by Joe Nobody
Rose was up early, busy getting the kids ready for the day. She jumped slightly at the knock, these days they rarely had visitors anymore. Instinctively, she sensed something was wrong and was somewhat relieved when she peered through the peephole and didn’t see a policeman. She had been expecting either her husband or a deputy there to inform her of Charlie’s arrest.
The clean-cut young man she could see through the warped view of the peephole was a stranger. Her brief hesitation was chased by thoughts of her missing husband, so she answered the door.
David had been chosen to knock because he was the youngest and probably the least threatening of the pallbearers. When Rose opened the door, he cleared his throat. “Ma’am, does a Charlie Beckenworth reside here?”
Rose paused, wondering how to respond to the question. As her eyes darted right and left, David understood her reluctance to respond. “Ma’am, there’s been an acci…ummmm…there’s a problem.”
It clicked with Rose immediately. David’s tone of voice and body language said everything. Rose’s gaze became intense, her head shaking as she uttered a chest deep “Nooooooo.”
Pushing past David and tearing into the front yard, she didn’t seem to notice any of the men standing there. The distraught woman saw the two wrapped bodies lying in the grass and rushed to kneel beside the closest one.
Wyatt edged next to Rose, not sure if he should let her unwrap the sail or stop her. In the end, it didn’t matter. Rose took only a moment to pull apart enough of the fabric to see it was her husband inside. She looked skyward and screamed, “Charlie! Oh my God, Charlie! No, no, no!” Rose started to fall over, and Wyatt caught her. She was wailing and trying to breathe at the same time. The situation was made worse when the kids, looking for their mother, streamed out the front door, immediately confronted with the ashen face of their father wrapped in the pale, white sailcloth.
The sight of four unfamiliar men carrying what was obviously two dead bodies through the middle of the subdivision drew the attention of several neighbors. Mrs. Beckenworth’s cries, now almost constant, attracted even more residents. David looked up to see a growing assembly at the edge of the front yard with even more folks drifting down the street, naturally curious about the peculiar affair.
David tried to get his father’s attention, but Wyatt was busy supporting the distraught widow so that she would not crumble to the ground. David was struck by how unhealthy and unkempt everyone from the neighborhood looked. The crowd was marked by sunken faces framed with oily, stringy hair. David noticed the smell of body odor wafting from the people closest to him. They don’t have water, he thought.
Two of the local women threw David a sour look as they passed by, intent on helping Rose inside. Another lady moved to distract the children.
One man stepped forward from the crowd and said, “My name’s Roger Wilson. I’m an attorney. What happened?”
Wyatt, distracted by the suffering woman, didn’t even look up before speaking. “These two tried to break into a boat at the marina last night. Hank must have heard them and went to investigate. We found all three men dead this morning.” Wyatt paused and pointed at Charlie’s body. “We had a run in with this gentleman yesterday. He showed up at the marina, demanding food and pulled a pistol on us. We gave him some food, but it must have not been enough. The other guy, I’ve never seen before. We buried our dead neighbor this morning.”
A murmur rumbled through the crowd as two of the men bent down and unwrapped Rod’s body. Several people exchanged glances and then shook their heads indicating they didn’t recognize the man either.
Mr. Wilson digested Wyatt’s story and then spoke in a harsh, pointed voice. “So Charlie was trying to break into a boat and get food? And you guys shot him for trying to feed his family? Was it the owner of the boat that shot these men?”
Wyatt didn’t like the man’s tone, but responded anyway. “No, it was a neighbor who discovered them. He’s dead, too. We really don’t know what happened. The boat they were trying to break into was unoccupied.”
Several of the men eyed each other, hushed comments floating through the crowd. David reached out to take his father’s arm, sensing the disapproval that was building around them. Before he could convey his concern to Wyatt, the lawyer spoke again. “So you shot two men who were trying to scavenge food for their families? I mean, you said the boat was empty.”
Unhappy expressions and outright disdain surged through the surrounding throng of neighbors. A few comments of “That ain’t right,” and “They didn’t deserve to die for that,” circulated among the bystanders. The mood turned even uglier when Rose’s renewed crying sounded from inside the house.
Another man stepped forward and poked Wyatt in the chest with his index finger. “So you just shoot anyone who wanders into the marina? Who appointed you the sheriff?” Several voices expressed agreement with the agitated fellow.
Wyatt understood what was happening and tried to defend himself. “Look pal, none of us shot anybody. We found this entire mess this morning and only want to return the bodies, so back off.”
Two younger men pushed their way to the front of the crowd. One of them inquired, “So there’s food over there on those boats? Is that what they were after? How much food is over there?”
David had seen enough. He stepped forward and whispered to his father, “We are out of here – right now.” Wyatt agreed and motioned for the other marina residents to follow.
They started moving away when someone yelled out, “He never answered the question! I want to know how much food they have over there. There must be a lot if they are shooting people to protect it.”
The four men from the marina walked quickly down the street, leaving the crowd behind them. As soon as they were clear, one of the boaters spoke up. “You know we probably just delivered a death sentence to that woman and those kids. Yesterday at the pool, that guy said he was after food for his young ones. It took some guts to come back and try for more – he must have been really desperate. How is his wife going to feed those children now?”
David gave the man a questioning look, “What are we supposed to do? I mean, from my perspective we tried to help that guy out yesterday and look what happened – Hank is dead. We can’t feed everyone.”
The man started to counter David when Wyatt changed the subject. “We have a whole bunch of people who now realize we have food, and they don’t. I think we have a bigger problem than the widow and her children.”
After Wyatt’s assessment, everyone became sullen at the thought. No one said a word until they were back on the marina’s grounds. The four men milled around in a group, unsure of what to do next.
David spoke up. “I think we better get everyone assembled and discuss defending ourselves. Those folks over there will sit and stew over all this for a while. I don’t think it will be long before a mob ventures this way. Even if only one or two muster up enough guts to sneak in, if they return home with food, all of the others will know. That entire neighborhood will descend on us like locusts and pick the marina clean.”
The men all agreed to a meeting. The powwow would be held at the head of pier four as soon as possible. As they were breaking up to spread the word of the gathering, thunder sounded in the distance.
Wyatt turned toward the western sky, the dark, rolling clouds of a front tumbling toward the marina. That rain will be a good thing, he thought.
A few hours later, after huddling under an overhang by the pool bar to keep dry in the storm, the men of Southland Marina broke off their discussion, having agreed on a plan. The primary issue now facing the group involved workload. While everyone agreed that a sentry was necessary, it was also obvious that the community was barely maintaining a status quo completing the daily activities required for living. Diverting two or three workers to guard the marina would overtax the effort.
The solution was to arm a single sentry throughout the night. A shift schedule was established so that the men of the marina would
all lose sleep evenly. If the sentry spotted any trouble, he would activate an air horn, and the cavalry would come running. Just like Paul Revere, the sentry would give warning that Redcoat-looters were approaching.
There was a logistical problem with the plan. The marina’s piers were constructed in an “L” shape. At the moment, there weren’t any vessels in the right place to observe the entire harbor. The strategists decided to tow a larger, unattended sailboat to an empty slip on pier nine. The 20-foot high crow’s nest would provide a great vantage point for the sentry.
The other significant outcome of the meeting was an inventory of weapons. It came as no surprise to David that Boxer was far and above the best-armed vessel in the marina. One of the boaters on pier ten was an avid hunter. Luck would have it that two of his long-range deer rifles were nestled in the trunk of his car. While there were only 20 rounds of ammunition for the sporting guns, they were quality weapons with significant stopping power and excellent range.
Other than his father’s two long guns and the two deer rifles, there was an assortment of pistols, very little ammunition, and not a lot of combat or military experience among the group.
Wyatt and Morgan sat on Boxer’s bridge, enjoying an inspiring Texas sunset. They couldn’t be sure if the brilliant red and orange hues were due to the last remnants of the fire in Houston or were the result of the front that had passed through that afternoon. One way or the other, they were determined to relax and enjoy the peace and quiet. Wyatt sensed trouble was on the way, and after hearing of the day’s adventures over dinner, Morgan had to agree.
“Morgan, I don’t believe we’re going to be able to stay here long. I think there’s going to be a host of issues we haven’t even considered. What’s even worse, I don’t think we can go home.”
Morgan looked down at her feet and sighed. She looked at her husband, a hint of fear shining in her eyes. “I know…I’ve been thinking about it since that man came to the pool with a gun. If the government doesn’t get control soon, things are going to get really insane. Where would we go?”
Wyatt stretched out his legs and leaned back. “The only thing I can come up with is to put out to sea. Not deep water mind you, just Galveston Bay. We know some pretty remote little coves where we could hide out for a while.”
Morgan wasn’t sure. “I don’t know about that. Wouldn’t we be sort of marooned? How would we know when to come back?”
Wyatt chuckled, more to relieve stress than from actual humor. “Before all of this happened, we would’ve looked forward to gunkholing for a long weekend. We would’ve been excited about the prospect of peace and quiet. Now, I’m kind of with you. If we leave, can we ever come back? What happens if the boat breaks – I can’t just radio for help anymore.”
There I go again, he thought. I’m unable to make a decision – unable to lead.
The couple sat in silence as the last sliver of sun vanished. There was a light breeze blowing from the south, and the evening seemed perfect. As the warm glow of dusk settled into night, they held hands and thought about the future - many of the considerations only tolerable because they had each other.
Chapter 7
March 1, 2017
Kemah Bay, Texas
While Morgan and Wyatt shared the sunset, another meeting was taking place in Rose’s side yard. After the boaters had dropped the two bodies at her house, the throng of neighbors mulled about for almost an hour.
If anyone had stepped back and evaluated the events of that afternoon, what transpired would have seemed out of place and surreal. Normally, when a resident suffered the loss of a family member, covered dishes of food, delivered by a parade of neighbors, would have been commonplace. Offers of help and condolences would have accompanied the visitors.
Rose received only two offers of assistance. The first was to bury her husband. The other gesture of kindness was from a widow who lived down the street and offered to take care of the children – if Rose had something for them to eat.
The debate over the disposition of the bodies had raged in the front yard for some time. All the while, tempers rose and fell as people got worked up and then blew off steam with harsh words and empty threats. As with any group of desperate people, an enemy was soon identified. An enemy was required because they needed someone to blame. The inhabitants of the marina became the focus of their shared frustration and anger.
It was finally determined to bury both bodies in Rose’s yard, on the windowless side of her house. No one had any idea who Rod was or where he had come from. A few men, unsure of how else to help, had retrieved shovels and spades and began digging. The first gravesite had been in the backyard, close to the children’s swing set. A fast-thinking woman informed the burial detail they were idiots for digging the graves where the kids would see them while playing. The fact that Rose would be reminded of her sudden lack of a husband every time she looked outside was harshly communicated as well.
The men apologized and moved to the side yard and began digging all over again. When the final spade full of dirt was tapped down, the small group of dirty, sweaty men rested, leaning on shovel handles and wiping their brows.
An older man, absentmindedly picking at a newly formed blister on his hand, commented. “You all know this probably isn’t the last time we are going to do this.”
“You’re probably right,” commented another, “but the next time it will be from hunger or sickness. At least the bodies will be lighter.” The man’s attempt at gallows humor was met by a few chuckles and opened the door to the subject that concerned them all.
He continued, “There is food down at that marina. I never thought old Charlie here was all that bright, but he figured it out. Those guys looked well fed and clean to me. I don’t know about y’all, but by my way of thinking, that food down there belongs to us as much as anybody.”
After the subject had been broached, the small group of gravediggers debated the situation while the sun set behind them. Everyone in the neighborhood was already out of food or running low. Fresh water was a problem, and only one man had any faith that order would be restored soon. His voice of reservation was quickly overridden by those who wanted to raid the marina and scavenge food.
The man with the blisters spoke again. “I don’t think those boat people are going to let us just waltz in there and take what we want. They have a good thing going, and they know it. If we are going to do this, we had better be prepared to fight.”
“I don’t think they’ll do squat as long as we leave their boats alone. If I were them, why would I give a rat’s backside about an empty boat that belongs to someone else?”
The older gent responded, “Those empty boats are their grocery stores. At least that’s how I would look at it if I were them. They are just as scared and worried as we are. Just like us, they have no idea when the stores will open again. No, boys, I have to believe they will try and stop us. We had better be willing to put up a fight if we are going to do this. I, for one, am hungry, and my wife is already having coughing fits every morning. I’m thinking it’s every man for himself.”
And so it was decided the group would pass the word to meet at the edge of the community in an hour. The more men they could recruit for the raiding party, the better. The concept of strength in numbers wasn’t lost on anyone, and neither was the suggestion that they bring whatever guns were available.
The men of the marina had planned to move the tall sailboat first thing in the morning. The vessel was equipped with a reasonably comfortable crow’s nest, the height providing an excellent observation post for the night watch. Moving the tall vessel proved to be difficult, as the boat wouldn’t start. Towing a large, powerless sailboat in the confined spaces of the piers would take some additional planning.
Everyone was nervous, speculating what the people from the neighboring community might do. The fact that one of their own had been killed the night before wasn’t lost on any of the boaters. Since there wasn’t a watchtower as of yet, sever
al volunteers offered to patrol Southland throughout the night.
David and Wyatt decided to split their turn at the watch. That way, there would be a male aboard Boxer at all times. Wyatt was still keyed up, like everyone else, and decided to take the first watch along with Mike from pier five.
Mike was a middle-aged, middle sized, middle management, oil company employee. Since his divorce two years ago, he had lived on his modest cruiser and made the daily commute to Houston. He met Wyatt in the parking lot, carrying an old .32 caliber pistol his brother had given him. He had never fired the weapon and had only five shells. Those rounds had been in the magazine for years. He wasn’t even sure the gun worked.
Mike and Wyatt were both alert and nervous as they guarded the marina. Wyatt felt silly at first, questioning the need of carrying the shotgun. Now that he was out patrolling the dark marina, he had to admit it felt comforting to have the weapon. The two sentinels slowly moved around the sidewalks and public areas, whispering now and then, but mostly listening to the sounds of the night.
The men gathering for the raiding party were all a little unsettled. Most of them had expected 15 or 20 men to join the dangerous excursion, but only 11 had arrived so far. After deciding to wait another five minutes before heading to the marina, several jokes and negative comments filled the air, most centered on how so-and-so’s wife wouldn’t let him out of the house for the party or the general lack of guts being demonstrated by those who didn’t show.
While the men milled around, one fellow produced a flask and several shared a nip of the cheap whiskey. More humor followed when one gentleman commented the liquor helped take the edge off of the chill in the night air. Everyone was sweating, and while the sun had gone down, all present had to agree, it was still quite warm outside.
One man finally raised his shotgun to his shoulder and announced, “I’ve waited long enough. Screw the others, it’s now or never.” As he stomped off toward the marina, the rest of the men all looked at each other for agreement, shrugged their shoulders, and followed.