Although Jan had lost half of what she lived for when Will died, she was slowly recovering. Jan, Tara, and our baby, Bug, were waiting for me and John on the pier as we motored in and tied up. After off-loading our haul of fish, crabs, and other scavenged items, I sailed the short distance to the marina. I’d already made up my mind and didn’t want common sense to get in the way. Not for any particular reason, if only that John’s advice was generally infallible and I was afraid to hear his take on it. I still chose not to share any of this with John even as Solitude made best wind back home. Remote Six tried to kill me a while back, but a group of men sacrificed their lives for a chance to save the Keys and our way of life. People tend to get nervous if they think murderous psychopaths are still around to lob sound decoys like undead dinner bells or nuclear weapons at them. I didn’t say anything to him, as I didn’t want him to know I’d been scanning the old Remote Six frequencies. We were a day’s sail from our stronghold in the Keys. I’d stumbled upon a radio distress ping one week ago while out fishing with John. A large balloon secured with a thin cable marked the spot like a dropped pin on a smartphone app I’ll come back to that. Pre-undead technology hidden away in some bunker that’d never see the light of day if the dead didn’t start walking. In front of me was something very interesting. My sailboat, the Solitude, was anchored out a hundred meters from shore, and about a mile from where I stood. Although my Geiger read above acceptable radiation limits, it wasn’t by much, and I was being a bit cautious. No one knew at the time it happened, but after the government nuked New Orleans, the Waterford Nuclear Generating Station melted down, further contaminating the area. I was two hundred miles from any living human, deep inside the New Orleans exclusion zone. The radiation suit pressed against my perspiring skin and my breath was loud through the gas mask.
0 kommentar(er)
