“Chloe! Sofia!” Trey yelled, springing to action. Without asking, he snatched the rifle from its position beside John. Lowering the barrel, looking through the sight, Trey pulled back the charging handle and used his thumb to ensure the selector switch was adjusted so that the safety was off. Years of listening to his father drone on about the specifics of the weapon seemed to have paid off, as the heretofore useless data had been dredged up almost instantaneously in the face of adversity.

  He fired.

  The weapon kicked. The recoil shocked him, almost sending Trey sprawling. He realized he’d gotten lucky; his head had been tilted to the side as he glanced through the sight, and the buttstock of the gun had nearly hit him in the face. His ears rung.

  Sniffling, Trey fought to focus. He felt disoriented. He hadn’t expected the sound to be so loud. It affected him so much that he didn’t even bother to look and see if he’d actually hit anything. Though, if truth be told, he hadn’t really expected to. Or wanted to. He wiped the back of his hand over his nose, wondering why the whole thing had brought tears to his eyes.

  Realizing that an external threat had prompted this display, Trey turned back toward the tree line, making sure Bonnie and her nefarious dupes hadn’t strayed too far into the tiny collection of hamlets the locals called a village.

  An acrid, almost bitter smell lingered in the air. Vaguely metallic and sulfuric, the scent possessed its own hard-to-describe allure. Trey realized, to his own chagrin, that discharging the firearm had given him a boner. He fought the urge to look down.

  At that moment, he felt something on his shoulder. Tugging. His heart leaping, Trey swung around. The barrel, of course, went with him, and he realized almost belatedly that it was pointing directly at his daughter. Thanking the heavens above that he’d not had his finger anywhere near the trigger housing, he heaved a sigh of relief.

  She was talking.

  But he couldn’t hear her. His ears were ringing so badly.

  Waiting, Trey flexed his jaw. He rubbed the side of his face. Only gradually did some sense of normalcy return. He looked into Sofia’s face and tried to interpret her mouth movements, suddenly reminded of Marshall and the effects of his disability. He felt a moment of envy for the other’s ability to read lips in that moment. Even without that, however, Trey thought he got the general gist of her message, conveyed as it was through her clear body language. She was pissed.

  “and dad is in there. Now we can’t…” Sofia said, interrupted by her dad’s raised hand.

  He’d caught her mid-sentence. His hearing restored, Trey glanced back toward Bonnie before engaging in conversation with his angry daughter. “I’m sorry, sweetie. But I didn’t hear anything you said up until a few seconds ago,” Trey said. “As long as we’re not in danger, would you mind repeating yourself?” he asked.

  Trey looked around, surveying the scene. He felt grateful and relieved to see Chloe and Marshall, standing there with weapons ready. Marshall held a large knife with a serrated blade. Chloe wielded a brown baseball bat with several pocks in one side. Most of the small community had fled, disappearing almost in an instant. He idly wondered where exactly they had vanished to, figuring the majority had sought refuge inside their tin homes.

  “Dad, you’re crazy. That’s what I said,” Sofia said.

  John suddenly reached in, trying to grab the gun.

  “Hey, man. Back up,” Trey said. He jumped back and directed the barrel of the deadly weapon toward the leader.

  John held up a hand. His eyes were hard. He didn’t appear particularly afraid. His calm, calculating demeanor communicated something dangerous, even if the risks as yet seemed undefined. “You are going to regret this decision,” John said.

  “You asked me for help with the gun,” Trey stammered out. “I’m not allowed to protect myself? My family?” he asked.

  “Of course. You may even do so with the weapons you stole from my family and me. But you need to leave,” John said. “You are not welcome here. You are not even welcome on my island, though I will not fight you now unless you force me to,” John said. He didn’t break eye contact. “If we don’t kill each other first, I would hope you are gone before I make it to the main island. Because I will be seeking their help in ensuring the peace,” he said.

  Bonnie took that moment to rush forward.

  Turning, Trey’s pulse skyrocketed. The girl screamed as she raced ahead. Two men and another girl were with her. One of the guys Trey recognized as a security officer from the ship. He wore the uniform.

  “Watch for mace,” Trey said, raising his voice to be heard above the raucous din of imminent combat.

  Pivoting, he drove the butt of the weapon square into the face of John. He couldn’t be distracted by another potential threat. Not in the middle of this chaos. Trey’s only fleeting positive takeaway from the unfortunate falling out with the village leader was that the gunshot had cleared the area of innocents.

  Realizing in an instant that he was more of a risk with the gun at that point, Trey cast it aside, heaving it as hard as he could toward one of the houses. Running to a porch, he bent down and plucked up a worn machete. Hardened by his previous engagements, now no stranger to violence, he rushed into the fray with lethal intent.

  He was ready to slice some motherfuckers.

  Seeing the tranquilizer gun just in time, Trey swung his long blade down, hearing it slice through the air. He cut the former security guard, a bright red flood spurting out of the lower arm of Trey’s newest victim. Kicking out, he forced the male figure to the ground.

  Turning, he paled. His mouth dropped. Trey’s heart skipped a beat.

  Bonnie had Sofia.

  Her thin, bony arm wrapped tight around the throat of Sofia, she smiled maliciously from her position behind the girl. Bonnie walked backward slowly, taking the terrified girl with her.

  Bending down, a deadly calm washing over him, Trey retrieved the gun from the cruise ship security officer. He wiped it on his shirt, removing some of the blood. Taking the machete, he raised it with one hand and swiftly brought it down onto the face of the man.

  His facial expression just before died would remain an indelible memory imprinted on Trey’s subconscious.

  Dropping the heavy blade to the ground, he took a deep breath. Turning, he raised the small tranquilizer gun, pointing it in the direction of the two girls. A lot rode on this gamble. The stakes were enormous. But he needed to end this. To eradicate this pernicious threat once and for all and bring his daughter to safety. He gripped the firearm with both hands, forcing himself to breathe steadily.

  Bang.

  The sound once again shocked him.

  Blinking, he saw that Bonnie staggering backward, a surprised look on her face. She fell.

  Rushing ahead, Trey caught Sofia as she collapsed with Bonnie, the girl’s grip remaining strong even as she fought to retain consciousness. Prying her hands from his daughter’s neck, he felt… sad. A profound dolefulness that permeated every part of his being. He’d just shot… a gun… in the general direction of his own child, disregarding the obvious risk this posed to her. Even if the bullet wouldn’t have killed Sofia, the fact remained that he was growing less and less attached to the important things in life, becoming progressively more apathetic and numb with each new feat of violence.

  It also hurt to see the hurt in Sofia’s eyes. The silence accusation. The thinly veiled hostility.

  “Where’s Harry? We need to go,” Trey said. He couldn’t afford to mend old wounds. Not now. She’d just have to sulk. The soft died nursing their grievances and hurt feelings out here. It was a lesson Trey needed to teach her. The fact that she was his daughter only made that task significantly harder.

  “He’s in there,” she said, pointing to one house.

  But, as Trey advanced toward the single-story home, looking toward the blue blanket flapping in the small window, stirred by the slight breeze, he heard something.

  As he fell to the ground, tackled from behind, Trey couldn’t help but think that he hadn’t killed Bonnie yet.

  Chapter 10

  He woke up sweating.

  Looking around, he saw that they were no longer in the village.

  Trey’s body ached. He groaned as he moved, leaning on his forearm as he sat up. His mouth felt dry and mealy. It almost seemed as if he’d been chewing on worms. The thought of that caused his stomach to churn.

  Smelling meat cooking, Trey turned toward the sound of people talking. Bright orange flames cackled and conspired. The crew, including Sofia, sat around it, chatting amicably. Behind him, the waves crashed against the beach.

  Off in the distance, vibrant bursts of pastel colors mixed themselves into an abstract portrait of beauty. Trey gazed at the sky for several long moments, dwelling on its majesty. Had he ever seen a sunset quite like that? If he had, he couldn’t remember it. And this was the sort of thing one would recall, once encountered.

  Getting up slowly, he hobbled over to the fire. “Hey,” he said. “What’s on the menu?”

  Sofia glanced up at her father, frowning. She got up and left.

  Trey stared at her receding form as the girl retreated into the nearby tree line. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words emerged. He needed to act. To do something. But he couldn’t figure out just what it was that he was supposed to do. The familiar feeling of neutered, helpless frustration assaulted his psyche once again. Waiting for several seconds, accused by the combative silence left in his daughter’s wake, he turned. He took a deep breath, hoping to not alienate anyone else. He didn’t want to direct any anger toward anyone. But it was hard, when things like this seemed to keep happening.

  “I just wanted a simple cruise,” he said. It was the first thing that popped into his head.

  Shaking his head, on the verge of tears, Trey elected to not go chase after his daughter. He heaved up a frustrated sigh and sat down. “Anyone want to tell me what that was about?” he asked.

  Everyone stayed quiet. Marshall and Chloe exchanged looks. Finally, the girl spoke. “She was embarrassed. And she’s a little worried about you,” Chloe said.

  Running his hands over his face, he leaned forward. Trey began to cry. He wanted this all to be over. To return to some semblance of normalcy. He needed to be done with the vile violence. It was beginning to impair his most significant relationships. The only thing in life that he wanted was for Sofia to be safe and happy. Killing zombies and various human foes had diluted the urgency of that dictate.

  “What am I supposed to do?” Trey asked quietly, the words muffled by the hands over his face. The air felt cooler now that the sun was fading and darkness was entering her reign. The waves somehow sounded… different, too. As if the melancholy music of the sea were responding to the internal beat of his mournful heart. He needed to know the answer to that question.

  But, of course, there was no answer.

  It was something he’d just have to figure out.

  “Keep surviving, I guess,” Chloe said. “There’s food,” she said, trying to add an upbeat moment to the depressing scene.

  “I’m not hungry,” Trey said. He shook his head. Getting up, he went back to where he’d been prior to all of this. “Thanks, though,” he said over his shoulder as he retreated into the isolated island of his own sadness.

  They didn’t try to follow him. Or command him to nourish his body. Which, Trey reflected, was probably a wise choice. He’d be too stubborn to listen, anyway. Gazing off into the distance, he tried to wrap his mind around the last few days. Or however long it had been. Jesus, he thought. Has it only been that long?

  The consistency of the waves slapping against the sea helped calm him somewhat. He listened to it, allowing his mind to flow. Trey appreciated the beauty of the world around him. Even so, without Sofia, without his former self, how was he supposed to continue on with this charade called life? Thoughts of suicide crept into his mind, dangerously alluring as they whispered to him. It seemed like his death would just help the rest of them, anyway. It wasn’t like he offered any meaningful contributions.

  I’m just bogging them down, he thought.

  He jumped.

  Trey’s heart skipped a beat. Glancing over, he laughed, the gesture tinted with nervousness. He calmed down a bit. Patting the sand beside him, he smiled. “Sit down,” he said.

  Sofia paused. She almost seemed to back away, to retreat from his presence. She shuffled her feet and glanced back toward the other two, still sitting quietly by the fire. The sound of it crackled in the evening stillness. Finally, after her hesitation stretched into the range of uncomfortableness, Sofia sat down. She sighed. Brushing a strand of hair back from her head, she gazed out to the sea.

  “The water is pretty during the day,” she said.

  Trey nodded. He resisted the urge to try and put a hand on her. As a father and as a human being, he desperately needed a hug. To share the connection and intimacy, the beauty of touch. He loved this little girl more than words could express. And he hated himself for jeopardizing their relationship for…

  He had no earthly clue what it had been for. He shook his head. Grimaced.

  “I remember when you were born,” he said. He kicked up some sand with his bare foot. He idly wondered when he’d taken his shoes off. Turning his head, he noted the presence of the M16. He laughed.

  “What’s so funny about that, dad?” Sofia asked, her voice rising.

  “Oh, it wasn’t that. I just realized the gun is still here,” Trey said. He snorted. “I’m not a very good shot, am I?” he asked.

  Sofia giggled.

  He reached out and playfully swatted her arm. He smiled as she giggled some more and ducked, dodging him. “That was a rhetorical question,” he said. Then he grew quiet. Contemplative. Staring out at the majestic blend of pinks and reds as they exploded over the surface of that cerulean water, it all seemed so picturesque. So perfect.

  To a degree, the level of calm he felt right then scared him. He knew better than to let his guard down. Bonnie still lurked out there. Probably some zombies, too. Plus Trey had just created a whole village full of new enemies.

  Even so, the shock of realizing that he could possibly lose his only child… his daughter, it hurt him. The threat of it was only exacerbated by the reality that, if he did, in fact, sacrifice the only real relationship that mattered in life, it would be his fault. Trey wasn’t sure he could go on living with that burden.

  He wasn’t sure he’d want to.

  So, he cast all the other thoughts aside. There’d be enemies waiting to kill him after he got done having a few quiet moments alone with Sofia.

  Of that, he felt confident.

  Until then, the fuckers could just wait their turn.

  “You were so small,” Trey said. He remembered her red little face. Her shrill cry. His ex-wife, now deceased, she’d had to have an emergency cesarean section. After being dilated for over twenty-four hours, she’d been exhausted. Sweat covered her face, her eyes were glassy, and she shook like a demon had taken hold of her. The paroxysms seemed so intense, Trey had wanted to scold the anesthesiologist.

  Wrought with worry, Trey had waited. And waited. The procedure had seemed to take forever.

  When tiny Sofia had finally shrieked, a certain relief had rippled through the room.

  “Six pounds, nine ounces,” Trey said, his eyes faraway. He smiled. Sniffing, he wiped his eyes. He took a moment to calm himself. The last thing he wanted right then was to have his voice break with emotion.

  Sofia moved closer to him. She waited a beat, and then rested her head softly on his shoulder. “I love you, dad,” she said softly.

  The words touched his heart. If he needed to hear one thing right then, it was those magic words. They helped heal the callouses growing on his soul. He waited longer, choking up. The volatility of his feelings, taking him from extreme lows to manic highs, seemed like they might overwhelm him. Trey focused on his breathing as he fought the rising tide of his thoughts, which threatened to crash against the beach of his mind with jolting alacrity.

  “I love you, too, sweetie.” It was all he could think to say. Everything else was just useless blathering, at this point.

  A thought crossed his mind. He grew serious. “Hey, whatever happened to your grandpa?” he asked. He felt the panic and anxiety creeping back. They’d been waiting to ambush him, he thought. Trey wondered if he’d ever feel sane again without those twin pillars of his new psyche. In some ways, perhaps, they offered him a lifeline. They acted as change agents, necessary catalysts of the violence that this apocalyptic scenario demanded. Nonetheless, they also corroded his very humanity, reducing him gradually to nothing more than his animal self.

  Trey laughed. He ignored the look Sofia gave him. He reflected briefly on the irony. He couldn’t live with the anxiety but he couldn’t exist without it.

  “I’m going to go insane,” he muttered.

  “What?” Sofia asked. She sounded worried.

  “Nothing, darling. But, really, what happened to Harry? Is he over there, chowing down?” Trey asked, turning slightly to look back toward the fire. He frowned when he failed to see the stark form of his father materialize.

  “He’s still in the house,” Sofia said. She looked down. A sober quiet lingered in the vaguely salty air between them. “If they kept him alive,” she finally said, the words barely more than a whisper.

  Thinking about that, Trey felt himself slipping. Retreating back into that dark, damp, fetid sewerscape that was his violent side. The part of his being that his dad had tried to drill into him for oh, so long. He began to wonder just what the village would have to gain by murdering the old man. He’d be a drain on their resources, Trey reflected. Following that idea, he figured that the residual animosity felt toward Trey and his clan would likely create some incentive for retaliation. Redistributed justice, perhaps.

  But John didn’t seem like the retribution type. Impetuousness didn’t suit the man. He was a precocious character, one prone to deep thought. Nothing he did was random. The naked group helped confirm that observation.

 

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