HiveComb

When the Ocean Pearl left the dock that morning, I had nothing else on my mind other than my wife's beautiful smile and the sweet smell of her coconut sunscreen.

It was our first holiday since the birth of our baby, and we were determined to spend it far from the confines of the bustling city noise and toxicity.

Never did the thought occur that it would be the last time we saw the world as it was. I'm sure nobody onboard did, if not I would have looked harder at the shore before it disappeared.

Ocean Pearl was the dream come true I've always fantasized about with my wife. A floating city sliding into the sea with the sun watching us from above. Maria loved every sight of it and she made sure to enjoy herself too much. She danced barefoot during the live band nights, her hair glowing under the string lights. Our baby learned to say her first "Mama and Papa” on the ship. For the first time, our lives felt simple.

Four weeks later, we were sailing towards shore. It was Cape Verde the captain had said. It felt like sailing back towards the life we had left for the sea. Little did we know that the life we left for the sea was gone leaving behind the memories of what we knew it to be.

I remember stretching forth on the ship rails and pointing to the shoreline with Maria standing beside me and holding tight to our baby.

"But Mensa, there's no crowd. Not even workers. Or taxis fighting for space." Maria had no-ticed.

I squinted my eye. She wasn't wrong. It all felt odd. Just an empty dock and the sound of wa-ter slapping wood. Like a ghost town.

"Is this normal?" I had asked unconsciously.

"I don't think so." I heard another passenger beside me reply. "Something doesn't feel right."

Maria grabbed my arm and tightened her grip on me. “Mensa… this isn’t right.”

I could feel the tension and fear brewing inside her.

For precautionary measures, we formed a small group of hefty men who disembarked from the ship. Our mission was simple: find out what was happening, grab as much food as we could, then report back to the others.

I could hear my sandals slap against the wet boards as we moved. The streets were void of humans with just cars frozen in place. A bag of oranges lay spilled on the ground, already drying in the sun. A coffee cup sat on a café table, still half full, the milk forming a skin.

It was like what Fr. Mathew had preached about rapture.

We searched the city for hours. Calling out to people. But there was no single human sound, just the creaking of shop doors swinging in the wind. An old man in our search party had sworn that he saw a shadow in an upstairs window.

With every step we took, the air felt heavier. Like something was watching us in the dark.

We returned to the ship when it was almost dark. The atmosphere on the ship had changed by now. More tense than when we left.

I ran over to Maria and hugged her. She looked pale. There was fear in her eyes. Our baby was crying while Maria tried to rock him to sleep.

She avoided my gaze when she asked, “If something happened to the world… how do we raise a child in it?”

We camped by the dock trying to figure out exactly what was going on. Maybe we would see some humans.

By the second day, the Captain called us all together. He claimed to have heard an SOS call over the radio. We all came, parents holding their kids, friends standing shoulder to shoulder, strangers who had learned each other’s names over the past month. The ocean blazed gold behind him as he turned the dial and played it for us. It was a woman’s voice through the stat-ic.

"Calling all survivors of the alien invasion. We are camped far south of the West African wa-ters. It is safe there. The aliens don't hunt in the water. If you hear this, we are alive.”

The Captain played it again and again. Making sure everyone heard it. My hands shook. Murmurs grew in the crowd.

The Captain raised his hands to silence the noise. Then he spoke.

"I radioed back and was told the aliens had taken many humans captive with them. Those who were able to escape sailed far away to sea. We only hope that our families are amongst some of the survivors." He paused. "We sail to the Western waters immediately." He con-cluded, took a bow, and returned to his post.

Soon the ship was sailing away from the dock. I stood at the railings with our baby in my right arm and Maria's hands locked in mine. She said nothing but squeezed my hands at intervals. I reached out to her and drew her into my body.

"We'll be fine," I whispered.

She looked at me and gave me a weak smile.

Then we stared into the horizon. This time not as passengers on a cruise ship. But survivors on the last ship.

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