Dead Sea

    "My name is Professor Williams. Well, actually, my real name is Steven Williams, but my friends and family have always called me Professor, since I am one. Was one, I mean. Before retirement and before-well, before what happened to all of us. Anyway, just to clarify what our captain said, aft is the rear of the ship. I believe if you exit out of that hatch back there, what you call a door, and work your way along the catwalk on this side of the ship, you'll come to the aft deck. Can't miss it, really- big, black, flat area. The requested time was nine o'clock, which is about ten minutes from now."

    "Thanks, Professor," another man called out. There was a sarcastic edge to the stranger's voice, and the old man blushed. He sat down quickly and stared at his tray.

    I stood up and emptied my tray in the garbage can. Then I stopped at his table and tapped him on the shoulder. He was busy packing a pipe, and he jumped when I touched him, spilling tobacco onto the table. The professor looked up at me. He seemed very small.

    "Sorry," I apologized. "Didn't mean to make you spill."

    "Oh, it wasn't you. My hands aren't as steady as they used to be."

    "Well, I just wanted to say thanks for that explanation, man. I was never in the military, so it all sounded like Greek to me until you spoke up."

    He smiled, flashing a set of false teeth. "Thank you, Mister…?"

    "Reed. Lamar Reed." I stuck out my hand and he shook it.

    "Professor Steven Williams. Just call me Professor. But of course, you already know that."

    "Hey Lamar," Malik yelled across the galley. "Can I get thirds?"

    "Save some for everyone else," I said.

    "But I'm still hungry."

    "Don't be a pig."Tasha elbowed him in the ribs.

    I turned back to the old man while Mitch quieted the kids down.

    "They're lovely children," the professor said. "It's actually nice to see children again. Nice to see anyone, really, I suppose. I've spent the last month sequestered in a storage room at the public library. I had plenty to read but no one to talk to. It was a very lonely existence."

    "Yeah," I agreed. "That would be tough."

    "They seem very well-behaved."

    "They're pretty good kids."

    "Are you their father?"

    "No. No, I'm just watching out for them. We crossed paths last night. They helped me out so I took them under my wing."

    He smiled again. "Ah, so you are the protector, then. The hero archetype."

    "Excuse me?"

    "The hero. Are you familiar with the works of Joseph Campbell?"

    "Can't say that I am."

    "Well, then you must read The Hero With a Thousand Faces. It's all about mythic archetypes. Understand those and you have the key to unraveling the riddle of life itself. Fascinating material, really. Most scholars prefer his other books: The Mythic Image and The Masks of God, but I was never one for popular convention. Come find me later and I'll explain all about it. You're on a quest, Mr. Reed, and you are fulfilling a role."

    "I'll do that," I said. Meanwhile, I had no clue what he was babbling about, and no time to wonder. There were more important things to worry ourselves with. Such as Mitch's idea of food rationing and exactly what destination-if any- Chief Maxey had in mind for us.

    I found out soon enough. When we were done eating breakfast, the four of us filed outside, joined once again by Joan. Slowly, the rest of the passengers assembled on the flight deck. The sun hung high in the sky, bright and hot. Sweat beaded on my forehead. 1 shielded my eyes against the glare and studied our companions. I counted eighteen of us total, and I learned that there was one more person, a guy named Turn, who was piloting the ship while the rest of us had our little powwow. Apparently Turn was a retired harbormaster, and Chief Maxey had made him second-in-command.

    Mitch sniffed the air and breathed deep. "Smell that salt air? Man, I love that sea breeze."

    I grinned. "Know what else?"

    "What's that?"

    "For the first time in over a month, I don't smell rotting corpses."

    He shuddered. "You're right. I hadn't even noticed. As horrible as it sounds, 1 guess I'd gotten used to it."

    Another hatch banged open and Chief Maxey walked out onto the deck. His stride had purpose, and the expression on his face was all business. He wore the same uniform he'd had on the night before, and a pair of black sunglasses. He had us gather around him in a circle and silently studied each of us for a moment.

    "Good morning." He didn't raise his voice. Didn't shout over the waves or the engines or the screeching birds that followed the ship, hoping for a handout. He didn't have to. The man had presence. Even though he was an overweight, middle-aged white guy in a dirty coast guard uniform and hat, and even though he smelled like he hadn't showered in days and had salt and pepper stubble on his face, the man commanded our attention. There was no doubt that he was in charge.