Journal for 2012, Part Two
November 11
It’s funny how getting the thing you want the most can also paralyze you—because the day after all that surprise and happiness, you suddenly find yourself asking questions you never thought you’d have any reason to ask. That’s how it was the day after we heard from Willow and learned that she and Johnnie were not only still alive, but steaming toward us with new friends.
It had been so many months since we’d had to leave them behind, self-quarantined on South Georgia Island, that we’d learned to stop thinking about the two of them. So hearing their coded radio message wasn’t just a surprise; it was like a miracle, a resurrection of loved ones we’d had to accept as dead.
So of course when we got up, it was all smiles and happiness as we looked forward to being together again. Chloe and Jeeza started the day with a hug, which they scooped Rod into: still skinny, he almost disappeared between them. Steve emerged from Prospero’s cabin calling him “Percy” under his breath; I think that was his version of post-intimacy playfulness. And ex-RAF Senior Aircraftman (Technical) Percival Halethorpe didn’t appear to be bothered by the teasing at all; he seemed to like it in fact. But once we’d finished cooking and squeezing past each other in Voyager’s tiny galley and sat down to a community breakfast, it became obvious that we had pretty different ideas about what to do next.
Jeeza, Rod, and even Steve were all for staying put at Rocas Atoll, the weirdest little reef-ring in the world. It was easy to see why they wanted to hunker down there. For once we had enough of the right foods to eat, were on land without any infected for neighbors, and could practice necessary combat skills in complete safety and at a pace of our own choosing.
But it was Chloe who pointed out the problem with that last welcome change. “Yeah, it’s good to practice,” she agreed, “but it’s better to get used to the real conditions we’re going to be facing everywhere else in the world.”
Rod and Jeeza glanced at each other. Steve frowned. “Not sure what you mean.”
Prospero put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “She means that learning to move and shoot on a deserted island isn’t the same as learning those skills in a—well, a slightly more realistic environment.”
Steve stared at his boyfriend. “Are you saying we should go find a city full of infected to practice on? ’Cause that sounds like suicide.”
“Yeah, and it sounds too much like Kourou and the ESA base,” added Rod, “which I thought we just tabled yesterday. So yeah, I’m all for going there and saving GPS, but not if it means ‘Twenty-five thousand stalkers: no waiting.’”
I folded my arms, figured I’d jump in when and if necessary.
Chloe leaned over the table toward Rod. “I’m not talking about heading to Kourou. I’m not talking about heading to any city, for that matter. Hell, I’m not even talking about going to a new place.”
“Then what, or where, are you talking about?” Jeeza asked as she folded her arms.
Chloe shrugged. “We turn around and go back to Fernando de Noronha.”
“And do what?” Rod’s voice cracked for the first time in months. “Clear it?”
Chloe looked at Prospero. Then both of them looked at me. So I was going to have to jump in after all. I shrugged. “We’re not talking going house-to-house or room-to-room.” But I couldn’t leave it there. “Not mostly.”
Jeeza threw up her hands. “‘Not mostly’?” She was on her feet with surprising speed. “Why the hell do we have to go back to killing zombies—stalkers—infected—whatever? Why not stay here? Take a break?”
Chloe’s voice was a sure barometer of her rapidly diminishing patience. “Girl, we’ve had a break. A week’s vacation. Now it’s time to get back into the game. And this atoll will be right here where we left it, just a day out from Fernando de Noronha and no chance of stalkers infesting it while we’re gone. Unless they’ve taught themselves how to sail.”
“Well, I could use more than a week.”
I nodded. “I hear you, Jeeza. But here’s the risk: that we’ll lose our edge just when we should be sharpening it even more. Getting razor sharp. And FdN is pretty much like a gift, when you come right down to it.”
“A gift?” Steve repeated the words loudly. He almost never raises his voice. “That gift damn near killed some of us.”
I nodded. “I know. I was there. Right next to you.” And I was the one who almost got us killed. “But I’m saying, yeah, we have to go back. We have to train more. Figure out better tactics.”
“Why?” I couldn’t tell if Jeeza was going to scream or cry or both. “Because we have to get ready? Because Kourou is going to be so much more dangerous?”
“Jeeza,” I said as kindly as I could, “everyplace we go is going to be much more dangerous than Fernando de Noronha.”
Prospero nodded. “Even the smallest Caribbean islands have real towns or even a small city, with the buildings packed in tight against each other. Each one is a warren of blind corners and hidden alleys. They all started with larger populations and usually a fair amount of livestock. And most have far more square miles in which the infected can hunt, hide, and then emerge from where—and when—we least expect it.” His eyes were bright with sincerity and urgency. “FdN is the toddler version. Lots of space around every building we’ve seen and not a single one of them over two stories. We have pretty fair pre-plague population estimates, and we can make some reasonable guesses how many remain alive. Particularly since there was no livestock on the island and no animals larger than a housecat.”
“They could still swamp us,” Rod croaked through a dry throat. “They did that with less than a dozen, at the first pousada.”
Chloe’s fist hit the chart table. “Which is the whole damn reason for going back. If ten stalkers can almost fug us up, then we have to—have to—get better. We have to come up with better plans.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Well,” I said, looking fixedly at Rod, “like your Wizard’s Tower.”
He scoffed, which, for always-kind Rod, was on par with slapping someone in the face. “Alvaro, there’s no Cat Hill on FdN. No fenced-off installation that was just one big sniper’s perch.”
“No,” I agreed. “But we can make plans that apply the same principle. Just don’t get hung up on the specifics of the Wizard’s Tower. The real reason it worked boils down to this: we got the stalkers in a position where we could shoot at them and they couldn’t get to us. We can do that on FdN, too.”
“Yeah?” Jeeza crossed her arms. “How?”
“By finding a place near or on the shore where they can hear and see us, but from which we can retreat easily, and with plenty of time to gun them down before they can close.”
Rod was suddenly frowning. “Yeah…well…yeah: I see some ways that could work.”
Prospero nodded. “So do I. Which means we start by circumnavigating the island, doing a detailed survey. We know where the major clusters of buildings are from the maps we have; they’re not great, but they show that much.”
Jeeza was staring at Rod as if he’d betrayed her. “And how do any of the tweaks and precautions turn this into a good idea?”
Steve shrugged. “Because the stalkers don’t swim. And we have boats.”
I nodded. “If we can find the right kind of place, and make the right kind of noise, we can do Wizard’s Tower Part Two.”
If Jeeza’s eyes had been scalpels, my liver would have been sagging out of my body. “Alvaro, it is beneath you trying to recruit Rod to your side by stroking his ego.”
Well, I was doing that, too, but: “Jeeza, is it stroking his ego to simply tell the truth? Because Wizard’s Tower is the situation we always want to find ourselves in; getting rid of the infected without risking ourselves. If Rod was the architect of that…well, power to him. Besides, we may need the extra food that’s there. And soon.”
After that, it wasn’t so much a debate as it was a case of being grilled by a Congressional subcommittee of one: the right honorable and really tenacious Giselle Schofield.
Which, when the idea of returning to Fernando de Noronha started to emerge, was exactly what we’d been trying to avoid. After only one day on the island and without even talking about it, Prospero and I sensed we were leaning in the same direction: that we’d have to go back there as part of our training. As it turned out, he was thinking of it as preparation for Kourou. I saw it as preparation for the world: for whatever came next. Kourou or not Kourou, we were going to have to get a lot better at dishing out hurt quickly and effectively. We had to be able to shut the stalkers down before they could even reach us, or it was “game over, man.”
After Prospero and I realized we were on the same page, I mentioned the plan to Chloe. After about two seconds, she announced that she was in full support of going back to FdN and “getting rid of those bastard skels.” Bringing her in on it was the right and necessary step, of course, but it was also a fateful one. Because, for good or for bad (sometimes both), if Chloe is anything, it’s passionate. Prospero and I knew that she was likely to lead with her chin if the group discussed the idea too soon, before we’d worked out the details.
Which, thanks to my darling Chloe, took all of a minute to occur, once she and Jeeza started talking about what we were going to do next. Unfortunately, when it comes to Chloe, a disagreement is an impediment, and an impediment is a full-fledged problem. And all problems are the same to her: all nails to be bashed down. With a sledgehammer. Except when she considers that too subtle an approach.
So the day after we heard from Willow was not filled with happiness and celebration, but by the predictable reaction to our prematurely revealed plans: surprise, alarm, and then Jeeza grinding away at them. Why did we think FdN was worth the risk? Why were we so sure that the risk was not as great as it seemed? What did we stand to gain versus what did we stand to lose? And what kind of circumstances or events would be grounds for backing off either temporarily or permanently?
Coño, Jeeza was worse than my mom. Her capacity for imagining disaster was off the charts. But there was a silver lining to her hyperconcern that one or more of us might get injured or killed. Because even though her smallest fears morphed into visions of B-movie death-fests, some of them grew from perfectly reasonable kernels of insight. If something could go wrong, Jeeza would find it. And that was valuable.
But there was one issue no one could answer: just how much we would actually need Fernando de Noronha’s water and food supplies. And maybe other resources. Jeeza leaned away from the table, crossed her arms and shook her head. “What are you thinking, Alvaro: that we’re going to have to provide for an army?”
I shrugged. “No. But a platoon—maybe.”
We all know each other really well, by now (sometimes I think too well), so Jeeza could tell by the tone of my voice that I was not joking. “A platoon? Which will come from where?”
I shrugged. “You heard Willow’s closing message: ‘bringing friends.’”
Jeeza held my eyes. “‘Friends,’ Alvaro: ‘friends.’ Not ‘an army.’”
I nodded. “Yeah, and what if Willow and Johnnie have found just four additional survivors? That means six new people are going to be arriving. That doubles our population, which halves how long our stores will last.”
Prospero steepled his hands. “Besides, there are some items for which we lack adequate spares, Jeeza. Yes, we have enough guns to arm six more people, but we don’t have enough armor or fire suits. The same is true for many of the most critical tools and electronics. We would no longer have a replacement for almost every mission critical item. Instead, we would not have enough.”
Jeeza’s chin lowered; she did that when she was digging in for what she secretly felt would probably turn out to be a losing fight. “And you think we’re going to find the answer to all those shortages on FdN? Really?”
I spread my hands in an appeal for understanding. “Jeeza, I don’t have a crystal ball. I don’t know what’s on FdN and what isn’t. But there’s an airfield, so if any planes are on the ground, there could be some excellent radios. We saw boats, particularly at the northwest end of the island. More radios. More fuel. The Fodor’s book talks about tourists being able to book dives with PADI certified operators in the only real town, Vila dos Remédios. That means facemasks and wetsuits: not as good as firefighting gear, but better than jeans and a T-shirt. There had to be police on the island, so we might find guns and ammunition.” I rethought that. “Well, guns, at least. But I am certain of one thing; if we don’t go ashore, we won’t get our hands on any new supplies of any kind. And we can’t live without them. So the only real question is not if we have to go back, but when.”
Steve, Jeeza’s primary ally now, looked up from staring at the deck. “Okay, but can’t we wait for Willow and Johnnie and friends? More hands, lighter work.”
I was grateful that Prospero fielded that question. He slid into the seat beside Steve, put a hand on his arm. “They could be thirty days out, yeh? Maybe more, if they hit bad weather or mechanical trouble or Bog knows what. Over those thirty days, the six of us will consume one hundred eighty person-days of rations, and, in this climate, at least three hundred sixty liters of water. You tell me, Steve; can we afford not to replenish?” No answer. “And so, if we have to resupply, where else should we go? Where else can we go?”
Steve sighed and leaned into his partner’s shoulder.
Chloe had held back until that moment, and now, when she spoke, it was calm, steady, almost gentle. “I know I sound like I’m on endless loop, guys, but this is our new reality: we survive on what we can salvage. Which means we pretty much have to fight for a living. And we’re still learning how to do that.
“But Willow’s friends? We can’t count on them being able to fight, not even at our level. They might still be badly weakened by hunger. They might have no training at all. So the best way to make use of their hands is to be ready to have them help us comb the entire island for everything we can use.”
Jeeza’s eyes opened slightly wider. “So you do mean for us to clear the island.”
Chloe nodded for a few seconds, ended with, “That’s right, Jeeza. But gradually. We’ll start by bringing the stalkers to us, like at Wizard’s Tower.”
Jeeza shook her head. “There will be stragglers.”
“Yeah, but once we’ve got enough stores and can fatten up Willow’s friends, we can train them to help us finish the job.”
I nodded. “And as we go, we mark buildings and items for salvage. Once we’ve cleared it, we can search for the small spring the books mention, up in the high ground on the western side of the island. We’ll walk through all the kitchen gardens, find every piece of fruit and every vegetable that we can turn into something edible.” I folded my hands. “I know it sounds risky, Jeeza. But everyplace else is riskier.” I glanced at Rod. “He’s already done the math. He knows I’m right.”
Jeeza closed her eyes without glancing at Rod, who looked as miserable as a dog caught peeing on the carpet. “I know,” Jeeza said. “I just can’t stand the thought, the thought…” She struggled to keep her voice steady.
“Of dying?” Prospero prompted.
Jeeza gulped out a chortle, then laughed. For a moment, I think some of us thought she’d blown a gasket. But then she said, “Christ, no. I don’t wanna die, but that’s not what scares me.” Her eyes opened, were liquid-bright. “It’s that I might lose one of you. Or more. That would be, would…I just don’t know if I can take that.” Rod leaned toward her solicitously, but she held up a rigid hand. “And don’t try to reassure me. Don’t tell me not to worry. Because Chloe’s right; this is our life now. But that means it’s our death, too.”
She looked around at us all. “Don’t you see? It’s just a matter of time. If we have to scavenge among the infected to live, that’s how we’re all going to die, eventually. No matter how good we become with guns and tactics. I know some statistics, too, and with that kind of constant risk, none of us will get to die of old age, safe in our bed, surrounded by the ones we love. We’re going to lose each other, one by one.” She rubbed at her eyes. “And with every one that dies, a piece of us will go with them. I wonder how much will be left inside any of us when our own time comes.”
Chloe looked grim and frustrated, Rod gutshot, Steve like he was on another planet, and Prospero like he had just euthanized a puppy.
I stood. “That’s not how it’s going to be, Jeeza.” She looked up at me; I still don’t know how to describe the look in her eyes at that moment. There was hope, fear, disbelief, scorn, gratitude. I don’t know how it could all be there at the same time, but it was.
“That’s not how it’s going to be,” I repeated. “Once FdN is cleared, we can use it as a base. There are a lot of boats for the taking, still plenty of fuel, although we might want to stick with sails. Yeah, we’ll be salvaging for a long, long time. But here’s what I think. I think we’re going to continue to find more survivors. I think that safe places like Ascension Island and St. Helena aren’t going to stay isolated forever: hell, they can’t. And I think—I’m sure—there are other small islands and populations that we haven’t discovered yet. And, when enough of us are working together, we’re going to clear them. The infected have numbers, but they don’t change or improve their game. We do. Every time we beat them, we learn better ways to do it. That’s what we’ll be doing on FdN. My guess is that other people are doing it in other places. And eventually, we’re going to join together to take back more and more islands and eventually, the mainlands.”
Prospero nodded. “These are early days. For all we know, someone, somewhere, may have already come up with a cure. But even if they don’t, that will not stop us from retaking what we’ve lost. From making safe places where we can have children, grow old, and even die in our own beds.”
Jeeza nodded. “When you guys say it that way, I almost believe it. For now, I guess I just have to get through FdN Part Two. So, when do we sail?”
“Tomorrow,” Prospero and I chorused.
We stayed behind as everyone else left. When we were alone and out of earshot, he turned to me and said. “Actually, it’s not the infected that worry me the most.”
I nodded. “Yeah. It’s others like us.”
He nodded back. “Yes. The bastards who would see us as competition, targets, or both.”
I shrugged. I mean, what could I say?
The guy was right.