“It's not worth the risk. The dead are like magnets. Each one you come across starts following you—and moaning. Others hear that and come crawling out of the woodwork. Before you know it, we'll be dragging along a horde of those things like we were the Grand Marshals of a god-damned zombie parade.”
“But we can outrun them in a car.”
“Yeah, but what if we break down or come to a roadblock? When something catches their attention, they don’t let up. We're better off taking our time and staying off the road.”
Alvin sighed in concession.
They headed over a wooded embankment, across a set of railroad tracks, and down a slope of ballast. The boat was beached on the muddy shore a quarter mile upriver right where Alvin had left it. They pushed it into the water and climbed in.
The boat rocked from side to side under their weight. Alvin held his arms out, awkwardly trying to keep his balance.
“Take a seat,” said Noah, trying not to laugh. He pulled out an oar from beneath the bulwark stay and pushed the boat away from shore.
As they rowed down the canal, the sun peeked through smoky stratus clouds. Birds sang and occasionally a carp leapt out of the muddy water in pursuit of a fat bug, and for a moment, Noah forgot that they were heading into the heart of a cannibal village.
The leisurely cruise illusion was shattered, from a distance, when a disheveled onlooker waded into the water in the direction of Noah’s and Alvin’s boat. Fortunately, the only harm it posed was to Noah’s peace of mind; when the water reached its chest, the current swept the man off his feet and he disappeared beneath the murky ripples.
Noah sighed. He wondered if a semblance of normality would ever return in his lifetime. Would they all eventually decompose into harmless piles of bones, or were enough living people still around to replace their dwindling ranks for decades to come?
After passing beneath a bridge clogged with abandoned cars, they came to the local marina. Unlike more urban marinas, with elaborate networks of quays that can berth dozens of boats, the Lyons marina had a single retaining wall running along the shore to which boats could be moored. Most of the vessels were gone except for a fifteen-foot sailboat and a thirty-foot yacht named Serenity. Black smoke wafted from Serenity’s cabin.
“We should take that boat,” said Alvin pointing at the yacht.
“Are you kidding? That would attract way too much attention. Besides, judging from the smoke, the engine’s shot.”
“No, I mean the dinghy.”
Noah eyed an inflatable raft hanging off the upper deck of the ship. It was outfitted with a small electric motor, which was probably quiet.
“Is it worth the risk though? That’s what you have to learn to ask yourself.”
“This is taking too long. If we don't go faster, we risk not making it into town until dark, and I don't think we want that.”
Noah covered his mouth with his fist and thought for a moment. “Alright. Let’s go for it.”
They paddled toward the boat launch. The skiff beached on the cement incline with a scraping sound that sent a chill up Noah’s spine. Off to a great start, he thought.
Alvin climbed over the bow followed by Noah. They crept up the ramp and onto the promenade. Despite the marina being deserted, Noah felt uneasy. There were several derelict motorhomes and cars, as well as a gas station with a little café—plenty of nooks for something to pop out of.
As they made their way to the yacht, Noah noticed a Winnebago parked on a hill, gently teetering from side to side. He decided not to mention it. If one of those things were still inside, it must be trapped, or it would have gotten out a long time ago.
The yacht looked to be derelict, although they couldn't really see through the cabin’s tinted windows. Noah hopped onto the side deck and took a few steps toward the stern. He turned back when he realized Alvin had yet to come aboard. Noah gestured for him to follow, but Alvin didn't move. He stood frozen with his arms across his chest.
“What’s the problem?” Noah whispered.
Alvin trembled. After a moment, he stuck his foot out as if he were about to come aboard, but his boot stopped over the gap between the boat and the retaining wall. He looked at Noah.
“I—I can’t,” he whispered shaking his head. “I can’t get on.” He backed away breathing heavily.
Noah had seen that same look of paralyzed stupor before, on his father, and then he remembered the story Alvin had told him the day they met. His first encounter with the dead happened on a yacht like this one.
Noah thought he could get Alvin aboard with a little coaxing, but why waste the time and risk the sound of a conversation. “It’s alright,” he said, trying to tamp his frustration. He had long since grown tired of coddling behavior that put him at risk. “Get back in the rowboat and swing around her stern. I’ll meet you there.”
Alvin nodded in agreement. “I'm sorry.”
“Don't worry about it. Just go.”
Alvin headed back to the skiff.
Noah climbed onto the upper deck. As he made his way around the cockpit, he held his shirt collar over the bridge of his nose, trying not to breathe in the black fumes rising from the deck lounge stairwell below.
The dinghy was suspended by davits over the stern of the ship. Noah looked around for some kind of release lever but couldn’t locate one. He stared at the dinghy, about to give up, when he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. Noah howled and wheeled around, reflexively flailing his arms at the source of his pain. A burnt corpse fell back against the ship's helm.
