Utopian Apocalypse

Chapter 5

As weeks went by, Alex and I contemplated how we'd get to Norway. The North Sea is a treacherous place. But as we approached Scotland, we started to see debris washing up on the nearby shore. Old boats, capsized vessels, anything that got bit by a storm or the waves. Those same people were most likely trying to reach the safe house, halted by mother nature herself. Other ships, however, wash ashore, riddled with holes, and no one left on board. Those old charred holes only remind Alex of what had happened to the people the 585th raided.

There were many small boats along the beach. Blown apart, riddled with holes, falling apart from water erosion, it looked like someone was playing with legos. The current still blasting away boards and pieces off of the wooden boats, pushing dust and crud back into the green, irradiated water. Old trinkets still reside in the boats, things that are only worth something to the owners. Old blankets, the occasional ribbon or medallion. 

But then a specific ship catches my eye, a damaged, wrecked corvette. The massive ship resides half capsized near the shore. The dead still lay along the deck, with some wrapped around the railing around the decks. The main batteries still in position to fire, the radar dish swaying in the wind. The corvette only has one marker, the DKM Magdeburg. I drive the tug boat closer, eyeing the stern minelaying tubes. I park alongside the ship on its port side, and throw up a grappling hook on a rope and pull myself up.

The deck was punctured with numerous bullet holes and barnacles littering the deck. The super structure of the bridge was blown apart, with wires and support beams hanging freely. The sailors of the boat were still laying around on the walls, wrapped around the railings, or just in pieces. The whole scene looked like a horror movie. The boat smelled like rotten fish and gunpowder. The hanging satellite dish swayed in the light wind, creaking with every swing. That same wind caused a whistling sound from the barrels of the guns and rear funnels.

As I helped myself and Alexander down into the inner hull, a door slammed down the corridor. I pulled my handgun and handed a pipe to Alex. When we reached the source of the slam, the window showed what was left of the kitchen, complete with pans, plates, and uncooked cuisines. There was no sign of the intruder however. I slowly opened the door, moving my small flashlight around the dusk room. Still no sign of the person. Pans continue to move in the slight breeze from the hole in the hull, making it near impossible to hear any faint footsteps. 

Alex walks towards the dimmer part of the kitchen, motioning for me to come over. I crest the last set of counters to be met with a slightly ajar cupboard door that goes to a person sized cupboard. I raise my pistol and tell Alex to open it.

"Can you at least put the gun down?" Alex demands, "He could be friendly."

I holster the handgun, resting my hand on the grip, as he opens the door. The first thing I see is a boot, then the rest of the person in the fetal position. He looks at us with beady, bloodshot, eyes. The man slowly brings his arm to side as if to get a better sight of us: a blonde, former raider, and a 20 year old monster-attack survivor.

"You can get out of the cupboard, sir." Alex says soothingly.

The man starts muttering something in a distorted language, something you'd hear in an old movie. But then Alex turns back to me.

"He's German, he won't be able to understand us, much less trust us." Alex explains.

"Well then, let's get going." I say, "Especially if Kaiser here can't understand us."

Alex punches me and looks at me disapprovingly. I motion at the door and begin to walk out as Alex just looks at the still frightened man. But as I walk out, I hear commotion and Alex screaming "what the hell!" I run back in the kitchen as Alex throws the german over his shoulder onto a counter, leaving him on the ground holding his back. Alex stares me down and motions for the handgun, when I notice the blood trailing from his hand. I readjust my crooked respirator and hand him the gun with caution.