The Mariner

“The Mindless were aboard that ship, which means my Neptune is still out there in one piece. We’ll be safe there. But all of you have to keep quiet.”

“Oh fuck!” Megan suddenly screamed, seemingly in defiance of his command, and pulled away. The Mariner turned, expecting, as did she, to see Mindless, yet light revealed the approaching figures of several monks, amongst them the man who’d roughly handled the Mariner to his harsh judgement.

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” the man said, holding out his hands to placate her. “It’s just us.”

“Well get going,” the Mariner snarled. “We don’t want you.”

“I’m sorry, don’t you understand? I’m sorry!”

The man’s protests seemed utterly preposterous. What was he trying to achieve? Surely he could see it was every man for himself? And then the Mariner finally realised: they thought the Mariner didn’t want them out of spite, a blunt form or revenge, rather than simple truth of survival.

“Listen, I’ve already got three to care for here!”

The man’s terrified eyes pleaded for clemency. “Strength in numbers!”

“When has that ever been true?”

“We’ve got nowhere else to go!”

“Fine. Just keep quiet, will you?”

And so the three turned four, turned seven, and they continued their slow creep. Behind them, the sounds of violence dissipated, not from distance, but from the confrontations growing less frequent. The monks were dying.

“How much further?” McConnell hissed. “I don’t remember the beach being this far away.”

“I recognise that cage,” said Grace, pointing at a small rusted enclosure up ahead. “It’s not far. How are we going to all fit in the row-boat?”

“They can bloody swim if they have to,” the Mariner said, resenting their new accomplices.

The rough-handed man suddenly started shaking the Mariner’s arm. “Behind, there’s someone behind!”

The small group paused, packed together like penguins, each trying to be as still as a statue whilst they listened to a shuffling creature stumble and snort its way up the path. It was making slow progress, seemingly idle in its journey, yet cloaked in darkness whilst they were lit up.

“Oh God! Oh God!” Megan prayed in a tiny voice. Hands clenched their neighbours as they waited for the inevitable.

The figure slowly stepped into the light. It was a Mindless, her teeth and jaw bloodied from combat. Whomever she had attacked, they had fought back; her face was scratched and left ear torn and hanging by a small shred of skin. Yet the aggressor had been the victor, that could be seen from the globules of flesh smeared across her lips and cheek like war paint.

The Mindless screeched, hands stretched talon-like. Behind, in the darkness for the zoo, countless other Mindless voices joined the call, all sprinting to where they’d heard fresh prey could be found.

The seven survivors ran.

“Get to the beach!” the Mariner screamed, grabbing Grace by her back and lifting the child from the ground. McConnell did his best to help Megan whilst they sprinted in the dark, lit only by the flame Grace held aloft and Megan’s small electric torch.

The strong-handed man, who’d never be able to introduce himself as Clement, made a dash for the rusted cage, throwing himself inside and shutting the door behind. With a gritty crunch, it latched shut and he fell back into the confines, trembling, rubbing his hands over his face to blot out the madness.

The rest ran by, pursued by the Mindless, and with them they took the light. He crouched, whimpering and afraid, and wondered, just what had he done to deserve this fate?

Moments later, he heard the sound of other Mindless, sprinting through the undergrowth, following the sounds of the chase. How many where there? In the dark it sounded like an army, an endless procession of evil.

Eventually they passed and the trees grew quiet.

Clement waited, curled up for what seemed like hours, though it could only have been minutes, for faintly he heard gunfire from the coast.

It didn’t last long.

Was he the only survivor? Probably, the others he’d been with would undoubtedly have been killed by now. Still, all he had to do was wait for first light and then sneak to the shore. There he might be able to swim to that strange captain’s ship and escape. But where to? He had no idea, he knew of no other lands but this, at least in the world he lived in now, but at least he was alive. Alive was good. Alive was enough.

He waited throughout the night, trying to stifle his screams when an insect scuttled across a hand, trying to keep his panic under control when a monkey snapped a branch in the canopy. Thoughts of the evening’s horrors were kept at bay with careful planning of the journey he’d take.