Under a Graveyard Sky

“Okay, first, do we have a second that boats organize on the basis of shares?”

“Second,” Paula said. “Wait, are we voting on a shares basis?”

“Not yet,” Steve said. “We have a second. Objections?”

“It’s out of order,” Chris said. “But before we vote, what are the shares?”

“Figure that out after we determine if we’re going to do it on a shares basis…”

* * *

“Okay,” Steve said, looking at Sophia’s notes. “I think we’ve got the beginnings of a working governmental organization here. Each boat votes and shares materials on the basis of shares. Captains have the right to choose their crews. Crews can call for a vote of no-confidence and oust the captain but since if it fails the crew can then be fired by the captain…better be careful with that. New captains are sent to the captain’s board from the commodore and must be approved by a majority of the captain’s board. Currently, that’s me, Chris and Mike. Captains have pre-modern rules of the sea, but do not have the right of corporal or capital punishment. All lower order crimes, petty theft, assault, fighting among the crew, are handled at the discretion of the captain of the boat. All higher order felonies, notably rape, mutiny or murder, must have a trial by jury or, if that’s infeasible, agreement of three captains who have been shown good evidence. Captains follow the orders of the… Agh, ‘commodore,’ currently one Steven John Smith, captain of the Tina’s Toy in all normal day to day operations of the flotilla.

“Newly rescued persons do not have the right to vote until agreeing to become members of the flotilla and being accepted as full crew members. All large decisions are by vote of the captains board or all flotilla members, depending. More complete charter to be written up at a later time. Charter to be voted on by straight vote of all members of the flotilla. And I foresee a couple more meetings, at least at long range. Persons who choose not to be with the flotilla will be organized in groups and then at some point put off on functioning boats to do whatever the hell they want.”

“Shunning,” Paula said.

“Should such persons attack or steal from the flotilla… Pretty much all we’ve got right now is shunning or capital punishment. Cross that bridge…”

“Motion,” Chris said. “I motion that this organization hereafter take the name Wolf’s Floating Circus. Can I get a second?”

“Damn,” Patrick said. “I was hoping for Sea Quest.”

“Second,” Paula said. “Get me a screen printer and I can make an awesome t-shirt for that!”

“I think you need to call for a vote,” Chris said, grinning.

“I’m trying to remember Robert’s Rules of Order to see if I can quash it,” Steve said, frowning. “Okay, okay, all in favor…?

* * *

“Well, that was a pain in the ass,” Steve said as the Victoria dropped its final anchor in Jew’s Bay.

Tug operations turned out to be anything but straightforward. Trying to do it with an untrained crew had turned out to be a right pain in the ass. But they’d finally gotten it into place.

But they’d finally gotten the tug into place. Jew’s Bay was about the most protected spot in the complex of islands that made up “Bermuda.” At least the most protected that they could tow the Victoria into safely. There were some tighter and better protected creeks but there was no way they were getting the Victoria into them.

The edges of the bay were littered with small craft, proof that “sheltered” was a relative term. The tropical storm that had made their life hell had driven them all onto the islands. And while there were “open” areas, areas free from obvious zombies, on the surrounding islands, just scanning you could see zombies moving around. Not much and not aggressively. But they were there.

As soon as all of the anchors on the Victoria were down, the Cooper moved up cautiously alongside. The new crew of the Victoria, four volunteers that had been “supernumerary” on the Toy and Cooper started, inexpertly, throwing balloon “fenders” over the side. As one that was badly secured fell in the water, “Captain Mike” started bellowing from the wheelhouse.

“One of these days we will find real professionals to figure this out,” Steve said.

“That’ll be the day,” Sophia said.

“But to do that, we need to clear more boats,” Steve said. “As soon as we’re replenished… Back to sea.”

“Da,” Sophia said, quietly. “You’re serious about me taking a boat?”

“I’ll need to find the right crew,” Steve said. “I don’t want you kidnapped in a mutiny. But, yeah. We need captains. And you’ve got more experience than anyone but Chris and Mike. And Mike’s content to sit on the Victoria. So…yeah.”

“Thanks, Da,” Sophia said.

“Thank me after you’ve had the responsibility for a while,” Steve said, rubbing his forehead.

“You okay, Da?” Sophia asked.

“There are people dying out there, right now,” Steve said. “There were people dying that we could have saved a long time ago. I’m regretting just hiding for so long.”

“We’ll get there, Da,” Sophia said.

“Toy, Victoria,” Mike growled over the radio.

“Toy,” Sophia responded.

“Now that we’ve got this ratfuck cleared up, come alongside port. We’ll start filling you up.”

“Roger, Vic,” Sophia said. “Da, you want to get ready to handle the lines?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve said, grinning.

* * *

“While we’re here,” Steve said, looking at the coast of the nearby island.

“What are you thinking?” Stacey asked.

“Nothing worse than going to a concert…”

* * *

Steve slipped over the side of the dinghy into the water carefully. All he was carrying was a pistol in the event there were some zombies around. Mostly, he planned on out-swimming them if it came to it.

“One last time,” Faith said. She was rigged up in case swimming didn’t work. “You sure about this?”

“I can see the utility,” Steve said. “I think it’s a good idea. If I can’t find any or I get eaten, it was a bad idea.”

He quietly swam ashore, keeping an eye out in every direction he could. The zombies seemed to barely notice human activity in the harbor except at night when there was light. Then they’d line the harbor, trying to find a way to the boats.

There was plenty of junk along the shore but what he was looking for wouldn’t be found there. He let his nose do the work for him, moving carefully through the sea-grapes of Gamma Island following the smell of rot.

It was, unsurprisingly, a human corpse. Probably a zombie that had lost the zombie-eat-zombie battle of survival. And very putrid. It was covered in flies, which weren’t of interest to him. But it was also covered in small black beetles.

Those he collected, quickly, and popped into a zip-lock bag.

He stopped as he heard movement in the trees and looked up. There was a zombie crouched under the bushes. A young black woman. She was regarding him ferally, apparently trying to work out if he was worth attacking.

Steve stood up, slowly and then leaned forward, raising his shoulders and grunting at her.

She ducked back into the bushes and disappeared.

Steve snuck back through the bushes, trying not to think about the interplay in which he’d just engaged. He had to pay attention to keeping alive. But it was interesting, nonetheless…