Jack and Michonne moved along the north side of the dock, into the woods, weapons low but ready. Michael and Rosita took the opposite direction, working their way past a house toward the tree line where the parking lot gave way to overgrown brush.
Several minutes later, Michael and the others regrouped back at the truck.
"FInd anything?" Jack asked the moment Michael and Rosita arrived at the truck.
Michael shook his head. "Nothing on our side. What about yours?"
""Nothing unusual, except that we found some tracks in the woods. It was at least a day old or so. We followed the tracks and they led back here to the docks." Jack replied and showed them faint tracks on the ground that had already hardened by the weather.
"They must have escaped from someplace else and came here." Michael said as he looked at the footprints on the ground before turning his gaze towards that police boat on the dock. "If my memory serves me right, they must have used that police boat to come here. It wasn't here when we first came here."
Michonne's expression didn't change, but something in her stance sharpened. "So there's a high possibility that there's people around here in these parts."
"Maybe, or long gone by now since we didn't spot any human activity in the vicinity." Michael looked out at the water, at the boat that shouldn't have been there. "Doesn't change the plan. We still need one that runs, and we've possibly got one in running condition thanks to whoever they are."
"Yeah, that's good and all but the real question is. Did they leave the keys?" Rosita's voice had an edge to it. "Because if not, then we'll have to try our luck with the remaining boats here. If you ask me, aside from that police boat. I don't think any of the remaining boats are in good condition with the weather we have."
Michael looked back at the boats, then toward the water.
Damn. I hadn't factored in what months of winter would do to them.
"We might have to postpone the trip south or take the harder path, Michael." Jack nodded in agreement with Rosita.
Michael didn't argue. He stood, gave the dock a look and said. "Then let's hope our luck is good."
Alongside Michonne, Jack stayed behind to keep on their surroundings while Michael and Rosita went down to the dock and started checking each boat in turn. Rosita hadn't been exaggerating, the months of neglect had really taken a toll on the boats and the winter season just made it worse. Either the fuel system had been compromised by the weather, or the batteries were dead. Most of the boats had even become a home for critters.
"Sh*t, it seems our luck is not good." Rosita said after checking most of the boats.
"I should have brought at least one of them back when we came here." Michael felt frustrated for the first time in a while.
Rosita looked towards the police boat at the end of the dock and showed a weak smile. "Our only option left is that one."
The two carefully made their way towards the police boat. As they got closer, Rosita's expression quickly brightened when she finally got a clear look at the boat.
"Ohh, it's actually an old model!"
"And?"
"It means we can hotwire it even without the keys." Rosita smiled with relief.
Michael's expression also brightened up at that news. "Really? That's good!"
"If I'm right, this is a SeaArk Commander from around the late nineties. Old enough that I might be able to work with it."
Rosita looked at the twenty-seven foot boat with a faded Sheriff's decal peeling along the hull but the fiberglass itself was still solid, no cracks or rot.
"Huh." Rosita ran a hand along the rail, impressed despite herself. "Whoever had this thing took care of it. This is a good boat. Built for exactly the kind of trip we're planning."
"I have good news. The key's in the ignition," Michael said, after climbing aboard and checking the console.
"Looks like they left in a hurry." Rosita climbed up after him. "At least, I've avoided getting myself dirty if I hotwired it."
Michael raised an eyebrow. "You really know how to hotwire a boat?"
"I know how to hotwire most things with an engine."
"But boats aren't cars, Rosita."
"I know." She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Boats are harder than cars, but an old one like this? Not impossible. I got into boats a few weeks before everything went to hell. I learned basic repair, maintenance, and even how to hotwire them."
Michael stared at her for a moment. He had to admit that he was a little amazed.
So they do have skills the show never mentioned. Makes me wonder what else the others know how to do.
"Fortunately, you didn't have to show us your skill since that would be time consuming. Especially with this weather."
Rosita shrugged her shoulders and moved towards the dash. "Now, let's hope this thing can still run."
She turned the key to the 'On' position. A low, pathetic, dying electronic whine emanated from the dashboard buzzer, the battery was barely hanging on.
"Tsk!" Rosita clicked her tongue. She tried it again for the second time, but the result was still the same.
"Bloody hell. Are we th-" Michael was muttering to himself when the starboard motor gave a hollow, metallic wheeze—then cleared its throat with a violent, concussive pop. It stumbled, choked on the cold air, and then erupted into life with a sharp, smoky bark. The entire aluminum hull shuddered, the vibration rattling the cabin windows.
Before the first engine could stall out, Rosita hit the starter for the port motor. The second engine didn't hesitate. It whirred for half a second before letting out a roar that matched its twin, and the whole hull settled into a steady, grinding hum beneath them.
Rosita turned to look behind her and smiled. "It seems our luck hasn't run out yet."
"Yeah, I was getting worried there that we might have to turn back." Michael smiled, and the two high fived each other.