"A goddamn yacht," Gordon was saying, nose wrinkled in mock disgust. He was sprawled along the bench on the deck, gesturing wildly with the bottle in his hand. "This thing is a hybrid, Scott, that makes it even more expensive. It has three decks for fuck's sake. I mean, God bless the owners for leaving a fully stocked beer case on board, but are you for real right now?"

Scott, draped on the deck itself with his shirt folded beneath his head as a makeshift pillow, turned to glimpse his brother. "What's your point?"

"Does he have a point?" John queried, lounged in a deckchair he'd discovered in a cupboard and had hauled into the sunshine. His eyes were hidden by a large pair of aviator glasses which Scott fully planned on fighting him for later, but it was safe to guess that his gaze was judgemental. "I assumed he was just rambling again."

"I am," Gordon confirmed, "But I do have a point too."

"Get to it then," John instructed, lips twitching with the hint of a smile. He knocked his lounger into a deeper recline to hide his face in the blinding sun. He'd probably be burnt to a crisp within ten minutes but months below ground meant that vitamin D deficiency was probably a greater threat.

"It's just… a yacht."

Scott flung an arm across his face with a loud groan. "As you've said. Multiple times."

"Nuh uh, it's just… We're spending the apocalypse on a yacht. Isn't this the most obnoxious rich person thing we've ever done?" Gordon propped himself on one elbow to grin at Scott. "And I'm including your lil Las Vegas escapade in the mix, so bear that in mind."

Scott bolted upright. "How the hell do you know about Vegas?"

Gordon let loose a low chuckle. "Let me have my secrets, Scooter."

"Jeezus." Scott unceremoniously flopped back down. "You're a menace. I can't believe we let you drink with us. Who thought that was a good idea?"

Gordon rolled onto his stomach and propped his chin in his hands.

"You offered me a beer," he reminded Scott with a sunny smile.

"Why did I do that? Wait, no, John, why did you let me do that?"

John made sarcastic finger quotes. "It's a celebration."

"Speaking of which…" Gordon held his bottle aloft and shook it. Sunlight turned the glass warm amber and revealed it was empty. "We need more. I'd get some but it's below deck and my balance is kinda fucked even on land, so…"

John tipped his head back with a dramatic sigh. "Is this your way of asking me to fetch it?"

"Nah, I'll go." Scott pushed himself to his feet and wavered. His senses seemed to be processing everything a few seconds late. He grabbed the edge of John's lounger before he could fall on his ass, vaguely aware of Gordon's loud laughter.

John grabbed his bicep to steady him. "I don't think you need another."

"I've only had, like, two. M'not a light weight, not like you." Scott grandly jabbed a finger in John's face and his brother knocked down those shades to raise a brow. "I could drink you under the table, Johnny-boy."

The yacht bobbed on a gentle swell. The deck seemed to rise and fall like a rollercoaster underfoot and Scott lost his orientation. Gravity spat him out on John's lounger. He gave up on trying to stand and just squeezed himself into the space at John's side.

John sighed and shuffled over to make room for him.

"Firstly, never ever call me Johnny-boy again. I will personally oversee your murder. Secondly, your alcohol tolerance has been obliterated over the past months. Thirdly, get your bony elbow out of my ribs before I push you overboard."

"I don't have bony elbows," Scott protested, mildly affronted by such an accusation.

John pushed his shades higher up his nose. "You do now. Put some weight back on. You're skinnier than I was pre-apocalypse and God knows you used to give me enough shit for it."

The sun floated somewhere towards the horizon as sunset approached. It was a warm, golden marble, painting the waves in gentle orange. Scott watched the colours bleed into the water, momentarily transfixed, before registering another of John's comments.

"You wouldn't throw me overboard."

"I'm considering it."

"John." Scott prodded John's collarbone and promptly had his hand smacked away. "You wouldn't. You love me too much."

John's eyeroll was practically detectable from space. "God knows why."

"Aw, so you do."

Scott dropped his head to John's shoulder and flung an arm across his waist. John let out a squawk not dissimilar to an agitated cat and tried to push him away.

"Get off me!"

Scott made a pitiful sound of protest and buried his face in the crook of John's shoulder. His brother continued to grumble but slunk an arm around him to keep him from doing something dumb like falling off the lounger.

"Holy shit," Gordon declared gleefully, "This is the best thing I've ever witnessed. Scotty, since when are you a clingy drunk?"

"I'm not."

"Clingy or drunk?"

"Both."

"Uh huh." Gordon sounded very smug. "All evidence suggests otherwise right now but sure."

John resigned himself to his fate. Scott took this to mean that his brother secretly didn't mind so much after all. If John had truly wanted him to go away, he could have tipped him off the lounger or made weapons of his elbows. Instead, he just returned his attention to the developing sunset and tried to ignore Gordon's idiocy as the squid started rambling again.

Duluth had vanished beyond the horizon over twenty minutes earlier. Gordon had assessed the weather and made appropriate course corrections before joining them on the upper deck, by which time Scott had discovered the beers and already cracked one open with John.

They'd switched from the motor to sails for the time-being which had unfurled and now billowed in the wind like great white wings. Alan had scaled the mast to fix the knots like a trained pirate and reported that the lake looked flat for the next few miles, which was merciful news for poor Ellis who was still somewhere at the bow trying not to upchuck her guts again.

Music spluttered into life from somewhere deep inside the cabin. Gordon wriggled off his bench and landed on the deck with a thud. He crawled on all-fours to the stairs and poked his head through the hatch.

"Where'd you find the tunes?"

"There are actual cassettes," Virgil called back, fascinated by such old technology. "I didn't know these existed outside of museums. There's an entire collection and an old-fashioned radio to play them on."

"Anything from this century?" Alan shouted down from the boom where he was balanced like some sort of ship's cat.

There was a brief clatter as Virgil sorted through the tapes.

"Sorry, Al," he replied after a moment. "Looks like the 1980s are the soundtrack to the apocalypse."

Alan considered this. "I guess I can sorta vibe with the synth."

"Wait. Wait." Virgil's laugh echoed up from the cabin. "Hey, Scott! Here's one for you."

It took approximately one point three seconds for Scott to recognise those notes.

"Is that frickin' Danger Zone?"

"Oh, dear Lord," John whimpered, burying his head in his hands. "Why, Virgil, why?"

Gordon let out an ominous cackle.

"Yo, Scoot? Guess what time it is?" He shot John an evil smile. "It's karaoke time!" He scrambled upright and hooked an arm around Scott's shoulders as they both staggered, trying to catch their balance on the rolling deck. "Prepare for the performance of a lifetime, y'all."

Alan's voice floated down from the sails. "I would sell my soul to have a camera right now."

"I need shades. John, gimme those." Scott snatched the aviators from John's face. "Oh, quit complaining. These look way cooler on me anyway."

John tossed up his hands. "This is my hell."

Gordon was grinning like a maniac. "C'mon, Jaybird, you've gotta join in."

"What have we said about unnecessary and unwanted nicknames?"

Alan drummed his heels against the mast as his humming shifted into quiet mumbling and then, as he gained confidence, actual singing. Virgil twisted the volume controls as high as they would go and bounded upstairs onto the deck, beaming from ear to ear, already singing despite his years of protests whenever Top Gun had ended up on TV.

"Literally what is happening?" Theo breathed, wide-eyed, perched cross-legged at the stern, soaked in sun and spray from passing waves. He let out a baffled laugh as Alan slid down the mast and proceeded to belt out the song at the top of his lungs.

"Come on, Johnny," Gordon whined. "You know the lyrics."

"We all know the lyrics," John complained. "Scott's made us watch Top Gun, what, a hundred times by now?"

Alan stole Scott's shades and jammed them onto his face. "John, John, Johnny, c'mon, it'll be fun, c'mon, c'mon, please, please, please-"

"Oh my god." John dragged himself off his lounger. "You're insane, all of you. This is ridiculous."

Alan flung up his hands with a loud whoop.

"Yes! Johnny, my man!" Gordon slapped John on the back gleefully. "Embrace the chaos!"

"I have no idea what's happening," Theo announced, still sniggering, "But I love it."

Apparently, despite being significantly more sober than Scott or Gordon, John had still had enough to drink to allow his brothers to drag him into the mayhem. If there were any zombies in the water, they probably would have fled in the other direction.

Gordon pressed an empty bottle into Scott's hands to use as a fake microphone as the song entered its final minute. "Take it away, Scotty!"

Scott didn't hesitate. Gordon was momentarily taken aback, then flung up his hands with another loud whoop and dragged John into a wild spin which ended with them both tangled on the lounger. Alan was plastered to the floor in hysterical laughter. Virgil looped an arm around Scott's shoulders to keep him upright as he practically screamed the final verse.

The song faded out to be replaced by an unfamiliar rock anthem.

There was a brief pause.

Scott clumsily knocked his chin against Virgil's collarbone as he dropped his head onto his brother's shoulder and laughed. Virgil patted him on the back, trying to stifle chuckles of his own. Apparently it was contagious.

Gordon cracked the cap off a new beer and held it aloft with a cheer. "This apocalypse is our bitch!"


By the time the last glimmers of sunlight had vanished beyond the horizon, Scott was no longer drunk, mostly just sort of buzzed. There was a pleasant warmth in his veins matched by the residual heat in the 'boards where the deck had soaked up the day's sunshine.

He wasn't sure at what point he'd ended up back on the floor but it was relatively comfortable and Virgil had joined him. They'd dragged cushions from the cabin and John had found a blanket somewhere which he'd gifted them before heading into the bridge to check that all lights were still green.

The mixtape was still playing but at a much lower volume; a comfortable hum which spread across all three decks and floated away on the waves. Gordon was in the galley, trying to coax something appetising from their rations, and could be heard singing to himself despite only knowing half the lyrics but remaining too tipsy to care. Drinking probably wasn't the best idea for him but it was the first time anyone had seen him in such high spirits in months so no one was willing to criticise.

Fate continued to smile on them. It was highly suspicious. Scott was trying not to consider when the other shoe would drop. That thunderstorm had shifted paths to travel in a south-easterly direction away from them and Lake Superior – despite being notorious for volatile weather – had remained relatively calm with reasonable swells as they approached deeper waters. It was impossible to spy the coast from this far out and it was easy to imagine they were adrift on an ocean.

Homesickness was never a problem he'd particularly struggled with. Missing people, certainly, but not necessarily a place. It was only now, with the gentle rocking of the boat, the breeze carried off the water to stir the summer heat and the steady thrum of music from the radio, that he realised just how much he missed the island.

It was like a physical craving. How many months had it been since he'd last stepped foot on those shores? Too long, whatever the number. Maybe it was the drink talking, but he nurtured a healthy sense of optimism that they might actually see their home again. Of course, everything was bound to fall to pieces within the next forty-eight hours because it always did, but for now he revelled in the hopeful air of early evening.

Alan had returned to his perch, balanced delicately along the boom with one leg hooked over the edge and the other propped upright so that his heel kept creasing the sail. He seemed very at home there as if he'd been raised on boats rather than rockets.

"Hey, Johnny," he called down as John finally emerged from the bridge. "Check it out. Perseids, right? It's past the peak but there's still a lot of them."

Oh, so that was what he'd been looking for. Scott had just assumed that kid was living out one of his childhood dreams of becoming a pirate. He rolled over to glimpse Alan – now sat with his back against the mast, hair tousled in the wind, as transfixed by the stars as ever. At the base, Finch stared up at him mournfully, wondering why he had abandoned her on the deck.

John propped himself against the cabin wall to watch. The comfortable silence was broken by off-key singing from the galley as Gordon somehow talked Jasmin into another round of karaoke. Out here, with open water in every direction and an expanse of stars above, the apocalypse had never seemed so distant. It was possible to just exist without worrying. For the next few hours, life was once again theirs to treasure without fear of repercussions.

Or maybe Scott was still a little drunker than he cared to admit. If he were honest with himself, that was probably the truth.

Marisa was below deck, Jasmin was with Gordon and Alan remained by the stars, so no one noticed Theo's small form. He struck a very lonely figure, sat at the bow with his legs hooked over the edge, staring into the dark waters below as though they could tell him his fortune. He was almost never silent and it knocked alarm bells ringing.

Theo might not have been a Tracy, but the sight still triggered Scott's Big Brother Instincts. He pushed himself to his feet, staggering as he caught his balance. Virgil frowned up at him questioningly, then followed his gaze to the sad hunch of Theo's shoulders.

"Don't fall overboard."

"Yeah, yeah." Scott waved him off. "Ye of little faith."

Theo didn't acknowledge his presence at first. He was fidgeting with the coiled rope, absently rapping his heels against the hull. The water was so dark that it appeared as limitless as the sky above.

The yacht sliced a sharp line through the waves, spilling ripples to either side. Another meteor streaked across the sky and was reflected in the lake, but Theo didn't react. His sharp inhale was the only indication that he'd recognised he was no longer alone. He held himself perfectly still as Scott took a seat beside him, then, with a faint sigh, listed sideways to lean against Scott's shoulder.

"You okay, bud?" Scott murmured, shifting his arm slightly so that Theo could curl into his side. He was painfully reminded of Alan in the aftermath of his first less-than-ideal rescue; disbelief and shock blended with resignation and grief. Both Jasmin and Alan were mature for their age – Alan thanks to their share of tragedy pre-Z-Day and his IR experiences and Jasmin due to unknown reasons – but Theo was very much still a fifteen-year-old kid and it had never been more obvious.

Theo chewed on his lower lip. His eyes were dark with unwanted thoughts as he stared into the lake's depths.

"I hadn't seen rotters up close since the train," he confessed after a moment. "And I hadn't seen one killed since actual Z-Day. I've never- Jasmin was the one to save me. She was staying over at my place that night when my parents, uh, turned. I just… froze. The entire month afterwards is a blur. I have…" He twirled a hand vaguely. "…flashes. Like, I remember when we holed up in the apartment. And after that I never left until you arrived. But I'm not used to- The rotters in those tunnels were…"

He swallowed, pressing his knuckles to his mouth as he battled nausea.

"They terrify me, but I can't bring myself to kill them. I'm useless up here. And I look at those rotters and I can't stop thinking- Those were people. They- My parents are- were…" He shivered, biting down on his fist to repress a sob. "I miss them. They were gone overnight- One minute they were my mom and dad and the next they were just monsters and I see their faces on every zombie and I can't stop and I- I miss them so much."

The water was a gentle rush alongside the breeze and distant clamour of voices from the cabin. Theo wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, tears turned silver by the moonlight. They dripped off his chin into the lake below. He took a shuddering breath.

"Sorry."

"No, don't…" Scott steadied his voice. All of a sudden he felt excruciatingly sober. "Don't apologise for showing emotion, Theo. You've got to let yourself feel things or it'll never get any easier."

"Yeah, but this… God, it's so, so embarrassing."

"Why?"

"Because it's you. You're super cool and a literal hero and-"

"-And there's a specific perfume I can't smell without breaking down because my mom used to wear it. I have one of my dad's shirts in the back of my closet at home which no one knows about because he was such a big presence that it seemed as if the entire world had claimed him and I wanted a little piece to keep for myself. I drink the same brand of scotch as my grandfather because it reminds me of him. I could go on but my point is that everyone feels grief. Everyone. No matter how strong they seem, I can assure you that behind the mask they're a mess too."

Theo gave a damp sniff. "Really?"

"Really."

Scott leant back against the heels of his hands with a sigh.

"I know it hurts. Especially when it's unexpected. One minute they're there and the next they're just… not. And you're left with the ghosts of all the things you didn't say. Did they know just how much you loved them? Did you tell them that often enough? Did you ever apologise for all the stupid shit you said over the years? Did you ever admit just how grateful you were for them? We never have enough time with the people we love and then we don't know what to do with all the feelings. You still care about them even in death, but there's nowhere to direct that love anymore and it hurts. Believe me, I get that."

He was aware of Theo's wide-eyed stare. The kid had drawn his feet up to sit criss-cross and it made him seem even younger. His face was still wet with tears, but there was a hint of wonder in his eyes now; the sort of hope kindled from understanding.

"You'll never stop loving them," Scott admitted. "But it'll get easier."

He studied his father's beloved stars that his mother had loved just as fiercely and wondered if they truly were watching over him. Maybe he was screwing everything up but he was trying his best and he had to hope that they'd be proud of him regardless.

"Will it?" Theo's voice trembled. "'Cos it doesn't feel that way."

"It never does." Scott exhaled slowly and let a little of the constant sadness in his heart unravel. "I guess… grief's like a scar in that way. It'll heal until it doesn't hurt as badly and it'll fade but it never vanishes entirely. You carry it with you. But eventually you'll reach a point where that becomes a comfort. Grief's not a bad thing. It's just… learning how to love someone once they're no longer around."

He wrapped an arm around Theo's shoulders.

"You are not useless, Theo. I want you to promise me that you'll never talk about yourself in that way again. As for rotters – the world's violent enough as it is, you don't need to add to it. Oh, and for the record? I think you're pretty darn cool yourself."

Theo's laugh was damp but genuine. "Thanks, Scotty."

"Anytime."


Some nights seemed to drag on forever until it seemed as though the darkness would never leave. Daylight became a treasured memory. The moon shone even brighter as if to make up for the sun's absence. Sleep was a fitful, merciless thing which came in snatches. Dreams were disturbing but fled as soon as Scott tried to recall them. He managed a few hours of rest before giving up on sleep entirely.

The horizon held a faint promise of dawn in the not-so-distant future and the air was chilled with mist which young sun rays were already burning off. It was just dark enough to still glimpse the brightest of stars.

John was on the uppermost deck, stretched out on a ratty blanket with his arms folded beneath his head to examine the sky. He didn't say anything for a long moment when Scott joined him. Gordon was also present but was fast asleep, partly buried beneath an abandoned coat, one hand still curled around a half-empty beer can.

"You did a good job with Theo," John said at last. He didn't lift his gaze away from the sky which was hastily flooding with sunlight.

Scott sank onto the deck beside him. "You heard all that, huh?"

"Every word." John tilted his head to glimpse Scott's expression. "Did it get easier? For you?"

"Losing them?" Scott flopped onto his back with a sigh. "I don't know."

A gull soared high above, a white flash amid the pastel sunrise. He rubbed his temples, silently thanking Virgil for making him down a glass of water and several painkillers in the early hours.

"I'm not a textbook case for handling grief, Johnny, you know that. I never really got the chance to process. At this point I doubt I ever will. But… I finally got to say goodbye. It's fucking weird, but I feel grateful to the hivemind for that."

John shot him a sideways glance. "Your definition of weird must differ from mine, because I'd just call that understandable."

"Maybe," Scott conceded.

"Definitely."

"Probably."

John looked tempted to toss him overboard. Scott had a physical struggle not to laugh. A few moments passed in silence. The familiar glow of a satellite passed in a high arc, a final star crossing the sky before day bid farewell to night. It hurt to think of Five as cold and empty and silent. It hurt even more to consider the island abandoned to a similar fate. Scott watched it until he could no longer pick out Five's light amid the sunrays.

"Do you think EOS is lonely?"

Scott sat up to glimpse John's frown. "I don't think…"

"Because I do."

He wasn't sure how to answer that. "She has the New Martian Colony, doesn't she?"

"Yeah." John drew a sharp breath and tried to banish the grief from his eyes. "She does."

"But it's not the same."

"No."

Another gull pinwheeled across the sky. It was set to be another bracingly hot day without a cloud in sight. The expanse of brightening blue was dizzying.

"I don't know what would be worse," John admitted hesitantly. "For her to believe that I'm dead or to think I've abandoned her. Because I've tried to reach her. I haven't given up on her."

"She knows."

"How can you be so confident?"

"Because she's yours. You know her and she knows you. Give her a little credit – she won't lose faith in you so easily."

"Hmm." John pushed himself upright with a wry smile. "Okay, that's enough. You're being uncharacteristically good at advice. I don't like this role reversal. Let's swap back now."

"Oh, I don't know, I actually kinda like this-"

"Absolutely not."

Gordon rolled over to fling an arm over his face with a groan. "Y'all are so frickin' loud. Jeez. Learn some volume control." He peeled open an eye to glare at them, then blinked, bolting upright as he glimpsed the horizon. "You can see that too, right?"

Scott planted a hand on John's shoulder to push himself to his feet, ignoring his brother's indignant squawk. There was a thin line of dark coast just visible amid the developing heat haze.

"I can see it too," John confirmed.

Gordon hooked an arm through the nearest line and leaned dangerously far over the edge to holler down to the decks below, "Land ahoy, me hearties!"


The water grew choppier as they drew closer to the shore. Ellis hunched miserably over the stern and retched every time they hit a larger swell. Virgil stuck with her whilst Scott joined John and Gordon at the helm.

The navigation system was once again on the fritz and kept producing sporadic coordinates which bore no resemblance to the coastline ahead. Alan spread his maps across the deck and tried to make sense of them, but as far as anyone could tell they were in the middle of nowhere. Somehow they had drifted so far off course during the night that Thunder Bay wasn't even a dot on the horizon.

Unease began to creep in. Scott had been expecting it but was still taken aback by the force of his instincts. Something was wrong, but he couldn't pinpoint what exactly. He stepped away from the nav system, drawn out of the bridge and into the sunlight like a moth to a lamp. John's and Gordon's urgent voices faded to background sound.

He braced himself against the starboard side and peered into the water below. Strange shapes moved within the depths. He was vaguely reminded of kelp beds – all those long, billowing stems reaching through the waves like limbs. The sunlight was dazzling and he threw a hand across his eyes with a muffled curse, momentarily blinded.

Halfway up the mast, Alan jolted upright. "Hey, Gordon?"

The boat rocked on a large wave. Scott glanced up sharply to spy the anxiety stamped across Alan's face. He backtracked a little away from the edge, reaching for his gun to come up empty-handed. The holster was tucked into his rucksack in the cabin.

"Yeah?" Gordon called back distractedly.

Alan gripped the edge of the sail so that a large crease spread across the fabric like a fissure. Whatever he was seeing from up there had set him on edge.

"Are there dolphins out here?"

"No." Gordon finally registered that uneasy note in Alan's voice. "Wait, why?" He moved to stand in the doorway, squinting as he tried to look up at his brother. "There are lake sturgeon. Those can get pretty big. And by pretty big, I mean, like, really frickin' giant."

Alan tilted his head. "Maybe."

The boat tilted sideways again. Gordon grabbed the doorframe to steady himself. Finch whined as her claws skidded across the deck. Marisa's alarmed shout echoed up from the galley.

Silence returned. It was only then that Scott recognised the gulls had stopping calling. Everything was perfectly still beyond the gentle lap of waves against the hull – too still. He twisted to catch Gordon's horrified gaze as the realisation dawned on them both.

"Get away from the edge," Scott yelled, just as the yacht tipped precariously over to one side.

Everything in the cabin crashed. Alan twisted the line around his wrist and scrabbled to cling onto the mast as he lost his balance. Marisa flung herself upstairs and onto the deck with the machete, Jasmin close behind her.

Theo, who'd been sketching by the bow, was nearly flung overboard. Scott pulled him backwards, colliding with the deck with a painful thud that would definitely leave a bruise. Water spilled over the brim and began flooding the bow. Towards the aft, Ellis gave a startled scream as a rotten hand appeared from the water.

Scott remained frozen as a set of hands gripped the front of the yacht, swiftly followed by a gummy mouth and a hollowed skull. Most of the flesh was missing. The eyes were sunken pits. Skin oozed from the chunk of tattered cartilage which had once been a nose. The rotter hauled itself up and over the bow. It landed on the deck with a wet smack and began pulling itself forwards.

Theo flinched and Scott finally jolted back into action. He smashed his boot into the creature's ruined face and knocked it overboard. It was quickly replaced by three more. He yanked Theo to his feet and pushed the kid towards the cabin.

There was an old fishing rod left on a nearby bench and he dropped into a roll, grabbed it, then landed back on his feet to swing the rod. It collided with two rotters with a godawful crack. Rotten brain matter splattered the deck. One of the infected tumbled into the water. Another slumped where it stood.

"Scott, duck."

The final infected collapsed with a neat bullet hole in the centre of its forehead. Marisa didn't stop, just tossed him his machete then turned to take down the next rotter. Scott caught the blade mid-air and bolted across the deck to defend Alan as his brother finally slid down the mast and landed heavily on all-fours.

"Are we sinking?" Jasmin's voice rose into a shriek.

"No," Gordon shot back instinctively, in the sort of voice which implied yes. He whacked a fist against the control panel as the engine choked but the propellers made no sound beyond a throaty gurgle.

Virgil risked a glance over the stern. "There are rotters caught in the propeller."

"They're what?" Gordon plunged a knife into the temple of a rotter as it smashed its head through the porthole.

John spat a curse as shattered glass coated the control panel. "Everyone, upper deck, now."

"Oh my god," Jasmin wailed, "We're actually sinking."

Alan grabbed her wrist and pushed her towards the stairs. "Yep, probably. Someone should call International Rescue about that. Oh, wait…"

"You're not funny, Tracy," Jasmin screamed at him.

"I'm hilarious," Alan deadpanned, then ducked as she sent an arrow over his head into the eye of an approaching rotter. "Thanks."

Scott wiped rotten blood from his face and flung himself over the abandoned lounger from yesterday evening to reach Virgil and Ellis. "Go. I've got you covered."

The lower deck was almost entirely submerged. A series of strange wails and groans mimicked the infected as the hull buckled. The water was writhing with rotters. Eerie thumps echoed from below as they tried to drag the yacht underneath. It reverberated through the deck like thunder. The world lurched once again as a new cluster of rotters clambered up the side of the boat, tipping it dangerously close to capsizing entirely.

Scott yanked his machete from a rotter's skull and backed up until his heels hit the stairs. John seized him by his shirt and hauled him out of reach as the infected surged towards him in a torrent.

Metal whistled as a knife split the air to lodge in the throat of a rotter which had been too close for comfort. The skin was mottled and swollen with water and split to drench the lower steps in dark blood. Scott scrambled out of reach with a curse, breathlessly gasping his thanks to Gordon for the save before pushing both his brothers onto the upper deck.

"There are too many of them," Marisa called, leaning over the edge to take out three rotters with a single bullet. "They're dragging us under."

"Tell me something I don't already know," Scott snapped. He gripped the railing as the yacht bucked on a new wave of infected. "Gordon, John, what's our ETA for landfall?"

"Ten minutes," John reported. "And no, we cannot swim for it."

"I wasn't going to suggest that!" Scott protested loudly and winced as a rotter flung itself at the side of the cabin at the sound of his voice.

"Well, your plans are usually insane, so it was a fair assumption."

"Oh, my plans are insane?"

"Hey, uh, talking of insane plans?" Alan stuck up his hand like a little kid which did absolutely nothing to install anyone's faith in his scheme. "I might have one. Jazz, are you any good at long-distance shots with a gun or is it just with arrows?"

"Um…" Jasmin inspected her quiver which was depleting too fast for anyone's liking. "I can give it a go."

"Great. There's still fuel in the tank, right? If we hit it at the right angle and create a spark, we can blow up the engine. Fire kills rotters."

"Fire kills us." Theo's incredulous shout drew the attention of several infected. "The entire boat would explode."

"I said it was an insane plan, not a good one!"

Alan took a deep breath. It was possible to pinpoint the exact second he reactivated the problem-solving mode that had made him such a talented IR operative.

"Infected on land are weird because they don't technically decompose. But these have been in the water for weeks. They're literally rotting, right? So, there'll be a build-up of gases. If we ignite the infected on the yacht, it could set off a chain reaction and clear the water around us. Our ETA is ten minutes. We'll sink in seven. That's only three minutes we need to buy ourselves. I mean, sure, there's always the risk that we'll blow ourselves up too, but I feel like that would be a cooler way to die than getting eaten by zombies, although it would still suck and actually this is a shitty plan let's not do it-"

"Great plan," Gordon declared, clapping a hand to Alan's bicep. "Let's do it."

Ellis shook her head with a faintly hysterical laugh. "We're all gonna die."

"Relax," Gordon called over his shoulder, snatching another knife out of his pack. "We'll be fine. Just tell the grim reaper to fuck off. That's what works for me, anyway." He caught Virgil's questioning stare. "Dude, morphine gave me weird dreams."

Scott brought the machete down on a rotten wrist. The detached hand fell lifelessly to the ground, fingers curled inwards like a dying spider. It was swiftly replaced by another as the rotters amassed at the cabin walls and clawed their way upwards.

"You know, if we are going with Alan's plan," John shouted above the snarls, "then getting it done some time today would be helpful."

The coast was so close that Scott could pick out individual details; a tiny white pier, colourful shutters on the houses, green thickets where weeds had overtaken the roads. He was momentarily distracted by the sight – so close that he could almost reach out and touch it – but then cold fingers closed around his wrist. Gaping jaws widened into a hungry sneer. He smashed the hilt of his machete into the creature's skull and kicked it overboard.

Jasmin crouched as close to the edge as she dared. The yacht was tossing and turning like a wild thing on the backs of so many infected. The lake surface had been transformed to a filthy froth by their thrashing limbs and desperate attempts to clamber on board. Marisa seized the back of Jasmin's jacket to stabilise her as she tried to line up the shot.

"You know we'll sink faster if we do this, right?"

Scott waved off Virgil's concerns. "One problem at a time."

Virgil's eyes grew comically wide. "Scott, it's about to be a really big problem."

"About to be, but not yet."

It was difficult to notice during the chaos, but there was a marked difference in the behaviour of the infected. Previous hordes had worked together to overcome obstacles but these rotters were entirely out for themselves. They were driven by hunger alone. It was if they'd been blinkered to the world around them.

They were unaware of anything except for the healthy humans within their grasps, not even the other rotters beside them. Even in the early stages of the apocalypse, those infected at the Salvation Gates had teamed up to overwhelm the city, but these creatures were individual monsters. Any feeble glimmer of intelligence had been purged from them. They were now simple animals seeking their next meal; the hivemind was gone.

Ellis somehow compartmentalised her fear, hastily scrawling notes on the back of her hand. She muttered a feeble protest about scientific discovery as Virgil pulled her out of reach of another rotter and therefore out of sight of the horde as a whole. After so many hours of nausea, she finally seemed to have discovered her sea legs – just as they were sinking.

"Jasmin," Gordon called darkly, partway between a warning and an order. He grabbed the mast to steady himself as the yacht tipped precariously over to portside. "We're on a bit of a time crunch here, kid."

Jasmin whirled around to glare at him. "Don't call me kid."

She didn't wait to hear his retort, just lifted the gun, took a deep breath, aimed and fired.

The gunshot itself seemed deafening but the resulting explosion sent a shockwave in all directions. Scott smacked his head against the deck as the entire yacht jolted. He could taste blood again. In his blurred vision, the sails seemed like gigantic wings as they engulfed the shockwave and billowed out to their full extent.

Fire rippled across the lake surface as a mass of infected caught alight. Their howls were agonised and unbearably human, so loud that they cut through ringing ears. Scott pushed himself back to his feet, momentarily deafened by the blast.

The entire aft of the yacht was gone. Water gushed into the remaining half to suck them under. Disembodied body parts from rotters floated on agitated waves. Flames licked at the cabin below; the deck was already so hot from the inferno within that he could feel it through his shoes.

On the upside, the explosion had pushed them closer to the shore. On the downside, Virgil had been right – at the rate they were taking on water, they still wouldn't make it. But hey, at least there didn't appear to be any infected left in their vicinity. Small mercies, right?

Scott wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and grimaced at the crimson left behind. His head was already pounding. His hearing was beginning to trickle back but the ringing was persistent. He gripped the taut line of the sail as he gathered his bearings.

Marisa and Alan recovered the quickest. Jasmin had been thrown backwards by the blast despite Marisa's attempts to catch her, but Gordon had saved her from ending up in the water. Theo was dripping blood over the deck where he'd split his chin open.

John was still trying to catch his breath - he hadn't hit the ground quick enough and he'd consequently had all the air knocked clean from his lungs – but he'd shielded Ellis from the worst of the shockwave. Finch cowered at Alan's heels, utterly disorientated despite the way Alan had curled around her to protect her.

"Shit," Scott muttered to himself, mostly feeling himself speak rather actually hearing the words. He probed his temples gingerly. His ears weren't bleeding but his head sure as hell was. Great. Virgil was going to be in overprotective medic mode for the next year at this rate. "Everyone okay?"

Gordon spat a curse that had Marisa raising a brow.

"That means we're a-okay," Alan translated, sticking a thumbs-up just for good measure. He let his head fall back against the deck with a breathless laugh. "I can't believe that actually worked. Am I a genius? I'm totally a genius. Hey, Johnny, did you hear-?"

"I heard," John sighed in a long-suffering voice. "Can your genius solve the next problem?" He gestured to the slowly disintegrating boat around them. "We're still sinking."

Alan faltered. "Uh… I'll get back to you on that?"

Marisa surveyed the surrounding water. "I don't see any signs of rotters. I think we got 'em all."

"You think?" Jasmin crawled onto her knees, spitting blood from her bitten lip. "Oh, gross. I hated that. Alan, your plans suck."

Alan winced as flames licked the lower corner of the sail. "Noted."

Virgil grabbed Gordon and hauled him upright. "Time to get out of here. We've got maybe two minutes before we go under."

Scott took a cautious step away from the line. Mercifully, the latest knock to the head hadn't affected his sense of balance. He eyed the distance to the shore; sufficiently short to be closed within a ten-minute swim provided Alan's plan had been a success. It wouldn't be achievable if weighed down by supplies. They'd have to abandon the packs and pray the GDF safe zone wasn't merely a rumour. He wiped his bloodied fingers against his jeans and turned back to the others.

"Okay. Here's the plan. Ditch everything that's non-essential. Meds and weapons only."

"Scooter," Gordon piped up, overly loudly, "I can't hear shit right now."

Alan gripped him by the shoulders to catch his attention, then signed, "Abandon ship."

"Aw, man." Gordon cast a sorrowful glance around the boat. "This was such a nice yacht. Alan, why do you always have to wreck stuff?"

It was intended as a joke but Scott wasn't the only person who noticed Alan's flinch. Gordon was too out-of-it to pick up on the reaction, but Virgil's worried stare mirrored John's concern and Scott's own. It was an issue they'd discuss later. For now, survival was the top priority.

Weapons were stowed. Meds were retrieved. Gordon stole something from his pack which he tried to inconspicuously hide in his pocket. Alan took it from him and stuffed it into his own jacket too quickly for Scott to establish what it was, but he could spy the vague outline. He'd wondered where Lily's rabbit had gotten to - apparently it had changed hands back to Gordon at some point during their stay in the bunker.

Marisa fired shots into the waves and paused to see if there were any reactions. The water had calmed from the rotten froth but now gurgled as it slowly swallowed the yacht whole.

"All clear," she reported.

No one moved.

"How confident are we?" Virgil ventured, peering over Scott's shoulder at the dark water.

Alan released his tight hold on Finch's bandana. She scampered down to the edge where a wave was already lapping at the top step, gave the water a generous sniff, then flung herself in headfirst.

"Okay, so I'd say that's a no on the zombies." Alan prodded the water with the toe of his sneaker. "Still super gross though. Probably a yes on the bacteria." Uncertainty seeped into his voice. "Uh… there's, um…" He jerked his thumb at a floating leg. "No. No, no, no, I changed my mind. Can't we stay on the yacht?"

"The yacht's sinking," John pointed out.

"This is nightmarish," Alan protested, backing up until he smacked into the railing.

A new wave of fire engulfed the sails. The rush of heat was so intense that Scott was momentarily thrown back to that time at the GDF bunker, watching Two go up in flames. Smoke replaced the taste of blood. He steeled himself against the horrors floating in the water – Alan was right, it was yet more fuel for the night terror bank – and forced himself to step into it.

The shock of cold stole his breath. He forced himself not to flinch as a mauled hand bobbed dangerously close by. He could see the individual splinters of bone and severed veins. Ligaments fanned out in the water like lace. Every time he thought he'd seen it all, the apocalypse threw new graphic scenes at him.

His entire focus was narrowed to the strip of water around him and his own body, so much so that he startled at the splash of a wave against the hull. Virgil reached forwards as if to touch his shoulder, but he shrugged him off, stepping deeper into the water. It drenched his clothes to strike ice into his skin like needles.

No matter how times he plunged into cold water, it always shocked him just how painful the experience was. The only warmth was his own blood trickling down his temple. He could sense Virgil fretting, the goddamn smother-hen.

Finch scrabbled at his chest as she tried to climb up to rest on his shoulders. She nearly dragged them both under. Alan's sharp whistle did nothing to dissuade her, so he plunged into the water too, swiftly followed by Virgil.

It was uncanny to see Gordon reluctant to enter the lake, but understandable given his ringing ears and warped sense of balance. Still, he gritted his teeth and pushed back the fear, allowing John to help without too many protests. Jasmin stuck close to his side, biting back muffled yelps as other pieces of human remains floated close enough to touch.

"Move," Gordon snapped as Ellis hesitated. "The boat's sinking quickly. You don't want to be here when it goes under or it'll drag you down with it. Get swimming or get dead."

It was harsh but it did the trick. Ellis snapped out of her trance. Scott seized her arm and pulled her further from the drowning yacht. Finch paddled around her in circles as if in encouragement.

Distantly – but still too close for comfort – something let out a wet howl. It was a gurgling, partly muffled sound as if its origins lay underwater. Scott twisted sharply to glimpse John's wide-eyed unease. With his hair plastered to his scalp, he resembled a startled stray cat. At his side, Gordon didn't look much better.

"Was that…?" Theo began, voice pitched with terror. He nearly choked on lake water as a hollowed face bobbed past his bicep. "Oh my god, oh my-"

Scott mentally apologised to the poor soul, then swept the skull aside. Globules of brain still clung to the interior. He swallowed a wave of nausea. Memories threatened to overlap again – each rush of cold water reminded him of that swimming pool – so he set his sights on the coast, gave Theo a little push towards it, and started swimming.

No thinking. Just keep moving. Thoughts were a threat. Actions kept him alive. Stay in the moment, goddammit.

The lake spat them out on the golden shoreline of a merry little fishing town. It seemed entirely silent as if someone had sucked every human soul from its streets and hit pause on time. There was no sign of anyone – be them living or dead.

It was the perfect picturesque sort of place which Scott would have once expected to find on a postcard. He probably would have appreciated it more had he not immediately doubled over and began retching onto the sand. A warm hand landed on his back and he flinched.

"Easy," Virgil murmured, leaning closer to block out the sun. "It's just me." He tilted his head as he tried to examine the cut on Scott's temple. "Are you okay?"

"M'not concussed."

"That's not what I'm asking."

Scott palmed the scar tissue across his shoulder. The memory of teeth made him shudder. He pushed sopping hair out of his face. Sun glittered off the lake like a scene from a coming-of-age movie; it was difficult to imagine that such horrors lay within.

"We made it," he exhaled. He caught Virgil's worried look and flopped back against the sand with a hysterical laugh. "We didn't die."

Virgil shook his head with an exhausted smile. "Yet another miracle."

They laid on the beach side-by-side for a few minutes, trying to remember how to breathe.

Adrenaline was fizzing in Scott's fingertips and he couldn't figure out how to be rid of it. He was both a livewire of energy and about to crash all at once. He couldn't even bring himself to care about the stench of rot emanating from the water nor the blood drying on his face. Sand was itchy on his scalp and his clothes were still drenched but none of it mattered. He turned his cheek to glimpse Virgil's grin, both hyped on the elation of having faced Hell and survived.

"We made it," he repeated and this time Virgil was the one to laugh. "Hey, where are we? Did we make it as far as the border?"

Virgil lofted himself onto his elbows to point to a flag post. The fabric at the top was worn ragged by the breeze and bleached by sun but it was still recognisable.

"Huh," Scott commented, because he was eloquent like that, and flopped back down. There was no imminent danger and he needed a few minutes to recover.

Alan sat up, still vigorously brushing sand from his arms and legs with a grimace. He broke into a brilliant smile as he glimpsed the flag. "Everyone remembered their passports, right?"

Gordon squinted in the sunlight. "Huh?"

Alan pointed to the flag with a wide grin. "Welcome to Canada."