“Just think of how much food and supplies are on that boat,” Wes chimed in.
“And how many zeds do you think are on that boat between us and any supplies?” Clutch asked.
“You’re lead on this mission, but what’s the harm in just going in near enough to scout it out?” Griz said. “As long as it’s stuck in the lock, it could be an emergency food run if it’s not too heavily damaged. Besides, we can’t head back to the Aurora yet, not until the herds are further away.”
We all watched Clutch hopefully. While I trusted his judgment—his gut was never wrong—a part of me imagined the Lady Amore as the Titanic and that we could rescue any survivors who remained. Since the outbreak, nearly everything we did revolved around simply surviving. The chance to save even one person from the zeds brought hope that we could eventually win this war. Even though the realistic part of my brain pointed out the hopeless odds of surviving a zed herd.
Clutch sighed. “All right, but we wait until we are sure the herd can’t see, smell, or hear us. So, dig in. We have at least a couple more hours to wait.”
And the waiting continued.
Three hours and forty-seven minutes later, Clutch broke the silence. “Okay. We’ll go in slow and keep to the east bank. We can’t do a thing to draw the herd’s attention, got it?”
We all came to full attention. No one smiled because we all knew that going near anything where zeds had been a day earlier was dangerous.
“It’s the right thing,” Kurt said as he climbed into the pilot’s seat.
“Before we go, take five,” Clutch said. “We’re not heading into that clusterfuck half-cocked.”
After we checked and double-checked our weapons, Kurt started the motor, and then reached back and pulled up the anchor. He kept the motor at idle as he weaved through the trees that had camouflaged us all night. The wind was out of the northwest, so any noise from the boat was carried harmlessly to the southeast.
Once clear of the trees, Kurt cut the engine, and we rode the current toward the lock. We all searched for survivors as well as for zeds. No zeds remained on the ledges, but I could already make out at least a hundred on the top deck of the riverboat. Kurt kept the boat on the eastern edge, so the tall, concrete lock served as a wall between us and the migrating herds. Even though they were now several miles away, we’d all long since learned that one of the secrets to survival was to be overly, obsessively careful. The other secret? Having a shitload of luck.
“Careful not to get caught in the lock,” Griz said.
“Trust me, Sarge. I know what I’m doing,” Kurt replied.
I’d almost echoed Griz’s words. The riverboat blocked the entire opening to the lock, with smaller boats and debris lodged around it. Kurt pulled the boat closer and slowed to a stop.
Any hope I had of finding survivors, or at least access to food and supplies, was quickly drowned. The riverboat was filled with zeds. Through the windows, we could see zeds standing shoulder-to-shoulder. “We’re not going in there,” I said quietly. “Any food or supplies is a lost cause.”
Clutch grimaced. “The riverboat is a no-go. Let’s head back to the levee.”
Kurt started to turn the boat around. Something thumped against the hull.
Griz leaned over the edge and then staggered back. “The water is full of zeds! They’re floating just below the surface. Get out of here!”
Kurt throttled forward, but the motor ground and then died.
“They’re getting tangled in the props!” Wes cried out.
“Grab the oars,” Clutch ordered. “No gunfire.”