Deadland's Harvest (Deadland Saga, #2)(28)
Sorenson had a good setup here, a safe little paradise that no zed could get to…though I suspected it was a different story each time they had to go to land to refuel and restock.
He led us down the stairs and through the area, nodding, chatting, and smiling at folks as he walked. Beyond the buffet line, there was another winding stairwell. After climbing a flight of stairs and taking several hallways, we entered a bland corridor with beige walls and no artwork.
“This used to be the staff quarters. My quarters are right on the end up here,” Sorenson said. “We’re a bit cramped around here, so this is the best place to chat openly.”
“I would’ve taken the biggest room if I was the boss,” Jase said softly behind us.
“A family of eight lives in the Presidential Suite,” Sorenson replied as he stopped at a door. “They need the space far more than I do. Besides, these quarters have been my home for nigh on thirty years. They’re plenty enough for my needs and suit me just fine.” He opened the door, and his dog bounded inside. Sorenson walked in and held the door open for the rest of us to enter.
Inside, the area seemed to be as large as any suite, which I supposed was probably common for captain’s quarters. The room we stood in was a medium-sized living room area with a large wood conference table in the middle. A couch and TV sat in the far corner opposite a small kitchenette. Next to the refrigerator was an open door to a bedroom.
Sorenson gestured to the table. “Have a seat,” he said before he opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl.
I took a seat next to Tyler, and Otto sat on my other side.
Sorenson set down the bowl. “Pickled bass. Help yourselves.”
His dog yipped, and Sorenson picked out a large piece of fish and tossed it in the air. The dog jumped, caught the chunk, and swallowed it in a single bite.
Tyler reached in and grabbed a small piece of fish. “Bass? Haven’t heard of that being pickled before.”
“You can pickle just about anything that can be eaten. It keeps food from going bad and doesn’t ruin the taste,” Sorenson replied. “But we steer clear of the bottom feeders. In fact, I lost one of my people from bad catfish. Too many fish have ingested zed-infected bits to be safely eaten anymore. It makes fishing more challenging.”
“I can imagine,” Tyler said, after taking a bite. “We no longer hunt wolves since they’ve started going after zeds. We can’t trust that they don’t carry the virus.”
“Speaking of zeds,” Sorenson said. “Looks like a heap of trouble about to pass through.”
Tyler gave a tight nod. “We have a theory that they’re migrating south for the winter.”
Sorenson cocked a brow. “Interesting idea, and what I’ve seen would support that. But I wouldn’t put much weight on that theory. I’ve yet to see the herds do anything logical.”
Tyler shrugged. “I doubt it’s a planned event. I think it’s nature. As they get cold, they just start heading to where it’s not so cold.”
Sorenson chuckled. “You’re assuming they can feel anything. I’ve speared a zed right through a kidney and it didn’t even wince.”
“Call it a sense of preservation, then. Who knows what’s driving them, but we’ve mapped their paths, and all signs point to the herds moving south and picking up numbers along the way.”
“Which is exactly why the Lady is going to head further north to find safe ports and food,” Sorenson said. “Once they pass through, the pickings should be easy.”
What’s left of them, anyway, I thought to myself.
“What’s your plan when you come face to face with one of the herds?”
“Same plan as we have when we come across a herd of twenty. We’re safe as long as we are careful under bridges and keep plenty of water between them and us.”
“What will you do if one of these herds comes across the Lady Amore? What then? You think they’ll ignore you just because they can’t get to you?”
“No, they’re persistent bastards. We’ll head down river. If they’re migrating, then they’ll get the urge to keep moving. There are enough islands and turns in the river for us to break visual contact. You know zeds. ‘Out of sight, out of mind’ and all that.”
Tyler looked dubious. “You’re assuming the urge to migrate is stronger than their urge to eat. I’m guessing these zeds are hungrier than ever since they’re moving.”
Sorenson leaned back and cracked his knuckles. “I’d worry more about what you’re going to do. You don’t have a boat. What’s to stop the zeds from walking right through the park? There ain’t nobody out there with enough firepower to cut down one of those herds.” A sly smile crossed his lips. “Then again, that’s why you’re here.”
After a moment, Tyler nodded. “We need your help. If we can come aboard this riverboat, just until the herds pass through—”
Sorenson lifted a hand. “I’ll stop you right now. The Lady Amore is at full capacity already. She can’t handle any more people. We can barely purify water fast enough the way it is. As for food…well, that’s all dependent on our next restock.”
My heart plummeted. I wanted to jump in to talk about how they wouldn’t have to feed us, but I didn’t dare speak. Tyler was our leader, and we had to show we were one hundred percent behind him. We needed Sorenson to believe that Camp Fox would make good passengers on the Lady Amore, but after seeing the riverboat, I’d already suspected Sorenson wouldn’t risk the good thing they had going by doubling his crew with strangers. We were desperate, and it pissed me off, but I couldn’t blame him. I had the exact same mindset when survivors passed through the park. Still, knowing that we’d be on our own devastated me.