Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Nothing Unsaid

ZACH

The coughing comes swift and brutal. The ferociousness consumes me. A sense of malaise descended on my earlier, but now it feels as if I’m choking up a lung. A wave of panic hits me as I fight for air. Blood rushes to my face and neck. It feels like I might suffocate.

Aiden consoles me, rubbing my back. “I’m here, Zach. I’m here.” Gradually, the coughing subsides, and I catch my breath. That was a scary moment. Having Aiden by my side is comforting, even though there’s nothing he can do.

I get up, and we walk over toward where the road collapsed to better see the wreckage that once was the twin Tacoma Narrows bridges.

Two bridges once stood side by side, one built long ago, the other more recently. Both were over a mile long and had giant towers on each side supporting the suspension cables. The pier that held up the east tower of the older bridge appears to have crumbled. Most likely destroyed by the sea level rise and the enormous storm surge that spread through every waterway in the world. The massive tower toppled into the main span of the newer bridge.

The way forward is utterly impassable.

“I guess we’ll need to go the long way around,” I say. “Down to Olympia and around the south side of Puget Sound.”

Aiden looks at me, his face wracked with worry. “We’ll never make it. That’ll take us a hundred miles out of our way. We don’t have enough range.”

“And there aren’t exactly any charging stations around.”

Aiden shakes his head. “We can take our chances to find a vehicle with fuel, but all that is going to take time. And that’s time we don’t have.”

My head is swimming. I’m already feeling ill, but now panic is rising. I don’t want to die. I close my eyes and clear out unwanted thoughts, continuing until my terror ebbs.

I open my eyes. With a fresh mind, sometimes, a solution presents itself. That’s when it hits me.

“Aiden, how far are we from south Seattle?”

“About thirty miles. But we just came from that way.”

A smile grows across my face. “How do you feel about learning to sail?”

*

We’re back in the Audi, heading north the way we came. I plug the South Seattle Marina into the navigation system. According to the car, it’s thirty-five miles away, but I know it’ll be longer than that.

“The roads are a mess on the way, so we’ll have to use the GPS as a guideline,” I warn Aiden. “But I learned some tricks to getting there. I hope we’ll have enough range.”

“Just tell me where to go,” Aiden responds. “We’ll make it.”

A sense of dread grows as each mile of range ticks away. We’re nearing the marina, only a few miles to go, and our range is down to five miles. The Audi keeps warning us that the battery is low, but we ignore it. We’ll keep going until we hit zero, then continue on foot the rest of the way if necessary.

But we get lucky. With two miles of range left, we drive up to the marina.

“See, nothing to worry about,” Aiden says with a sheepish grin.

“Yeah, two whole miles to spare. Why was I worried?”

The sailboat is where I left it, tied up to the dry dock.

On the boat, Aiden looks a little anxious. “I don’t know anything about sailing.”

“It’s easy. You only need a few principles. I’ll give you a crash course.”

“Hopefully, no crashing involved.”

I let out a little laugh. “You’ll do fine.”

After we navigate the boat to open water, I show Aiden the lines that raise and lower the different sails and how to tweak them. He picks it up immediately. With the mainsail raised, it cracks and whips in the wind until Aiden adjusts the trim. The sail catches the wind just right, making a satisfying snap.

“Awesome.” Aiden has a broad smile.

“See? You’re a natural.”

I give Aiden a quick tour of the rest of the lines, showing him the genoa sail and how to tack and jibe. He picks it all up quickly. It’s important that he knows all the basics. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be of much help. The work to get the boat going has tired me out, and my face is flushed, with heat radiating from me. I bury the fear and focus on our task at hand.

The chill bites into me as we cruise through the water, so I put on a sweatshirt and settle down on a bench in the cockpit. Aiden is at the helm. The wind pushes his hair back. His eyes dart back and forth between the mainsail and the genoa. He makes minor course corrections and an occasional tug on a line. He’s a joy to watch, even in my rapidly deteriorating state of mind. He’s instantly talented at whatever he does. I love him so much.

We’re making good time. The wind has held up, and we’ve been averaging just over seven knots. At that rate, it should take about four hours to get to our destination. We’re headed north along a long narrow waterway between Vashon Island and Seattle. Small houses tucked into the trees dot the landscape. Occasionally, a house built too close to the shoreline is half-submerged below the new waterline. It’s a surreal sight.

“Hey, Aiden. Remember one thing I wished we could do from before the Great Collapse?”

“What was that?”

“Going sailing.” I wave my hands around.

Aiden looks at me with a little laugh. “I have to admit, it’s pretty nice. But it doesn’t beat ice cream, does it?”

“I can’t argue there. I could really use some ice cream now.”

We both laugh, but a lone tear runs down Aiden’s cheek. He wipes it away quickly.

We’ve been sailing for a few hours, and I’m feeling worse by the minute. My coughing comes back in fits and starts, chills run throughout my body, and I’m shivering and sweating at the same time.

I’m hopeful we’ll find the bunker, and they can make a cure, but it feels like a long shot. I don’t know how much time I have left, and there are things I need to say to Aiden. I pause for a moment before I speak, choosing my words carefully.

“Aiden?”

He looks away from the water, and when his eyes meet mine, he can tell something’s up. “Yeah?” he asks tentatively.

“I have some things I need to tell you. Before it’s too late.”

He opens his mouth, about to say something, but then shuts it with sad nod. He looks as if he’s dreading what I’m about to say.

“If, for whatever reason, we don’t find a cure…”

Aiden’s face starts to crumple. “Zach—”

“Aiden. Please. I need you to hear me. If I make it through the fever—if I live through it, you have to—” What I’m saying feels surreal, like someone else is speaking. “I don’t want to live as one of them. Do you understand?”

Aiden wraps his arms around me, crying, and chokes out a reply. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“I need you to, Aiden. Please.”

He nods into my shoulder and whispers a simple reply, “Okay.”

“One more thing I have to tell you.” I look deep into his silver eyes and calm descends over me. I cup my hand on his cheek. “I love you.”

He gives a joyous laugh through his tears. “I love you, too, Zach. So much.”

We hold on tight like we’ll never let go. I want to live in this moment forever. Hit a pause on life and simply be here with him, in his warm embrace. Together, forever with the guy I love, who loves me back.

We stay that way for a long while, but my energy is fading. I finally pull away. “I need to rest. And you need to pilot the boat.”

I sit on a bench in the cockpit as Aiden takes the wheel. A few minutes later, I’m weak and lightheaded.

“I’m going to lie down for a bit.” I get up and take the first step down into the cabin and have to steady myself as I nearly fall over.

Aiden’s brow furrows. He puts a hand on my forehead. “Oh man, you’re really burning up now.”

He takes a bottle of ibuprofen from his jacket and taps out a few pills. “Take these. It’ll help with your fever. And try to get some rest.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” I pop the pills and wash them down with water from my pack.

Lying down on the bed in the cabin is not very restful, and the boat’s motion isn’t helping the unease creeping over me. A wave of nausea hits me, and I run for the sink just in time. The violence of the act sends waves of pain through my entire body.

So much for all that ibuprofen.

Soon I’m huddled up on the bed in the boat’s bow. I gather all the blankets I can find to cover myself up while shivering uncontrollably. Closing my eyes, I remember my mindfulness. I clear my thoughts and focus on my breathing. Meditation is difficult with the ever-present undercurrent of pain and discomfort. But it’s not impossible.

Somehow, I manage. My body and mind quiet. I push away all external senses and internal pain to make a place of darkness and solitude. Here, I’ll wait—a castaway on an island in my mind. I’ll wait to be rescued. I’ll wait for a miracle.