Isaac’s friends reacted the same way to the approaching ship as he had. Quietly, somberly. Isaac sank to the rocky ledge and sat down, dangling his legs over the side of the cliff. Of course he had ideas of what a large seagoing vessel looked like—the aging and dying generations of the island had done a good job of passing down the ways and walks of life in the old world. But hearing the description of a shark and bumping into one while diving for clams were too vastly different experiences.

He felt a chilling fear, mostly of the unknown.

The boat was big, probably twenty meters long and half as much wide. Although originally painted white and filled with chrome railings, the thing looked as far from brand new as Old Man Frypan. The entire vessel was filthy, paint half gone to scratches and collisions, patches of rust everywhere. Most of the windows had been cracked or busted to shreds, teeth of glass clinging to their roots in some places. Altogether it looked like it had floated its way through several wars, hurricanes, and hailstorms.

Who was on that ship? Who had blown that ominous horn?

No one spoke for several minutes as it approached, ever so slowly, propelled by nothing but waves. Isaac had a feeling that the answers to both his questions were about to be answered. Finally, Trish broke the silence.

“There’s something on the back deck. Lots of somethings.” The pronouncement had a foreboding tone to it, as if she knew exactly what it was but didn’t want to say.

“Yeah,” Sadina added. “It looks like . . .”

One tiny word came out of Dominic’s mouth, but it said more than the others.

“Oh.”

Isaac had to stand up to see what they were talking about. He did, barely maintaining his balance with a little help from Jackie, who grabbed his upper arm.

“Not a good time to go jumping, big fella,” she said. “Or falling.”

“Thanks,” Isaac replied absentmindedly, straining his eyes past the sunshine and sparkling glare from the water to see what the “somethings” were. It didn’t take long to make out. At first he saw lumpy, oblong shapes, then noticed clothes, hair, hands. Bodies lay scattered across the deck, eight or nine of them. The ship was too far away to determine their condition.

“Maybe they’re asleep,” Dominic whispered.

The suggestion was so ludicrous yet full of innocent hope that Isaac almost hugged the guy. No one wanted that ship to bump into their island while full of dead people. It was a horrifying thought on a hundred levels. Not the least of which was remembering the old virus that had driven their grandparents here. Who knew if their descendants were also immune? They’d heard stories all their life, but most of them assumed the Flare was something they’d never have to worry about. Not for a few more generations, anyway.