The Infected: Fogo Island (3)

three: inside the boat


The man named Connor keeps his eyes on the horizon, guiding the motorboat - most likely a leisure one - slowly and surely towards the docks that are getting closer and closer. We didn't speak, didn't utter a word throughout the hour long trip. It was better that way; after spending over thirty days without speaking to anyone save Felix and Aleksandra, I didn't feel the confidence nor the desire to strike up a conversation with someone so... He seems so shady.

Instead I let the wind calm me down. Birds are chirping merrily over our heads, oblivious to the malicious activities going on below. How beautiful it must be to sail above the waters, the ravaged lands, the infected humans. Be free of this misery.

I figure Connor could read my thoughts on my face, because he places his hand on my knee and smiles. He mouths It's Okay and returns to navigating the boat towards the island. I take in the gesture and kinda feel silly for doubting his kinship. Surely if he managed to last this long, he had to be a team player. Not everyone is like Aleksandra. I repeat it over and over again, assuring that the motto would never leave me.

We suddenly catch a wave and the swift motion forces my last meal up and I double over the side of the boat, spewing the corn hash I had earlier. Connor laughs and I find myself laughing along with him. I blame the wave but I know why I'm sick. The baby inside me doesn't like this ride.

We finally slow down as we arrive at the docks. There's a woman there, shielding the sun away from her eyes with her right hand. A child, no older then nine or ten, caresses her leg. They both wave.

Connor turns to me.

"That's Leila, she likes to welcome the newbies."

A wave of emotions washes me over. I didn't expect this; a greeting, a sense of family. They were welcoming me home.