Pathogen - Chapter 15

November is not an ideal month to visit the beach. Chiefly, it’s too cold, and the dark gray clouds barely visible against the black night sky threatened to snow. Stones skittered underfoot, this was not a warm, sandy beach even in the summer. Most of the locals preferred to lounge in the tepid waters of the rivers inland throughout the summer. The only redeeming quality of this beach was the smell of the salt spray, and the soothing sound of crashing surf.

Steve found the sea air noisome, and the breaking waves overwhelming. He paused, already far behind his friends, and looked out over the ocean. Imagining walking into the frigid salt water made him shiver through his thick bomber jacket. Scruffy probably would have enjoyed himself here, he thought. The dog loved the water, and it didn’t seem to matter much what the time of year was.

With a sigh, Steve pulled himself away from the siren call of the sea. Shaking his head, he tried to picture a sunny outcome for him, but nothing came to mind. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind anymore that he had the flu, it had all become clear that he was turning into a zombie. He’d seen the change take place countless times before in movies and video games, but he still had trouble imagining it for himself. It was impossible to imagine the shift where he’d change from happy-go-lucky Steve into a walking corpse that hungered for the warm flesh of his friends and loved ones. With a start, Steve realised that he wasn’t really happy-go-lucky anymore. He wondered if that meant it was already starting.

Already he was having trouble walking. It took a lot of effort to keep up the pace he’d set for himself. His feet dragged behind him one after another in time with the rolling thunder of the breaking surf. A bemused smile played at his harried face as he realised he was walking like a zombie now. He wouldn’t blame anybody if they mistook him for one now.

Gazing ahead, Steve caught sight of his friends again. They’d come to a stop at a rocky outcropping adjacent to the breakwater. He wondered to himself if they’d paused for his benefit, or just to take a break before tackling the treacherous crossing.

Breakwater Point owes its less than inspired name to the breakwater which connects the island to the mainland. A typical breakwater is made of piled rocks, and is paved with a road to serve as a causeway. Nothing could be so simple, however, and the municipality of Fog City had never paved the breakwater. Instead, they had allowed the jumbled heap of enormous boulders to serve as a makeshift pedestrian crossing. Years ago, before the lighthouse had been abandoned thanks to the widespread use of radar in commercial shipping, the island’s keeper had elected to row out to the mainland from his private dock on the opposite side of the landing. Now that the four friends were facing their crossing, they saw the wisdom in that.

The stones jutted out of the beach and eclipsed the surface of the water by several feet. Covered in a thick mat of slick seaweed, the constant spray of the sea promised for a slick crossing. The November chill even threatened ice, making the crossing all the more dangerous. The government had posted a sign reading, “NO TRESPASSING,” and the four friends could easily guess why.

“I’m not so sure this is such a good idea,” Aaron was the first to voice their concerns.

Turning to face Aaron, Grace glowered at him, “Do you mean to tell me you’ve got a better idea? Have you been holding out on us all along?”

Aaron hung his head. “No,” he told his shoes.

Cliff turned to Steve and gently laid a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to do this,” he told him.

“I know,” Steve nodded, “But I may as well see you guys off from the other side as here.”

Seeing his friend was determined, Cliff dropped the subject and moved on to more practical things. “How are we getting the supplies across?”

“I’ll carry them,” Aaron volunteered.

Grace eyed the scrawny boy, “Are you sure you’re up for the task, slugger?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Aaron mock apologised, “Did you want to carry them?”

Grace held up her hands in protest and turned away. She and Cliff each needed a free hand to carry their guns with, and she could tell Steve was going to have his hands full just with the crossing. If anybody could do it, it would have to be Aaron.

Turning to face Breakwater Point, Grace estimated the trek would be several hundred metres. Several hundred metres of treacherous terrain and subfreezing temperatures. With a sigh, she pulled herself up onto the first rock. Aaron followed close behind her, basket of goods in tow.

Before climbing up himself, Cliff turned to regard Stee again. “Are you sure you can do this?” he asked.

Steve eyed the jagged rocks, the crashing surf, and the icy water below. “Sure,” he lied, “Slow and steady wins the race, right?”

Cliff nodded and set off , using the but of the shotgun as a sort of walking stick. Steve thought that was incredibly unsafe, but didn’t point it out. He was more concerned with surviving the crossing than anything else at the moment.

Lurching ahead, Steve took hold of the rock and attempted to hoist himself up. His muscles seemed to be working for him in fits and starts. At parts of his ascent he found it simple enough to pull himself up, but sometimes for a moment his arms would tremble and shake, and twice he almost fell back to the beach. Thus far he had mastered slow, now he just needed to work on steady.

Finally pulling himself onto the rock, Steve surveyed the crossing. Grace and Aaron had already practically left him behind, but Cliff was near at hand. Steve knew he was waiting to see if he could make the crossing unassisted.

“Are you sure you can do this?” Cliff asked again.

Steve shook the question off, “What, do you want to hold my hand or something?”

“Would it help?”

“No,” Steve shook his head, “If I fell, I’d probably just take you with me.”

Seeing the logic in that, Cliff turned to resume his crossing. He was careful not to get too far ahead of Steve in case he needed help. Steve took great care in coercing his uncooperative limbs into working for him. A single misstep and he’d likely wind up in the ocean. If he was having this much trouble crawling across the stones, he couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to swim to shore. Drowning seemed more likely than breaching the surface.

Far ahead already, Aaron and Grace were clambering over the boulders. The wind had grown fierce, and the crashing waves had them practically soaked through already.

“It’s cold,” Aaron complained.

Grace didn’t have patience for him. “You live in Canada,” she informed him, “The cold has no influence on you. Ice flows through your veins.”

“Wouldn’t I be colder if I had ice in me?” he asked, “That doesn’t even make sense.”

Grace didn’t answer him and simply kept pushing forward. Glumly, Aaron followed after her. He was convinced that he’d lose an ear, or maybe even his nose, to frostbite. If he’d known they’d be doing this when he went out for chips, he would’ve brought a hat or something.

Meanwhile, much further back, Steve was beginning to see how impossible the task before him was. His fingers were frozen through from gripping the cold, wet stones and he’d only managed to make it a quarter of the way across. Numbness crept throughout his body, and he wondered if it was owing to the cold, or the disease that was killing him.

Frustration washed over him. He was bitter that he was dying, and jealous that his friends were at the doorstep of salvation. They would keep on living while his life was tragically cut short. There would be no dignity in his death, simply zombification, followed by murder or the destruction of his brain. There were so many things he wanted to do with his life, but due to random chance he’d never be able to accomplish any of them. Tears of bitter anger and frustration welled in his eyes as he furiously tried to blink them away.

Cliff turned to check on him and noticed his distress from several metres away. “Are you okay?” he shouted to be heard.

“I’m fine,” Steve explained, not willing to look his friend in the eye, “It’s just the wind in my face.”

“What?” Cliff shouted over the howling wind and thunderous waves, “I can’t hear you!”

Steve realised the futility of shouting into the ground to be heard, and lurched to his feet. He screamed back at his friend, “I’m fine!”

A tremendous wave crashed over them both, and Cliff lost sight of Steve. When the icy curtain passed over him, he realised Steve wasn’t on the breakwater anymore. Steve had vanished from sight completely.

Cliff turned to shout over his shoulder for help. Grace and Aaron stopped to see what the commotion was and caught sight of Cliff hurrying over the rocks. He’d thrown caution to the wind and was practically running across the treacherous path.

Coming to the point where his friend had fallen, Cliff cast about looking for him. Directly below, the stone he was standing on was itself resting on another stone barely above the surface. Steve’s unmoving body was below.

Wedging the shotgun between two rocks, Cliff climbed down the face of the boulder Steve had fallen from. The way down was even more treacherous than the crossing thus far, but Cliff had to help his friend. Planting his feet firmly on the ground, Cliff found the rocky shelf barely large enough to hold them both. He turned to inspect his friend’s injuries. The fall wasn’t terribly far, but Steve must have thrown his arms out to break his fall. Instead, the fall had broken his arm. Steve’s forearm was bent at an unruly angle, and Cliff noted with some surprise that the bone had not pierced the skin.

The fall had rendered him senseless, so Cliff helped him to his feet. “Wake up, buddy,” he cooed, “We’re going to get you through this.”

Steve’s eyes opened slowly, and at once Cliff knew his friend was gone. In place of the smile behind his eyes, Cliff could only see a burning, ravenous hunger. Steve snarled and seized a hold of his former friend with his one working arm. Together they wrestled on the icy shelf of stone. Cliff knew it was the end for Steve, and threw all his weight into wrenching him off balance. Steve was thrown headfirst into the tempestuous sea, and Cliff was rewarded for his efforts by falling heavily on his rear. Cliff’s own legs fell into the sea up to his knee, and these he pulled ashore as if scalded.

Climbing unsteadily to his feet, Cliff observed the sea. He was searching for any sign of his friend. Minutes passed, and none had come to him. Shaking his head, he fought to banish the memory of Steve’s last moments from his mind. He tried to remember his friend as the smart mouthed kid that he’d known in life, and not the monster he’d become in death.

Turning his back on his friend’s watery grave, Cliff started the climb back up to the crossing. It had been a long night, but he felt like it was just getting started.