She poured herself another. Before she knew it, she'd emptied the bottle. Wallowing in self-pity, she indulged in a wanton bout of drunken weeping, before falling and into bed, puffy-eyed and snotty-nosed, just after midnight.
She was awoken by banging against the side of the boat. Disorientated, she leapt out of bed. Her head reeled and she thought she was going to be sick. She was horribly dehydrated. She fumbled for the pistol on the bedside table and ran, barefoot, through to the main cabin and the source of the noise.
She stood, stock still, with the pistol gripped tightly in trembling hands and pointed it at the bow doors. The grey light of dawn was just creeping through the cracks in the curtains. More banging from the bow. Whispering.
People! More than one!
She tightened her grip on the pistol, her finger lightly resting on the trigger, ready to fire, the way Rick had shown her. Her chest tightened. She tried to steady her breathing. Where the hell was her inhaler?
Through the lace curtains, she saw a figure pull itself up over the side of the boat. With much grunting and panting, it heaved itself over, falling into the bow with a farcical clatter. A stifled snigger. Well, they definitely weren't infected. She had yet to hear an infected laugh, let alone climb over anything. Could it be …?
The figure got to its feet and she could see it was a tall male. Shit!
She kicked the bow doors open shouting, "Stop! I've got a gun! Don't move or I'll shoot!"
A tall, slim young man, with a mop of blonde curly hair, stood facing her. His mouth curved into a broad smile. He had perfect teeth.
"You must be Lisa. Anita said you were mad!"
Lisa registered the Australian drawl.
"Who the hell are you?"
"I'm James." The boy turned away to lean over the side of the boat.
"I said don't move! I mean it!" Lisa waved the gun at him. But she felt her heart rate slow and her breathing was easier.
James ignored her and continued to reach over the side, clearly helping someone else up.
"I said stop! Stop now!"
The boy winked at her as he hauled his companion up over the side. As soon as she saw the pink headscarf and black braids, the gun dropped to the floor and Lisa was on her in a flash, hugging and kissing her, crying and laughing at the same time.
"I knew you'd come back. I knew it! You little star! I bloody love you."
Anita was laughing and pushing her away. "You didn't think I'd let you go without me, did you? Not after all we've been through. You can't get rid of me that easily. Not until I've met the marvellous and mythical Neil, that is."
"Get up you idiot!" Lisa laughed. "Let's get inside before our 'friends' hear us and come back for another visit." Still chuckling, she helped Anita to her feet.
"Anyway, meet James! My hero!" Anita said, gesturing towards him. "I couldn't have survived the night, or got back here, without him. He's been brilliant."
She flashed James a smile.
"James, good to meet you. You're a star, too. I bloody love you, too. Thank you. Thank you so much!" Lisa shook him by the hand.
James smiled back. He had a great smile, big and warm and it went all the way to his sparkling blue eyes. Lisa instantly knew she could trust him. She looked at Anita. The girl was gazing at James in a way that suggested that she, too, had fallen for his smile.
Smiling to herself, Lisa turned and led them inside. She set about making a pot of fresh coffee and they settled down to tell her the story of the last 36 hours.
James was the manager of a pub on the other side of the river. On the night of the outbreak, after he'd sent all his customers and staff home, he'd barricaded himself inside the building and resigned himself to waiting it out. He'd been holed up in there ever since. He was Australian, and single, and, as he lived at the pub, had nowhere else to go, and no-one to go to. He was not easily fazed and was comfortable with his own company. He had enough food and water for weeks, maybe months, so was prepared for however long it took.
For the first 24 hours he'd laid low, cowering in his sitting room, listening to the carnage raging outside, watching TV and listening to the radio, until it all stopped. After that, he'd moved up to the attic, where he could see the expanse of the town along the river on the other side. And that was where he'd spent most of his waking hours ever since: up there, observing developments and working out what he was going to do next, trying to decide when to make his move … whatever that would be.
As the hours and days passed, the initial, frenzied activity gradually reduced to an occasional skirmish here and there, as other survivors emerged from their safe havens in search of food and water or loved ones. Few of them had made it and most had joined the throng of infected gathering on the waterfront.
His life had settled into a kind of unnatural, natural rhythm. He slept, ate and watched the daily goings-on from his viewpoint. He had ventured out a few times to get the lie of the land and do a little bit of scavenging. He hadn't seen any people, or at least living
