Gunfire from the ship halted instantly when the explosion tore apart the roof and all those standing on it. Damaged by the blast, and lacking the support structure of the roof beams, the building collapsed in a cloud of dust and broken concrete, becoming a pile of rubble and mangled bodies.

Silence. It fell upon the scene with an eerie intensity. Only a temporary disruption of the stillness occurred when the undead turned almost in unison and looked toward the ship sitting in port. Their eyes were lifeless white orbs, and the corpses stood as still and quiet as grave markers.

"Why are they staring at us?" the Walton schoolteacher asked. Kevin remembered he had yet to get her name.

"They're looking for food, Miss," Kevin replied, trailing off and hoping she would fill in the blank.

"Alana Meyer," she informed him.

"Well then, Alana," Kevin continued, "We're out of reach, but they are very much aware of our presence."

Kevin felt unnerved by the silent attention of the horde. Their quiet malevolence sent shivers up his spine.

While most of the people had their attention fixed on the undead, George was watching a much closer threat. Standing only a few feet from him were two scavengers they'd let onboard.

The man appeared to be in his mid-twenties, and the scars he carried were a testament to the violence directed toward him just as the kill tally marks on his chest designated how much death he'd dispensed in return.

The girl standing beside the man couldn't have been older than nineteen or twenty. Her flaming red hair was oddly neat for a scavenger. Having encountered the Bloody Hand tribe before, George knew about their habit of dipping their hands in red dye, so the edges of the dye at her wrists being at different levels of intensity told him she'd been a member for many years.

Because of her young age, George estimated the girl had probably been captured by the tribe when only nine or ten years old. Standing by the railing, her gentle face and calm demeanor were the image of tranquility, but George knew it to be a lie. Having survived years among the scavengers would require the girl to be a viscous and ruthless killer.

Both of the scavengers were very dangerous. George knew first hand one didn't leave the habits of an old life in a single day, and he wondered how many of their brutal and violent habits would result in the deaths of those onboard. Surrounded by the untrained and unprepared civilians of Walton, the scavengers were wolves among blind sheep.

"Does anyone know how to get this tub moving?" Kevin inquired loudly enough for those on the main deck to hear him clearly.

"I have some experience with ship engines," George spoke up. "I'll need help as I can't do everything in the engine room by myself."

"Enlist whoever you want," Kevin instructed. "Let's get out of here."

While George walked among the refugees, collecting people who would be helpful in running the engine room under his instruction, Kevin headed for the bridge.

Isabella remained behind to guide those not needed for running the ship to the rooms they'd be using for their quarters while at sea. Although Isabella lacked a practical knowledge of the ship's layout, she knew it was best to get the people off the deck and away from the unwavering stare of the zombie horde watching them from the docks. There was something inherently unsettling about being silently watched by a motionless predator, and the undead made neither a sound or the slightest of movements; they might as well have been statues.

Since he hated the idea of leaving the scavengers unobserved, George imparted quick instructions to three men for them to keep an eye on their "guests".

It took ten minutes before George and his crew of volunteers managed to get themselves squared away in the engine room. Once everyone knew what they were supposed to be doing, George checked all the gauges one last time before starting the massive engines.

Smoke billowed out the exhaust pipe atop the ship as the unused engines surged back to life. A deep vibration coursed through the deck plating on every level as the powerful motor revved up. When certain the engines would be able to power the ship without breaking down, George used the intercom to call the bridge.

"Kevin?" George said into the microphone.

"Yeah," Kevin's voice responded from the speaker on the wall mounted panel.

"We're ready when you are," George reported.

"Understood," Kevin acknowledged. "All ahead one quarter."

"One quarter, aye," George repeated. He motioned to his people, indicating who needed to be doing things and silently directed them in their tasks. As the proper controls were adjusted, the old engines engaged the propellers and began to gradually move the vessel out of port and into the bay.

The bridge had an expansive view of the surrounding area from its lofty position above the main deck. As the ship moved away from the dock, Kevin saw the undead slowly turning to keep their unblinking gaze centered on the vessel when it drifted past them. He glanced over his shoulder and out a rear window to see the corpses begin to move, shuffling forward and following the ship.

With the hordes in pursuit, preparations needing to be done on the ground at the new colony site would have to be completed in haste to prevent the undead from catching up and interrupting their efforts.

Redirecting his focus forward. Kevin concentrated on steering the ship on a straight course. Once further out to sea, he could increase speed and put some distance between the ship and the lifeless predators stalking it.

***

Night wrapped the world in a blanket of darkness, turning the sea into a mirror of black void of space, only interrupted by pinpricks of light from distant stars. The moon was absent from the sky, so no additional light was present as the ship full of survivors continued their desperate voyage toward what they fervently hoped would be a safe haven.

Kevin remained on the bridge, keeping watch on the ship's course. In addition to any wreckage possibly in their path, he kept alert for something far worse he knew to be out there in the deceptively tranquil waters.

The lock on the hatch squealed slightly as the round crank in the center of the door turned. Metal against metal sounded as the hatch opened and Alana joined him on the bridge.

"Would you mind some company?" she asked, brushing a stray lock of her brown hair behind her ear and nervously adjusting her glasses. "I couldn't sleep."

"You are more than welcome," Kevin said, keeping one hand on the wheel and waving her in with the other.

It was obvious to Kevin; Alana had something on her mind, but she either didn't know how to form her thoughts into words or she didn't know how he would respond. He waited a few moments to see if she could resolve the matter on her own.

Alana paced the front of the bridge, looking out the rectangular windows without really seeing what was outside as her focus remained inward. She folded and unfolded her arms across her chest several times in an unconscious display of her discomfort.

"What's wrong?" Kevin prompted.

"I couldn't sleep," she told him again, a hesitant and forced smile on her face. "Do you ever have nightmares about those...things?"

"Back when they first started showing up, all the time," Kevin confirmed. "You having nightmares?"

She nodded, her movements fast and jerky. Obviously what she'd seen in her nightmares had really shaken her.

"Do they ever go away?" Alana questioned, her gaze averted.

"The nightmares?" Kevin asked in return to be certain she wasn't inquiring about the zombies. "In time they get less frequent. I occasionally have a good night's sleep, but there are bad days when I've had a nasty encounter with the undead, and the nightmares will come back. Today would probably be such a day if I wasn't awake and piloting this ship."

"How can you stand it?" she asked, fingers of one hand pressed against her lips while she fought back tears. "After all the cities that have fallen and the people who have died horribly, how do you stay sane?"

Kevin used his free hand to motion her over. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders when she came close, he held her firmly as she cried against his shirt.

"It does get better," Kevin soothed.

Alana had only experienced two encounters with the zombies in her life. The first was during the fall of Walton, and the second involved the death of Adam. Kevin had seen other cities fall and even more people die. He spoke from experience when he told her things improved. It took time for the initial shock to wear off and for the mind to adjust to the horrors of everyday life in an undead world, but it would happen.

"I know it seems awful," Kevin whispered tenderly. "But, I've been through far worse than this, and I'm still alive. You'll survive too; just give it time."

***

A firm trio of knocks sounded on the door to Isabella's quarters.

"Come in," she answered from inside the room.

The wheel crank in the center of the door spun before the hatch swung open and preceded George into the room.

"May I speak with you?" he asked, lingering partway through the opening.

"Anytime," Isabella bid in welcome. Seated at a small table where she'd dismantled a shotgun for cleaning, Isabella handed him a 9mm pistol. "Here, clean this, will you?"

George took the offered weapon and joined Isabella at the table. He removed the clip and pulled back the slide to clear the chamber before removing the slide altogether.

"Shouldn't you be in the engine room?" she asked offhand while wiping down one of the components with a rag.

"The others know what to do," George answered. "I gave them some instruction before I left."

"What about the scavengers?" she questioned in a nonchalant manner. "Still having them followed?"

"Yes," George confirmed. "How did you know?"

"I know you," she told him. "You'll give them a chance to be part of the group, but always under a careful and suspicious eye until they've earned your trust."

George nodded. She was right; he wouldn't blindly welcome those who might kill off the people he was fighting so hard to protect, but he knew more than most about the value of a second chance, an opportunity to be better than your own past. He wouldn't deny them their chance.

Isabella watched George in silence for a moment before speaking up.

"What's on your mind?" Isabella asked, finishing with her cleaning and starting on reassembly. "You seem troubled, and not just by the scavengers."

"The people of Walton," George began slowly. His attitude was of someone headed to a dentist appointment; apprehension and dread seemed to cling like leaches to his words. "They'd never seen a zombie until a horde destroyed their town, and now with the death of Adam, they're going to want guidance. Those in the engine room are already asking questions."

"And, you want to know what you should tell them," Isabella finished for him.

George silently nodded.

"You still reading the Bible?" she inquired.

"Yes," he confirmed.

"Where are you?" Isabella asked.

"The persecution against the Church has begun, and they've been driven out of Jerusalem," George told her.

"Seems appropriate," Isabella commented casually as she finished putting her shotgun back together and started loading it. She didn't take her eyes off her work, letting George reach the conclusion on his own.

"That's it," he breathed in realization.

"I doubt anyone will be able to sleep well after today," she pointed out. "You could gather everyone together and start helping them now."

"Sounds good," George agreed.

"There's a mess hall one deck above us," Isabella mentioned. She pointed to the half taken apart gun in his hands. "If you want to get started, I can finish that."

He handed her the pieces of the weapon he held. "Thank you."

"For what?" she dismissed, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I didn't do anything."

"Thanks anyway," George said on his way out the door.

George began making his rounds, knocking on the doors to every cabin in use and inviting those inside to join him for a service in the mess hall. He was getting good responses. It seemed either no one wanted to sleep after recent events or they were unable to do so. No matter the reason, George would have a full crowd. He silently prayed for assistance in delivering the message.

He was heading for the bridge to invite Kevin to join him when the engines shut down. The ship slowed to a stop, and the anchor lowered. Quickening his pace, he moved faster toward the bridge. Something was happening, and he needed to know what it was.