Dead Sea (21 page)

    "That doesn't sound like much of a self-discovery, Professor."

    "Well, perhaps not. But something that is very important to the formation of the hero is his journeying
away
from home and the ordinary-and entering a world of unfamiliarity, or what Campbell called 'supernatural wonder.' I think you'll certainly agree that is what you're currently experiencing. Wouldn't you say? Think about it. You've left home, abandoned everything you ever knew. You've been thrust into a whole new world, left to care for a new family-"

    "They're not my family," I interrupted. "I'm not the best person to be taking care of kids."

    "And yet you are, and they want you to be that person. And you haven't shirked that responsibility, even though you could have done so very easily. You are here for them. You continue to exist for them, whether you even realize it or not. That's a very selfless act, Lamar. And that's an important aspect of the monomyth-the hero's selflessness. He may first undergo his journey for his own self, but he returns and brings wisdom and order to his peo- ple. Thus the hero is a creation for all the people, not just the individual. Mythic heroes bring back large, worldly benefits. Things that affect everyone, not just the microcosm of a small community."

    "But you just said I'm only here for Tasha and Malik. They aren't everyone."

    "Perhaps not." He smiled, and then patted my hand. "But perhaps they are. The last two children left on earth? That's a future generation, my friend. The last generation, if we're not careful."

    "Last of a dying breed," I muttered.

    The wind shifted again, blowing his pipe smoke into my face. I breathed deep, savoring the aroma. I wasn't a smoker, but the smell of the tobacco reminded me of when things had been normal-of a world without Hamelin's Revenge.

    "The important thing to remember," Professor Williams continued, "is that the hero is created as an end result of the journey. He is a product of what happens on the quest. The events that shaped him, changed him, made him less concerned with himself and more concerned with those around him, the larger society. These are the important part. Heroes are not simply born, Lamar. They are forged! And how they are forged makes all the difference."

    I thought it over and shrugged. "I gotta be honest, Professor. I still don't feel like much of a hero."

    "No? Then how do you see yourself?"

    "I feel like a failure. A wimp."

    "Trust me, my friend, when I tell you that you are neither of those things."

    "I kind of see Mitch as the hero." '"Mr. Bollinger is the warrior-another psychological archetype. The warrior is a representation of a pattern of behavior favoring physical confrontation and prowess to achieve one's goals. The warrior can use his physical powers in a positive way to aid others and society. When you were in school, did you ever read the stories of Beowulf, Achilles, or elder Gilgamesh?"

    "Professor, where I went to school, our most important concern was getting through the day without getting shot. We didn't have many books. Books were like kryptonite to most of my classmates."

    The professor removed his pipe, tossed his head back, and laughed.

    "Yes, that's one of the reasons 1 was so looking forward to retirement. Trust me, Lamar, that particular loathing of literature is not confined to just inner-city schools. It seems to be present across the nation. Very sad."

    "Yeah."

    "Well, Achilles and the others I mentioned all used their powers to aid their families and loved ones."

    "So you're saying Mitch is part of our family? He's the warrior to my hero, and we're both looking out for the kids?"

    "Exactly." He put his pipe back in his mouth. "However, some warriors used their prowess for selfish reasons. Grendel and young Gilgamesh are cautionary examples of this. Luckily for you, Mitch doesn't fall into that subarchetype."

    I shook my head. "I still think Mitch is the hero. I mean, he saved us all back in Baltimore. If it wasn't for him, Tasha, Malik, and I would all be zombies now."

    "Well, I humbly disagree. However, if it eases your mind, the archetypes like warrior, king, and trickster are rather fluid. One can be warriorlike and tricksterlike, a king and a fool. Remember, they represent
aspects
of personality which individuals tap into or manifest in times of trouble. The hero manifests not aspects of personality, but a total person, the summation of all the qualities that have allowed him to successfully complete the hero journey and safeguard his people or bring back gifts. Going even further, I think the archetypes not only provide a guide for our personal behavior, but also role models for us, as humans, to live up to. At an unconscious level, when the time is appropriate, like right now, we strive to live up to the expectations of the warrior that have been instinctively passed down to us since the dawn of man. That's why we fight when all hope is lost; to not fight would be to deny part of the collective memories that define humanity. We fight because that is who we are. We fight because we are human."

    "And what are they?" I cast my hand toward land, even though we couldn't see it in the darkness.

    "The dead?" Professor Williams frowned. "Road-kill that doesn't have enough decency to lie down and rot in peace. The waste products of our souls. They're walking toilets, Lamar. Nothing more."

    A smile crossed his face. After a second, we both began to snicker, and then laugh. I bent over and clutched my stomach. 1 couldn't remember 'the last time I'd laughed that hard. It felt good, like a release.

    "Walking toilets," I gasped, straightening up again. "That's good, Professor."

    "I always end my dissertations with a joke. That way I can tell if I've put people to sleep."

    The ladder clanged. We both turned, and saw Murphy walking toward us. He was stumbling in the darkness, his eyes not yet adjusted.

    "Good evening, Mr. Murphy," the professor called.

    Murphy jumped, his hand flailing for the rail. He peered toward us, blinking.

    "Who's there? Professor Williams? Is that you?"

    "Yes, it's me. Mr. Reed is here with me. He and I were just discussing mythology."

    Murphy crept closer. "Hey, Lamar."

    I nodded. "What's up."

    Murphy stood beside us, his collar pulled up against the chill. Despite the summer heat, the ocean was cold at night.

    "Couldn't sleep," he said. "It's hot and 1 got the shakes. I'd kill for a drink right now."

    The professor nodded. "I think each of us have something we'd kill for at this point."

    I thought about the kids. Yeah, maybe I couldn't kill for Turn, but I'd damn sure kill for them.

    'A few of us have been talking," Murphy said, his voice low. "We're not so sure about the chief's plan for this oil rig."

    "How come?" I asked. "Seems like as safe a spot as any."

    "Sure, if there are no zombies onboard. But what if there are? Then what? Do we really want a repeat of what happened the other day?"

    The professor tapped his pipe on the handrail. The ashes drifted away. "So where would you suggest we go, Mr. Murphy?"

    The big man shrugged. "My plan all along was to head for the wilderness. Go down into Virginia or West Virginia. Get high up into the mountains, where there is snow all year, and live there."

    I frowned. "I may be a city boy and all, but I don't think there's mountains in Virginia that have snow all year long."

    "And even if there were," the professor added, "the zombies would find you there, too. The mountains are just as dangerous as the cities-perhaps even more. We have no idea how many members of the animal kingdom are now infected."

    Murphy rubbed his grizzled cheeks and sighed. He placed his shaking hands on the railing and sighed. I could tell that he was jonesing bad.

    "I don't think they would find us," he said. "What are zombies? They're just mobile corpses and nothing more. Cut off an arm or a leg, and they keep coming. They're dead, but they can move and function and take a hell of a lot of damage. My theory is this-if I get to someplace where the temperature is below freezing, the zombies can't move. Think about it for a second. They're dead, so they have no body heat. There's nothing to keep their bodies from freezing. If they tried to attack us there, they'd literally freeze in their tracks before they could ever reach us. That's a lot more convenient than having to shoot them all in the head or setting them on fire."

    The professor looked thoughtful. "Well, biology and science aren't my specialty, but I agree that makes sense. In theory, at least. If their blood and tissue freezes, then they would indeed become immobile. But you must consider something. Could we sail to such a location?"

    "Basil had an idea," Murphy said. "There are ski resorts in Pennsylvania and Virginia. We could pull into port and make for one of them."

    I shook my head. "That's no good. First of all, we'd never make it there."

    "Why not?"

    "A group this size? Come on, Murphy! Those things would slaughter us before we made it five miles. We'd have to find reliable transport, gas, more weapons, all that shit. But let's say we did make it to a ski resort. What you gonna do then? Get the artificial snow machine running? Maybe. But that ain't gonna chill the air-it's only making snow. Snow won't freeze them. You need to control the temperature for that. Sure, it would make a good winter hideout, but as soon as spring came, we'd be on the run again."

    Murphy muttered under his breath.

    "What?" I asked.

    "I said, I guess we didn't think of that."

    "Your idea does have merit," the professor said. "But we'd have to travel to a region where the temperatures remain below freezing all year round- Antarctica, for example. Such an environment would be hostile to the living as well."

    Murphy grunted. "Look around next time we go ashore, Prof. The whole world's pretty fucking hostile."

    "Yes, it is. That's why I support the chief's decision. If the undead are aboard the oil rig, it would be far easier to exterminate their limited numbers than to do battle with an entire mainland population."

    Murphy still didn't seem convinced. "We're on a ship. Don't see why we can't go to the North Pole or Antarctica, like you said."

    "We could," the professor agreed. "But a trek of that magnitude would require a lot more fuel than we currently have. Fuel we can possibly find at our current destination."

    I stifled a yawn. I'll give the professor one thing- interesting as the old man was, he'd definitely cured my insomnia.

    "Guys," I said, "I'm gonna hit the hay. It's been a long day and I'm wiped out. Murphy, make me one promise, okay?"

    "What's that, Lamar?"

    "That we stick together. All of us. If you guys don't like the chief's plan, let's talk about it as a group. The last thing we need right now is a fucking mutiny."

    He half smiled, half nodded. "No worries, man. Get some sleep."

    "Good night, Lamar," the professor said. "Give my regards to the warrior."

    "I'll do that. Night."

    The ship rolled beneath my feet as we crested a swell. Hanging on to the handrail, I made my way through the darkness, back down the ladder, and then through the hatch and down the passageway. I was surprised to find Mitch standing outside our compartment.

    "Where have you been?" he whispered. "I came back and the kids were in there by themselves."

    "Sorry," I said. "Couldn't sleep. Went topside to get some air. Are they okay?"

    "Yeah, they're fine. I was just a little worried, is all. You okay?"

    I nodded. "Yeah, man, I'm fine. How about you?"

    "Sure. I was playing cards with Cliff, Tony, Chuck, and Tran."

    "Tran can play cards?"

    "Well of course he can play, Lamar. Just because he doesn't speak English doesn't mean he's an idiot."

    "Point taken. So how was the game?"

    "I left early. Tony's in a pissy mood-he's having really bad nicotine cravings. I did find out that we may have trouble with Basil and Murphy, though."

    "Oh yeah?"

    "Yeah. Apparently, they aren't too happy with our current course. Want to second-guess the chief. Even talked about forcing him to change course, head back to land."

    "The professor and I ran into Murphy. He mentioned it, too, but I didn't think he was serious. Figured he was just bullshitting, you know?"

    Mitch pulled a small square of gum from his pocket and popped it in his mouth. "Nicotine gum," he said with a wink. "But don't tell Tony. 1 don't have much left and I need it to last. Anyway, I got the impression that it was more Basil than Murphy. Basil's the ringleader. The question is, how many people has he swung over to his side and how serious are they?"

    We walked down the passageway and back out into the night, so that we wouldn't wake the kids up, and so no one else would hear us while we talked.

    "Think we should tell someone?" I asked.

    He shrugged. "Well, Chuck already knows. He's going to let the chief and Runkle know about it, too. I guess we'll leave it up to them. It's in their hands. I don't think much of Runkle, but I'll side with him on this. If we have to put them in the brig, then so be it. Last thing we need right now is a mutiny."

    "Well, I got your back. Just let me know." He grinned. "Thanks, man. That means a lot." "Not that I'll do much good, I guess." Mitch frowned. "What are you talking about? Ain't nobody else on this ship I'd rather have at my side." "You know what I'm saying, man. If the shit hits the fan, what good am I? I've got nothing to offer. You and Tony are the experts when it comes to guns. Meanwhile, I couldn't hit the broadside of a fucking barn. Runkle is a cop. We know he can handle himself. The chief knows the boat and Chuck's his new apprentice, so that makes him valuable. Hell, even Murphy's good for something. He keeps us moving down there in the boiler room. Everybody's got their place. So far, all I've done is throw up at the rescue station when we saw those crosses and choke when it came to killing that preacher. The professor says I'm the hero, but I think he must be senile." "The hero?"