Apocalypse Drift

by Joe Nobody

  Sage grimaced at the replay of the disappointment. She had to finish getting ready for her parents to stop by, and reliving all of this wasn’t helping. Maybe they won’t stay long. Maybe dad will be in one of his quiet moods and there wouldn’t be any conformation or judgment.

  Houston, Texas

  February 10, 2017

  The sign above the door read “Gold and Silver Buyers,” and looked out of place in the otherwise empty strip mall. Wyatt noticed the sign wasn’t a permanent fixture, but rather one of those banner advertisements hanging via a rope at each corner. The weeds sprouting here and there in the parking lot seemed to be competing with the random assortments of trash scattered around. A long row of dirty windows displayed montages of signage broadcasting “Space for Lease.” The block walls between the storefronts held their own advertising, courtesy of some local youths and spray paint. Two years ago, Wyatt wouldn’t have even considered doing business at such a place. Now, the low-rent, unoccupied strip mall was commonplace – eyesore or not.

  Wyatt turned off the motor and got out. He made another quick scan of the parking lot, making sure he was alone. The wadded paper bag in his hand was full of Morgan’s gold jewelry, and he couldn’t help but feel like a target. There was one other car in the lot, and he was sure that belonged to the girl working in the shop. If I were desperate, he thought, I would wait for some dude to come toting in his life’s treasures and sell them. I would be waiting on him when he came out with the cash.

  Wyatt shook his head, embarrassed at his paranoia, and picked up the pace across the lot. Still, he watched his back. Years ago, this area was one of Morgan’s favorite shopping destinations and an icon of Houston’s north side. The main street was Farm to Market 1960, or FM1960. The two-initial designation a leftover from a time when this area had been farmland and the early Texans had been practical in naming their roads. Houston had experienced a boom of growth in the 1970s and ‘80s. The city didn’t have any zoning, allowing the growth to spread outward rather than upward with skyscrapers. FM1960 became one of the main drags. For over 15 miles, scores of shopping malls, office buildings and businesses of every kind had budded and thrived. Wyatt remembered someone once saying, “If you can’t buy it on FM1960, you don’t need it.”

  All of those new businesses needed cheap labor, and apartment complexes sprouted along the corridor like wildflowers in the spring. Upscale housing, country clubs, and restaurants abounded. When the never-ending recession gripped the country in 2009, things began to change. Stores hired fewer workers, which translated into fewer apartment leases being signed. Owners of apartment buildings needed to fill their vacancies, so rents became cheap. Inner city, low-income families suddenly realized they could afford to live in a better neighborhood and moved in.

  Like so many communities in the US, urban creep began to wear down the once celebrated area. Crime slowly increased, and school rankings began to fall. Upscale shoppers moved to safer, less congested stores and shops. Businesses closed or relocated, following the consumers. Just like the apartment complexes, the commercial developers needed to lease their space, so rental rates dropped. Less desirable retailers jumped at the chance for a more prestigious address. It was a downward spiral that was almost impossible to stop.

  The all but empty strip mall Wyatt was approaching was one of hundreds along the six-lane street. He remembered when traffic was an issue – but no more. He hadn’t seen more than four or five cars at any one stoplight the entire trip.

  The tattoo parlors, pawnshops, secondhand stores, and payday loan businesses survived, but they were like small islands in a dead sea of decay. Wyatt dismissed all of this and pushed the doorbell-like buzzer at the entrance. He’d been here a few days ago to get a quote, so he knew the process. The realization that this jewelry was the last large ticket item compelled him to be a savvy seller and solicit several bids. He’d visited four different locations, and King Midas Gold and Silver Buyers was the highest bidder.

  He waited a few moments until the sound of the lock disengaging buzzed in his ears. The sparse lobby was obviously as temporary as the sign outside. A few mismatched chairs, a single end table, and crusty-looking lamp sat amid bare walls. The hastily acquired decor wasn’t intended to attract repeat business. Behind a small counter sat a young woman, less than 30 years old. Her smile indicated she remembered him from a few days prior. “So, we offered the highest price for your gold?”

  Wyatt nodded, “Yes, you’re the winner. Is the quote still good?”

  The girl scanned her computer monitor and pecked a few times on the keyboard. She paused while the machine responded and then busied herself with a calculator. Twenty seconds later, she looked up and smiled again. “You’re in luck. Gold shot up again this morning, so I can actually offer you a little more than I estimated the other day.”

  “Well that’s good news. How much more?”

  The girl double-checked her calculator and the computer screen. “Almost $500 more. Gold is going nutzoid right now.”

  Wyatt teased, “Maybe I should wait a few more days to sell. I might get another thousand by then.”

  A shrug was quickly followed up with a mumble. “Up to you.”

  Wyatt was actually pondered doing just that, but decided against it. The precious commodity could go down as well. That was the problem with all of the turmoil churning throughout the country right now – you just never knew what was going to happen.

  Wyatt shook his head and placed the heavy paper bag on the counter. “Naw, I’ll go ahead and sell today. The only thing going up in price faster than precious metals is gasoline, and I’m wasting a lot of that liquid gold by driving around.”

  The young woman nodded and took Wyatt’s bag. She began a lengthy process of pulling each piece of jewelry out and rubbing it on a black surface that looking like the ink tin of an old-fashioned rubber stamp. She then carefully squirted a drop of liquid from a small tube to check the purity.

  The entire process took almost an hour, and Wyatt scrutinized her every move carefully. While his instincts told him the gal was honest, you couldn’t be too cautious. When the girl had finished weighing, testing, and marking every piece, she hit the total button on her calculator with a grand gesture. Rather than announcing the total, she turned the little device around so Wyatt could see the number. Not bad, he thought, not bad at all.

  He nodded his acceptance, and the attendant said, “I have to go to the safe in the back. I can’t leave your gold out here while I’m gone. Do you trust me enough to let it out of your sight for a few minutes?”

  Wyatt nodded again, figuring nothing in life was without risk. While the girl left to retrieve his money, he reflected on the last few days. The rise in the price of gold helped offset some of the gloom he had been feeling since Morgan and he had set off on this course. It had been so difficult selling everything. Countless trips to pawnbrokers resulted in the liquidation of blenders, leaf blowers, televisions and other man-portable items. Three different secondhand stores now displayed his family’s furniture on their showroom floors. Sage welcomed the bookcase, wardrobe, 3 boxes of kitchen paraphernalia and assorted décor items into her apartment. Morgan and she had offset some of the melancholy by fussing around and arranging the hand-me-downs in the newly furnished space.

  Still, it was depressing. Wyatt and Morgan had basically kept their clothing, and enough kitchenware to make coffee and eat. Last night they had slept on folding cots normally stored in a hall closet for guests visiting during times of high occupancy in their household.

  Shortly, the attendant returned, counting out a significant stack of $100 bills. Wyatt, ever worried about robbery, stashed the cash in three different pockets before bidding the lady goodbye. He paused before leaving the place, checking that the parking lot was still empty.

  Driving home, he reflected on how much the area had deteriorated over the last 15 years. The parallel with his life was obvious.

  Until it hits you between the eyes, he
thought, you don’t realize the effect of poverty. When his credit rating began its descent, small gotchas popped out of the woodwork. The cost of his life insurance rose 20% - blamed on a bad credit rating. He tried to switch policies, but no new company would have him at any price. Again, his credit score was deemed the culprit.

  Credit card companies suddenly increased their interest rates precipitously even though they were being paid every month. When Wyatt contacted the banks, they said that he was now a higher risk than before – regardless of his payment history. “I bet you guys showed up late for the battle and enjoyed bayonetting the wounded,” he had angrily scolded one call center employee. It didn’t help; they raised his interest rate again the following month.

  Morgan tried to downgrade their satellite television to a basic cable package, but Comcable wouldn’t take them as a customer without a significant deposit. The amount of the deposit was more than what they would have saved with the reduced service. It seemed to Wyatt that everyone was dog piling his family, kicking them when they were down. Job interviews for positions he could handle with one hand tied behind his back led nowhere. Finally, a headhunter returned his call and laid it out on the table – no one wants to hire an accountant with bad credit.

  He had checked into bankruptcy and couldn’t find a law firm that would take either his company or him personally as a client without extortionist-level retainer fees. The cost was so prohibitive; Wyatt wondered how anyone could afford to go out of business legally.

  When the lease was up on his company car, he relegated to a used SUV. The “We Finance Here” car lot charged extraordinary interest rates that negated much of the savings over a new car. The repair bills for the constantly breaking vehicle resulted in it actually costing him more than a new vehicle would have.

  The role of the humiliation factor couldn’t be ignored. During the last few months the business had been operating, Wyatt had a lot of trouble focusing on work. It seemed like every night there was a new crisis at home, and the resolution was often demoralizing. Constant phone calls from bill collectors filled his voice mail, while endless emails offering money from loan sharks and payday loan hacks cluttered his inbox. Trying to work on a client’s books during this period was next to impossible, and he often wondered if the stress didn’t affect the quality of his work.

  Wyatt turned into his neighborhood and noticed another house was up for sale. There were now nine homes listed on his street, four of which were in foreclosure. Thinking about a new start and leaving all this behind actually improved his mood. We’ll make things simpler, he mused.

  Three days later, Morgan and he packed the last few remaining items in the house and locked the door behind them - one last time. Each of them anticipated the need to console the other, but that concern was completely unnecessary. Both were relieved this chapter of their financial ordeal was finally over.

  The couple stood in the driveway and held hands for a brief, tender moment before driving both cars to the marina. Stopping at the mailbox, Wyatt conducted a small ceremony of placing an envelope containing the keys inside. The mortgage company could wait on the US mail just like everybody else.

  On the way to the dock, they stopped by Sage’s apartment. For once, she was actually ready to go and hopped in her mother’s car. Morgan appreciated her daughter taking a few days off so the family could be together during the transition. Since the plan was going so smoothly, she thought about taking a little of the gold money and going shopping. As the two girls followed Wyatt’s SUV through Houston, their conversation centered on how to break the news that a detour to the mall was in order.

  Chapter 4

  February 14, 2017

  Kemah Bay, Texas

  That first day, they busied themselves preparing the boat. The forty-five foot trawler was really more like a floating two-bedroom, two-bath condo. Boxer had been Wyatt’s pride and joy. After much debate, the family decided to name their new craft in honor of a great-uncle who once served as a naval aviator aboard the aircraft carrier USS Boxer. Wyatt had always been close to the man and thought the name matched the boxy shape of the vessel as well.

  Like returning to a vacation home that hadn’t been occupied in some time, all sorts of small tasks needed to be done before the couple occupied the space full time. Water tanks needed to be flushed and refilled. The septic system required similar attention. While Morgan and Sage busied themselves with dusting, wiping and washing, Wyatt performed maintenance on the numerous onboard systems.

  There were three diesel motors in the engine room. Two were for propulsion, the third being a 14- kilowatt generator to power the hotel. All of them required oil and fluid checks. Boxer was also equipped with an extensive battery system. Besides the normal, deep-cycle starting batteries for the engines, she carried a bank of reserve cells connected to an inverter. If the family wanted to enjoy a quiet evening without the humming of the generator, Boxer could power all of her appliances using battery only – for a while.

  Wyatt checked the filters on the air conditioning and heating system as well as Boxer’s water maker. The latter device pulled seawater through a series of ceramic filters and produced fresh drinking water.

  Morgan and Sage had two, full bathrooms to address. Each was fully equipped with head, shower, and vanity sink. Besides unpacking the significant amount of personal items carried from their home, the girls wanted to freshen the entire cabin, as it had not been ventilated for several weeks.

  The trio worked tirelessly from dawn till dusk, as a seemingly endless amount of work was required to make Boxer feel like home. They unpacked and stowed clothes, stored pantry items, and replenished their supply of ice.

  Boxer was equipped with one household-size refrigerator and a small deep freezer in the galley. A half-size refrigerator on the deck kept cool drinks handy topside.

  After starting the diesels, topping off the battery fluid, and double-checking the workings of the engine room, Wyatt advanced to the bridge and repeated a similar process there.

  Boxer was really a three-story boat. Seafarers boarded her transom on the middle, or deck level. Four stairs headed downward into the cabin, or hotel area, while a ladder led up to the bridge.

  In the center of the bridge was the helm, the nerve center of Boxer’s operation. A plush, comfortable, white, vinyl chair was bolted to the deck in front of a dash that wouldn’t have looked out of place in an airplane. Rows of gauges, digital readouts, meters, and large monitors surrounded the stainless steel steering wheel.

  Each of Boxer’s three engines required its own set of monitoring instruments. Equipped with the equivalent of four separate electrical power systems as well, Boxer could run off shore power just like a house. She could also generate her own AC power from either the battery or generator. The fourth system was DC, powered from the large battery bank in the engine room. Each of these options demanded its own panel of gauges and meters on the helm.

  Wyatt smiled as he remembered having to learn how to operate the vessel some years ago. He had studied all of Chapman’s books regarding piloting and seamanship over and over again – almost memorizing the information those nautical standards contained.

  In reality, Boxer was a combination house and recreational vehicle. As long as her fuel tanks held diesel and the galley were stocked, she was quite self-sufficient. She was mobile, able to handle all but the worst weather conditions without issue.

  A burnt orange sunset streaked the western horizon when Wyatt finished his extensive checklists. He heard the sliding glass door leading to the salon roll open, and a moment later Sage’s head appeared at the top of the ladder. “Mom says dinner’s ready.”

  “Another five minutes and I’ll be through,” Wyatt responded.

  A few moments later, Morgan steered her husband to the boat’s bow where two plates complete with PB&J’s were illuminated by a crimson, cinnamon-scented votive candle. It was Valentine’s Day, after all.

  Wyatt’s cell phone buzzed at 2 a.m
. He was so deep in REM sleep; he couldn’t find the right buttons to answer the call. His half-functioning mind revved his adrenal glands, arriving at the conclusion that collection agencies were now dialing his cell phone in the middle of the night. He became so angry that when it rang again a few minutes later, his tone was extremely harsh. “This had better be good!”

  A surprised voice on the other end responded, “Dad?”

  Wyatt exhaled, his voice becoming instantly soft. “David? I’m sorry, buddy…I was asleep. Is everything okay?”

  “Dad, I’m getting on a military transport in 10 minutes. I should be at Ellington Field about three hours from now. Can you pick me up?”

  Wyatt’s heart soared. “You bet I will, son. I’ll get ready and head that way in just a bit.” It was almost an hour’s drive to the airfield.

  “Okay, Dad. I’m sorry I woke you. You’re going to have to put up with me for 30 days, ya know.”

  Wyatt yawned, and a sleepy smile crossed his lips. “I guess we’ll figure out some way to survive. Love you, son.”

  “Love you too, Dad.”

  The line went dead, and Wyatt sat in the dark for a moment, enjoying what was a rare, good feeling. His son was coming home, and right at that moment, nothing else mattered. He felt a hand on his shoulder, signaling Morgan was awake. “Is everything okay?”

  Wyatt stretched, the night’s stiffness evaporating from his body. “Yes, yes it is. David’s plane will land in a few hours,” he stated, pushing back the covers, swinging his legs off the side of the bed, and sitting upright. “I’m going to pick him up.”

  Morgan grunted, “You mean we are going to pick him up, don’t you?”

  Wyatt grinned, “If you make the coffee, then you can tag along.” The remark earned him a playful swat on the shoulder.

  February 14, 2017

  Washington, D.C.