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The 100: New Life
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Alex's POV
We were all gathered inside the Abigail now. The yacht moved steadily through the water, the hum of its engines filling the quiet. Strand was at the wheel—of course he was. From the way he handled it, and the confidence in his movements, it was obvious he owned this vessel.
I brought up the idea of going to Florida again. Most of the group seemed willing to agree, though Strand stayed silent. That silence didn't surprise me—nor did it comfort me. I knew what this man was capable of, and that knowledge kept me on edge.
Angel still wasn't adjusting well. I'd spent most of the night consoling her, trying to ease her fears. Ray, on the other hand, seemed to be adapting quickly. He'd started bonding with Nick and Chris, probably because they were all around the same age. Ofelia, Daniel's daughter, and Alicia, Madison's daughter, were often with Angel when Leah or I weren't around, keeping her company.
Morning came. The sunlight hit the waves when, in the distance, we spotted another boat. People were crowded inside, shouting for help, waving their arms desperately.
Madison's voice rose immediately. "Strand! Stop the boat! We need to help them!"
Strand didn't even turn his head. He kept his gaze fixed forward, his hands steady on the wheel.
"Victor!" she pressed, louder this time.
"I said no," Strand replied flatly. "We don't know them. We can't take the risk."
The kids looked uneasy, their eyes darting between the strangers and us. Travis stepped closer to Strand. "We should help them. They're people, Victor."
Strand ignored him, and Travis turned to me instead. "Alex… we should help them."
I met his eyes. "No. I barely know them. For all we know, they could be a threat."
His expression shifted—disappointment, maybe even disgust. But I didn't waver.
"I understand what needs to be done," I said quietly. "Out here, trust will get you killed. The ones who adapt first are the ones who survive."
I'd learned that lesson when Strand left us in that cell. The world we knew was gone. Morality wasn't going to save anyone anymore.
Still… there was one person I knew I could trust.
Marcus.
The journey was anything but smooth. Along the way, we passed countless people stranded in their boats, waving us down, shouting for help. Every time, Madison and Travis pressed me and Strand to stop. Daniel stayed silent, but I could tell from the way he watched them that he wanted to help too.
The kids were starting to feel guilty, their young faces clouded with unease. I kept telling them the same thing: It's not worth it. We don't know these people. They could be dangerous.
One night, while most of the others slept, Leah spoke quietly to me. "You've changed," she said.
I didn't respond. Because she was right.
It wasn't just desperate survivors we encountered. We came across gangs in the open sea—loud, reckless, their boats blocking the way. Luckily, they didn't have firearms, and we avoided them without a fight. We also ran into so-called "government patrols," demanding we stop. But one look at them told me they were no real officials—just common people pretending to be, trying to take advantage of others.
Those encounters only reinforced what I already knew: I had to be careful. Careful of everyone. Trust no one but my family.
It had been five days since we set out. Supplies were running low, and the fuel gauge was dipping dangerously close to empty. We had no choice but to stop.
Hawaii appeared on the horizon—a place to rest, resupply, and refuel.
We anchored the Abigail close to shore, the salty wind carrying the faint scent of blood. Hawaii looked calm from a distance, but I'd learned that looks were a dangerous illusion in this new world.
When talk turned to resupplying, Travis, Nick, and Chris volunteered without hesitation. I decided to join them—better to keep an eye on the group—and brought Ray along for extra muscle. Strand stayed behind with Madison and the others to guard the boat.
We stepped onto the dock, the boards creaking under our weight. The air was humid, quiet, too quiet.
"Alright," I said, scanning the streets ahead. "We split into two teams. Travis, you're with Nick. Ray, you're with me and Chris. Keep your eyes open. We're looking for food first, then fuel."
We moved cautiously through narrow streets lined with abandoned shops. That's when we heard it—low, guttural groans, followed by the dragging shuffle of feet.
From behind a rusted delivery truck, three of them staggered into view.
Ray froze. Chris swore under his breath.
I stepped forward, keeping my voice low but firm. "Listen up. You see one of them, you aim for the head. Nothing else matters. Watch."
One of the dead lurched toward me, arms reaching. I gripped the crowbar I'd brought, waited until it was close, then swung hard. The skull cracked like a dropped melon, and the thing collapsed in a heap.
"Like that," I said, flicking gore off the metal. "You miss the head, you might as well be feeding them yourself."
Ray moved in and crushed another walker's head with a steel pipe. Chris took a shaky breath, then raised his bat and smashed the last one down. His eyes were wide, but there was a spark of pride there too.
We stood in silence for a moment, catching our breath.
"Come on," I said, glancing down the road. "We're burning daylight, and I don't want to be here when the sun sets."
We pressed on, knowing this was just the start of whatever Hawaii had waiting for us.
We stepped inside. The place looked like it had been picked clean—shelves overturned, cans scattered on the floor. But I knew better. People always missed things in a hurry.
"Ray, Chris, watch the entrance," I said. "Nick, Travis—check the back aisles. Look for anything sealed, not expired, and easy to carry."
We scavenged in silence, the only sound the crunch of glass under our boots. I found a stash of canned beans and some bottled water tucked behind a fallen display. Nick came back with protein bars and two boxes of instant noodles. Travis found a small medical kit—half-empty, but still worth taking.
That's when I heard it.
A faint, wet dragging sound from the back room.
I motioned for everyone to freeze. Slowly, I stepped toward the sound, crowbar ready. I nudged the swinging door open with the tip—and a walker stumbled out, its face half gone, one eye dangling loosely.
It lunged. I sidestepped, hooked the crowbar under its jaw, and yanked hard. Bone cracked. The corpse dropped.
"Two more!" Chris shouted.
They came from the side aisle, knocking over shelves as they rushed us. Ray swung his pipe, caving one skull in. Chris hesitated for a split second, then swung his bat with all his strength. The walker went down, twitching.
"Good," I said, breathing hard. "But next time—don't freeze. They don't wait for you to be ready."
We packed the food into backpacks and moved out fast. I wasn't going to push our luck.
A few blocks over, we found a small boat repair shop. Inside were gas cans, some full, others empty. We took three, strapping them to Ray's pack. It wasn't much, but it would get us moving again.
As we stepped back toward the dock, the sun was dipping low. Shadows stretched across the street, and somewhere in the distance, more groans echoed.
"Move," I ordered. "No detours. We've got what we came for."
We made it to the Abigail just as the first shapes began appearing at the end of the pier.
Once aboard, Strand fired the engine. The Abigail roared to life, and we pulled away from shore. Hawaii shrank behind us, a place of both salvation and danger, and I knew this wouldn't be the last time we'd have to make choices that could get us killed.
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