Part 51 (1/2)

Heather was smiling.

”Uh, a job would be great,” I said.

”I heard a 'but' in there.”

”Well,” I said, ”what I really want is a second date with your daughter.”

Flotsam & Jetsam By Carrie Ryan

Carrie Ryan's first novel The Forest of Hands and Teeth The Forest of Hands and Teeth debuted to great acclaim when it was released in 2009. The sequel, debuted to great acclaim when it was released in 2009. The sequel, The Dead-Tossed Waves The Dead-Tossed Waves, came out earlier this year, and the third volume, The Dark and Hollow Places, The Dark and Hollow Places, is due out in Spring 2011. Our next story shares the same milieu as her novels, but takes place several hundred years earlier. Another piece of Ryan's zombie fiction appears in the anthology is due out in Spring 2011. Our next story shares the same milieu as her novels, but takes place several hundred years earlier. Another piece of Ryan's zombie fiction appears in the anthology Zombies vs. Unicorns Zombies vs. Unicorns. Her love of zombies is all her fiance JP's fault. Since becoming infected with the zombie bug, she has begun converting her friends and family to her cause, much like a zombie would.

In Poetics Poetics, Aristotle recommends that storytellers observe a unity of time (no large jumps forward in time), place (one location), and action (few or no subplots). Well, things don't get much more unified than a couple of characters on a lifeboat. Hitchc.o.c.k used this scenario to great effect in his World War II-era film Lifeboat Lifeboat, in which the survivors begin to suspect that one of them is a German agent. Gary Larson, author of the beloved newspaper comic The Far Side The Far Side, repeatedly used gags involving lifeboats. (In one such strip, three men and a dog draw lots to see which of them will be eaten-the dog comes up a winner, and looks suitably smug.) Our next tale also utilizes the grim immediacy and forced intimacy of a lifeboat scenario. ”My original idea for this story was to have infection break out on an airplane, which caused airports to constantly divert it,” Ryan says. ”As I thought more about the idea, I wanted to simplify it and boil it down. I was out to dinner with friends and talking about my idea, and my fiance suggested using a boat instead. I'd been doing a lot of research into The Rime of the Ancient Mariner The Rime of the Ancient Mariner for another project so the first line was obvious, and the entire story unfolded from there. I love using zombies in my fiction because it allows me to ask what differentiates the living from the dead. How do we determine our own lives and futures beyond mindlessly doing what someone tells us?” for another project so the first line was obvious, and the entire story unfolded from there. I love using zombies in my fiction because it allows me to ask what differentiates the living from the dead. How do we determine our own lives and futures beyond mindlessly doing what someone tells us?”

”Water, water everywhere, and-”

”d.a.m.n it, Jeremy! If you say that one more time...” It's when I see his face fall that I swallow the rest of what I'm going to say. But the unspoken words circle my head, the rage stinging just under my skin. Honestly, I'd love nothing more than to reach across the tiny little raft and rip his throat out with my bare fingers.

I close my eyes, try to inhale slow and deep. I feel him s.h.i.+ft, feel the ripple and dip of the rubber underneath us that pushes me just a little off balance. To avoid the urge to kick him, I pull my legs up to my chest, resting my forehead on my knees.

”Sorry, man,” he says, his voice a tiny defeated squeak.

I press my face harder against my kneecaps, digging the p.r.i.c.kle of my unshaven chin into my skin. Trying to focus all my pain into a single point. Trying to burn out my frustration. Waves dip and tumble underneath us, tilting us toward the sun and then away, water whispering around our tiny octagonal rubber island.

The cruise s.h.i.+p still hulks on the horizon and no matter how hard I try, I can't resist staring at it. Bright orange specks hover around it like chiggers-other lifeboats stuffed with other potential survivors. I start to unroll the nylon canopy, attaching it to the raft walls and pulling it over the inflated cross bar arcing across the center of the raft when Jeremy glances at me, looking startled.

”We could go back,” he says, hesitant. ”We could try to get closer. Just to see.”

I stop struggling with the canopy and close my eyes tight again, curling back over my knees. ”No,” I tell him, my voice echoing between my legs.

He sighs and dips his hand over the edge of the raft. I can hear the drip of the salt water as it plinks from his fingers. I should tell him to stop, tell him that the salt's not good for him.

But we both know it won't matter. Not in a few days if the reports have been right.

Jeremy has nightmares. Not that I don't, but Jeremy's are bad-worse than bad: horrific. The first two days on the life raft neither of us sleep. Instead, we sit here, eyes riveted on the gigantic cruise s.h.i.+p as we drift farther and farther away.

It's during the second night when he finally falls asleep. I'm still staring at the s.h.i.+p, struck by how bright and dazzling it is-how it looks exactly like all the commercials as it lights up the night. I even start to think that perhaps we'd been stupid to evacuate so hastily and that maybe we should circle in closer, see if they've somehow been able to contain the infection.

That's when Jeremy starts screaming and thras.h.i.+ng around. It makes the little raft buck and dip, one of the sides catching a wave and letting water slosh in. I jump on him, pinning him down and he swings at me before I'm able to get to his hands.

He wakes up with me straddling him and panting hard, my heart loud like gunshots in my ears. He doesn't know he'd been having nightmares and he frowns, his face draining.

”Get off me,” he says, twisting to the side, and I let go his hands and scuttle back to the other side of the raft. He looks at me like I'm a monster and it makes me feel awkward and weird.

”You were screaming,” I tell him but he just grunts and won't look at me. He keeps staring at the s.h.i.+p, watching the lights glitter like nothing's changed. I pull my legs up to my chest and tuck into one of the corners, making sure no part of me touches any part of him for the rest of the night.

Smoke billows from the s.h.i.+p on the fourth day. It's been dry, the sun burning and keeping us sweltering under the sagging canopy. I think about licking the sweat from my arms but it's full of salt-just as useless as the water surrounding us.

”You think Nancy and them are still on there?” Jeremy asks. He's pressed against the only opening, blocking the fresh air. I nudge him with my foot and he moves over slightly. I wonder how the h.e.l.l eight people are supposed to survive on this tiny thing, how they could ever stand each other.

Eight supply pouches ring the inside of the octagonal raft, one per potential survivor, and I give each a name. A friend who was on the s.h.i.+p with me that I've left behind: Francis, Omar, Leroy, Margaret, Nancy, Micah, and Tamara. I know that leaves Jeremy out, but I don't care. I wasn't supposed to end up on this stupid life raft with him in the first place. He wasn't even supposed to be going on the d.a.m.n cruise and wouldn't be here if it weren't for Nancy and her soft heart and inability to say no to losers.

Jeremy cranes his neck around and looks at me. ”Should we look for them? Maybe pull a little closer to see if they're on other rafts?”

I shake my head, dig my fingers into my arms until I'm pinching the muscle. I should tell Jeremy I saw them already. The night we jumped s.h.i.+p I saw them running. Saw the blood and bites. Saw the expression on Francis's face.

f.u.c.king Francis, I think to myself. Of course he'd have been the first one bitten.

Jeremy wears gla.s.ses and the lenses are crusted with salt. Everything's so layered with it that he can't even find a way to clean them anymore and so he doesn't bother. Just stares at everything through the white haze.

I hate looking at him like that. It makes him look like he's already gone. Like he's already one of them.

He doesn't think I know about his bite. His hand keeps slipping to it, pressing against it, tracing the outline of it under his s.h.i.+rt. I pretend not to notice but it's not like he's being subtle about it. If I hadn't seen the raw red ring of bite marks along his ribs that first night I'd struggled with him during his nightmares, I'd have figured it out eventually.

I mean, Christ, it's running towards one hundred degrees every day and even though we huddle under the canopy of the life raft, it's not like it's cool in the shade. I ditched my s.h.i.+rt the first day but Jeremy still keeps his on and I don't care how self-conscious and scrawny he might be: when the temperature hits triple digits and you're stranded with a guy in the middle of the d.a.m.n ocean while the world falls apart, you lose things like modesty.

If I can watch him slip into the water to take a dump, I can deal with his pale thin muscles and a chest like a plucked turkey. I may not be the smartest, but I'd have figured out he was hiding something under that s.h.i.+rt.

”How long you think it takes them to turn after they're bitten?” I ask him. I know I'm an a.s.shole but I'm bored and I wonder how much I can prod and poke at him before he admits the truth. Plus, he's smarter than I am. Jeremy's the one who first figured out that we needed to get off the s.h.i.+p, even though they hadn't called an official evacuation. He was the one keeping up with the news when the rest of us were testing out our fake IDs in the bar and pretending everything was going to be okay.

He swallows, sharp dagger of an Adam's apple dragging along his throat. ”Depends how bad the bite was,” he says, pinching the web of skin between his thumb and forefinger.

I stare at him, willing him to have the b.a.l.l.s to tell me himself but he just s.h.i.+fts and stares back at the boat. ”Maybe we should pull in closer,” he says. ”Just in case someone needs our help.”

I shake my head. ”No,” I tell him. ”Too risky.”