The Ark (Life of the Dead Book 3) Page 3

  When he reached the cab of the truck, Hal peered inside and saw it empty. “What about their bodies?”

  “Clark’s missing most of his head and Caleb’s in two pieces back in Jolo. If you want to clean up the mess, help yourself to the truck.”

  Hal turned back to Wim, his face screwed up in annoyance. He didn’t know why Doc and Phillip assigned him of all people to help unload whatever bounty the others had gathered. Him being close to an old man, after all. And now he got smart-mouthed on top of it? That’s not right. Not right at all.

  “Well that’s pretty rude. Those were our frien—” Hal realized Wim wasn’t pulling a bag of feed out of the truck bed. What he carried was a human being that looked about light as a feather in Wim’s thick arms. “Wim?”

  “This boy needs help.”

  Wim carried the young man past Hal who saw, upon closer inspection, that he was covered in dried blood. And he smelled like sickness.

  “Looks dead to me, Wim. Did you bring back a zombie? What are you trying to pull?”

  Wim glanced back at him, his fierce eyes conveying that he wasn’t interested in a discussion. “He’s not dead yet. Now get in the boat.”

  Hal’s stomach went sour. This was bad news. This was why they should let him stay inside the Ark.

  “Doc’s not gonna like this, Wim. You know no one’s allowed inside except—”

  Wim gently sat the boy in the rear of the boat. Then he let his free right hand fall against the butt of his pistol. “I’ll accept the responsibility. All you got to do is drive the boat.”

  Wim took a seat as if the matter was settled and Hal supposed it was.

  Hal snuck a look back to the truck. “What about the feed?”

  “Drive, Hal.”

  Wim extended one of his big, calloused palms and Hal let him help him into the boat. He didn’t like this. Not one bit.

  Chapter Three

  “I told you. Beautiful, ain’t it?”

  Before them, the blue waters of a spring glistened under the cloudless sky. It was the kind of day Ramey knew was coming to an end with winter fast approaching and, although there was a chill in the air, she was loving it. She turned toward Phillip and nodded.

  “How did I not know this was here?”

  “Almost no one does. I sort of keep it to myself. I like to come here and clear my mind.”

  Phillip McKeough was such a typical Irish cop that he would have seemed a stereotype if this were a movie and not real life. He was tall, but not as tall as Wim, with hard muscles that made themselves visible through his snug, long sleeved t-shirt. He wasn’t handsome. He had beady eyes, a soft, receding chin, and oversized teeth that made Ramey think of the Cheshire cat. His skin was so white that it was almost translucent and that made his curly hair, which could only be described as ‘carrot’ even more dramatic. Freckles covered his flesh but they had started to fade now that the days were shorter and less sunny. Nonetheless, he had a certain charisma that made spending time with him enjoyable.

  “Clear your mind and seduce naive, young girls,” Ramey said. Her eyes blazed as Phillip’s white face flared a mottled eggplant color.

  “No. I. No. You don’t—“

  “I’m just busting your balls, Phillip. But if you get any redder I’m going to start to think I was right.”

  He turned away from her, back toward the cerulean body of water. The lake surrounding the Ark wasn’t visible from here. It was only untamed devil-grass and occasional rocks that burst up from the ground like it was giving birth. That made the water even more impressive.

  “Let’s swim,” Phillip said without looking at her.

  “Are you insane? It’s not even fifty degrees. I’ll freeze my pretty little toes off.”

  He did turn to her then. The embarrassment had fled his face, replaced with a grin that made him look younger than his 26 years.

  Younger then Wim, Ramey thought.

  “No. It’s a hot spring. Water’s 110 degrees at least.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I’m serious. Jump in and you’ll see.”

  He was already stripping off his shirt and as it came up, Ramey could have sworn he flexed his abs to make the muscles pop even more. Such a showboat. Unlike Wim.

  Phillip dropped his shirt into the grass and started on his jeans.

  “Phillip! Stop! We don’t have any suits.”

  That was stupid, she thought. She knew exactly what this man was doing and it didn’t require bathing suits or swim trunks.

  “I won’t complain,” he said as he deftly unzipped his jeans and pushed them down in one smooth, practiced motion. His walkie talkie clattered against a rock and gave a short gasp of static. “Come on. I wouldn’t lie to you. This is like Mother Nature’s hot tub. You’ll love it.”

  And then Phillips fingers were in the waistband of his black boxer briefs. Ramey thought about turning her head but he was too fast and they too hit the grass. His long, flaccid penis was even more white than the rest of him and it was topped off by a shock of that same carrot-colored curly hair. The vision of it made Ramey think of a circus clown. ‘Hey Ramey, watch me pull of rabbit out of my hat!’ She almost laughed and bit her lip to stop herself.

  Phillip didn’t notice because he was spinning around and flashing his bare buttocks at Ramey (who noticed that they too were covered with freckles) as he took a swan dive into the spring. Water splashed back against her flesh and she could tell instantly that he was right, it was hot. And it felt good.

  He disappeared for a moment before bursting theatrically back to the surface. His curls had gone limp under the weight of the water and clung to his forehead in random streaks. Small rivulets trickled down his chest, over his toned pecks, and Ramey again mentally compared him to Wim, noting that Phillip was much harder than the man who had saved her life several months earlier. Yet on the mental check list she’d been compiling, Phillip still lagged far behind.

  She’d loved Wim after that, at least as much as she’d ever loved anyone and as much as a teenage girl could. But things changed when they got to the Ark. Wim changed and Ramey supposed she had too. Here she had her father. She made friends fast too, friends like Phillip who was, from as far as she could tell second in command even though no one in the Ark talked about a hierarchy. And while she made friends and got to know these new people within the safety of the Ark’s walls, Wim worked. From sunrise to sunset and most days before and after too. Often, it seemed like he’d rather spend time conversing with the cows and pigs than her and if that was who he’d rather surround himself with, maybe she should move on and let him be. After all that had happened, Ramey was ready to live.

  It didn’t help matters that the tension between Wim and her father was as obvious as the noses on their faces even if neither of them admitted it. Her father aka Doc aka Douglas Younkin, had been her world growing up and losing him had damaged her in ways she still didn’t quite understand. After all this time, he was back in her life and she wasn’t about to fowl that up.

  It was her father who encouraged her to get to know Phillip. The young man had been a beat cop in Albany, where her father had been the head biochemist at the Miner & Zito Research Facility before his sudden departure. Phillip moonlighted as a security guard at the lab and, as Doc explained it to her, “Was a man of rare character and like mind. The kind of man the world needs more of.”

  From afar Ramey thought Phillip to be comprised mostly of bluster and bravado but as weeks became months she saw that there were other, more appealing, aspects of his personality. It helped that he was one of the few younger people on the Ark. And she enjoyed the way his tongue became tied in knots when she teased him about one thing or another. While many on the Ark thought he was too strict, too quick to remind others of the rules, she understood that their safety here was almost entirely dependent on men like Phillip and her father. This was a paradise amid a fallen world and they needed to protect it. To protect themselves.

  “Come on, Ramey!
Don’t make me get wet all alone!”

  She opened her mouth to say no, but stopped herself. Why shouldn’t she? She was one month past her nineteenth birthday and she wasn’t married to Wim. On many days, they didn’t speak a hundred words to one another. If he wanted her, wanted to be with her, he’d done little to prove it and after six months, maybe it was time she take a hint and move on.

  Ramey lifted her hands to her waistband and unbuttoned her low-rise jeans. Phillip’s eyes grew wide in either surprise or excitement, Ramey couldn’t tell which and supposed it didn’t make much difference. They were two sides of the same coin, after all. She pushed the denim downward rocking her hips as the rough fabric slid across her thighs.

  “Phillip! Come in! We’ve got an emergency at the gate.” The voice crackled through the speaker of the walkie talkie which had been discarded in the high grass. Ramey jumped at the sound of it and pulled up her jeans as she looked from the radio to Phillip and back again.

  She heard water splash as he worked his way to the edge of the spring. Grunting as he lifted himself from the pond.

  “Phillip! I need you!” A garble of static obscured a few words. “brought someone with him. Someone— “More static. “Dead. Where are you? Doc’s gonna freak the fuck out!”

  Ramey didn’t realize Phillip was at her side until he pushed past her, still naked as the day he was born, and grabbed the walkie talkie from its holster on his discarded pants.

  “Vince, this is Phillip. I’m on my way but only got about half of that. What did you say?”

  The voice resumed, “Wim brought someone inside. Threatened to shoot me if I didn’t let him in. The guy or kid or whoever he brought, he looked sick as fuck and about ready to die.”

  Phillip glanced at Ramey who thought she saw blame -Your guy did this! - in the look he cast her way, or maybe it was her own guilt.

  “What about Clark and Caleb?”

  “They’re dead.”

  “Shit!”

  “Yeah. Shit is right man. Oh shit.”

  Phillip spoke as he redressed. “Don’t let them past you, I’m coming.”

  “He’s already on his way, man. He took my four-wheeler and tossed that sick fucker on the back and took off. He’ll be in the village any minute.”

  Phillip didn’t respond as he shoved the radio back into its holster. He looked at Ramey again. “We have to run. Can you keep up?”

  “I’ll try.”

  He ran, his long legs outpacing her in just a few strides. As she watched the distance grow she couldn’t stop wondering, what has Wim done now?

  Chapter Four

  “Did you see that birdie?”

  Mina had been so caught up in reading the bible, or trying to read it, that she’d almost forgotten Emory was there. She sat slouched back in a wicker chair which would have been comfortable if she had more meat on her bones so the hard seat wouldn’t have pressed into her hips. She’d always been slim, but she’d left slim in the rear-view mirror months ago and now skeletal was the more appropriate adjective.

  Emory had been the one who saw her wasting away, or at least the first one to mention it to her, and he suggested she read the bible to try to find some sense in everything she’d gone through. That they’d all gone through, she knew, but in the aftermath of Bundy, the only man she’d ever loved, blowing himself to bits in order to save her, she grasped hold of her grief like it was a life preserver and wallowed in the selfishness of it. It was, after all, the only thing she had left.

  She found the bible mostly confusing and more than a little boring in places. Some parts she just couldn’t get her head around, like why God cared whether people ate shrimp or wore cotton-poly blend. Emory assured her that it got better when Jesus came into the picture so she trudged on.

  At the moment, she was a third of the way through the book of Job and the more she read the angrier she got. Why would God allow someone who loved him so to be tortured all because of a silly bet with the devil? It seemed like a very human thing to do and she’d always expected God to be better than the wretched people who treated each other so poorly on Earth. With her mood already sour, Emory’s question cut through her like a blade. Why would he call her ‘Birdie’, that horrible name that her father used to make her feel ugly and worthless? How did he even know about it? She’d never told anyone about ‘Birdie’ except Bundy and she was certain he wouldn’t have spilled her dirty secret.

  Mina glared at Emory who wasn’t looking at her but instead staring into a thicket of pine trees that rose above the sprawling building that served as that the Ark’s meeting place and mess hall.

  “What did you say?”

  Emory looked over at her, then raised a crooked finger and pointed at the trees. “Did you see that birdie? I think it was a pileated woodpecker.”

  Mina felt her anger dissipate like air gushing out of a balloon. “Oh. No, I didn’t.”

  “Grant used to feed the birds. He kept a moleskin notebook filled with the various species, what they ate, the time of day he saw them. He was very detail oriented.”

  Mina thought that sounded like a rich person’s hobby, but didn’t say that out loud. She liked Emory even though she knew he was the kind of person she’d never have associated with before the plague. No, if she’d have so much as seen Emory Prescott it would have been while she was pushing a cart of dirty linens up a hotel room hallway and he was going to or coming from his room. Although, she suspected Emory was much too rich to have stayed at the hotel she worked at. He’d never talked about money, but a poor person could tell a rich one, especially a really rich one, just by looking at them. It wasn’t their clothes or car or wallet. It was the way they stood up and carried themselves, all straight and perfect because they hadn’t been beaten down and stooped by life. Even if Emory was 80-some years old, he still stood like a rich man.

  Before the birdie comment, Emory had been using a paint brush to apply rich, cedar-colored stain to the log siding which had started to go gray. He and Mina had been taking turns, but it seemed like he did most of the work. Mina thought it a bit of a sin to let him, but he didn’t seem to mind and the people who ran the Ark, Doc mostly, insisted that everyone had a job to do, even the old fogies.

  The way Doc told it, the Ark was something of a hippie commune where everyone worked together to advance the greater good. But Mina never saw any of the higher ups digging ditches or emptying outhouse latrines. She supposed they did work but it happened behind closed doors and in secret. She was okay with that, as long as it kept them safe.

  Aside from the log cabin, which was bigger than the school Mina had attended growing up, the Ark had several other buildings which spiraled out in circles. Among them was the medical clinic where Doc spent his days working on a cure and Ellen Sideris, the Ark’s real doctor, treated people for sprained ankles and stomach bugs.

  Further out there was a small community of single-story, four-room houses where most of the Ark’s seventy or so original residents resided. Closer to the entrance, which was blocked by a tall wood and metal gate, were a half dozen decrepit house trailers where the few people who had arrived after the plague lived. The idea that they were segregated wasn’t lost on her. But again, as she stared out at the walls which lined the community, the razor wire looped atop to add further protection, she knew she was safe and that was enough. Right?

  She thought it was. She told herself that it didn’t matter that they weren’t allowed to pick what jobs they wanted to do, but that the chores were doled out like the big boss telling everyone on the plantation what needed done that particular day. She told herself that it was alright for there to be a ’safety squad’ which was little more than a police force with a nicer name, one that she’d seen hand out punishment in the way of a billy club to the kidneys or a punch in the guts to men and even some women who they thought were causing problems. And she even told herself there wasn’t anything wrong with the box. That it was a necessity to keep everyone behaving and safe. But even
she didn’t totally believe that one, no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise.

  “That has me curious. The birds,” he said.

  In her daydream, Mina had forgotten about the birds and didn’t know what Emory was talking about. Not that that was unusual.

  “How’s that?”

  “Well, I’ve assumed the virus that started the epidemic was air born. That’s the only way it could spread so rapidly. And it was ruthless in its attack, not just infecting the humans, but killing the animals too. Wim said his entire farm was destroyed within a day.“

  “Now, I can go along with the theory that this island is far enough from the mainland, and in a location remote enough that the virus couldn’t cross the waters to infect the livestock. And the decontamination procedures we endured when arriving might cleanse us of the virus, although I’m quite dubious about that myself. But what about the birds? They fly back and forth from here to the mainland. Why haven’t they brought the virus with them?”

  Mina squinted her eyes, thinking. This was all so complicated and she wasn’t sure how it even mattered. There weren’t any zombies here and so far as she was concerned, that was good enough.

  “Maybe they have. We’re not sick even though we were out there. I just figured everything here was immune like us.”

  Emory’s mouth formed a wry smile that Mina couldn’t label as amused or condescending but the paranoid part of her, and that was a large part, leaned toward the latter.

  “We know some people are immune, of course. And some animals too. But doesn’t it all seem too perfect that the people who created the Ark, the animals they brought here, are impervious to a disease that killed approximately 999,999 people out of every million?”

  Mina didn’t feel up for a debate she was certain to lose. She tapped the bible on her lap and then cast a glance skyward.

  “This book talks about all sorts of miracles. I don’t see how what you just said is any more farfetched than a man getting two of every animal on the planet onto a little boat and not having the elephants squish the mice or chipmunks.”