it probably has some kind of supplies onboard.
Food and water, the things I can hunt or gather, those I have enough of. I always make sure of that. Other supplies, though, like bandages and Vaseline for the blisters on my feet, or better yet a pair of shoes that aren’t a size too small and won’t give me blisters to begin with – those would be amazing finds. It was hard to find clothes that fit me well when I was fourteen and wearing size nine shoes. Now that I’m eighteen, over six feet tall, and by my best guess a size twelve shoe, it’s almost impossible. Everything is too short from the sleeves on my shirts to the bottom of my pants. My sleeping bag forces me to curl my body into a ball to get entirely inside of it.
I scan the rest of the beach with my binoculars but it stays vacant and silent. No one comes rushing out to see what has happened. No one is coming to loot. If I want it, it’s mine.
I sit in the swaying upper branches of the tree watching the stagnant ship and I weigh my options. I could get on board. It’s tipped on its side, part of the deck sinking into the soft sand. There are plenty of places I could climb up but the interior will be full of tight corridors. Not a good place to be with infected. And even though it will have med supplies, odds are it’s a foreign ship.
When Oregon first went under quarantine, Russia and Japan sent coast guard and military ships to patrol the coastline. They wanted to make sure no one jumped off the coast and started sailing for their shores, but when the infection went worldwide and governments disappeared you could still spy the ships sailing up and down the coast aimlessly. There was nothing left to defend anymore because our poisoned shore was a mirror of their own, but that meant they didn’t have a home to go to. They were infection free islands floating in the ocean but if they wanted to stay that way they couldn’t come ashore. They must have done supply runs on land once in a while, risking it to stay alive at sea, and then heading back out again. Until the day when the infection caught up with them and took down everyone on board.
A day that apparently is today.
I don’t read Russian or Japanese. I won’t be able to decipher the labels of anything I find on board. More weapons would be good, though. Bullets for my gun. Maybe even clothes. Shoes.
But is it worth the risk? And if it’s a Japanese ship what are the odds anything would even fit me? Not a lot of six foot four Japanese guys running around in size twelve shoes.
Still, bandages and bullets don’t need a translator to operate and I might find other supplies that don’t care how tall I am. A hat. Socks. Clean underwear.
I scan the beach one last time and come up empty. If I’m going to do this, now is the time.
It takes me about an hour to get out of the forest, across the highway, and down onto the beach, and that’s the easy part. Climbing the ship is a pain. Worse than I anticipated. There’s plenty to grab onto in order to climb up the deck, but it’s all spaced so far apart it’s almost impossible. I have to make several leaps sideways to grab onto the next piece of the ship that will help hoist me up to a door and I worry I’ve broken my ring finger on my left hand by the time I’m finally there. I’ve sprained it at least and I’ll have to splint it to make sure it heals straight.
Even before I make it inside I’m wondering if it was worth it.
When I get to the door I know immediately from the writing on the signs around it – this is a Japanese ship. It’s not a battleship or an aircraft carrier. Probably more of a recon or interceptor meant to patrol the open waters with the speed to chase down any boat they found leaving the United States coastline.
Luckily the door opens toward the ground and I’m able to pop it and let gravity bang it down against the wall. Inside is dark, lit only by low emergency lights meaning their generator is still going. I listen
Food and water, the things I can hunt or gather, those I have enough of. I always make sure of that. Other supplies, though, like bandages and Vaseline for the blisters on my feet, or better yet a pair of shoes that aren’t a size too small and won’t give me blisters to begin with – those would be amazing finds. It was hard to find clothes that fit me well when I was fourteen and wearing size nine shoes. Now that I’m eighteen, over six feet tall, and by my best guess a size twelve shoe, it’s almost impossible. Everything is too short from the sleeves on my shirts to the bottom of my pants. My sleeping bag forces me to curl my body into a ball to get entirely inside of it.
I scan the rest of the beach with my binoculars but it stays vacant and silent. No one comes rushing out to see what has happened. No one is coming to loot. If I want it, it’s mine.
I sit in the swaying upper branches of the tree watching the stagnant ship and I weigh my options. I could get on board. It’s tipped on its side, part of the deck sinking into the soft sand. There are plenty of places I could climb up but the interior will be full of tight corridors. Not a good place to be with infected. And even though it will have med supplies, odds are it’s a foreign ship.
When Oregon first went under quarantine, Russia and Japan sent coast guard and military ships to patrol the coastline. They wanted to make sure no one jumped off the coast and started sailing for their shores, but when the infection went worldwide and governments disappeared you could still spy the ships sailing up and down the coast aimlessly. There was nothing left to defend anymore because our poisoned shore was a mirror of their own, but that meant they didn’t have a home to go to. They were infection free islands floating in the ocean but if they wanted to stay that way they couldn’t come ashore. They must have done supply runs on land once in a while, risking it to stay alive at sea, and then heading back out again. Until the day when the infection caught up with them and took down everyone on board.
A day that apparently is today.
I don’t read Russian or Japanese. I won’t be able to decipher the labels of anything I find on board. More weapons would be good, though. Bullets for my gun. Maybe even clothes. Shoes.
But is it worth the risk? And if it’s a Japanese ship what are the odds anything would even fit me? Not a lot of six foot four Japanese guys running around in size twelve shoes.
Still, bandages and bullets don’t need a translator to operate and I might find other supplies that don’t care how tall I am. A hat. Socks. Clean underwear.
I scan the beach one last time and come up empty. If I’m going to do this, now is the time.
It takes me about an hour to get out of the forest, across the highway, and down onto the beach, and that’s the easy part. Climbing the ship is a pain. Worse than I anticipated. There’s plenty to grab onto in order to climb up the deck, but it’s all spaced so far apart it’s almost impossible. I have to make several leaps sideways to grab onto the next piece of the ship that will help hoist me up to a door and I worry I’ve broken my ring finger on my left hand by the time I’m finally there. I’ve sprained it at least and I’ll have to splint it to make sure it heals straight.
Even before I make it inside I’m wondering if it was worth it.
When I get to the door I know immediately from the writing on the signs around it – this is a Japanese ship. It’s not a battleship or an aircraft carrier. Probably more of a recon or interceptor meant to patrol the open waters with the speed to chase down any boat they found leaving the United States coastline.
Luckily the door opens toward the ground and I’m able to pop it and let gravity bang it down against the wall. Inside is dark, lit only by low emergency lights meaning their generator is still going. I listen
Similar Books
