This is what last week's update should have included. Apologies.

Chapter 10 - 2: Raining

"How long has it been?"

"Too long."

Francis put his foot down. There was simply no point in waiting anymore. Whatever that was happening within the hatch, he needed to know about it in order to take the next course of action. If there was any problems with their original plans, he needed to know it now. One would expect some booze and a sandwich to do that to a biker, but he really did have a soft heart. His patience only lasted so long.

"Are you coming down?"

"Yeah, might as well be now."

Nodding, Louis returned to his watch. He did not have the fatigue that Francis did, and he would not wish that on anyone. They knew that they had to face the truth, however, and if anything, this was it. The biker finished his bottle and approached the hatch. A few knocks on the door yielded no answer,

"Cindy?"

Still no answer.

Feeling his hand was forced, Francis opened up the entry and walked in. What he saw was not far from what he had expected. Zoey lying cold still on the bunk bed, clothes soaked with dried blood. The witch could be found sleeping next to the girl, draped over the good arm. Walking in close, he could see everything. The tears on Cindy's face, the evidence of the frantic opening of the first aid kits, the medical supplies lying all over the floor were all present. His left eye twitched, but nothing came of it. Years of living off the streets, riding off that Hell's Angel tattoo, along with water, prisons, churches and Riverside, Canada; Francis was sure of his apparent invincibility. None of which he hated hit him this hard, not even Bill's death. It was mostly because they were numbed during the fight, more than he actually did not care too much about the old fart. There was just something about Zoey though, that always seemed to get on his good side. Not the perpetual optimism of Louis, not the constant grunts of Bill, but that down-to-earth and admittedly attractive teenage girl was what get him pumped up through the day. It made the apocalypse felt like less of a chore, and it also helped.

"How is she?"

"No progress." Francis shut the hatch behind him, as he returned to the boat. He probably would not return to the hull in a while, unless someone ran out of it and drag him in. He still could not determine what was going to happen from now on, just in case Zoey did not make it. "Cindy's passed out."

"She must have tried really hard."

"That she did."

Either way, the plan had not change. Regardless of his apparent hate for islands, he knew that offshore was the only way that he could keep his group alive.

Or what was left of his group.

Slapping himself out of the miserable thoughts, Francis decided that it was simply time to carry on. He could do nothing for Zoey, so might as well try his bed to do what Zoey would have done. He needed to get this boat moving out to sea, to anywhere that safety might lie. To do that, of course, he needed to get rid of this giant obstacle blocking the way. The cruise ship was just there, mocking him. It was not sunken, but simply crashed. There was no moving forward if that thing was still present.

"I think it's high time I go move that damned thing." Francis grabbed his favorite shotgun and loaded it up. There was nothing else to procrastinate for. It was then or never.

"Are you sure you don't want to wait for them to wake up?" He appreciated the concern, but Louis was simply playing devil's advocate. The two of them knew damn well that even if Zoey was awake right now, she would not be in any condition to even move, let alone climb thirty feet off a rope. "I could go with you, for back up."

"I think you're more needed here." Francis, for once in his life, knew that he had to make the rational choices. Bill was no more, Zoey was in a coma and Louis was not going anywhere. He never thought it would come, but the time was now. It was time to step up and be the man he was always so proud of himself being. His thought process cut off there, as he figured he needed to focus. "Take care of them, alright?"

"You got it man."

With that, the conversation was over. The biker had rested enough to know that there was never going to be a better time. The rope in his hand was flung overhead with force and precision, hooking onto one of the latches on the far side. It was a good thing he had months of running away from raging infected for physical training.

This is going to be a hell of a ride.

Legs crossed and arms firm, every notch on that rope was a challenge for him. There was no such tests in becoming a gang member, not to say pulling your own weight through a breaded line was not ridiculously hard in the first place. It took him a full minute just to get off the ground, and a two feet climb every minute. Looking back, he saw the determined look in Louis' eyes, and he knew that everything was riding on him. If he could not do this, everything that Zoey risked her life for would have been for nothing. It was a boost in confidence as much as it was a boost in adrenaline, and Francis found himself making ground at a surprising pace.

It was not long until he arrived on the deck of the cruise ship. Things were relatively calm, but he could see a large gathering of infected at the shore end of the ship, probably drawn in by the fire fight earlier. It would work out just as well for him, in the end, as he did not have to deal with this as much as he thought he would. All he needed to do was to locate the ship's control room. There was just one problem.

Where the hell is that god damned control room?

No one ever went through this with him. He had serious doubts that Louis even knew. This was simply downright embarrassing, but standing there and contemplating his incompetence was not going to solve any problems. Unable to think of anything rational, Francis decided to simply rush it. Scour the ship long enough and the control was bound to turn up somewhere. The first thing he needed to do was to keep it down, however, as he did not want to deal with a few dozen hundreds infected swarming his position. At the very least, he could deduct that wherever the control room was, it had to have enough sight to see where the ship was moving. The higher the better, his line of thoughts was. Settling with common sense, the biker rushed into the inner floor deck. It was certainly a luxurious ship, with spas and folded chairs and everything, none of that mattered now though. Running towards the end, he had a feeling that he would have to fight his way out in the end.

…

Ten minutes passed, he simply could not find a way to access the higher floors. The elevators were obviously not functional, and the stairs he had found so far were either blocked off by concrete or infected. As much as he would like to charge through a horde and tear those rotten heads through with his shotgun shells, anything smarter than that meant his doom. Sticking to walls and holes was his best bet, and he was doing it rather well. He knew he had to get into a fight sooner or later though, and might as well save all of these ammos until he needed it.

After a few more minutes of scouring around, he finally found a stair that was probably of running towards. There was only a dozen enemies in sight, and he had more than enough juice in him to take them. A gun shot, a kick and a smack later, he had reached the sun deck. He could see the shore from here, meaning the control had to be somewhere close, or at least on the same eye level.

Let's do this.

Running over a few bodies, he was quiet surprised of how few infected he had ran through getting her thus far. Perhaps there was a collective escape attempt and everyone was holed up somewhere. He did not know, and after a few thoughts he could not care less. The fewer the better. He was here to make ground, not to find shooting targets, regardless of how fun the latter might be. Of course, considering the circumstances, it would be highly unlikely he would not get what he wanted regardless. A few minutes looking over probably path way, he found an open latch leading upstairs. Something had collapsed off the ceiling and exposing a rather big hole. The lights, presumably emergency ones, were still on. From what he could make out, it was a room full of technological stuff. That was good enough for him. Jumping upward and grabbing onto the concrete ledge, Francis could feel himself getting so much closer to his goal. Suddenly, he felt something was wrong. The light was reacting strangely, and not in the sense that his battery was dying. It was simply not reflecting as much as he thought it would. His shadow was getting larger for some reasons, and its size was becoming incrementally larger. Drawing his gun as fast as he could, Francis spun around and shot. It was to no avail, however, as the Boomer was already in too close a proximity, exploding, pushing off his feet towards the control panel, and spraying bile all over him. From the distance, he could hear the sound of infected being drawn to the substance, appearing across all rooms and corridors, ringing up the entire hollow space.

Shit.