Dead Sea

    "I robbed him at gunpoint. I was so nervous I thought I'd puke. I think the salesman actually took it better than me. I remember at one point, he was having trouble getting his wallet out of his pants and he apologized. And all I kept thinking was that it should be me who was apologizing, not him. I took all his money, and then I drove us to an ATM and made him empty out his account. When we were finished, I bailed. I was sick for the next three days. Oh, I was out of debt-temporarily, at least. I paid my past-due mortgage and made sure the bank wouldn't foreclose. But the guilt was crushing me, man. I couldn't eat. Couldn't sleep. Figured the cops would kick down my front door at any second. But they never did. And in some ways, that was worse, because that meant I still had to live with the guilt in silence. I'd become everything 1 hated. And then I was broke again. I was still dealing with all that when Hamelin's Revenge came along. I've been focused on staying alive ever since. But I can't forget about what happened. It's right there, in the past. I can't change it and I can't forget about it. The kids and you and the professor-you all think I'm somebody that I'm not. I ain't no hero. I'm a fucking loser."

    He shook his head. "You're a damn fool is what you are."

    "Excuse me?"

    Mitch grinned. "Don't you see, Lamar? None of that matters now. The past is just that-the past. It's as dead as those things in the streets. We've left it behind. Everyone makes mistakes. That's what molds us. But it doesn't matter who we were or what we did before all of this happened. We're still alive! When the rest of the world is fucking dying, we're still here. The only thing that matters now is how we respond and who we become. You know, that preacher back at the rescue station may have been insane, but he was right about one thing."

    "What's that?"

    "We really are born again. I'm not talking about in any religious sense. We've got a second chance to reinvent ourselves, to become someone different. The professor is right. We're on a quest-all of us. So stop worrying about the past and start thinking about the future. The past is dead."

    "So are the zombies," I said. "But that doesn't stop them from coming back and biting us in the ass. What kind of future can we possibly look forward to? Living on the run? Hiding out every time we go to the mainland? That's not living. That's existing."

    "It's enough for me. And the same goes for you. Otherwise, you'd walk out on the flight deck right now and jump into the ocean. You're a fighter, same as me-you do it because you don't know what else to do. And now you're fighting for those kids, whether you'll admit to it or not. So suck it up and be a hero. Hell, who knows? We live through this and civilization makes a comeback, then maybe they'll have mythology about us in five thousand years. We'll be history."

    I shrugged. "Maybe we already are."

    "That's not what I meant," Mitch said, smiling, "and you know it."

    His smile grew broader. After a moment, I returned it. We crept back into the compartment and, with the lights out, crawled into our racks. Tasha and Malik didn't stir. The ship gently rolled from side to side, creaking and groaning. Steam pipes along the wall ticked. My stomach grumbled.

    "Good night," Mitch whispered.

    "Night."

    I lay back in my rack and stared at nothing. I thought about the past. Maybe Mitch was right. Maybe it didn't exist anymore. Maybe that version of Lamar Reed was as dead as the city he'd left behind when he sailed out to sea. The future waited right over the horizon, and when the sun came up tomorrow morning, it would rise on the first day of the rest of our lives. I wondered how long those lives would be.

Chapter Nine

    The chief had been right about the weather. The next morning we woke to cold rain. A storm had blown in overnight. Massive gray and black clouds swallowed the horizon, obscuring the lines between sea and sky. Thunder boomed across the water. Dime-sized drops of rain pelted the decks. The waves grew larger and the ship tilted like a carnival amusement ride. Most of us hadn't developed our sea legs yet and every time the Spratling took a particularly hard roll, we ran into the bulkheads. At breakfast, which consisted of fish we'd caught the day before, we had to hold on to our trays tightly, or else they'd slide down the table and crash into each other. Even those of us who hadn't struggled with seasickness before now looked queasy.

    The weather suited the crew's mood. But by noon, the clouds had cleared and the rain stopped. The ocean grew calm, flat like glass, the waves barely cresting. The sun shined down and the ternperature climbed again. Seagulls circled the ship, hoping for a handout. Old habits died hard, I guess. There were a million meals walking around on shore for them.