The sky became a dull gray as the sun rose behind heavy clouds. They lowered the patched and repaired rigid-hulled inflatable dinghy, or RIB, from the deck onto the water. Rick attached the small outboard, then they set off towards the dock.
His heart pumped madly. He gripped the speargun with one clammy hand and piloted the boat with the other. A filleting knife in its sheath hung from his belt. Jenn held an emergency air horn in one hand. The other clutched a long, aluminum boarding hook with a kitchen knife lashed to its end. She would use it to repel any infected trying to climb into the dinghy.
Rick’s eyes darted side-to-side, scanning the docks for signs of people. They knew so little about the infected and had no idea if their plan would work. The sick seemed to attack the healthy on sight with no conscious thought, no hesitation. They could vocalize yet not do something as instinctual as tread water. It was like they were only partially conscious. What Rick saw in Danny's eyes when he attacked was cold and lifeless, a dead man’s eyes. He was not the man he knew before the pandemic. Pure rage and an insatiable thirst for carnage had replaced all the good within.
The short, rain-soaked trip took less than a minute. The sky was black and gray, and wind gusts carried a thick humidity that clung to them like a soaked blanket. Bands of rain passed over top in waves, the low-hanging clouds drenching everything beneath.
As they approached Dock B, Jenn dumped the small anchor overboard. Its hook dug into the sand below and the dinghy swung around to face the wind. Rick looked for the bodies from the previous evening’s attack, but the current must have pushed them away. He picked up the speargun and loaded a dart. Jenn held the air horn above her head. She swiveled around to look at him.
"Ready?" Her expression was tight, focused. A warrior’s face.
"Yep."
They were both jolted when she let loose a five second screech of the air horn. Multiple shorter blasts followed. The sounds echoing off the condominium building were muffled by the wind and rain.
She lowered her arm. "That should get their attention."
Bodies came out from the marina office and boats, all heading towards them. The downpour made it difficult to identify their former friends.
Jenn stared at the oncoming mob. "There’s so many more." She let loose two more blasts, which kept the infected interested.
The creatures picked-up speed and, as they got closer, Rick could make out individuals. Many wore blood-soaked clothing. He watched them come, his expression grim. "Looks like it got everyone in the marina but some took longer to turn. Man, I hope this works."
Jenn did not respond. She was counting the running forms. "I see 16."
As the infected grew closer, they ran at full speed. Fernando was a few paces ahead of the others, followed by Andrew, Janet, and Barry. All four were younger and in good shape. The rest, older and slower, lined up a dozen paces behind. Rick could hear them shouting, but the storm's noise obscured their words.
He gripped the speargun, knuckles white. A wind gust blew rain into his face and he cleared his eyes with a trembling hand. "Get ready, here they come."
When Fernando reached the edge of the dock, he dove headlong towards the dinghy, arms reaching for them. He hit the wind-whipped water a few yards from the boat and disappeared beneath the surface. The next three followed, their splashes blown sideways by the forceful breeze.
"Jeez, that was close," Jenn said. She let loose another blast of the air horn and the others followed the first four over the edge of the dock.
They reached outwards in vain, arms flailing, screams of rage muffled by the heavy weather. Andrew and Barry splashed their way close to the boat until Jenn fended them off with the boat-hook pole. Rick fired speargun darts into them and they slipped beneath the surface, joining the others.
Rick sat, facing Jenn. "I guess that’s it, then." He lay down the spear gun.
"I guess so."
An arm shot out of the water and grabbed Jenn’s shirt, trying to pull her overboard. She cried out and dropped her weapon to clutch the sides of the dinghy. Rick lunged across the small boat and fell on Jenn’s legs, pinning her in place. He saw Fernando rise above the waterline, the crooked smile of a madman on his face.
Another pair of arms emerged from the water and gripped the side of the craft. Mary, a grim expression on her face, began to climb into the RIB.
Rick pushed himself forward until his weight was fully on Jenn’s legs. He reached over and tried with one arm to shove Mary back into the water, but the wetness from the rain caused his hand to slip. Fernando redoubled his efforts, and Rick struggled to keep Jenn from going overboard.
Seeing the second boarder, Jenn twisted sideways and swung her elbow hard into the woman’s face. The attacker’s nose leaked blood as she continued to climb into the boat, wearing a cruel half-grin. Jenn gave Mary another elbow to the head and the assailant’s momentum stalled. One last shove caused the mad woman to fall back into the water.
While pulling on Jenn’s shirt, Fernando wrapped his other arm around her waist. Rick threw a punch at the man’s head but missed and struck him in the neck. Fernando struggled to breathe, so Rick punched him again, this time connecting with the face. Fernando released his grip on Jenn then slid back into the water.
Neither of the assailants resurfaced. "What the hell was that?" Jenn asked after a moment. She had to shout over the sounds of the weather. "I think some of them can swim."
"Or hold their breath!"
They looked for other attackers, but none appeared.
It was over within a few short minutes. Some of the corpses rose back to the surface then floated away, pushed by the wind and current to join the previous evenings dead. Jenn sounded the air horn until it was empty but no more infected came.
The two sat in the RIB, each processing the massacre of their friends. Rick struggled with his emotions over the deaths they caused. It all seemed so quick. So brutal. So easy.
A deep guilt washed over him. Was there still consciousness underneath all that aggression? Maybe there was an alternative he hadn’t thought of? Could the disease have run its course over time, and they return to normal? Or were they mindless, soulless monsters, doomed to die in a haze of violence?
Murder should never be simple.