when they’d met, but had cleaned himself up
soon after. He’d been clean and sober for almost the entire time they’d
been friends, but Roman knew that alcohol had taken a lot from his
friend. The death of his wife and son in a car accident had pushed him to
the brink of madness and booze had been the only understanding friend he could
find. He drank to forget the things he lost, but all he did was lose
whatever few things he had left.
But even the apocalypse hadn’t tipped Harry off the
wagon. He turned his nose up at any drop of plonk placed in front of
him. He was a stronger man than most, by far. But sometimes Roman
sensed a brief glimmer of weakness in Harry’s eyes lately, like he was getting
tired.
“I had some of the best times of my life on that
boat,” Harry chuckled, “even if I was on the firewater at the
time. My son used to love dangling a fishing line into the water, trying
to catch crabs near the seawall. He never caught anything, bless him, but
he always enjoyed it. It was the hope of catching something that kept him
there, I think. My son was always optimistic; he always saw the best
outcome for everything. He took after his mother in that way. I was
the opposite. I wished you could have met him.”
Roman patted his friend on the back. “Me
too.” He knew that even now, years later, the wounds were still
raw. Harry’s memories of his wife and child were like flayed skin that
never healed. “At least you didn’t lose your son to this shithole
existence,” Roman said. It was the only upside he could think of. “Most
men did.”
Harry ran his hand along the gunwale and nodded.
“I know. If anything I’m lucky that I didn’t have to watch him get torn
apart by the dead.” Harry sniffed in another deep breath of sea air and
changed the subject. “You think they will ever truly rest again, the
dead? You’ve been out there on land. What do you think?”
Roman stared out at the cold grey sea and thought
about it. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “The dead are falling
apart at the seams, but most of them still walk. I think they’ll keep
going until there’s nothing left of them but dust and bone. Even then
they might not stop.”
“Maybe they’ll stop when there’s nothing left of us,”
said Harry.
“Maybe you’re right, although it’s a bloody miserable
thought. You haven’t got any cheerier with age, have you?”
The two of them laughed and Roman stared out at the
boats and ships floating beside the Kirkland . All of the men and
women on the ragtag group of vessels were safe and well-fed for the time being,
but he often wondered what their end game was, their plans for the
future. Were all these people, families and strangers, content to float
around the seas for the rest of their lives? Would humanity ever regain
the earth? Samuel spoke of an army. Was that what they needed? An army to reclaim what they had lost?
He thought about the day he and Harry had fled their
carpentry workshop in Wolverhampton, hoping to escape the infection. They
made it all the way to the south coast without finding anything resembling
safety. They stole a dinghy from the back of a trailer and threw
themselves into the sea from a dockside in Kent. They had floated
aimlessly for days before Samuel’s fleet picked them up. Back then,
Damien had been grateful to the sea for keeping the two of them safe, but now
he had begun to hate it for its vast nothingness.
“We’re heading inland,” he told Harry. “You’ll
get to see for yourself what the dead are like.”
“Inland? Why?”
“To search for the cripple.”
“I thought you killed him. Isn’t that why you
went ashore, to make him dead?”
Roman nodded. He didn’t tell Harry how Samuel
was obsessed with making sure the man on crutches was dead. If he was
honest, he didn’t understand what the big deal was. Of course, the
cripple
soon after. He’d been clean and sober for almost the entire time they’d
been friends, but Roman knew that alcohol had taken a lot from his
friend. The death of his wife and son in a car accident had pushed him to
the brink of madness and booze had been the only understanding friend he could
find. He drank to forget the things he lost, but all he did was lose
whatever few things he had left.
But even the apocalypse hadn’t tipped Harry off the
wagon. He turned his nose up at any drop of plonk placed in front of
him. He was a stronger man than most, by far. But sometimes Roman
sensed a brief glimmer of weakness in Harry’s eyes lately, like he was getting
tired.
“I had some of the best times of my life on that
boat,” Harry chuckled, “even if I was on the firewater at the
time. My son used to love dangling a fishing line into the water, trying
to catch crabs near the seawall. He never caught anything, bless him, but
he always enjoyed it. It was the hope of catching something that kept him
there, I think. My son was always optimistic; he always saw the best
outcome for everything. He took after his mother in that way. I was
the opposite. I wished you could have met him.”
Roman patted his friend on the back. “Me
too.” He knew that even now, years later, the wounds were still
raw. Harry’s memories of his wife and child were like flayed skin that
never healed. “At least you didn’t lose your son to this shithole
existence,” Roman said. It was the only upside he could think of. “Most
men did.”
Harry ran his hand along the gunwale and nodded.
“I know. If anything I’m lucky that I didn’t have to watch him get torn
apart by the dead.” Harry sniffed in another deep breath of sea air and
changed the subject. “You think they will ever truly rest again, the
dead? You’ve been out there on land. What do you think?”
Roman stared out at the cold grey sea and thought
about it. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “The dead are falling
apart at the seams, but most of them still walk. I think they’ll keep
going until there’s nothing left of them but dust and bone. Even then
they might not stop.”
“Maybe they’ll stop when there’s nothing left of us,”
said Harry.
“Maybe you’re right, although it’s a bloody miserable
thought. You haven’t got any cheerier with age, have you?”
The two of them laughed and Roman stared out at the
boats and ships floating beside the Kirkland . All of the men and
women on the ragtag group of vessels were safe and well-fed for the time being,
but he often wondered what their end game was, their plans for the
future. Were all these people, families and strangers, content to float
around the seas for the rest of their lives? Would humanity ever regain
the earth? Samuel spoke of an army. Was that what they needed? An army to reclaim what they had lost?
He thought about the day he and Harry had fled their
carpentry workshop in Wolverhampton, hoping to escape the infection. They
made it all the way to the south coast without finding anything resembling
safety. They stole a dinghy from the back of a trailer and threw
themselves into the sea from a dockside in Kent. They had floated
aimlessly for days before Samuel’s fleet picked them up. Back then,
Damien had been grateful to the sea for keeping the two of them safe, but now
he had begun to hate it for its vast nothingness.
“We’re heading inland,” he told Harry. “You’ll
get to see for yourself what the dead are like.”
“Inland? Why?”
“To search for the cripple.”
“I thought you killed him. Isn’t that why you
went ashore, to make him dead?”
Roman nodded. He didn’t tell Harry how Samuel
was obsessed with making sure the man on crutches was dead. If he was
honest, he didn’t understand what the big deal was. Of course, the
cripple
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