The Eros Plague Epoch Pt. 06

Knowing I was so close to the island filled me with equal parts excitement and dread. Leaving Danni started an ache in my heart, and I swore I'd find a way to get back to her, no matter why it was hard. I couldn't let small things keep me from her. But still, my family, whatever was left of it, was so important. I'd been gone for most of twenty years, only visiting occasionally for shore leave, I'd spent most of the last few years trying to rebuild those connections.

I was excited to see Gil, and his pretty wife, Hannah. He wasn't as capable as I was in a fight, or with a rifle, but he knew how to do all those things that grandad taught us. He had whatever genes had saved me, he'd be okay too. They'd have a good chance to be there. I was sure of it.

More than anything, I wanted to pick up my nephew and tousle his wild blonde hair, hear that little kid laugh he had.

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Slead's Landing was coming up on my left, and I took a deep breath, praying silently that they were all safe and sound as I rolled past the gas station at the entrance to town, now abandoned.

Slead's was pretty much empty, as far as I could see. I'd prepared for the worst, both handguns I had loaded and ready in case they were needed, but no, nothing. Odds had not been kind to the tiny town of around one-hundred-fifty. It seemed like the whole place had been hit, and whoever had survived must've abandoned it. No movement on streets, no flicking curtains in windows, nothing. I rolled along the three east/west streets, watching carefully for signs of life.

I'd grown up here, spending summers and school breaks with grandad on the island, Gil and I had been known well here, John Travers grandsons. From the city, but still Travers'. It'd given us a little trust and reputation in a small town where big city folk got almost none of either.

Gil and I both had friends here and on the lake, old girlfriends, hell, we'd both worked the marina at least one summer. As I rolled down Lake street toward the marina and the public docks that jutted out deep into the water, I thoughts of all of this, and I felt hollow.

I drifted past a little house where a prettt young woman named Sadie had once welcomed me. I'd been carted away by MPs eventually, I got so lost in her, and other than one short visit full of anger and lust, I never looked back. Freddie had started out here, in the tiny towns, where rural folk would gather from their farms. It'd probably been a good two weeks ahead of Toronto, but here... it passed with a whisper, dying like an already half-lost memory.

The first order of business was to get ahold of a boat that could get me to the island. Searching the public docks didn't do too much for me in that department. There were no boats floating tied to it. Someone had sunk them all.

"Shit," I spat as I moved on. I didn't want to have to go into the marina if I could avoid it. The place was a dead-end surrounded by the tree line on three sides, and the lake on the last. It was also full of tempting gear, making it either a perfect trap, or a heavily defended location for survivor's. Maybe even more dangerous was if it was truly abandoned. Scavengers would target it and fight tooth and nail for every scrap.

Private docks and boathouses peppered the entire shoreline of town, and the outer docks of the marina where their gas pumps stood in a sea of huge cruisers were not far from me, but those boats were worse than the runabouts that were sunk. They were massive, visible, and ran on large amounts of gas. That made them a beacon to anyone looking to raid the moment their engines turned over.

What I really wanted was a small sailboat. Maybe just a single-sail ten or twelve footer. Silent, just large enough for me and my gear, easy to manage single handed, and I could row it if there wasn't any wind. That would carry me up the western shore of the lake to the island easily.

If only I could find one.

I headed back to my truck, inching along the road to the Marina, hoping to find what I needed. I knew there'd be sailboats around. They were common on the lake, but all I could see were the massive cruisers that the marina staff would have been getting into the water at the time Freddie hit them. The huge boats were tall, obscuring my vision of the other slips and the boats in them.

"Fucking cruisers, fuck," I cursed under my breath steadily as I rolled past each vantage point, craning to see between the huge boats. I was getting closer to the marina than I'd like, and was in danger of breaching external lines of defence set up by any ambushers who'd wrap around behind me to block escape if they sprung a trap to catch me.

I stopped hard, not twenty feet from the Marina entrance, a large electrical gate that blocked cars from entering with no gate on either side of a small rise. There, halfway into the water, tethered to the dock on by a pair of docking ropes, was a twelve-foot boat, its mast and sail down. Exactly what I'd been looking for.

I looked around, wary of watchers. If someone had a gun on me already, I'd be a sitting duck. On the other hand, the dock was just barely outside of the pillbox that the marina gate made. I had to take the gamble.

Pulled over, parking on a tight angle to block the dock and give myself cover to grab my things. Slipping over to the passenger side and slid out of my pickup, I made sure my doors were locked, closing it as carefully and quietly as I could. The semi-automatic I'd taken off the gas station crew was in my belt where I could get it it quickly if needed, the revolver nestled comfortably in my jacket pocket. I grabbed my things from the back of the truck, a large camping backpack with my clothes and camping gear, and a bundle of food stuffed into a large duffle. Last was the rifle I'd lifted, also from the gas station bandits. It was heavy, but I didn't want to risk a second trip.

Keeping low, I moved to the boat, a wooden, floating high on its keel, and would have been lovingly preserved for a good forty or fifty years by this point. Perfect. Its front had a small covered section for cargo, and I crammed my bags into the front, beginning to workon the ropes. Someone had done a hell of a job on them, someone that wasn't great with ropes, knotting the lines poorly.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing," a woman's voice interrupted me and my head shot up. She was small, maybe five five, but she had curves. Her face scowled at me, huge green eyes under a mess of blonde hair hanging from a kerchief, she looked around thirty, she was scared, glancing around, and then back to me, brandishing a pocket knife as a weapon. Something in the back of my head clicked.

"Wendy Becker?" I couldn't believe it. I hadn't seen her since she was maybe ten, but she looked so much like her sisters I couldn't miss it. Recognition dawned in her eyes. I'd babysat her. I'd dated her eldest sister off and on through our teens, Gil had dated her middle sister too. My mom had told me she'd gone off to med school, doing the same regretful sigh about how things shook out with Grace and me.

Wendy cocked her head, to the right, her hips to the left and looked like she had as a little girl chasing me and her sister into the woods to ruin our makeup sessions, now staring back at me with adult eyes as she scanned my face, "holy shit, go looking for my sister and he's right there," she murmured, "Cal Travers." I waved, trying to smile innocently, one rope still in my hand.

A howl, low and animal filled the air, slowly twisting to a snarl, and Wendy snapped to attention, the knife in her hand falling to her hip. "You still know how to sail these," she motioned toward the little boat.

"Been a while, but I think so." Gil and I had a similar boat growing up that we were allowed to take out on the lake. We'd often sail back and forth to the Becker's place, as boys to play with the girls, and as teens to play with them in a different way. We'd won a boat race or two back then, and even a fishing challenge once or twice.

Wendy strode to me, all business, clearly a woman who was used to giving orders, "then I'll take care of the rope, you get this tub moving towards your family's place. They're coming."

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Growing up, my folks had been friends with the Beckers. They had a large piece of land a little north of Slead's Landing, right on the shore of the lake that was a three-season cottage. Their grandfather, a wealthy surgeon to the rich and political, had bought up the land with profits from creating a surgical tool, building the home, leaving it to their mom when he died.

Wendy's mother knew my dad growing up, and became friends with my mom. So, the tax attorney from the boondocks and his legal secretary wife spent a lot of time around the heirs of a fortune.

There were three girls, Grace, the oldest and within a couple of months of my age, Rebecca, the middle daughter who Gil would date, three years younger than me, and Wendy, the late surprise. Grace and Wendy both looked like their mom, 'small framed with not 'but a handful, though leggy with a great caboose,' as my dad once admitted after a beer too many. Wendy seemed to have followed suit.

Grace and I had been summer loves from fifteen through seventeen, when, with a month to go to my eighteenth birthday, she told me she was pregnant. Cue me in the military and a falling out between families. I hadn't seen any of them since, except a glimpse or two from a distance.

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The mast cranked up quickly on a heavy winch, and I got the oars ready - we'd need to paddle out to catch the breeze. Meanwhile, Wendy knelt over the keel, cursing while she worked on the ropes. Even in that tense moment, I couldn't help but watch her full, womanly, ass wave around.

We both looked up as another howl filled the air. Slead's is a valley at the marina end, opening up as it heads east along the south shore. On the western end, though, a steep set of hills surround it, and a thick thatch of trees protect the wealthier cottages from being seen by the hoi poloi. The sound was coming from those woods.

"What in the hell is going on, Wendy," I panted, the crank finally slamming stopped as it latched into place, "what is that?"

She popped up from the keel, a cut rope in her hand and we began pushing down the dock together, "you really haven't seen this before?"

"No, seen what?"

Wendy answered by pointing to the trees that marked the border between the rich shore house along the shore, and the small town. The trees and foliage moved crazily as bodies flung themselves through the woods. They shrieked and howled as the streamed across the marina, disappearing between the buildings, and emerged along the shore. My quick glance counted ten to twelve women, maybe three men, one of them a huge wall of flesh and muscle. I pushed us off as they began hopping across docks to get to us faster, and got to the oars.

"What the fuck is this," I shouted to Wendy over the howling of the pack as we spun the boat around off the end of the dock.

She stared at them, watching intently as the group, snarling and red eyed, closed on us. "My folks told us all to come to the lake house, they were getting a lift with Rebecca."

One of the men at the lead of the group, a small man, maybe even a teenager, caked in filth, wearing torn shreds of a hoodie and jeans, leapt from the dock, barely undershooting his target as he slammed a hand down on the boat, launching out of the water, he pulled the gunnel toward the waterline. Wendy pulled her knife out and slashed his hand. Howling, he fell back.

"I got here, they were nowhere in sight, but Grace's car was out front."

I hauled on the oars, jolting us forward as the rest of the pack, excepting the big one, leapt into the water, splashing after us in an uncoordinated frenzy. "The doors were all open, and I went in and saw her there in the middle of the family room, getting railed by the big one while the rest were having an orgy around them."

As if he knew he'd been called, the beast of a man leapt into the water, swimming toward us through the throng of limbs splashing our way, and as I followed him through the water, I spotted a familiar face among the pack. Grace, red eyed and raging. "She was one of them."

The pack was gaining on us, and I breathed relief as I felt a cool breeze hit my skin.

I hit the release and the sail slammed open, catching the breeze from the north-west, sending us out into the lake, finally out of reach of the snarling group of crazies.

Wendy turned to me, oddly calm, "I tried to get Gracie to leave with me. The big one, he was a guy from Slead's that ran the feed store. It was like they were nested in the house."

I was too shocked to reply, uh huh'ing along with her, and fiddling with the rigging to catch more wind, we were moving too slowly, and I wanted to be away from this mess.

"Grace wasn't even speaking any more, and the big guy flipped out, slapping the ground like a gorilla before he chased me out. I ended jumping into the boat and drifting over to Slead's yesterday."

Something jerked, and I immediately turned toward the stern as the handle for the tiller slapped into me sending us spinning back toward town.

"Shit," trying to push it back toward town, the boat lurched. The big one had gotten to us, he'd been holding onto the keel, and burst out of the water to grab at Wendy as he pulled himself up.

"Calvin!" He caught her by the hair as he tipped the boat dangerously climbing over the edge, we took on some water, and he sent Wendy slamming into the deck, roaring at me loudly like an angry ape. Well shit.

With the big brute between me and most of my gear, I grasped the sail crank and popped it out of the mooring, readying for what was coming. The big bastard didn't make me wait long as he awkwardly leapt down the short distance of the boat. I swung, smashing his jaw with the heavy metal crank handle, sending a splatter of blood and teeth flying, a hit that would put any man I'd ever encountered down. He fell backward, carried by the momentum of the blow, and crumpled onto the deck.

Wendy was coming around and saw me moving toward the mountainous man.

"No, he's tougher-"

But I saw what she meant too late as the bulk of the man rumbled like a landslide and his fist hit me squarely in the chest, knocking the wind from me in a rush. I fell, smashing into the keel and gasping like a rookie as the beast advanced on me and my vision swam.

The huge man lifted a massive foot, big feet covered in steel-toe boots, the laces dancing wildly. I kicked out, desperate, seeing the end in front of me, and got lucky. The man doubled, wailing as my size eleven smashed his balls.

Wendy leapt up before him as I drifted, screaming bloody murder, the flash of her knife the last thing I saw. Something hot splattered my face, and I was gone.

When I swam out of the blackness, the back of my head was killing me, and a blood-stained Little Wendy Becker was hovering over me, strips of one of my old t-shirts in hand.

"Aaahhh fuuuuck me," I winced at the fading sun on the horizon. "How long was I down?"

"Longer than I'd like," she deadpanned, making me lift my head, looking at the back, sucking her teeth, and then tying another strip 'round it. "That'll soak up the blood, but we ought to get a better look soon.

Sitting up, I scanned the boat, seeing only my bag of cloth's open on the deck, and a bloody splatter up the sail. "What happened?"

"I stabbed him in the neck and pushed him overboard."

I laughed, winced, "you're cold blooded kid, thanks" I covered my eyes to block the sun. "Aah, that stings."

Her hand was cool on my forehead, and she probed me in a few spots along my abdomen, propping my head up on her thigh. "It's a concussion. I don't think it's too bad, but you bled a lot."

Wendy frowned, feeling the small scars on the left side of my neck, and their friends that were peppered up the side of my scalp. "Christ, was this a concussion too?"

I closed my eyes, fighting nausea, "'bout five, six years ago... RPG strike. Bell got rung, it got my spotter, and I was able to cut my twenty a little, so..." I held up my hand and rotated it in a comsi-comsa motion.

Wendy frowned, looking me over, slipping a finger under my collar to check my chest. "Those army docs really just patch you up and send you off, huh?"

I chuckled. "So mom was right, you're a doctor?"

Wendy smiled and looked at my recent wounds from the encounter with the road bandits that attacked Faith. "Yup. I did my residence for emergency medicine, and I was working on a degree in human chemistry after COVID. Sciences of attractions, better medication targeting, shit like that. You keep busy too, huh? These are fresh."

I struggled, sitting up so she would stop checking every injury and scar, the concussion talk reminding me of things I'd rather forget, "yeah. Yeah, I've been trying to get here for a bit since I was sick. My folks passed in the 'smoke, figured I'd come looking for Gil."

"You were sick? That's good," Wendy mused, "be careful, you might not be steady yet."

"Why's that good?"

"If you survive the infection, and then don't have the mutation that turns you into one of... one of them, you end up being immune to Freddie and the other effects and vectors it presents. Maybe even other venereal diseases and..." I stopped, my head swimming, and pressed my hand to the mast.

"Freddie is an STD?"

"Sort of, yeah," Wendy nodded, "but it mutated somehow, mutated a lot, and then got into the water supply."

I winced into the sun, spotting the island in the distance, thank god we'd been drifting the right direction, "is that why survivors have such a, uh," I drifted, losing the words, miming pelvic thrusting.

"Heightened sex drive? Absolutely, pheromone perception, autonomic breeding selectivity, and other things I heard too."

I slipped down to one knee, finding the crank handle for the mast, and lowered the sail. "I don't know if I can row the last l'il bit." Wendy obliged me, and took the rowers seat, looking tiny. "I'd love to hear all about this later, but right now..."

Wendy heaved, her small frame surprisingly powerful, and we began to inch forward in the water towards my family's little piece of land.

"Sure," she huffed, "the six-one badass gets a boo boo and the hundred pound girl has to save the day."

My head swam, but the nausea was backing off. Wobbly legged, I plopped to the wooden seat across from Wendy, closing one eye to make things stop spinning. "You sound just like your sister."

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My grandad inherited a small island from his father, a pear-shaped piece of land a few hundred yards from shore who's narrow end was a huge bald grey rock, and opened up down a hill to trees, moss, and a blessedly high shoreline on about an acre-and-a-half.

Great-grandad built a modest house there, dug a well, built a couple of docks, and in a year where business was good, but land was cheap, he bought a sliver of land directly on the shore, and built a landing there so he didn't have to row the mile-and-a-half from Slead's Landing to get there. When his father passed, Grandad got the property, his sister and her husband the house, and his other brother a 'fuck you,' for what, I am not sure.

In his time, Grandad rebuilt the boat house, and put one across the way on the mainland. He added to the house a bit, and built a couple of small guest buildings, and put in the basics my grandmother demanded: power, running water from the well, a tub, a stove, and so on.

When my dad, the only child got it, inflation had changed the game, and he wasn't as handy as grandad, so he mostly just kept it in good shape, updating and repairing as he went.