Fortunately, the pantry was really well stocked—pasta, canned goods, tomato sauce, rice, and flour. I also took some bags of sugar and five pounds of coffee. I was about to leave when I discovered a large supply of baby food. I stood there looking at all those jars lined up, knowing I’d killed the baby that food was intended for. The thought turned my stomach.
With tears in my eyes, I packed up the baby food the little boy’s mother had so lovingly stored away. Not for me, but for Lucullus. He’d love it. On my way out, I discovered a wet bar. I took a couple of bottles of gin and half a carton of Marlboros. Great! I planned to have a smoke when I got onboard to help me sleep. And forget.
My backpack wasn’t completely full, but it weighed far too much, considering I had to dodge that howling crowd all the way to the dock. I peeked out the front window. There was no way out there. About two dozen ghostly, soaking wet undead had packed into the narrow street in front of the store.
I tiptoed back to the kitchen. The window opened onto a narrower street. It was deserted. I stuck my head out and looked to the left. I could see the sea. That would be my escape route. I went back down to the store and cut about ten yards of the heavy-duty rope used on boats. Back in the kitchen, I tied one end of the rope to a radiator and cast the other end out the window. All I had to do was climb down and make it to the end of the street before those bastards saw me. Piece of cake!
But first I had to raise the blinds. They were rain-soaked, so I had to yank them up with all my might. It sounded like a machine gun in the dead silence of the street.
I shimmied down the rope and landed carefully so I wouldn’t aggravate my injured ankle. I ran toward the end of the street, easily dodging a couple of those creatures along the way, one at an intersection and another behind a telephone booth on the opposite side of the street. I kept running and didn’t look back. I didn’t dare. In my fevered mind were images of a horde of bodies filling the road, following me in silence, cornering me in a blind alley, and finishing me off.
Fortunately, the street wasn’t a dead end. It ran parallel to the one I’d come in on and ended at the port. I stayed out of sight, crawling along the breakwater, slowly approaching the lifeboat. This return trip took almost three times as long. I slipped on the rocks, got all banged up, and nearly cracked my head open. By the time I reached the boat, I was soaked and scared out of my wits. In a normal world no one in his right mind would crawl over algae-covered rocks pounded by the last waves of a storm with the wind furiously pushing against him. But this is no longer a normal world.
Darkness was falling when I finally scrambled onto the dock and made my way to the little boat. As I paddled gently through the swell toward the Corinth, my blood froze. Something was moving on deck! Those bastards had gotten out there somehow!
Suddenly, the shadow on the deck stood perfectly still, as if it had spotted me. A howl greeted me. Lucullus! My poor cat, confused and upset at being left alone for so long, had gone on deck, looking for me. It breaks my heart to think about it. As I approached the Corinth, I could see the little guy, drenched and shivering, but proud, at the ship’s rail. He’d kept watch on deck, riding out the storm, waiting for me. Atta boy.
With the last of my strength, I climbed on board, hauled up the lifeboat, and emptied out the backpack. I took a long shower and dried Lucullus off (he never stopped purring), then we sat down in the cockpit to eat, staring at the silent, dark streets of Bueu, where just hours before I’d nearly lost my life.
It would be dawn soon. After an unimaginable week, the storm had subsided. It’s time to continue our journey. To our next destination. To hope.
ENTRY 56
February 23, 6:00 p.m.
Good thing the only mirror on board was the little one above the minibar. I was spared the look of excitement on my face as the Corinth approached Vigo.
The last few hours have been intense, exhilarating, and liberating. At first light, I raised the anchor and let the boat slide lazily away from the dock to the center of the inlet, riding the tides and the current. The silence was broken only by screeching gulls and cormorants as the Corinth drifted away from shore. The morning was cool and bright, with no trace of the terrible storm. A perfect day for sailing.
Before this hell, fishing boats would be heading out. You might even see a sailboat zigzagging in between tankers headed for the port of Marin. But yesterday morning I didn’t see a soul as I stood at the stern, bundled up, a cup of strong coffee in my hand. I guided the boat to a windier area. I looked all around, but the landscape was completely dead. I felt like the last man on earth. It’s really disturbing.
When I thought the breeze was strong enough, I let out the genoa sail and a small jib. The Corinth sprang forward, quick and high-strung as a horse that’s spent too much time in the paddock. Before I knew it, we were sailing at a good seven knots.
As I watched the whitecaps we left in our wake, Lucullus came on deck. In one agile movement, he stretched and jumped into my lap. Ever since he was just a little ball of fur, he’s been very independent, like all cats. But with all this chaos, I can hardly get rid of him. Maybe he senses, in a feline sort of way, that the world has changed. He wants to be near the only part of his universe that hasn’t disappeared. Me. I welcome all the affection, but sometimes it’s too much. Way too much. Still, he’s a charmer. And my only companion.
Throughout the morning, the wind brought us closer to the end of the inlet. I scanned the silent towns on both coasts with binoculars, hoping to catch a glimpse of some sign of life. Bueu, Combarro, Sanxenxo, O Grove, slid slowly by. All I saw were dark, silent buildings, abandoned cars, and lots of those things wandering aimlessly. Somehow they’d made it to places that were evacuated before the Safe Havens fell.
I have a theory that those mutants retain some memory of what they were in life, and that draws them to where they used to live. That’s probably bullshit, but since I seem to be the only man alive, my theories are the best in this part of the world.
That led me to wonder if anyone else was still alive in one of the thousands of homes overlooking the river. What must’ve gone through his mind when he saw a boat cutting through the water toward the ocean? If I were trapped a mile from the sea and I looked out and saw the Corinth sail by, I’d die of anguish.
I prayed no one signaled to me from the coast or the surrounding mountains. There was no way I could rescue anyone, but guilt would’ve made me try. Attempting something that stupid would surely have led to my death.
With that thought, I put the binoculars away and stopped scanning what I was leaving behind. Time to focus on something more productive. Lucullus and I had eaten canned or packaged food for nearly two months. We needed some variety in our diet. I baited a hook and set the fishing rod on the stern. Then I sat down with a cigarette to enjoy a morning of fishing and sunbathing. After just twenty minutes, I had half a dozen mackerel flopping around in a bucket, ready to grill. For a few hours I forgot those monsters, the end of the world, and my anguish at being separated from my family. For a few hours it was just me, my cat, my boat, and the sea.
But when I went in the cabin to get a knife to gut the fish, a cloud marred that perfect day. Hanging in a corner was my dirty, torn wetsuit. It had saved my life so many times. Now it swayed to the rhythm of the waves. It was a reminder of all the evil wandering along the shore, waiting for me, as if it were saying, “Sooner or later you’ll have to come back down to earth.” Shit.