Vanguard | Post-Apocalyptic YA

Part 30: Radio Silence

My entire life has been a lie.

My father wasn't the man he said he was. My commanding officer didn't believe the ideals he claimed he did. My newfound ally hadn't supported my cause like she pretended to. And as I stand on Port Canaveral's Pier Four with its weathered sign claiming that Florida is the best place on earth while hanging halfway off its rusty poles, I realize that I don't give a damn about any of it.

I absent-mindedly rub my right thumb and forefinger together and flinch. Looking down in the faint moonlight, I only see a dark smudge on my fingertip. But another, harder press results in a similar pinprick of pain. It's probably a splinter, and I give it no further thought.

I think I should care—about my situation, the people who put me in this position, and even my damn finger—but I truly don't. I'm tired. Yes, that's it. I'm just really, really tired. I want to go back to my bunk, climb under the covers, and sleep for twenty-four hours straight. But then I remember that my bunk is almost thirty nautical miles offshore, under hundreds of feet of water, and when I left it more than an hour ago, it was in total chaos.

Thinking of Vanguard fills me with even more emptiness. Is emptiness a feeling, though? If not, then it should be because it's the only way I can describe the void in my soul left from the thought of how simple and carefree my life was two months ago. That was before I decided to be a show-off on that stupid fishing expedition. If I had just listed to Ray and had given up on that Bluefin, I would have never gone to the water's surface. Without that knucklehead move, I may have never seen land nor eventually discover the people living on it.

I scoff. Who am I kidding, least of all myself? As if Will Scott ever needed a reason to be a cocky fool. Scratch that. Not Scott. That isn't my name. It's Will freaking Jacobson, son of Chris Jacobson, identity-thief extraordinaire.

I look back at the terminal building where my fellow evacuees from Vanguard including Dad were taken after we docked. They're guarded by a contingent under Governor Bradford who'd been laying in wait for our arrival. But it's not all bad news. Before leading me out of the ferry, Nelly told me that Ellen was also here. Supposedly the O-Towners wanted to use her as a bargaining tool against me in case something went wrong. It's funny how they thought I was the weakest link. I guess they didn't think Commander Lamer could be careless enough to blow up one of the ferries, throwing all of our plans out the window. Then again, nothing could have safeguarded against that. Nothing other than almost everyone I cared about or respected not betraying me, that is.

"You really did it, boy." Dunstan's indistinguishable brogue draws my attention back toward the water. As I look down the length of the pier, I see the old mechanic and Jed Sykes heading toward me. Although the former's expression is hidden under his scruffy beard, the latter couldn't look any more pissed than if someone had just kissed his girlfriend right in front of him.

I smile. Oh yeah. That was me. And I'm not even sorry.

"What are you gonna blame me for this time?" I ask Dunstan as he reaches me, even when I suspect the answer. Lamer's death is our biggest loss, and I'm sure everyone will think it's undoubtedly all on me.

But instead of giving me a deserved dressing-down or even a few choice words (believe me, Dunstan knows plenty), the rugged Scotsman grins and slaps me on the back. "For saving civilization, o' course!"

I blink in confusion until Jed nudges us along with a stern look and nod of his head toward the terminal building. "Get moving."

Although my brain wants to tell him to fuck himself and my fist wants to punch his smug face, my feet obey the blunt command.