Apocalypse Drift

by Joe Nobody

  A few moments later, David was climbing aboard the damaged boat, the owner and he peeking down into the engine compartment while Todd circled nearby on the waverunner. Wyatt couldn’t hear any of the conversation, but within minutes, he could see the captain rummaging around in the cockpit while David shooed Todd further away from the boat.

  Before Wyatt or Morgan could voice their protest, David dove into the water and disappeared under the surface.

  The jolt of the cold water searing through his body surprised David, despite mentally preparing for the shock. The wetsuit he was wearing was designed to provide some insulation, but it sure didn’t feel like it was working. He didn’t have a mask, gloves or fins, but that shouldn’t hamper things since he did plan on going to a great depth.

  His first task was to locate the gash in the bottom of the hull. Judging by the force of the torrent of water insistently pushing its way topside, David figured this shouldn’t be too difficult. He mentally inventoried the list of potential risks involved with the exploratory mission. First and foremost was avoiding the anchor line. Getting tangled up might trap him below the surface where he’d suffocate before being able to free himself. That potential death-trap was closely followed by the sharp edges of the functioning propeller. Lastly, he wanted to circumvent any damaged gear that might still be hanging beneath the vessel.

  The process was agonizingly slow, having to feel his way with numb fingertips, along the curved hull of the boat. There was zero visibility in the chocolate-colored water. He hands rubbed along the smooth shell until he identified the opening. There was some good news – the damaged shaft was clear of the hull.

  David kicked hard to swim out from under the boat and surfaced slowly so as not to strike his head on anything above. It was so easy to lose one’s sense of direction while submerged in the black water. He popped up a few feet behind the swim platform and treaded water while taking a few deep breaths.

  “Give me that sheet of plastic, and I’ll stuff it in the hole. We can repair it from the inside as soon as the pumps remove the standing water.”

  The owner of the stricken vessel handed David a folded sheet of blue plastic tarp and then stared at the murky surface, as the young man took one last breath and disappeared under the water again.

  Once more, David fingered the hull until he felt the rip. He unfolded the stuffing material and began tucking it into the breach as tightly as possible. He sealed as much of the gap as he could in a single breath and quickly resurfaced, lungs aching for air.

  Allowing a few seconds for his body to readjust, David addressed the captain of the incapacitated vessel, “Okay, now give me the knife. I’m going to try and clear the line around the good shaft.”

  The older man paused, reflecting briefly on one of the most treacherous hazards of his own youth – having believed himself invincible, coupled with a complete lack of respect for the inherent limitations of the human body. In his experience, such a condition had often precipitated poor decisions. He shook his head at the brave man before him. “David, I’m not so sure about that. That’s dangerous, son. If you get tangled up in the line, we might not be able to get you out before you drown. Are you sure?”

  Something about the confident manner in which he spoke the words, “I got this,” convinced even the jaded captain. A few additional lungs full of oxygen, and David was again surrounded by a black, silent world underneath the boat. He realized that additional precautions were required on this trip, as the sharp blades of the propellers could slice off a finger or sever a tendon. Despite his carefulness, David’s knuckle found the prop first, the gash almost causing him to cry out in pain. He paused to recover his bearings for a moment, thinking about how screaming out while under water wasn’t a bright idea.

  Gently, he probed with his open hand until he knew the general locale of the razor-like edges. Finding the rope twisted around the propeller’s shaft was easy. He fluttered his arms around until he found a loose end and began unwinding the cord. Before he could make much progress, it was again time for air.

  On the fourth trip under the boat, he finally worked his way to the end of the line. He dropped the worthless rope to the bottom and felt all around the propeller’s gear and rudder to make sure it was clear, resurfacing for the last time.

  As David was pulled aboard the crippled cruiser, he informed the captain of what he’d discovered. One propeller and shaft was completely gone, probably lying on the bottom somewhere nearby. The other prop seemed undamaged. David was sure he’d removed all of the fouling line.

  The captain and his crew were thrilled, not being able to thank David enough. His boat could still function on one propeller for the remainder of the trip after the leak was sealed.

  Wyatt and Morgan had forgotten all about being cold. Watching their son make what seemed like an endless number of dives under the crippled vessel was nerve-racking to say the least. When Sage appeared next to them in her swimming suit, her father unleashed his most demanding tone, “And just what do you think you’re doing, young lady?”

  “If he gets stuck under there, I’m going in after him.”

  Morgan started to protest, but Sage cut her off. “You can’t stop me, Mom. I’m not going to just stand here and let my brother drown. Five summers pulling overconfident swimmers from the lake makes me the most qualified for the job.”

  When David finally scrambled onto the swim platform and signaled he was finished, everyone relaxed.

  Wyatt looked at his wife and fairly beamed, “He’s got a pair; I’ll give him that. No way would I dive under a boat in this water. He must have gotten that recklessness from your side of the family.”

  Morgan playfully swatted her husband, “I’m not sure whether to say he’s as brave as his father, or as hardheaded. Either way, you’re not going to blame it on my DNA.”

  They both laughed, a release of stress that had built while watching their son risk his life. Before long, Todd brought David back across on the water bike. After climbing safely aboard Boxer, David thanked Todd and protectively observed as the teen spun the machine around and headed off to tie up on his parents’ boat. Morgan was waiting with a towel.

  David exhaled. “What a day. I was worried this was going to be a boring leave. Can you believe I was upset because I couldn’t find a book to read while I was here? The army’s easy compared to what you guys go through.”

  Wyatt patted his son on the back. David answered the gesture with a smile, and then added, “I need a hot shower and something to eat. I think I’ll sleep pretty well tonight.”

  Sage perked up, wanting to contribute. “David, I’ll take your watch tonight.”

  “Thanks, sis,” and then noticing her marine attire, “So what’s up with the suit? You looking for a fella out here?”

  Sage flushed, “I was going to go in and get you - if you didn’t come up.”

  David spread his arms and hugged his sister. It always gave Morgan and Wyatt a unique, warm feeling inside to see their children demonstrate love for each other. Wyatt often wondered if it wasn’t some sort of parental relief - knowing that the kids could rely on each other after Morgan and he were gone.

  Morgan made for the galley, trying to think of an evening meal that would go well with rattled nerves and queasy stomachs. Wyatt wandered to the bridge, wanting to check in with a few of the captains before sunset. The storm had caused a delay and now they were behind schedule. Wyatt sighed, thinking the schedule wasn’t a big deal. So far everyone is safe, and given the condition of the world right now, I think we’re doing pretty well.

  Buck cleared his throat and launched a mouthful of phlegm at the bay. His face was furled in a grimace as he turned away from the shoreline and hiked back to the campsite. The old, Ford pickup sat hunched down on her worn out suspension from the weight of the camper-shell. He strode to a cut-rate, green and white striped folding lawn chair and rested without concern for the frayed nylon strands hanging beneath.

  He glanced at the sma
ll fire, making a mental note to have Robbie gather some more wood, even though it would be wet after the rain. He was thankful they had snatched a few logs and flung them in the truck before the storm hit. With the dry wood, they could still cook the trout and make the last of the coffee.

  The windstorm had scattered his few earthly contents around the thicket, but it hadn’t taken long to gather everything back up. His cousin and he only had one spare outfit each, and those had been hanging on a line after being washed in the bay. There had been time to put them away, but Buck thought a fresh water rinse would soften up the saltwater stiff shirt and pants. At least they didn’t stink…as much.

  The rain had really been a blessing. They had been evaporating salt water to drink, but the process was slow. When the storm appeared on the horizon, Robbie and he had scrambled to set out every makeshift cistern they could find to gather rainwater. The squall scattered most of the small bowls and containers, but a tarp strung between two trees withstood the gale, catching a respectable amount of potable water.

  Buck sighed, scanning the landscape. Now where did that simpleton run off to, he thought. “Robbie?”

  “Coming,” sounded the voice from behind the truck.

  Buck’s cousin trudged around the back of the camper, annoyed at the interruption. Buck ignored the attitude and began needling the boy. “I’m sick of this whole thing, cuz. We’ve been stranded here almost two weeks, and I’m just tired of it. The fishing’s lousy, and you snore like a lumberjack. We need to do something different.”

  Robbie protested, “I snore? Why you piece of crap…you’re the one that scares off all the game around here.”

  Buck waved him off. “The snoring don’t mean nothing, cuz. We’re out of gas, out of food, and almost out of water. We need a change of scenery.”

  Robbie contemplated Buck’s statement for a moment before asking, “Whatcha got in mind?”

  Buck stood and hitched up his pants. He expelled another round of mucus, and then motioned to his cousin. “Follow me.”

  The two men returned to Buck’s vantage point beside the bay. Buck pointed at the armada of boats now anchored less than a mile away.

  Robbie’s reaction was a long whistle, followed quickly by “When did they get there?”

  “They must have made for Redfish to ride out the storm. They weren’t there this morning. Must be close to 30 of ‘em, and I bet they’re all full of gas and food.”

  Robbie was never the brains of the outfit. “Now cuz, why would them folks give us a ride anywhere? They don’t know us from Moses.”

  Buck’s shoulders slumped a bit; his gaze turned to his feet, and he was shaking his head side to side in exasperation. His voice became low and serious. “I wasn’t thinking about asking for a ride. I was thinking about taking one of them boats for ourselves.”

  Robbie’s head snapped up, his eyes wide open. He started to speak, but Buck held up his hand and said, “Now, hear me out.”

  Robbie tilted his head to the side, skepticism written all over his face.

  “Lookie, cuz, the world ain’t coming back. At least not for one hell of a long time it ain’t. I’ve been out of work for months, and since the layoff, all you could find was a job running the cash register and cleaning the restrooms at the gas station. That barely keeps you in chaw. If I hadn’t poached that doe a few weeks back, we’d be going hungry. Am I right?”

  Robbie’s expression mellowed a little, but it was clear he wasn’t sold on anything just yet. After a short pause, he finally nodded, giving his cousin the signal to continue.

  “I broke the law then, Robbie. Wasn’t nothing serious like, but I was still illegal and all. Sometimes a man has ta do what a man has ta do. Besides, I don’t think there is any law anymore. I don’t think there is any government. I think it’s every man for his-own-self.”

  “Now what makes you think that? You don’t know nothing more than I do for sure.”

  “Oh, is that so? Well let me ask you when was the last time you saw an airplane in the sky? When was the last time one of them big freighters went up or down the channel? Son, when was the last time you heard an engine running?”

  Robbie rubbed his beard and thought for a bit. He surprised his cousin with a question. “Why don’t we just see if they’ll trade for something? Why go and stir things up?”

  Buck shook his head, downplaying his cousin’s idea. “And what, pray tell, do we have to trade? Some deer jerky? The lawn chairs? What do you propose we offer up?”

  Robbie looked around the campsite like he was honestly trying to think of something. The effort was futile, but he didn’t want to give it up. “I don’t know – maybe they would want something other than fish. Maybe all’s they’ve had for days is seafood. Maybe some deer jerky would be worth something to ’em.”

  Buck laughed at the man’s weak effort. “Sure…sure Robbie. We’ll row our little boat all the way out there and offer them up some squirrel hocks and dandelion greens in exchange for gasoline and beer. Works for me….”

  Robbie pointed his finger at Buck, “Now don’t go get’n all mean and such, Buck. I’m just trying to do my part and help think this thing through. There’s more than one way to skin a cat, ya know.”

  Buck held up his hands and nodded silently, letting his cousin know he didn’t mean it. “I’m sorry cuz; I’m just worried is all. I am worried we are going to be skinning that cat for food pretty soon. The fishing sucks, and we ain’t seen nothing with fur on it for days.”

  Robbie couldn’t disagree with that train of thought. His stomach had rumbled more the last two weeks than anytime he could ever remember. Besides, he was down to his last can of Skoal, and that wasn’t good. “I’m listening, cousin. You go ahead and tell me what you’ve got in mind.”

  Buck thought for a moment and then laid out his plan. “I say we row the boat out there after dark. I worked part-time down at the boatyard a few summers ago. Them big boats all have generators, so we’ll be able to see their lights after dark. We’ll take the rifles and climb aboard real quiet like. Whoever is on the boat, we’ll put them in the row boat and then take off with our new prize.”

  Robbie mulled the plan over and then asked, “And where might we take our prize to?”

  Buck smiled, already having thought of that. “We’ll drive it over to Mud Creek. There’s an old discarded boat ramp I know of over there. It’s only about a mile from here. We can tie up the boat, hike back here and get the truck. We’ll move our camp over there and use up whatever is aboard the boat. Why, if more people keep going up and down the bay, we might become pretty good pirates.” Buck elbowed the simpleton in the ribs, all the while humming, “Yo, ho, ho and a bottle of rum.”

  Robbie snorted at Buck’s lack of musical ability, but had to admit the plan sounded well thought out. He tried to imagine actually going through with it. “So what happens if we row out there, and they put up a fight? What if they start shooting?”

  “Then we shoot back - plain and simple. We gotta have guts to do this, cuz. This ain’t no high school prank. If we’re going to the party, we gotta be ready to dance.”

  Reed’s fork toyed with the green beans, pushing them around subconsciously while deep in thought. The food at Fort Meade wasn’t bad. Any of the government workers who mumbled a complaint were quickly reminded that over 300 million other people would probably give anything for the canned veggies and frozen chicken being served. The remark typically turned elite-sounding complaints into short tinges of guilt. In reality, Reed was surprised at the non-partisan manner in which all of his colleagues were acting.

  A slight shadow interrupted the overhead fluorescent lights, causing Reed to glance up from his plate. It was Senator Conley carrying a tray of food. “Mind if I join you, young man?”

  “Why no, Senator, please do.”

  The elder statesman from Ohio sat his meal on the table across from Reed and managed the bench seat without complaint. Carefully draping the paper napkin on his lap, the senat
or scrutinized the contents of his plate for a moment before speaking. “It just dawned on me why this reminds me of army food. That’s because it is army food. You can tell what day it is by what they put on your plate, and most days you’re glad to get it.”

  Reed chuckled politely at the comment. He consumed a fork full of beans and studied the older man. The honorable gentleman from Columbus, Ohio had been a common figure in American politics for over 30 years. His face was well known, having been beamed into American living rooms on a regular basis during his five terms of office.

  As a freshman congressman, Reed had experienced little exposure to the real power players in the nation’s capital. Now, one of them was sitting across from him, eating frozen chicken and drinking milk from a carton like a schoolboy.

  “Have you had any contact with your family, son?”

  “Yes, sir, I’ve had a single phone call over a military channel and two written letters exchanged. They are doing as well as can be expected.”

  The senator nodded and continued to eat. Reed thought the man must have skipped a few meals because he was digging in with considerable gusto. Conley sensed he was being watched. “You’ll have to excuse my lack of dinner conversation today. I’ve been in committee meetings all day and didn’t get lunch. We are supposed to reconvene in ten minutes, and I don’t want to disrupt the proceedings with my stomach rumbling.”

  Reed smiled at the remark. “No worries, Senator. I wouldn’t want to be accused of denying a ranking democrat his substance.”

  Conley’s smile was genuine. “I wouldn’t have been caught dead having lunch with a junior Republican representative a few weeks ago. It wouldn’t have helped your career either. People would have wondered why you were fraternizing with the enemy. Now neither I, nor anyone else here cares.”