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Damocles chapter 6
Being caught up in the maelstrom of the end of days had taught Chris some very valuable lessons. The most important of which was Life; it’s said that a man is only truly alive when he knows he is dying.
Well Chris was dying and it felt wonderful; every lungful of sea air that he inhaled took him closer to his grave. “It’s only a matter of time” Chris thought to himself, “one day they’ll get me but f*** it, until they do I’m alive, alive and for once able to make a difference….”.
The dinghy, finally crossing the short distance between the Damocles and the shore bumped gently against the now deserted jetty of pier 19. Chris; drawn once more to the sky above, noted with pleasure the clear blue sky and dazzling sun, completely oblivious to the carnage being wrought below it.
The skipper roped and knotted the dinghy to the wooden struts of the jetty, using skills honed from a lifetime afloat the skipper stood up, balancing against the swell and surge of the tide and clambered up the wooden ladder with an agility even a cat would be proud of.
Chris followed the skipper like a mule, sure and steady, afraid of drowning and clowning in equal measure.
Once on the piers wooden, well trodden boards Chris took in the view of a postcard sent straight from zip code 666. The lack of noise and distraction told the tale of a world in ruins...
Fires, now smouldering, sent smoke signals heralding the end of the plastic age and the replacement of Homo sapiens with Homo cadaverosus.
The skipper, punching Chris’s arm somewhat harder than necessary whispered “they’re holed up over there by the forklift truck” ….Chris didn’t need the skippers arm pointing, to work out where the refugees of the apocalypse were staying…..
As the survivors rushed out of the storage facility and began hugging and kissing the stunned rescuers, Chris couldn’t help but remember the black and white footage of the liberation of Belsen….”surely we haven’t fallen this far again?” thought Chris his soul seared from searching for an unimaginable answer.
Several minutes had passed; gentle backslapping and vigorous handshaking over, the throng fell back and Chris found himself facing an elderly man in a tweed jacket, unlit pipe hanging rakishly from his mouth.
“Yardley, Herbert Yardley, damned glad to meet you” stated the high browed, intellectually appearing man in front of Chris. The one time writer replied “I’m Chris, this is the skipper” as he hooked a thumb towards the well creased captain.
Herbert coughed and said “nice to meet you but perhaps it might be wise to leave, before our flesh fixated friends realise there’s a bunch of ready meals on offer?”
The skipper turned and said “ fine then boss man, sort it out, women and children first”, with that the skipper pulled his rifle off his back and deftly removed the frontal lobe of an approaching corpse.
Herbert swiftly began separating the survivors and moments later five woman and two children were moving with all speed towards the dinghy. Chris could see that approaching from the far side of the harbour were a couple of dozen walking dead, flesh in their sights and teeth bared, the corpses ambled ever on towards their blackened hearts desire.
Loosing off volley after volley of high velocity fire, the skipper ended the miserable existence of several of the dead but the rest continued to move forward, now only fifty feet away.
Chris watched a panicked man run back into the former “safe house” and slammed the doors shut. The sound of bolts slamming home was a potential death sentence for the frightened crowd awaiting rescue.
Turning to Chris the skipper snarled and shouted “ get the f*** out of here Chris before I shoot you myself”, his face was set like stone but his eyes were twinkling like diamonds, full of pride and friendship.
Chris nodded and ran to the ladder and descended, he looked around one last time to see the men folk running in all directions trying to evade the ghouls, now only a heartbeat away.
Only the skipper and Herbert stood firm, their advanced age a major factor in their bravery.
The dinghy was full of tears, whimpers and excess weight, Chris undid the rope and pushed away from the pier with an oar and a curse.
Arms heavy and muscles strained, Chris reached the Damocles guilt his companion and regret his new best friend. Fighting back tears Chris lashed the dinghy and spent the longest time helping the survivors of pier 19 aboard the Damocles.
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