Apocalypse Drift

by Joe Nobody

  Evidently, he wasn’t the only one who decided that getting a few extra supplies was a good idea. The Food World parking lot was jammed with customers, many of whom were frantically circling the already overcrowded facility, on the prowl for shoppers exiting the building. Wyatt didn’t even bother looking for a close-in space. He pulled to the end of a far row, centering the SUV in the striped area that ordinarily provided drivers with adequate turning space from row to row. He locked the doors and sprinted toward the store’s entrance.

  The unmistakable warning of squealing tires compelled Wyatt to pivot, facing the clamor. A pickup rounded a row of parked cars, its engine accelerating while the driver focused his attention on his rearview mirror. The truck barreled straight for Wyatt, who barely managed to spring out of the way. A lone security guard chased the offending vehicle on foot, struggling to keep up. The heavyset, older man didn’t have any hope of catching the speeding getaway car, but still yelled, “Stop! Come back here!” If it hadn’t been for the events described on the radio and the near miss by a fast-moving bumper, Wyatt probably would have found the whole episode comical.

  The truck raced to the end of the row where it swerved to avoid another car. The right front wheel struck the curb at a perfect angle, resulting in one side of the vehicle careening into the air. Wyatt watched, fascinated as the pickup tilted in slow motion, rolled several feet on two wheels, and then gradually tipped over on its side. As the truck slid to a halt in the grassy border of the parking lot, the guard stopped his pursuit directly in front of Wyatt. The man stood, gasping to catch his breath, bent at the waist with his hands on his knees.

  The guard didn’t look like the sort of fellow who was a regular marathon runner, and the slight raspy noise emitting from his lungs concerned Wyatt. “Hey man, you okay?”

  The panting man turned his gaze to Wyatt and nodded, taking a few deep breaths in order to form words. “Yeah…I’m okay…how about you?”

  Before Wyatt could respond, the massive front window of Food World exploded outwards, shards of glass raining down on the crowd trying to enter the store. As the security guard began to straighten, several teenagers jumped through the newly created opening, all carrying boxes, bags, and packages of loot. “No! Stop!” the guard shouted, and started jogging back to the building.

  Wyatt observed the looters scamper off and then turned back to the pickup, now fully at rest on its side. The driver was struggling to push open the door. Wyatt scrutinized the scene as several people ignored the accident, scurrying past without even a glance. The passersby apparently were more concerned about getting inside the store before the shelves were picked clean than checking on the well-being of the motorist.

  Wyatt approached the truck, shouting out to the driver, “Hey, are you hurt?”

  A muffled voice came through the underside of the floorboard, “Go away! I’ve got a gun, so just go away!”

  The aggressive response caught Wyatt by surprise. He stopped several feet away, unsure of his next steps. The driver, a young man in his early twenties, eventually pushed the door up and open. True to his word, he crawled out, brandishing a pistol, poised, primed, and ready to shoot his way out. It quickly dawned on the young fellow that no one was going to attack him, so he tucked the handgun in his belt and began examining his truck, a disgusted look on his face. When he pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, Wyatt decided the guy wasn’t seriously injured and turned for the store.

  Another siren came screaming down the street, drawing Wyatt’s glance over his shoulder. He noticed the pistol-toting driver take off, dashing across the pavement. Evidently, he’s worried that the cops are coming to arrest him, thought Wyatt. That guy just abandoned his truck and left the scene of an accident. Why is everyone in a panic over a stupid press conference?

  Before he could take even one more step, a woman’s scream split the air. A loud, popping racket punctuated her desperate cry. Wyatt watched in horror as the security guard stumbled backwards, hands clutched to his chest. He hadn’t even collapsed on the ground before dozens of people stampeded out the doors.

  Wyatt froze as he watched the throng violently overrun a young woman clutching a newborn. Employees and customers alike were streaming away from the building, many looking over their shoulders as if being chased by some horror. It finally occurred to Wyatt’s overstimulated mind that the popping noises were gunshots coming from inside the building. Enough of this; I’m out of here.

  Wyatt jogged back to his car and started to leave when movement caught his eye. He spotted a man approach the overturned pickup, glance around, and then slink away with a bag of groceries. Now there’s an idea.

  Wyatt pulled up beside the wreck and hopped out. In a few minutes, all of the remaining bags were in the SUV. A sense of guilt entered Wyatt’s mind, a welling of remorse over participating in the bedlam. Climbing back behind the wheel, he sat for a few moments and pondered what he’d just done.

  Why did I do that? I’m not a thief. I’ve never stolen anything before in my life. Is this some contagious disease? He was about to get out and return the sacks of goodies when more shots rang out from Food World. Three men, waving pistols in the air, rushed out of the building. The few people who remained in the lot scattered in all directions, their faces filled with terror. Several took cover, ducking behind nearby cars while others seemed determined to put as much distance between them and the shooters as possible. The air was filled with dissonance - grating screams, barking tires and racing engines. Wyatt, reacting with an instinct of self-preservation, shifted the SUV into drive. Leaving two trails of rubber, he made a mad dash for the exit.

  Over a mile passed before Wyatt slowed the car to a reasonable speed. Just as his heart rate was returning to normal, he noticed sirens approaching from behind. His stomach knotted, absolutely sure the police were after him for being a looter. He sighed with relief as the two ambulances came into view and then zoomed past.

  As Wyatt continued, he approached a bank at the corner of the intersection leading to the marina. Nearing the impressive stucco building, he could see several flashing lights in the parking lot. A large crowd, four police cars, and two ambulances surrounded the building. What now?

  Signaling to turn, Wyatt determined that the police were in a confrontation with several members of the angry throng. From his vantage, it appeared as though the cops were trying to block people from entering the bank. Dozens of men and women were pointing fingers and shouting at the officers, who were clearly trying to protect the branch. An anxious-looking man, whom Wyatt recognized as the branch manager, fidgeted nervously behind the thin line of police.

  Wyatt couldn’t help himself, slowing the car to gawk – curious about what was going on. Did someone rob the bank? Without warning, a large man shoved one of the police officers, and the crowd surged forward. A shot rang out, and people scattered in every direction. This looks like Food World again. Wyatt hit the gas, speeding back to the marina.

  Reaching over with his free arm, Wyatt pulled the hatch closed. The plastic handles of the cheap, throwaway bags were eating into his hand, but he ignored the discomfort. Scanning the marina’s parking lot, he crossed the pavement and aimed for the ramp leading down to their pier. Boxer’s slip was quite a distance, so he rested the bags on the sidewalk to readjust his load - or at least that’s what he tried to tell himself. In reality, he needed to calm down. The experience at the store had shaken him badly, and he needed to regroup before Morgan and the kids saw him in such a state.

  Pausing at the head of the pier, the bizarre episode kept replaying in his mind. Why is everyone acting so irrational? Who kills for groceries? His analyses of the events at Food World were interrupted by the distinct grinding noise of a motor starting. The sound was emanating from his pier, and he hadn’t noticed anyone else around today. He picked up the bags of pilfered supplies and strode down the walkway.

  As Boxer came into view, he observed David examining the shore power connection. “Everything ok
ay?”

  David spun and glanced back, immediately moving to help carry the bags. “The power keeps blinking on and off. I powered up the generator so we wouldn’t drain the batteries. All of the connections are tight. I don’t know what’s going on.”

  They dropped the bags on the pier and Wyatt began checking the connection of the larger vessel to shore power. Wyatt’s boat required as much electrical energy as any small house. Boxer was furnished with televisions, two refrigerators, freezer, water maker, and all sorts of other appliances that consumed electricity. While underway, a generator supplied the necessary power, but when tied up at a slip, large yellow power cables connect the boat with the land-based electrical grid.

  Wyatt rechecked the large plugs that twisted into sockets mounted on the utility post. David sighed, “Dad, I already tested those. The fuses are fine, too. I think the problem is with the marina.”

  Wyatt patted his son on the shoulder, “I just wanted to double-check, son, you never know. Did you check the breakers in the boat?” Wyatt regretted the question even as it left his lips. Of course, he did. He’s not a little boy anymore, and I’ve got to stop treating him like one. He’s a man now and an officer in the United States Army.

  David nodded, “Yes sir, they’re okay, too. I even tried running the cables to another post. Hey, what’s going on with all the sirens? Is it the big fire somewhere in Houston?”

  Before Wyatt could respond, the cabin door slid open, his wife and daughter strolling onto the back deck. Wyatt waved to the girls before instructing David. “Let’s get the groceries aboard. We all need to talk. The world is now officially insane.”

  After depositing the sacks in the galley, Wyatt asked everyone to have a seat. The main cabin was equipped with a table surrounded by a semi-circle of couch-like seating. After everyone had settled, Wyatt repeated what he had heard on the radio and related his first-hand experience at Food World.

  David spoke first. “Should I try to get the satellite dish working? I think we need to know what’s going on.” Wyatt nodded in agreement. The boat was equipped with flat screens in both cabins and the salon, but the reception in the fiberglass cocoon created by the hull was terrible. The original owner had purchased a new satellite system but never installed it. Wyatt thought, “Just another one of the endless list of things that go with owning a boat. Things you never get around to.” As David left to gather tools, Wyatt turned to his daughter, inviting her assistance. “Sage, why don’t you go to the bridge and follow the chat on the VHF radio? I’m curious if the Coast Guard is broadcasting anything.”

  An expression fueled by annoyance crossed the young girl’s face. Sage glanced at her mother who nodded approval. The teenager sighed, “You guys just want me out of here so you can talk. Whatever.”

  After Sage headed for the bridge, Wyatt drew next to his wife, and they hugged. Morgan’s concerned expression betrayed the fear welling inside her. “How bad do you think it is?” she queried.

  Wyatt rubbed his chin and thought for a moment, “Pretty bad. As a matter of fact, I was downright frightened, Morgan. The look in people’s eyes was the worst part.”

  Morgan digested his remark while studying his face. Finally, she offered, “What are we going to do, Wyatt? I’m wondering if we should try to make it back to Sage’s apartment or something. Are we in a good place?”

  Wyatt had already considered that and was quick with a reply, “I don’t think we can make it back, even if we wanted to. The reports on the radio indicted the roads are closed. The police asked everyone to stay at home and remain calm. I think we’re better off hunkering down right here. Don’t we have everything we need?”

  Morgan tilted her head, mentally running an inventory, “I guess so…. I mean, there’s plenty of food, so I imagine we’ll be okay for a while.”

  Wyatt racked his brain to remember anything he’d missed – any critical item they might need later. Unless they ran out of electrical power or the water maker broke, they had an endless supply of H2O. Boxer’s two massive fuel tanks had been topped off with diesel. A few years ago, he’d learned the hard way to keep the reserve full. Preoccupied with the rush to return home after the weekend, he’d delayed refilling the tanks. The boat sat in the hot Texas sun for a few weeks while he was away on a business trip. Algae, feeding off of the air in the chambers, had grown and multiplied - eventually clogging the filters. It had been an expensive lesson having the tanks drained and scrubbed. Boats are a hole in the water you throw money into, he mused.

  Boxer was also equipped with a small set of solar panels and a wind turbine. These devices were used to keep the massive bank of batteries charged while “on the hook,” or at anchor. Most boaters wanted to enjoy a quiet anchorage without the constant drone of a running generator. These renewable energy sources helped extend the life of the battery bank.

  He looked up at Morgan, “I think we’re in good shape here. As a matter of fact, we’re probably better off here than at home if the power stays out. We have electricity from several different sources, unlimited drinking water, and an ocean full of fish.”

  Morgan nodded her agreement, “I guess you’re right. I mean I can always serve fish and chips or fish tacos or fish grilled with lemon,” she giggled. “I’m going to start putting the groceries away. I hope you pilfered some good stuff. Something useful…like a five-pound tub of tartar sauce,” Morgan teased.

  Wyatt laughed, “Shoot. I just hope that guy lifted name brand soda. Some of those house brands are iffy at best.”

  Morgan laughed, extracting items from the bags. Wyatt watched her reach in a sack and remove a can. Her expression changed to “Why would anybody buy this?” Wyatt easily recognized the look; he had seen that same face on several Christmas mornings as she opened presents. He chuckled again and left to check on how the kids were doing.

  After finishing the dishes, Wyatt needed some fresh air and found David reclined on deck, his feet propped on the railing, his eyes scanning the harbor. He turned and motioned with his head, “Nice night…at least it would be if it weren’t for that,” nodding to the north and Houston. The sun had been down for over an hour, but the sky glowed an ominous shade of red. As the crow flies, it was over 30 miles to the metropolitan cowtown, yet the distant blaze illuminated the entire marina, the faint odor of smoke drifting in now and then.

  With a sweeping gesture, David motioned around the marina at the dozens of expensive homes and condos hugging the shoreline. “I think the power is out everywhere, Dad. None of these homes have a single light on. I see the flicker of candles in a couple of them, but everything else is completely dark.”

  Wyatt glanced around and then climbed the ladder to the bridge to get a better view. He scanned the horizon in all directions before confirming David’s conclusion. “You’re right, son. I don’t see a light anywhere. It looks like the whole area is still without power.”

  David wasn’t through with his observation. “Dad, since I’ve been out here, I’ve heard sirens several times. All afternoon while I was installing the dish, they were all over the place.” He lowered his gaze to allow scrutinizing his feet, seemingly hesitant to broach a vital issue. Finally, making up his mind, “Dad, did you bring the guns down to the boat? I only ask because I think I heard gunshots a while ago. They sounded pretty close.”

  Wyatt wasn’t surprised by that question, especially given what he had seen earlier in the day. “Come on, son. Let’s take account of what we’ve got. I think it’s probably as good a time as any.”

  David hesitated a moment, “You don’t think I’m being paranoid, do you?”

  “No son, after what I saw today, I think you’re spot on. I stored the weapons in the cabin. Let’s go dig them out.”

  The two men descended the steps to the salon, Wyatt opening a rarely used hatch in the floor. Morgan, busy in the galley, instantly realized what was happening. She’d never liked having the guns aboard. She put her hands on her hips, “Is everything all right? Why are you g
etting the guns out? Please tell me a flock of ducks just landed outside, and you’re going hunting.”

  “Everything’s fine, Mother,” replied Wyatt, “We just have a few minutes and want to be sure of what’s in here.”

  Morgan didn’t buy it for one second. She gave her husband a look of “Yeah, right,” and went back to arranging the refrigerator. Wyatt pulled out the two plastic cases and a large bag.

  David and he carried the equipment onto the back deck, flipping on the lights so they could see. David opened the first case and removed a 12-gauge shotgun. It was a pump-action Mariner model in stainless steel.

  After hearing tales of the occasional local pirate, Wyatt had brought his old skeet gun to Boxer. Even though the shotgun had a fine coat of oil, the blue finish had rusted in less than two weeks. When he took it to a gunsmith, the man had told him the salt air required either a military black or stainless finish. Anything else would rust away in a matter of days.

  On his next trip to the sporting goods store, Wyatt explained his need to the man working behind the counter. Evidently, this was a common problem because the fellow reached back and pulled out a bright, shiny shotgun he called the “Mariner’s model.” As the two men talked, the clerk recommended Wyatt think about an AR15. “It won’t rust, and that shotgun has a very limited range,” the clerk advised. “If I were worried about pirates, I would get something with at least 300 yards of range.”

  Wyatt had seen pictures of the black rifle and knew that the military used something similar to it. He decided it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have a little more firepower…just in case. The store was running a special, and the man had talked Wyatt into purchasing a case of 1,000 rounds of ammunition with his rifle. “You’re gonna need to sight the weapon and practice with it to feel comfortable firing. Plus, these guns are so much fun to shoot, you’ll be glad you got the ammo.”