Charlie headed out for the shopping district once more. She had been here three days now, and still no sign of this Henry guy. She had no current address, just a name and the knowledge that he and Ben had worked together in Portsmouth before the Big Z. There had been letters from him in Ben’s stuff. No address, but talking about how Portsmouth was recovering and growing. He was always asking Ben to come and visit, but he clearly hadn’t. Maybe the loss of his family would have brought up too many sad memories. Charlie had visited the memorial that had been erected in the square outside the new town hall – their names had been two of the hundreds engraved on all four sides of the monolith that stood six foot tall and three foot wide. 100,000 names from one city alone. Each name had had their date of birth beside them, and the number of children and babies listed tore her heart. She wondered if there had been a monument erected in her hometown, and whose names were on it. Her parents had died before the outbreak, so she had no close family left to lose. But she knew plenty of childhood friends had perished in those first months before the military had managed to roll out a protection and extermination strategy that had an impact on the numbers of people being turned. She wasn’t sure what was worse – watching your loved ones be torn apart by shriekers, or watching them become shriekers and see them get put down.  Poor Ben had experienced both when his wife had become infected and killed their daughter.

************************************************************************

Charlie knocked and entered Ben’s cabin without waiting for an answer. He had been on the ship for 10 months now, and they had sunk into a routine. She would go round between shifts and they would shoot the breeze – drinking, reading, telling each other a little about their past, gossiping about the other passengers. This time, though, Charlie was brought up short. Ben had started without her. His bottle of whiskey, new yesterday, was almost half empty – his eyes were bloodshot, and torn pieces of paper were strewn around the cabin like a snowstorm. “What’s up Ben?” Charlie asked.

Ben looked up at her from his seated position on the floor, his legs spread-eagled out in front of him, one shoe on, the other foot clad only in a much patched sock. A puddle of vomit was steaming to one side of him, and he had some splattered down his shirt. “Sara?” he asked, his voice wobbly with tears. “Nope, it’s Charlie, Ben. Who’s Sara?” 

Visibly disappointed, he looked down at his empty glass, and swiped at the bottle, missing and knocking it over instead. Charlie walked over and picked the bottle up, taking a large gulp herself for courage, before screwing the lid back on and standing it on a high shelf out of the way. “I think you’ve had enough Ben.” she said, trying to wrestle the glass away from him. Resisting, he flailed his free hand, knocking it into her face, and catching her lip. From the sting, she knew she would have a fat lip tomorrow. “Fuck off, Charlie,” he moaned rolling over and away from her, unfortunately straight onto the puddle of vomit.

“Right, that’s it,” she muttered, and grabbed him under the armpits, hauling him to his feet, and dragging him backwards out into the corridor. You need a cold shower and strong coffee. Although he was much taller than her, he was stringy and thin, whereas she still worked out daily, trying to keep as much of her muscle tone as she could. She walked backwards, his head lolling to one side, and his heels dragging along the corridor. the other shoe came loose, giving up its hold on his foot, and she left it behind, not wanting to put him down. Luckily, these were the deluxe cabins, and each bathroom was assigned to only four rooms. He was only next door, and she soon heaved him across the threshold into the bathroom, where she plonked him on the toilet and turned on the shower. She hauled him fully dressed into the bath and let him splutter and cough under the cold stream of water before turning it up and helping him out of his clothes. After a few minutes, he showed signs of becoming more self aware, and she turned off the taps. “Stay here while I grab you a towel from your room.” He looked down and blushed as he realised he was only in his boxers, and nodded once. Charlie nipped next door, grabbed the towel hanging on the hook on the back of the door and ran back, throwing it at him. She waited while he wrapped it around his waist, then walked him back to his room, calling for coffee and a cleaner to service the mess. They both sat in silence as the cleaner came and cleared up the vomit, and the coffee was delivered, Ben shivering slightly from time to time in just his towel. As soon as the coffee pot was placed on his desk, she poured two cups and he gratefully sipped the dark, hot nectar, both shaking hands wrapped around the cup. He was clearly in no condition to talk, so once he had finished, she helped him to his bed and went back to her own cabin, taking all the alcohol she could find with her. He was asleep, or passed out, before she closed the door.

The next morning she awoke to a knock at her cabin door. Groggily, she staggered to the door and pulled it open, groaning when she saw Ben standing there, two steaming take-away coffee cups in hand. She turned and went back to the bed, leaving the door open behind her, and he followed her in. He handed her a cup as she sat on the bed, and he took the room’s only chair. They each stared into their cups for a few minutes without speaking.

Without warning he began to speak in a low, controlled voice. “I’m sorry about last night, Charlie. Sorry, and embarrassed you had to see me like that. I respect you, and I don’t want to lose your friendship, so I am going to give you an explanation. Once I’m finished, I would appreciate it if we never mentioned it again.

“The 15th of July is the anniversary of my wife and daughter’s death. My daughter would also have turned 25 today. She died on her 16th birthday. And she was killed by my wife.”

The stark, unembroidered sentence made the statement all the more shocking. Charlie froze, then lowered her coffee cup without taking a sip. She didn’t speak, just waited for him to continue.

“The outbreak had just started hitting the news. We were trying to keep things normal for her, so we decided to carry on with her party. My wife had come home the night before with a fever, but we still decided to go ahead. We didn’t know she had been infected. I had no idea how it had happened until they announced that the root had been a batch of so-called tetanus injections. We had been planning a trip to Africa, and we’d both gone for jabs. I still don’t know how I avoided the infection and she didn’t. Anyway, the next morning she was pretty far gone, sweating, red-eyed, ravenously hungry. Sara was devastated, but we carried on regardless. She came up to show her mum her party dress just before it started, and that’s when my world ended. May grabbed her, and had ripped into her before I knew what was happening. I pulled her way, but it was too late; she died in my arms. I thought I’d be next, but May had caught the noise of the other children in the back garden. She rampaged through them. The screams, the sickening crunching noises, the crying… I grabbed the axe we used for firewood out of the shed and took her head off. The blood. All that blood, all over the garden. Parents screaming, injured, trying to protect their children. Sobbing, moaning from those not dead. Someone called the emergency services from my kitchen phone. That was the last I saw of them all. We were all taken and quarantined.

“Well, that’s the gist of it.” He got to his feet, avoiding Charlie’s eyes, and left her room.

************************************************************************

Ben and Charlie had never talked about it again. The next year Ben wasn’t as bad. He was drunk, but not to the point of vomiting. They had come to an unspoken agreement. As long as he didn’t drink enough to throw up and pass out, she was able to leave him to it and pretend it never happened.

Charlie pushed the thoughts of the past to the back of her mind. Today she was going to relax and enjoy being on land once more. She’d walk to the shopping district, have a fancy coffee at the cafe, and people watch until lunchtime. Then she’d enjoy a slap up meal that she hadn’t had to cook herself, and maybe buy a dress. She hadn’t worn a dress since before the outbreak. It felt like a watershed moment, claiming a little of her old life back.

She strolled across the town, through the middle-class east district, into the upper class south district, and into the town centre, where shops, cafes and city buildings spiralled out from the monolith at its heart. It was a beautiful sunny August morning, with barely a cloud in the sky. Sparrows flitted between buildings, chattering to each other. The odd cat slunk around the buildings, clearly trying to catch a meal. They were all skinny and feral – most people didn’t have the means to feed and look after animals as well as themselves, so cats and dogs had taken to the streets to fend for themselves. It seemed the cats had been more successful, as she was yet to see a dog. 

Picking the cafe closest to the centre of the town, she sat outside on a bench and watched people strolling by. It was a Sunday, and people were enjoying the time off. She saw a couple smooching against a tree, and smiled as she sipped very good coffee. Somebody must be growing it. She was distracted by a wet tongue licking her arm. With a very un-army-like squeal she pulled away, until she saw that she was being greeted by a beautiful, three legged dog. His tongue lolled at her, and he looked like he was smiling. His coat was shiny and smooth, and he looked very well fed. He was clearly not a stray – she would have to rearrange her thoughts on the lack of pets front. Perhaps things had changed more than she realised. “Hello beautiful” she murmured to him, holding out her fist for him to sniff. He danced closer, gave her another lick, then danced away again, bowing down with his front leg and sticking his bottom into the air. He was clearly hopeful for a game. “Sorry buddy, nothing to throw for you.” 

“He wouldn’t bring it back anyway,” a deep, gravelly voice answered from behind her. Startled, she swung round and saw a tall, well-built man, his defined muscles and tanned skin shown off to advantage in his short-sleeved t-shirt. His eyes were a pale, striking grey, and he would have been pretty if it hadn’t been for the once-broken nose, and the faint scar running along  his jawline. With those he looked dangerous. “Hi,” he said, holding out his hand and trying a winning smile. His teeth were even and white; he must have found some really good toothpaste supplies. “I’m Sam. I hear you’re looking for my Dad.”