Apocalypse Drift

by Joe Nobody

  It was Morgan who suggested the formation of the Marinaville City Water Department. A large 80-foot sailing vessel with a high capacity water maker was tied up at the base of pier one. That single boat could generate over 100 gallons of fresh water per day – enough to fill the tanks on several smaller boats. While Morgan’s idea resulted in a significant shortcut for the water carriers, the bucket brigade still didn’t want for physical exercise. Wyatt smiled when the jokes started circulating, most pertaining to how much money they were all going to make with the introduction of this fabulous new weight loss program.

  Three of the smaller vessels didn’t have generators. Their cabins were powered solely by battery banks, normally recharged via shore power. At first, this had been a serious problem. Wyatt, inspired by Morgan’s water company idea, suggested one of the vessels with a generator be moved to a nearby slip, allowing the neighbor to recharge its batteries. The Marinaville Mobile Power Company was born and could currently boast a 100% customer service satisfaction record.

  Another task deemed necessary was the monitoring of various radios. A team was organized to take turns, each member assigned a certain day to listen in on both the marine frequencies and normal AM and FM.

  It was the second morning without electricity that Mr. Pierce came hustling down pier two, frantically waving a piece of paper. He excitedly reported that the Emergency Broadcasting Network was now working, and there was news.

  Wyatt, busy cleaning a small batch of perch caught that morning, wiped his hands clean and headed for Boxer’s bridge. He dialed in the AM station prescribed by Mr. Pierce and began listening.

  Your attention, please. Your attention, please. This is Major Robert Danforth of the 112th Transportation Regiment, Federalized Texas National Guard. I have an IMPORTANT announcement. To all civilians of Houston, Texas…the United States Army, by order of the President of the United States, has established Martial law for the City of Houston. In addition, all city and state agencies have been federalized. All employees of the city of Houston or the state of Texas should report to the Federal Building at 1200 South Main Street as soon as possible. Bring identification with you. Only individuals with appropriate credentials are allowed to travel to the Federal Building.

  All other civilians within the Interstate 610 loop are ordered to remain in their homes until contacted by local authorities. For the safety of all citizens, A CURFEW of 1800 to 0600 will be strictly enforced, and violators will be shot on sight.

  All civilians residing outside of the 610 loop are hereby ordered to report, as soon as possible, to checkpoints established at every major intersection of the 610 loop and interstates 45, 59, 10, 288 and 290. Additional checkpoints are being established at all major surface roads, as well.

  You are required to bring identification and will be assigned temporary housing and duties. The United States Army will provide basic shelter, security, food, water, and medical care.

  Family units may be temporarily separated in order to provide shelter.

  No weapons of any kind are permitted inside of the 610 loop.

  Personal property is subject to confiscation.

  Able-bodied adults, between the ages of 16 and 65, will be expected to perform assigned tasks and labor.

  These orders are issued by General T. Wilson Adams, Major General, United States Army.

  End of message.

  This message will repeat in 30 minutes.

  The message repeated all day, and Mr. Pierce traveled from boat to boat, ensuring everyone heard it. By late in the afternoon, an impromptu town hall meeting was taking place behind Boxer with practically the entire population of Marinaville present.

  Wyatt was shocked at the variety of reactions. More than a few of the boaters were ready to pack up and do as the army ordered. Others seemed determined to use any excuse as justification for why they shouldn’t follow the instructions. “We don’t live in Houston, and the message was specifically directed to the ‘citizens of Houston,’” they argued. The debate raged for over an hour.

  An older gentleman remarked that the whole thing sounded like being told to report to a labor camp. He compared it to WWII and the orders given to the citizens of Japanese descent living in the US. Others backed his observation, passionately making the point that they would prefer to stay at the marina and be free.

  There was also a heated plea for the Marinaville residents to stay together. After all, they were all well fed, comfortable and isolated from the mayhem. The order for martial law had been instituted to bring order and provide food and shelter for the citizens of Houston. Why should such a well-functioning community be divided?

  Back and forth the conversation flowed. Point and counterpoint were debated, sometimes leaving angry faces and seldom resulting in any consensus.

  Wyatt wanted to stay put. He didn’t know the specific reasons why the president had made this decision, nor did he believe the army could control a city the size of Houston. Finally, it was David who seemed to resolve the conflict. He innocently asked, “Why don’t the people who want to follow the instructions head to Houston, and the people who want to stay can remain here?”

  No one could debate that logic - it was free choice. The congregation settled on mulling it over, most pledging to announce a decision in the morning. Wyatt was relieved at having avoided being drawn into the dialogue.

  The next morning, two of the families occupying smaller boats apologized to everyone, packed up, and left. The others all decided to stay, at least for the time being. Wyatt could understand why those folks who were leaving had made their decision. A smaller boat was fine for a weekend or even a short trip. Living on one fulltime had to be cramped and stressful, especially when combined with the unknown of the conditions surrounding your primary residence and worldly possessions.

  Everyone turned out to wish those heading to Houston well. Hugs and promises of “See you soon,” abounded. “We’ll be sharing margaritas at our reunion pool party within a month,” one captain predicted. Wyatt and David flashed each other a knowing look - both having doubts of a return to normalcy so soon.

  After the farewell, Marinaville settled back into routine. The daily tasks of keeping everyone supplied with enough water, fuel for generators, and food kept all of the residents busy. There really wasn’t the time to second-guess any decisions.

  A few days later, Wyatt rose early and was making his coffee as usual. Morgan joined him, discussing the day’s upcoming events, and whispering a few comments about how the children were accepting of their new lifestyle. Morgan casually meandered to the salon’s door and glanced out. She quickly turned to Wyatt and excitedly reported, “It’s snowing!”

  Wyatt, puzzled, joined her and was astonished by the scene. Greyish white flakes of what appeared to be snow were falling all around the marina. He ventured outside and caught a speck in his hand, but it wasn’t cold, nor did it melt. It was ash. He looked north to the fires raging in Houston and then at a flag on a nearby sailboat. The wind had shifted, and they were receiving an ash storm that would have made any volcano proud.

  Southland Marina, Texas

  February 18, 2017

  Sage sat on the bridge, slouched in the captain’s chair with her legs resting on the dash. The VHF radio was switched on, but she wasn’t paying attention to it. Instead, music from her cell phone pulsed through earphones, her duty of monitoring the marine radio ignored. With her hearing blocked, Sage didn’t detect her father’s climbing to the bridge until it was too late.

  Wyatt shook his head, sitting across from his daughter with a stern look on his face. Sage noticed the look of disapproval, questioning his expression until she realized she was shirking her responsibilities. Jerking out the earphones, she flashed an embarrassed look of apology and then turned up the volume knob on the big radio.

  “Sage,” he began in a gentle voice, “I know this is all kind of tedious for you, but I need you to take it seriously. I’m not sure what’s going on in the world
right now.”

  His daughter shrugged her shoulders and focused her gaze on her toes. “Daddy, I’m sorry. I’ll pay attention. I just got bored listening to the static. No one is saying anything, and I just downloaded this new song the other day….” She was interrupted by a voice on the radio.

  “Houston Yachting Club…Houston Yachting Club…this is the Serendipity. Houston Yachting Club this is Serendipity. Over.”

  A static-filled minute passed without any response. The captain of Serendipity repeated his hail. More seconds ticked by, and again there was no answer. Sage and Wyatt glanced at each other, both wondering why. The Houston Yachting Club was one of the high-end marinas on Galveston Bay. The expensive, private organization was known to have a waiting list for new members and an excellent reputation for service. Before either could speak, the radio sounded again, “Any vessel, any vessel, this is the sailing vessel Serendipity requesting a radio check. Over.”

  Wyatt realized the captain of Serendipity knew what he was doing. While he wasn’t familiar with the boat or its master, the request for a radio check was logical. If you don’t receive the expected response in a given amount of time, make sure your equipment is working. Wyatt waited a few moments for someone else to respond. No one answered the call. He motioned for Sage to hand him the microphone. “Serendipity, Serendipity, this is the motor vessel Boxer, docked at Southland Marina – we read you loud and clear. Your radio is operating fine, Captain. Over.”

  There was a buzz and then a click. “Captain, could you please go to 62? Over.”

  Wyatt frowned at the request. The initial hail had been on channel 16, the official frequency for contacting other vessels and listening for coast guard alerts. For that reason, boats equipped with a marine radio are required to monitor 16. The rules basically read that you hailed another vessel on 16 and then switched channels if you wanted to converse further. Wyatt didn’t know anything about the sailing vessel Serendipity, as there were thousands of boats in the area. It was unusual for a stranger to want to talk unless there was a problem. Wyatt keyed the microphone, “Serendipity, this is Boxer. Going to channel 62, Captain. Over.”

  Wyatt nodded at Sage who started spinning the large dial. He watched as the big green numerals increased, finally displaying “62.” He spoke again, “Serendipity, this is Boxer, now on 62. What can I do for you, Captain? Over.”

  Most recreational boaters tried to play by the rules when broadcasting on an official channel. It was a matter of professionalism, a courtesy to others, and the fact that every other boat in the area was listening in.

  When two vessels were communicating on a side channel, the conversation typically became more casual. The same voice came across the airwaves, “Boxer, sorry to bother you. We’re coming up the ship channel and can’t raise Houston Yachting Club. Their radio might be down, and I was wondering if you could try a landline for us. We can’t seem to get a cell phone signal. We struck a submerged object a few hours ago and are taking on water. Our bow thruster is out, and the rudder is fouled. I’m going to need help getting this big girl in. If things get much worse, I’ll have to call ‘Mayday.’ Over.”

  Wyatt looked at Sage, pointing at her phone. She checked the display for signal and verified what they both already knew. She eyed her father, shaking her head - no cell service. Wyatt transmitted, “Serendipity, we don’t have cell service either and are not equipped with a landline onboard. Captain, how long have you been out?”

  A few moments passed, followed by a concerned voice. “Boxer, we’ve been offshore for over 20 days on a return run from South America. Why do you ask? Over.”

  Wyatt shook his head. This guy has no clue what has happened. He’s coming in blind. He pressed the talk button, choosing his words carefully. “Captain, I would drop anchor if I were you. The world has changed significantly since you put to sea. Martial law was declared a short time ago, and our pier has been without power since the 15th.” Wyatt didn’t end his transmission there. “Captain, I know you don’t know me but…drop the hook, sir…catch up on the news…brace yourself.”

  Wyatt could imagine the look on the sailor’s face. How would he react to a strange, metallic voice sounding over the airwaves, claiming apocalyptic events and offering bizarre advice? The man was almost home with a crippled boat. He was probably looking forward to walking on dry land after such a long voyage. He’s almost there, almost home - and then this weird radio message comes out of nowhere telling him to drop anchor before he finishes the voyage.

  It was over two minutes before the radio sounded again, “Boxer, can you repeat that? Did you say martial law? What in the world is going on?” Wyatt snorted at the lack of “over” ending the transmission. Clearly, the distant captain was a little shaken up - who wouldn’t be?

  “You heard me clearly, Captain. I’ve heard news reports of a government failure…riots…out of control fires… causalities – social collapse. The same news channel reported the president was declaring martial law. Let me warn you, sir, the world isn’t the same as when you left. Over.”

  The distant voice’s tone changed - softer than before. “Captain, I’ve got serious problems here. We have five crew and twelve passengers aboard. The bilge pumps are barely keeping up with the water we’re taking on. I’ve got to get these people off this boat.”

  Wyatt considered the situation for a bit. “Captain, can you make it to Southland Marina? We have enough people here to help tie her off.”

  The response was almost immediate. “Negative, Boxer. We draw nine feet. Clear Lake isn’t deep enough.”

  Wyatt’s next idea made Sage’s head snap up, a concerned expression on her face. “Captain, I can come out and tie up alongside. We’re big enough to ferry that many people to shore.”

  “Boxer, thank you for that. It helps to know someone is out there. I’m going to anchor for the time being and see if we can affect repairs. Right now, I can’t justify declaring an emergency, but it’s real close to that.”

  “Captain, that’s your call. I wouldn’t know what to do with your passengers after I had them. They might be better off right where they are. I’ll check in with you later. For now, we’ll stay on 16. If you need us, hail.”

  “Roger that, Boxer. Again, thank you for the offer. Serendipity to 16 – out.”

  Wyatt keyed his microphone, “This is Boxer – out to 16.”

  Sage was staring at him. Wyatt realized his face must be very troubled, but it was too late to hide it from his daughter. She reached over and stroked his hand. “You’re really worried aren’t you, Dad?”

  “Yes, baby, I am. These are troubling times. For the first time in my life, I have almost no idea what’s going to happen – how things are going to work out. I guess we’ll just have to keep the faith that we’ll be okay as long as we stick together. After talking to that captain, I think we should be thankful we’re doing as well as we are. How would you like to be out on that boat right now?”

  When Sage didn’t answer, Wyatt reached across and squeezed her hand. He flashed the most genuine smile he could muster, and she returned the gesture.

  Neither of them seemed to be genuinely comforted.

  Sage needed a restroom break, and Wyatt agreed to cover her watch. Alone on the bridge, Wyatt stared blankly at the radio, fighting an impulse to pick up the microphone and hail the captain of Serendipity. There was an unavoidable parallel between the sailor’s predicament and Wyatt’s life. He couldn’t ignore the comparison any more than he could disregard the empathy that dominated his thoughts.

  Serendipity’s voyage was a microcosm of Wyatt’s existence, the role of the yacht’s master no different than the responsibility of running a company, or being the head of a family. Wyatt’s soul was troubled by the reflection of a lonely, isolated man, now denied the security of home through no fault of his own. Wyatt wanted to tell the man he understood the pain and loneliness.

  Despite the absence of detail, Wyatt had little trouble relating Serendipity’s
journey to the path his family and he had recently traveled. The captain of a vessel held responsibility for passenger and crew, the same relationship between manager and employee. Piloting a vessel through troubled waters wasn’t much different than steering a company through troubled times. Entering an exotic port of call could be compared to penetrating a new market. The analogies could go on and on.

  Returning home from a long journey was a unique experience, especially for a seaman. Even a large boat like Serendipity would’ve required exhaustive efforts and a high level of skill to accomplish such a voyage. That last leg to homeport was always a complex paradox of emotions, even during normal times. In sports, it was referred to as “closing out the victory.” The barons of finance referenced “signed, sealed, and delivered.”

  Wyatt had been there, both on a boat and behind a desk. He’d felt the sense of relief when finally getting close to the end, of knowing your boat and crew would sleep safe and secure that night. The sensation wasn’t so different from knowing that a business tactic was paying off – that the workers would have a paycheck…job security.

  Most captains wouldn’t admit it, but shedding responsibility for the lives of everyone aboard was a welcome void. Hardships, such as pulling an overnight watch or fretting over every odd little noise made by the vessel, wouldn’t be missed. Weather would cease to be the most important information of the day; no longer would the supply of water, fuel and food be the primary concern. No more adrenaline- pumping battles with storm-driven waves or early morning incidents with misbehaving navigation equipment. Wyatt remembered the warm glow of accomplishment, that sense of victory over the sea when the ship was finally tied off at her final harbor. It was an identical experience to a successful sales campaign or landing a new, profitable customer.