and the monster had slipped several times, giving me time to find my gun. A simple can had saved my life. The irony isn’t lost on me.
I was covered in motor oil from head to toe. I must’ve looked pretty grim, standing there amid the devastation, the dark, sticky oil running down my body. As the adrenaline roared through my body, it sank in that I was still alive. If it hadn’t been for that can of oil and a lucky shot, that bastard would be snacking on me, and I’d be one of them. I felt sick to my stomach again, but I had nothing left to vomit up.
He must have been the child’s father. Now I understood how the little boy got infected. His wife had locked her husband down here in the store when she saw what he’d become, and run back upstairs with her little boy, not knowing he was doomed too. That sucks.
The metal gate was locked in place, and there didn’t seem to be any more creatures in the store. But the sound of gunfire had drawn a small crowd that was banging on the other side of the gate.
I had to do three things: secure the area, find what I’d come for, and figure out how to escape this madhouse. And I had to hurry.
ENTRY 55
Was it Roosevelt who said, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself”? But he was never locked in a store in the dark, pumped full of adrenaline, covered in motor oil, with dozens of eager monsters banging on the gate six feet away, determined to kill him. I’m sure he would’ve been afraid. Fucking afraid.
As I looked at the pile of rags lying at my feet, the magnitude of the situation hit me. I collapsed, exhausted and trembling, on to a pile of rain slickers and stared at the gate, which shuddered with every blow.
There were no other noises, not even thunder. The storm had dissipated after venting all its fury. The gurgle of rainwater streaming through the gutters was all that remained of the storm that had raged over Bueu while I was fighting for my life.
I leaned against the shelf and struggled to sit up. I looked around, every sense alert. I quickly checked out the store to make sure there were no more surprises. There was no other exit, just a small bathroom and a storeroom with neatly piled merchandise. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for a rust-colored bloodstain in one corner. That must be where the guy had gone through his transformation, alone in the dark, lying on the floor like a dog. I shuddered at the thought.
I didn’t have much time. In a matter of minutes the place would be surrounded, and I’d be done for.
I rushed around, shoving half the store into my backpack: two complete sets of charts of the Spanish and North African coasts—one drawn by the Spanish Navy and one by the British Admiralty (still the best), a high-quality GPS with a plotter connection, a couple of compasses, dozens of flashlight batteries, signal flares, a telescopic fishing rod, a box of hooks and fishing line, a safety harness, a spare wetsuit, two high-tech spearguns, and two dozen long, ominous, molten steel spears. Three loaded spearguns were definitely better than one.
I stuffed all that into my backpack. As I climbed the stairs to the top floor, I started laughing hysterically and couldn’t stop. With those spearguns, my backpack, my torn wetsuit, my body covered in oil and blood, I must’ve looked like some wacko slasher.
Once upstairs, I went into the kitchen for some provisions. The last thing I wanted to do was run around town, dodging monsters, looking for a store that hadn’t been ransacked. When I left home, I’d toyed with the idea of going to the shopping center for some groceries and supplies. But it dawned on me that, in the last days of the Safe Haven, loads of people must’ve had the same idea. The armed forces had probably plundered every store in the country to feed the multitudes in the Safe Havens.
Fortunately, the pantry was really well stocked—pasta, canned goods, tomato sauce, rice, and flour. I also took some bags of sugar and five pounds of coffee. I was about to leave when I discovered a large supply of baby food. I stood there looking at all those jars lined up, knowing I’d killed the baby that food was intended for. The thought turned my stomach.
With tears in my eyes, I packed up the baby food the little boy’s mother had so lovingly stored away. Not for me, but for Lucullus. He’d love it. On my way out, I discovered a wet bar. I took a couple of bottles of gin and half a carton of Marlboros. Great! I planned to have a smoke when I got onboard to help me sleep. And forget.
My backpack wasn’t completely full, but it weighed far too much, considering I had to dodge that howling crowd all the way to the dock. I peeked out the front window. There was no way out there. About two dozen ghostly, soaking wet undead had packed into the narrow street in front of the store.
I tiptoed back to the kitchen. The window opened onto a narrower street. It was deserted. I stuck my head out and looked to the left. I could see the sea. That would be my escape route. I went back down to the store and cut about ten yards of the heavy-duty rope used on boats. Back in the kitchen, I tied one end of the rope to a radiator and cast the other end out the window. All I had to do was climb down and make it to the end of the street before those bastards saw me. Piece of cake!
But first I had to raise the blinds. They were rain-soaked, so I had to yank them up with all my might. It sounded like a machine gun in the dead silence of the street.
I shimmied down the rope and landed carefully so I wouldn’t aggravate my injured ankle. I ran toward the end of the street, easily dodging a couple of those creatures along the way, one at an intersection and another behind a telephone booth on the opposite side of the street. I kept running and didn’t look back. I didn’t dare. In my fevered mind were images of a horde of bodies filling the road, following me in silence, cornering me in a blind alley, and finishing me off.
Fortunately, the street wasn’t a dead end. It ran parallel to the one I’d come in on and ended at the port. I stayed out of sight, crawling along the breakwater, slowly approaching the lifeboat. This return trip took almost three times as long. I slipped on the rocks, got all banged up, and nearly cracked my head open. By the time I reached the boat, I was soaked and scared out of my wits. In a normal world no one in his right mind would crawl over algae-covered rocks pounded by the last waves of a storm with the wind furiously pushing against him. But this is no longer a normal world.
Darkness was falling when I finally scrambled onto the dock and made my way to the little boat. As I paddled gently through the swell toward the
Suddenly, the shadow on the deck stood perfectly still, as if it had spotted me. A howl greeted me. Lucullus! My poor cat, confused and upset at being left alone for so long, had gone on deck, looking for me. It breaks my heart to think about it. As I approached the
With the last of my strength, I climbed on board, hauled up the lifeboat, and emptied out the backpack. I took a long shower and dried Lucullus off (he never stopped purring), then we sat down in the cockpit to eat, staring at the silent, dark streets of Bueu, where just hours before I’d nearly lost my life.
It would be dawn soon. After an unimaginable week, the storm had subsided. It’s time to continue our journey. To our next destination. To hope.
ENTRY 56
Good thing the only mirror on board was the little one above the minibar. I was spared the look of excitement on my face as the
The last few hours have been intense, exhilarating, and liberating. At first light, I raised the anchor and let the boat slide lazily away from the dock to the center of the inlet, riding the tides and the current. The silence was
