my last ounce of strength, I splashed up to the sailboat. It was forty feet long, with graceful lines and a polished transom bearing its name, the Corinth. My new boat. My salvation. I grasped the gunwale in the stern and dragged myself on board. I figured out why no one had taken this boat—and what I’d have to do to sail it.

ENTRY 51

February 13, 11:26 a.m.

It’s pouring rain. The morning sky is a leaden gray. Violent gusts of wind are blowing out of the north, sweeping sheets of rain against the portholes in the cabin as the Corinth rides out the waves. The wind is whistling through the rigging, and rain is pounding the deck. I’m holed up in the cabin with a steaming cup of coffee, trying to get my thoughts together and plan my next move. There must be a powerful storm raging out on the open sea. Its undertow is rocking the boat. My boat. My new home.

When I boarded the Corinth, I wasn’t thrilled with what I saw. Someone had tried to seize the boat but had failed. The pieces of the puzzle were coming together.

Dried blood was splashed across the deck. Splintered fiberglass and an ugly scar on the boom backed up my theory that someone had fired a weapon. I could picture the scene. Night fell at the Safe Haven. A tide of creatures broke through the lines of defense. The civilians panicked. Hundreds of people rushed to boats moored in the harbor, looking for a way out. There wasn’t room for everyone, so it was dog-eat-dog. Proof of that struggle was everywhere. From the looks of it, they took the fight to the decks of the boats as they shoved off, overloaded, half- sunk, fleeing the doomed city.

The river must have dragged down many bodies that day. The image makes me sick. But something went wrong on the Corinth. On closer inspection, I figured out what.

The Corinth is forty beautiful, sharp, aggressive feet long. The deck is trimmed in chrome and teakwood. A real beauty. The interior is wide and spacious, comfortable yet compact, what you’d expect in this type of boat. I couldn’t understand how anyone could have bypassed this gorgeous sailboat. Even the harbor’s security boat, an old wooden barge, had been requisitioned.

The Corinth was anchored not at the pier but at the mouth of the river, tethered to the muddy river bottom. Instead of the usual nylon rope, it had a chain on its anchor. These days, chains are almost never used on sailboats because of their excess weight. Most sailors prefer the very high-tensile-strength rope mountain climbers use.

The previous owner of the Corinth must have been old-fashioned. To raise that heavy anchor, you had to use a small electric motor located next to the hawse hole in the bow. The chain is drawn up through that hole. On the horrific night the Safe Haven fell, a large number of people must’ve boarded the boat, hoping to escape out to sea. Some of them shot at other fugitives (and were shot at, judging from all the blood and bullet holes), while someone tried to weigh anchor. That person had no clue what to do. He didn’t know the anchor was attached to bolts sunk deep into the silt at the bottom of the river. Instead of slowly winding the chain up, thereby releasing the suction that held the anchor at the bottom of the river, he ran that motor at top speed. It overheated and burned up.

The guy must have been too terrified with what was going on around him to realize he was overloading the winch. By then it was too late. With the motor burned out, there was no way to weigh anchor. Someone had tried to chop off the bracket with an ax (it was still in the hawse hole) but only succeeded in stripping the finish off the fiberglass. They couldn’t cut the chain, and time was running out. A boat that couldn’t sail served no purpose, so they must’ve abandoned it for another boat. End of story.

Now I was on the deck of the Corinth, trying to figure out how to free the anchor. I had to get the boat going at any cost. There was a way, but it meant getting wet again.

I dried Lucullus off and settled him in the cabin. Then I dived back into the dark waters of the Lerez and swam toward the yacht club. Once I got there, I headed for a protected corner where I could check out the main entrance. The gate was locked. Monsters were wandering around on the other side of the gate, unaware I was there. Signs of fighting were everywhere. The survivors must have locked the gate behind them to keep those things (or other survivors) from attacking them. Great! That meant I probably wouldn’t encounter any walking dead on the premises.

I headed for a door at the back of the building, the warehouse where oxygen bottles were refilled. I’d been there many times. I even knew where they kept the key to the front door. Now I hoped to find equipment I could use to dive to the bottom and release the bolt that joined the chain to the anchor.

Just as I thought, the key was under a buoy next to the entrance. I slowly opened the door. In the dark, the room was terrifying. I thought I saw a figure looming in the background and fired a spear. Then I discovered it was a wetsuit on a hanger. Smooth move.

In one corner, covered by a tarp, was some diving equipment. It wasn’t new, but it would do fine. I checked the oxygen level in the tank and the regulators and put it on my back. I slipped on the flippers and looked around for a mask, but there weren’t any. Great. I’d have to dive into the murky waters and remove the pin in the dark with no mask. Once I had what I needed, I swam back to the Corinth. When I reached the chain, I dived down to the anchor. The bottom was about twelve feet down and dark as oil. I groped around and discovered that the anchor had caught on a rusty piece of metal sticking out of the river bottom. That’s why the engine had burned out. I patiently wiggled the brass bolt, gradually loosening it. Just as my fingers went completely numb, the bolt suddenly came out. I barely had time to grab on to the chain as the Corinth glided into the inlet, carried out to sea by the tide.

I climbed up the chain onto the deck and took off the diving equipment. I dried off for the first time in hours and dropped the small emergency anchor through the hawse hole. When the boat was secured, I staggered into the