Chapter 37: Standoff: Part I
The fishing vessel motored southward down the river, surrounded by darkness. The four survivors of the Riverside ordeal wearily entered the small superstructure near the bow of the boat and made their way to the front cabin, where they found a couple who must have been in their mid-thirties. Francis gravitated toward the back, his dour posture and manner in stiff contrast to the youngest two members of his group, who were eager to meet these new survivors.
The woman, a plain blonde dressed in jeans and a tattered jacket, smiled at them. "Glad you folks made it. I'm Amanda Slater."
Bill shook her hand as he introduced himself and the others. "Thanks for coming to get us."
"We owe you our lives," Zoey chipped in gratefully.
The older woman simply nodded, while the man at the controls finally turned away from the window to face them. He had tousled black hair, an average build, rugged features, and wore a fishing vest over a bloodstained shirt.
"The name's John Slater," he said, shaking everyone's hands. "I'm happy you all made it out of that mess in one piece. It sure sounded like there were a lot of Infected up there at the lighthouse."
"You have no idea," Louis replied.
"I'm glad I don't," he chuckled.
"Where you folks headed?" Bill asked crisply as he pulled out a cigarette from the breast pocket of his jacket. Amanda scowled, and John looked as though he might comment on the older man's smoking. Whatever he saw in those steely grey eyes, however, seemed to change his mind.
"There's a small military stronghold down the river. As far as we know, it provides armed support for several minor settlements in the area, where survivors are still trickling in."
"That's good news," Louis said.
"Where did you two come from?" Zoey asked, very interested to learn their stories.
"Harrisburg, a town further down the river," Amanda replied. "It was overrun a few days ago, and we heard about the army being up in Riverside, so we figured we'd try our luck. But they were gone by the time we got there."
"Looks like you're in the same boat as us."
No one laughed at Louis' lame joke. His voice, however, reminded Zoey of the injuries he had sustained back at the lighthouse.
"Louis took some shrapnel to his arm just before," she said, motioning to him, and then turning back to face John. "You wouldn't happen to have any sterilised tweezers, would you?"
"Sure. We have some gear below deck. Come with me and I'll show you." He looked over at Amanda. "Would you take the controls, dear, while I show this lovely young lady where our medical supplies are?"
The older woman's expression flickered to something tight and drawn for a moment, before resuming its passive and mild state. "Of course," she replied, turning to take the throttle.
"Make yourselves comfortable," John said to the others of the group, who were staying in the cabin with Amanda. "Follow me," he said lightly to Zoey.
He led her outside, and then down some stairs into the sub-deck hold. It was a dark space with sparse light, courtesy of a number of lamps swinging overhead. Miscellaneous supplies could be seen shelved all around the room.
"It's a nice boat you have here," Zoey said conversationally as she gazed around.
"Why, thank you," John replied pleasantly. He pointed to a box sitting on the floor at the far end of the room. "That's where we keep the medical stuff."
"Have you run into any other survivors?" Louis asked Amanda as she steered the boat down the river.
"We encountered a small group a while back, but they weren't armed well enough." She sounded sorrowful. "Didn't even have guns. The poor things didn't stand a chance."
"What happened to them?"
"They didn't make it."
An uncomfortable silence fell over the cabin, and Bill could not help feeling slightly uneasy.
Amanda glanced at her watch to see that it had been over five minutes since her husband had taken the young woman downstairs. Finally, she let out a nervous chuckle. "I don't know what's taking them so long. John wouldn't be able to find his own head if it wasn't screwed on."
Louis shot her a smile, and Bill nodded.
"I'll go downstairs and help them find those tweezers," she continued, turning to face him. "Do you mind taking the controls for a minute?"
He hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. "Sure."
After rummaging through the box, Zoey finally procured out a pair of medical tweezers. "Thanks," she said, straightening up and putting the tweezers in the pocket of her jeans. "These are exactly what I need."
"No problem," John replied, standing aside and gesturing toward the exit from the hold. "Shall we?"
She made her way past him and toward the stairs. However, just as she was about to reach them, she felt the man wrap his arm around her waist and violently pull her upward.
"Hey, stop! What are you doing?" she exclaimed in shock.
She received no response from him, aside from the tightening of his grip.
"Let me go!" Zoey cried out.
She struggled and yelled, but her attacker clamped a hand over her mouth, muffling her cries. Her panic became extreme when she realised that her guns, along with her backpack, had all been left topside in the front cabin of the boat. John roughly pulled her over to the edge of the room and placed a hand behind her head.
"Please... don't..." she pleaded.
But the man was past the point of reasoning. He pulled her head back and then slammed her forehead into the wall, knocking her out. As her limp figure crumpled to the floor, he heard footsteps on the stairs behind him. He looked over to see Amanda entering the room, holding a pistol.
"Did you hear anything up top?" he checked.
"No," she replied, shaking her head and handing him a cable-tie.
John nodded and rolled Zoey over onto her stomach, pulling her hands behind her back. Moments later, her wrists were crossed and tightly bound together, restraining her hands behind her.
"Wake her up," Amanda said, casting a wary eye to the stairs. "Let's get this done, before her friends catch onto what's happening. Now that we have a hostage, I'm sure they'll cooperate."
Her husband sat Zoey up, propping her back up against the wall. Her head slumped forward, but he held her up with one hand, and slapped her across the face several times with the other.
"Wake up, sweetheart. It's show-time."