“It didn’t work,” Camille said hopelessly.
“You don’t know what good it’s done us,” Max answered.
“Hey look, Aunt Camille,” Gary said. “Just open your eyes. Don’t you see? This is Heaven.”
“Really something, isn’t it?” Steve asked.
“When do we get to see God?” Gary said.
“Not till you finish that Spam.”
Several hours later they heard gunfire crackling across the bay, interspersed with the sound of explosions. Looking westward, they saw flashes of red and yellow light, flaming blasts mushrooming into the night.
“What the fuck?” Gary said. “What’s going on over there?”
“Full-auto fire,” Max said. “Lots of it. And those are mortar rounds, if you ask me. I wonder if some poor National Guard unit’s been run to earth?”
“Linda, what are they doing on your side?” Gary called over his shoulder. She was watching the dead on the east shore.
“They’re turning,” she answered. “Legion’s signaling…”
Gary crossed to her window. Torches bobbing, the corpses began moving south.
“They’re heading for the bridge,” he said. “To get in on the slaughter.”
“Any staying behind?” Max asked.
“Can’t tell yet,” Gary answered.
The sounds of fighting intensified across the bay. The corpses on the eastern shore strode swiftly in the direction of the 33 bridge.
But not all of them.
“They
“Welcoming committee,” Max said. “For the drowned ones.”
The gunfire slackened off. Gary went back to the port side. Numerous blazes had broken out on the western side of the bay. Max was looking across the water with his binoculars.
“What do you see over there?” Gary asked.
“A marina. I think the guardsmen, or whoever they were, were trying to get to it. Lot of intact boats. Guess the dead were keeping them to patrol the bay.”
“And they’re still in control?”
“I think so. But I saw our boys pulling back into the woods. And there were a lot of ‘em left. There’s going to be another attack, I’d be willing to-”
The mortars started up again.
“Bet on it,” he continued. “Round 2. Good luck, you SOB’s.”
With brief interruptions, the fighting went on long into the night. About three in the morning, there was a tremendous escalation. Max speculated the guardsmen, or whoever they were, had gotten major reinforcements. The battle continued at that level for perhaps half an hour-then simply stopped.
“Corpses still have the marina,” Max said, peering through the binoculars. “But some are climbing into sailboats, raising the masts. Maybe some of the guardsmen managed to lift a rowboat or two and make it out into the bay…” He moved the glasses slowly, right to left. “Yeah. I see ‘em against the flames. Two Boston whalers.”
The wind had come up once more. Decks lined with torch-bearing figures, the sailboats pushed out into the bay. A flare streaked up, dyeing the sky violet with its glare.
Heading due south, the rowboats were plainly revealed. There was fire from the men clustered on them, but not much.
“They better watch themselves,” Steve said. “Those goddamn sandbars. That was how I lost Ginger.”
“Ginger?” Dennis asked.
“My first wife,” Steve answered. “We were chugging along top-speed in my boat, hit a sandbar. Both of us were thrown overboard. I banged my head on a piece of wood, was knocked out, but my lifejacket kept me afloat. I don’t know what happened to Ginger. We found her lifejacket. But…”
“Jesus,” Dennis said. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” Steve said, and lapsed into silence.
Off to the west, another flare burned across the sky.
“Guys in the whalers are changing course,” Max said. “Couldn’t hope to make it off south, not under pursuit… looks like they’re heading right for us. Must think they’ll do better on foot.”
“How many boats following them?” Gary asked.
“About five. Big sailboats. Must be a hundred corpses on ‘em, or more. We’d better get ready to move.”
“To where?” Steve demanded.
“The east shore.”
“You mean across the flat?”
“Tide’s getting low.”
“What about the guards on the beach?”
“They won’t spot us till we’re practically on top of ‘em. Then we blast our way through. They’re pretty spread out… Wake the others.”
The women had dropped off about midnight, along with Father Chuck. Dennis went from sleeper to sleeper, shaking them.
“What is it?” Linda demanded groggily.
“We’re going to have to wade across the flat,” Gary answered, slipping his pack on.
The group collected their tackle. Only Max remained where he was, watching.
A third flare blazed. In its light, he saw the first of the sailboats jerk to a halt, mast snapping off. Corpses hurtled overboard.
“Hold on a second!” he cried. “The sailboats are running aground!”
The others began to veer, but it was already too late. Moments later they too were stranded on the sandbar. Shallower of draft, the Boston whalers kept coming.
“We just might have some reinforcements,” Max said. “Let’s sit tight a few minutes longer.”
But the rowboats were crowded, and riding low in the water. Moments before the flare burned out, he saw them lurch to a halt after they passed the channel markers. They’d struck the mudflat.
Another flare blossomed. Max saw the dead on the stranded boats leaping off and moving through the water with tremendous speed, arms splashing furiously. Soon they too reached the mudflat.
Ahead of them, their intended victims slogged desperately through the shallows, but without the cadavers’ preternatural strength. The dead closed rapidly. Max guessed they’d overtake their prey just about when the guardsmen came stumbling up onto the island. And even if the soldiers had much remaining ammo, they (and whoever stood with them) would soon be overrun. There were too many corpses.
“We can’t stay,” Max announced, as the fourth flare burned out. He handed his H and K to Gary; Dennis had the other rifle. “I’ll use the machete if I have to. Let’s get moving.”
“What if they shoot another flare?” Linda asked. “The ones on shore will spot us.”
“How about that?” Max replied.
They scrambled out through the rip in the hull and waded down into the channel between the island and the flat. It was deep enough in spots to hinder Steve and Camille, but Max and Dennis were there to help.
The group came to the slope on the other side, pushed up into the shallows. But before they’d gone more than a few yards onto the flat, wading through waist-high water, Sally halted.
“We’re going to have to walk over those bodies, aren’t we?” she whispered.
“There’s no other way,” Steve answered.
“All those drowned people, right?” she asked.
“You want to stay here?”
“There are
