The ship docked at Southampton’s cruise liner terminal a week later.

“You’re ahead of schedule,” the customs officer said as he was welcomed on board. “Yes,” replied  Jonathon, handing over the relevant docking forms to the officer. “Unfortunately we’ve had a death on board. We need to arrange for a cremation and disposal of the body.”

“No sign of infection?”

“Nope, the on-board doctor took the necessary precautions, but there were no warning signs, so we’re all clear. Here’s the certification.”

The officer took the paperwork and attached it to his clipboard. “Thanks. We’ll send over a medical examiner to confirm, then you’ll be able to offload and get the body to a funeral home.”

Charlie followed the body off the ship, carrying a duffel bag with her belongings and a box with Ben’s prize possessions. 

“Charlie!” 

She turned at Jonathon’s call. “I have to go, Jonathon; I’m going to take him home. To whatever family he has left. They deserve to know he’s dead.”

Jonathon looked at her, her posture once more straight and confident, as it had been since she had made her decision a few days ago. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and reached almost to her waist, sleek and straight. She had always favoured the styles of the seventies over the teased, bouffant hairstyles favoured when the world went to shit back in 1986. “Just be careful out there. It may have been 16 years, but they’re still out there; it’s still dangerous.”

Charlie nodded, raised her hand briefly, and headed off after the body, her duffel slung easily over one shoulder.  Jonathon shook his head as he turned towards the supply officer to discuss restocking the ship before they headed back out into deeper waters. She had always been a woman of few words, even back in 1992 when she had first approached him for a job on board. She had certainly been a coiled spring back then – fresh out of the army, cropped hair, all bone and sinew, and shell-shocked to hell. He just hoped that the last 10 years had allowed her to heal enough to face the hell that the world had become.

Little did he know, Charlie was thinking pretty much the same thing. Even after 10 years on the boat, she still woke up screaming from nightmares from time to time. Would the reality turn out to be better or worse than her memories?

Charlie watched the flames consume Ben’s body, watching it collapse in on itself and turn to ash. The heat on her face, even from behind the protective screen, was immense, and took her back to the days of fire and fighting in the early days of the Big Z. She closed her eyes and turned her back, forcing her thoughts back to the present and away from the screams, groans and growls that filled her nightmares. As she waited for the ashes to cool, she took an item out of Ben’s box – his favourite book – and remembered.

“Hi there, can I help you with those boxes?” Charlie watched the man, extremely tall and almost scarecrow-like in his thin-ness, push a pile of boxes across the deck towards the upper cabins. He was wearing a blue and white Hawaiian shirt, board shorts and flip flops, and his silver hair was tied back in a tail at his neck. He straightened and turned towards her, his pale blue eyes squinting into the sun. It was the hottest summer since the Big Z, and people were moving onto boats in droves to try and get away from the stench on land. Only the sea could offer fresh, clean air this summer. The clean-up was well underway, and had been for nearly two years, but there were so many bodies to clear, and those were just the ones that were no longer moving. 

“You certainly look like you could shift a few boxes without breaking a sweat. Have at it.” He stepped aside and waved at the boxes. “An old man like me needs all the help he can get.” She liked that he wasn’t afraid to accept help from a woman, and hefted up a box. It turned out they were heavier than they looked. She staggered, before catching her balance and nodding her head to the man. “Lead the way.” As they walked she initiated conversation, something the rest of the crew would have found surprising. “So what have you got in these? Rocks?”

“Books. Lots and lots of books. A lifetime’s collection.”

“Just books? No other possessions?”

“Other than a few clothes and photos, there’s nothing else important to me. These remind me of a more pleasant time. Do you read?”

“Not really, other than cook books. I’m the ship’s chef.”

“Ah, then I look forward to trying the cuisine.”

Charlie stayed to help him unpack his books, which filled every surface of the cabin once they were finished. All hard backs, all classics. She ran her fingers over the gold-embossed spines, enjoying the dichotomy of the rough leather and the smooth gold lettering. “How have you managed to keep hold of all these for all these years?  They’re not easy to run with.”

“I was lucky. I found somewhere safe to stay.”

“What made you leave? Come here?”

“Maybe one day I’ll tell you.” his smile took the sting out of his words, but Charlie still felt embarrassed. She hadn’t asked a single member of their crew about their back story over the last 8 years, and yet she felt the urge to pry into this man’s past within five minutes of introducing herself? What had she been thinking? She ducked her head, a blush creeping over her porcelain-pale skin. Her freckles stood out even more against the rosy glow.

Ben noticed and was reminded of his daughter. They were probably of similar ages. He held out the book he was shelving. The Wind in the Willows. “Here, try this out when you get tired of reading your cook books. It was my daughter’s favourite growing up.”

“Thanks. She reached out and took it, recognising it as the overture it was, and pushed down her curiosity about the little titbit he’d dropped about his daughter.

Charlie clutched The Wind in the Willows to her chest as the  cooled ashes were poured into an old oxo tin, ready for transportation. Time to head into the great unknown, for the first time in 10 years. Tin and book went into her old army rucksack. Her pistol, freshly cleaned and loaded, was strapped to her left thigh, ready for a quick draw, her old assault rifle strapped to the side of her bag. “Watch out world; here I come,” she muttered as she headed for the nearest transport station.