Dead Sea

    The next morning, we buried Stephanie at sea. She'd died of natural causes, so she didn't come back. No worries there. She did what dead people were supposed to do. Old school. Just slipped beneath the waves and passed from this world.

    She was the lucky one.

    Before we committed her body to the sea, Chief Maxey asked if anybody would like to say anything. Perhaps a prayer or a Bible verse. Everyone looked at Mitch. Embarrassed, he explained that he only sold Bibles and didn't actually know much about them. Cliff eventually volunteered.

    After it was all over and she'd sunk beneath the surface, Cliff approached Mitch and I. He touched Mitch's shoulder.

    "I don't mean to be rude, Mr. Bollinger, but you should get in touch with God again. It's obvious you believed at one point in your life." Mitch brushed him away. "How's it obvious?" "Well, you're probably a very good salesman, and a good salesman always knows his product. Try reconnecting with the Lord. It might bring you comfort, with all that's happened. It does for me. He can be a mighty pillar of strength."

    Mitch exhaled. "Let me get this straight. With all that's happened you still believe in God?" "Of course. Now more than ever." "Well good for you, kid. Now fuck off." Cliff flinched as if Mitch had slapped him. "I'm sorry?"

    "You should be. Congratulations." "Look, exactly what is your problem?" Mitch's smile held no humor. "You've still got your faith. Meanwhile, I got nothing. So get the fuck away from me before I throw you over the rail and we find out once and for all if the Lord is watching over you."

    Cliff stomped away in a huff. When he was gone, I nudged Mitch.

    "You think you, were a little too hard on that kid?" Mitch shrugged. "Hell with him. Look, I don't care if he's a Christian. Seriously, I'm cool with everyone. Good for him. There's nothing wrong with that. But he's got no right to try proselytizing me. I hate that shit. Just because he's still a believer, doesn't mean I've got to be one, too."

    "Maybe it's his faith that keeps him going."

    "I'm sure it is. And you know what else? I'll admit it-I'm jealous as fuck."

    I nodded in understanding. "Yeah, I know what you mean. What keeps you going, Mitch?"

    He stared out at the water, smoking his cigarette down to the filter. It was a long time before he spoke, and when he did, I had to strain to hear him over the seagulls and the waves.

    "I don't know, Lamar. I don't know what keeps me going. And sometimes, I wish that whatever it is would just stop."

    I nodded again. Once more, I empathized all too well.

Chapter Six

    "Norfolk is definitely out," Chief Maxey muttered around the stub of his cigar. "You have any idea how many personnel were assigned to that base?"

    "No," Mitch said. "How many?"

    "Well, I'm not sure exactly. But it was a lot. Thousands. The naval base is the size of a small city."

    "Damn straight it is," said Hooper. "Hell, the base is Norfolk. Everything else in the city is just there to support the base. It'll be crawling with zombies."

    We were standing inside a shack on the ship's signal bridge, planning our excursion to the mainland; me, Mitch, Chief Maxey, Turn, Officer Runkle, Basil, Tony, and Hooper. Chief Maxey had given Chuck a crash course on how to pilot the ship and put him in charge of the pilothouse while we met.

    "Just steer it straight," he'd said. "There shouldn't be any other vessels out here for you to hit. And if an alarm goes off, call us."

    The chief and Turn were there because they knew the coastline and could read the maps and charts. The others were there because they had military or law enforcement experience and knew guns. I was there only because Mitch had insisted I come with him. I was cool with that. Fish weren't biting anyway, and Tasha and Malik were busy with their studies-something they'd warmed up to after a few days. I think they liked having something to do, a challenge to occupy their minds, even if it was just school. Carol had found some paper and pens and had created study guides, since we had no books onboard. The kids took to her right away, and Tasha seemed especially fond of Alicia-and Alicia of Tasha as well. The night before, Joan had commented that the only time the teen seemed to open up was when she was with the kids. After three days at sea, things had begun to gel for all of us. One dysfunctional little family.

    Runkle sipped water from a plastic bottle. "Before everything went to shit, FEMA had set up an aid station in South Point. I remember hearing about it on the radio. It was supposed to provide food, water, and medical assistance. South Point is pretty rural, so maybe it didn't get overrun. Could we try for that?"