“Maybe so,” Quinn said mildly. “Big, anyway.”
“Took all three of us to haul him aboard,” Katrina said, laughing happily at the memory of the three of them slipping, sliding, and cursing.
“Good morning’s work,” Quinn said. “So, guys. You think it’s about time for brunch?” It was an old joke by now. By mid-morning everyone was starving. They’d come to call it brunch.
Quinn dug out the silver coach’s whistle he used to communicate across his scattered fleet. He blew three long blasts.
The other boats all dug in their oars and began heading toward Quinn’s boat. Everyone found new energy when it was time to assemble for brunch.
There were no waves, no storms, even here, a mile offshore; it was like lolling in the middle of a placid mountain lake. From this far out it was possible to believe that Perdido Beach looked normal. From this far out it was a lovely little beach town sparkling in the sun.
They broke out the hibachi and the wood they’d kept dry, and Katrina, who had amazing skill with these things, started a fire going. One of the girls in another boat cut off the tail section of the tuna, scaled it, and sliced it into purple-pink steaks.
In addition to the fish they had three cabbages and some cold, boiled artichokes. The smell of the fish cooking was like a drug. No one could really think of anything else until it had been eaten.
Then they sat back, with the boats loosely roped together, and talked, taking a break before they spent another hour fishing and then faced the long row back into town.
“I bet that was tuna,” a boy said.
“I don’t know what it was, but it was good. I wouldn’t mind eating another few slices of that.”
“Hey, we have plenty of octopus,” someone joked. Octopi weren’t something you had to catch; they sort of caught themselves, a lot of the time. And no one liked them very much. But everyone had eaten them on more than one occasion.
“Octopus this,” someone said, accompanying it with a rude gesture.
Quinn found himself staring off to the north. Perdido Beach was at the extreme southern end of the FAYZ, snugged right up against the barrier. Quinn had been with Sam when in the first days of the FAYZ they’d fled Perdido Beach and headed up the coast looking for a way out.
Sam’s plan had originally been to follow the barrier all the way. Foot by foot, over water and land, looking for an escape hatch.
That had not quite happened. Other events had intervened.
“You know what we should have done?” Quinn said, barely realizing that he was speaking out loud. “We should have explored all that area up there. Back when we still had plenty of gas.”
Big Goof said, “Explore what? You mean, looking for fish?”
Quinn shrugged. “It’s not like we’ve exactly run out of fish down here. We almost always seem to catch some. But don’t you ever kind of wonder if there’s better fishing farther north?”
Big Goof considered it carefully. He was not the sharpest pencil in the box; strong and sweet, but not very curious. “That’s a long row.”
“Yeah, it would be,” Quinn acknowledged. “But I’m saying, if we still had gas.”
He pulled the visor of his floppy hat low and considered taking just a brief snooze. But no, that wouldn’t do. He was in charge. For the first time in his life, Quinn had responsibility. He wasn’t going to screw that up.
“There are islands up there,” Katrina said.
“Yep.” Quinn yawned. “I wish we’d checked all that out. But Goof is right: it’s a long, long row.”
FIFTEEN
BRIANNA TOOK BRITTNEY in, as Sam asked. She gave her a room.
Sam had instructed her not to tell anyone. She was fine with that.
Brianna respected Astrid and Albert and the others on the council, but she and Sam, hey, they had been in battle together many times. He had saved her life. She had saved his.
Jack was also at Brianna’s, but she didn’t think that was really Sam’s business, or anyone’s. Jack was doing a little better. The flu seemed to have a short shelf life, just one of those twenty-four-hour things. Jack had stopped coughing quite so spectacularly. The walls and floor were safe again. Besides, one of Jack’s charming quirks was that if it wasn’t on a computer screen, he pretty much didn’t see it. So she doubted he would notice their new roomie unless she came with a USB port in her head.
Sam had also asked Brianna not to do anything other than feed Brittney, maybe help her wash up a little, though the closest thing to a shower now was walking into the surf.
“Don’t ask her questions,” Sam had said quite clearly.
“Why not?”
“Because we may not want to hear the answers,” he had muttered. Then, he amended that. “Look, we don’t want to stress her, okay? Something very weird has happened. We don’t know if this is some kind of freak thing or something else. Either way, she’s been through a lot.”
“You think?” Brianna had said. “What with being dead and buried and all?”
Sam sighed, but tolerantly. “If anyone’s going to question her, it probably shouldn’t be me. And definitely not you.”
Brianna knew what he was saying. Despite keeping Brittney under wraps, Sam probably figured it would all have to come out soon enough. And he probably figured if anyone was going to question Brittney, it should probably be Astrid.
Well…
“So, Brittney, how are you?” Brianna asked. She had been up for a few minutes, which was a long time for Brianna. In a few minutes she had been able to run down to the shore, fill a gallon jug with salt water, and run back to the house.
Brittney was still in the room where Brianna had put her. Still on the bed. Still lying there, eyes open. Brianna wondered if she’d slept at all.
Did zombies sleep?
Brittney sat up in the bed. Brianna set the water down on the nightstand.
“You want to wash up?”
The sheets were smeared with mud, which wasn’t much dirtier than they usually were. It was amazingly hard to get things clean by swooshing them around in the ocean, even when you could swoosh at super speed like Brianna.
Things still came out kind of dirty. And crusty with salt. And scratchy. And they gave you rashes.
Brittney sort of smiled, showing her dirty braces. But she showed no interest in cleaning up.
“Okay, let me help out.” Brianna took a dirty old T-shirt off the floor and dipped it in the water. She rubbed at some mud on Brittney’s shoulder.
The mud came off.
But Brittney’s skin did not come clean.
Brianna rubbed some more. More mud came off. No clean skin showed through.
Brianna felt a chill. Brianna wasn’t scared of much. She had grown accustomed to the fact that her super speed rendered her almost invulnerable, unstoppable. She had gone toe-to-toe with Caine and walked away laughing. But this was just plain disturbing.
Brianna swallowed hard. She wiped again. And again, the same thing.
“Okay,” Brianna said softly. “Brittney, I think maybe it’s, like, time for you to tell me what’s going on with you. Because I’d like to know whether you’re sitting there thinking you’d like to eat my brain.”
“Your brain?” Brittney asked.
“Yeah. I mean, come on, Brittney. You’re a zombie. Let’s face it. I’m not supposed to use that word, but someone who rises from the dead and climbs up out of their grave and walks among us: that’s a zombie.”
“I’m not a zombie,” Brittney said calmly. “I’m an angel.”
“Ah.”
“I called upon the Lord in my tribulation and he heard me. Tanner went to Him and asked Him to save me.”
Brianna considered that for a moment. “Well, I guess it’s better than being a zombie.”
“Give me your hand,” Brittney said.
Brianna hesitated. But she told herself if Brittney tried to bite it, she could snatch it back before she sank her teeth in.