GULF OF RIGA, LATVIA.
28AUGUST 2031.

TTOD OZOLA SHOULDN'T HAVE LEFT his daughters behind.

Six days ago, Ttod pulled the anchor that moored his humble fishing boat on the coast of Riga, Latvia. With his apprentice Gwynth Quinn in tow, they'd abandoned everything to flee their home which had been ravaged by the infected.

The decision to abandon everything had not been easy, but they knew it was the right choice. The two of them had watched on helplessly as survivors were torn to shreds: eyes gouged from their sockets, intestines tugged from torsos like a mime pulling rope until the entirety of their insides were displayed on the stone pavement beside their corpse.

Some survivors made it as far as the water.

No one disappeared into the open ocean – except for them.

Ttod was guilty about abandoning his daughters, sure, but Gwynth assured him that their actions had been necessary. If they hadn't acted when they did, they'd have been slaughtered.

In this case, the survival of two outweighed their duty to many.

Ttod tightened the corners of his bedsheet: military corners, just like his youngest, Katherin, had taught him. The sheets were threadbare cotton, once blue, but now at best, a faded grey. His daughters had bought them for his sixtieth birthday – after they'd found out Ttod slept on a bare mattress on his week-long trips across the ocean. The gesture was touching, although Ttod would never admit it. His children were certainly nothing like him.

Ttod shuddered. He'd let his children die.

Gazing out the window, Ttod caught a glimpse of Gwynth's backside as she reached for the net dangling over the side of the boat. Young and pretty, Gwynth would have been the perfect companion, if she wasn't so morose.

Truthfully, Ttod had only taken Gwynth on as an apprentice as a favour to Katherin. Gwynth had come to Latvia in search of her sister – Katherin's girlfriend – and had been determined to remain in the city until she convinced her sister to return home.

A few measly fish slapped onto the deck as Gwynth hauled the net onto the boat. Prodding them with a stick, Gwynth turned her attention to the water. Something wasn't right.

"Ozola!" Gwynth barked, glancing over her shoulder at the cabin. If she hadn't looked so worried, Ttod would have sworn Gwynth was chastising him for sleeping in. It wouldn't be the first time.

Ttod pushed the cabin door open. His right leg dragged behind him with an uneven thrum as he met Gwynth on the deck.

"What is it?"

"The fish. They're not right."

"What do you mean 'not right?' They're fish," Ttod muttered.

Still, he stepped towards the fish warily. Gwynth wasn't one for hysterics.

Kneeling on the deck, Ttod reached for one of the fish with his gloved hand. He turned it slowly, revealing mucus-white intestines and if he wasn't seeing things, a human finger.

A cluster of bubbles rose to the surface of the ocean, popping obnoxiously alongside the edge of the boat. Ordinarily, Ttod would have dismissed the sound, though today, the pit in his stomach told him otherwise.

Gwynth was right. The fish were diseased.

"Get back!" Ttod shouted.

Gwynth stood frozen.

Grabbing Gwynth by the blouse, Ttod hauled her into the cabin, locking the door behind them.

"Be quiet," he mouthed, pressing his index finger to his lips.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ttod saw movement. A shadow twitched, writhing underneath the water's surface.

Jabbing his thumb at Gwynth, Ttod nodded at the knife on his desk.

A hand grabbed the edge of the boat.

Ttod gripped his fishing knife with one hand, his other hand clasped firmly on the doorknob, holding it shut.

How had the infected found them? Ttod had been so sure that they'd be safe in the ocean.

The boat dipped as the infected pulled itself onto the boat. Their eyes had rotten out of their sockets, leaving two gaping holes which wriggled with bone-white maggots. Strands of blonde hair hung stiffly off what remained of the infected's scalp, bleached from a mixture of sunlight and ocean salt.

The infected was missing an arm; severed above the elbow. A bone stuck out from the wound. Even from inside the cabin, Ttod could see the smooth edges of the bone. The arm had been amputated. Maybe, a futile attempt to prevent the virus from spreading.

The boat lurched.

Ttod tore his gaze from the infected, searching for the source of the impact.

There was a storm brewing to the east. Waves crashed against the edges of the boat, spewing white foam into the air and onto the ship. The fish, still flopping on the deck where Gwynth had hauled them abroad, were swept back into the ocean, taking everything on the deck with them.

Everything - except the infected.

Holding onto the other side of the cabin door, the infected pressed their face against the glass. The doorknob rattled as the infected tried to force their way into the cabin, only prevented by Ttod's steely determination not to let them in.

Outside, the ocean threw her mighty rage against the ship; relentlessly serving punishment to anyone who dared to enter the murky depths. Saltwater was thrown in galleons onto the boat, tipping the boat dangerously. Without anyone to funnel the water from the boat, they'd surely sink.

The infected, still holding onto the doorknob, seemed unfazed by the water which drenched them again and again. The stubbed end of the infected's arm thrummed against the glass door. They peered through the window, beckoning Ttod to let them in.

"Watch out!" Gwynth shouted, but she was too late.

The ocean enveloped the boat with one monstrous wave.

Ttod's efforts to brace himself in time were useless. He stumbled, his feet losing hold on the wooden planks of the cabin floor. As his fingers left the doorknob, the door burst open, letting in the water – and the infected.

Unfazed by the unrelenting ocean, the infected was sucked into the cabin, where they disappeared in the murky-black water.

"The hatch!" Ttod gasped as he fought to keep his head above the water.

Gwynth swam towards the hatch.

Moments later, she was gone. Safe, Ttod hoped, although the chances were dismal. They'd lost their course in the rough waves, leaving them vulnerable in the ocean. Almost a week from land, they would have to pray on some miracle that they'd be saved from their terrible fate.

The infected surfaced from underneath the water, blocking Ttod's exit.

Kicking his good leather boots off - they were no use to them now – Ttod dove underwater. His sight, not what it used to be, blurred against the salty grains, rendering Ttod blind. Still, Ttod kicked his legs decisively. He knew his way around his boat, blind or not.

Enraged that Ttod had escaped their grasp, the infected shrieked.

The boat lurched.

Losing his grip on the hatch, Ttod was sucked to the bottom of the cabin. His knuckles scraped against the wooden floorboards as he sank like a cement block.

Blood mixed with saltwater. Pungent fear and a delirious frenzy.

Gripping onto his knife, Ttod jabbed at the infected as he swam for the hatch.

His lungs burned, desperate for oxygen he could not find. Black spots swarmed his vision.

Above, a storm was brewing.

Ttod couldn't distinguish up from down. His fingers blistered against the walls as he fumbled for the hatch. Where was it? He couldn't remember.

Waves crashed over the boat, shoving Ttod against the wall of the cabin.

There. The hatch was right above him.

Ttod used his last ounce of strength to pull himself through.

Safety.

Then, disaster.

Heavy gusts of wind tipped the boat.

Ttod braced himself too late. Stumbling, he lost his foothold on the hatch and went tumbling off the ledge, sloshing into the flooded helm.

Ttod gripped onto the helm, clutching it even as his fingers bled.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Ttod fumbled for the chain around his neck, squeezing it between his fist. The chain had been a gift from Maghona, his eldest. He hadn't wanted to wear it; the chain was heavy and rubbed his skin raw, but Maghona insisted. The chain, fitted with an evil eye amulet, would keep him from harm.

Clearly, the necklace wasn't working.

If there was something, anything, to be thankful for, it was that the infected had been swept away by the relentless ocean. Even so, Ttod was not comforted by that fact. If the infected had found Ttod in the midst of the ocean, he had no doubt that they would find him again.

He needed to find safety before it was too late.

Rain bucketed down, slicing through the thick fog that had begun to envelop the boat.

The boat rocked dangerously.

Ttod clutched onto the side of the boat. He tugged on it as if he'd be able to steady the boat with his own hands.

Water sloshed around Ttod's waist. The stench of saltwater soaked the air. Ordinarily, Ttod would have welcomed the smell – but today, he just wished he was on dry land.

If Ttod remained on the ship, he'd surely drown. It was far better to risk the fury of the ocean than to sink due to stubborn pride.

Ttod knew what he had to do. It was time to abandon ship. His ship.

Using Maghona's chain to tie his knife to his hand, Ttod surveyed the inky black depths of the ocean.

There was no point of denying the inevitable.

Ttod pushed off his ship and entered the water.