The group helps Isabella and me into the boat, nearly tipping it over again.
I feel the tension in my chest ebb. “Did you get all the gear?” I ask while I watch the horde splash into the water, still trying to come for us.
Markus shakes his head. “We can’t lift the gas cans. They’re on the bottom.” Markus apologizes.
I sigh and shake my head. I’m tired, but this isn’t over yet. I dive overboard. The gas cans are like lead anchors on the sea floor. When I surface I can barely stay afloat. Isabella and Hana grab my prize.
“Lean on the other side!” Hana yells to Markus and Josh and Tanis. The counterbalance keeps the boat from tipping over as we hoist the container into the boat.
Four more gas cans. I dive and surface them all. It’s more important than the food.
We row to the Pioneer and unload. If everyone gets a quart of water a day and a two thousand calorie diet, we have enough food for two weeks. Provided no food is wasted. It’s not enough. We’re going to need more.
I start the engine and head to open sea, telling myself that further down the coast we’ll be able to find small towns with easier sources of food and water to salvage. I feel hopeful. It’s safe out here. The open sea is our salvation.
#
I’ve been sailing the Pioneer south along the East coast for three days and I’m not even sure if we’ve reached Virginia yet. I don’t know how to read the maps, and we don’t have the right one aboard anyway. I’m sailing blind like an explorer, but without the experience. Two days ago I tried my hand at sailing. I’d tapped into my teen years when I’d taken dingy sailing classes in the Etang de Perols. That was a beautiful bay outside of Montpellier, France. I’d gone there every summer until my mother needed more seclusion. She complained about the hordes of party people on the beaches and the naked consumerism until my father couldn’t take it anymore. That’s when we started going to Fiji and Tonga for our summer vacations. Yeah, no consumerism there, right?
Anyway, Pioneer’s two main masts were easy to set up. They unrolled from the boom that stuck out of both masts. The forward jibs were more difficult because I had to find them and figure out how to get them up. Eventually, I got the smaller jib up. The other was more difficult, so I had Tanis stuff it back in the sail locker where I found it. The only other sail I didn’t use was the sail on the top of the main mast. It just needed to be rolled out, but no one was willing to climb the rigging that high to get to it. I had no idea what sheet was used to control it. There were so many ropes. It didn’t matter though. We were cruising along at a decent pace.
After those first couple of days I felt like I was getting the hang of it. Every now and again the wind would push us around. At first it was scary. Then I began to anticipate the wind because I could see it coming. It would race across the water creating small white caps on the waves then seconds later the boat would rock.
#
Now I’m in control. It is the end of the third day and I’m feeling great. The wind is strong and we’re making great time. The sunset is beautiful. A sea bird checks us out and follows us. I get goose bumps running through my skin like electric fire flying through a circuit board. Dolphins are playing in our wake. Tanis, Rice, and Andy yell and scream as they watch them. Hana looks like she’s tearing up. I pump my fist in the air a few times. The dangerous world has been reduced to a blemish in my thoughts like hairline cracks in an old painting. There is a sweetness in the air. I’m not hungry, not sad, not even anxious. This is peace.
Then Ben speaks up. Damn him sometimes. He points to the northeast where there had been a few lightning strikes. I see more lightning now that the sun has vanished over the horizon and darkness has set in. There’s trouble coming, but it isn’t the walkers. It’s an act of God. I look at Markus.
I tack the boat back toward land. Suddenly, a puff of wind whips across the tops of the small waves. The boat tips on its side, heeled, as it’s called. Its rail almost dips into the water. We are almost sideways. I immediately turn into the wind and loosen the rope that leads to the main sail. The boat slows and the sails start whipping back and forth. My adrenaline ramps up my senses. I turn back toward land and let the wind fill the sails again. I have no idea what to do next.
Another gust from the east knocks into us. It heels the boat over again. I feel like I’m losing control. Rice screams. Ben loses his grip on the railing and falls into the mast. The wind eventually lets up, but for only a second. A more powerful gust hit moments later. Tanis slips and falls onto the railing as it dips into the water. I let go of the wheel and loosen the main sheet again. The boat naturally turns upwind and slows. My heart is on overload.
“Okay. . . if I remember right, we have to shrink the sail size!” I yell. Dark clouds are coming from the ocean faster than seemingly possible. The sea grows in size. The rocking increases.
“I ain’t Captain Dick here!” Ben yells. “How do we shrink the sail?”
I hand the wheel to Isabella. “Keep it going upwind if you can.” She nods. I run to the bow of the boat. Ben follows. “We have to take down the jib! That very front sail,” I yell. A heavy rain starts to fall. The wind gets cold fast.
“Shouldn’t we take all the sails down?” Ben asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I remember something about needing a sail even during a storm. You want to be able to steer the boat. Otherwise, we lose control.”
“Whatever you say!” Ben cries. The boat heaves upward as the waves continue to grow in size. We struggle to get to the bow of the boat. Water splashes over the side, drenching us in a salty spray. My feet slip on the slick wood. The waves are lifting the Pioneer up and down. The horizon disappears on the upside of the wave.
I grab hold of a security line that leads from the end of the bow to the deck of the boat. I cautiously work my way to the furthest jib. I untie the halyard line that controls it and hold it in my hand. I think I can pull it down and save the sail. I’m wrong. The halyard rips from my hand. I lose my footing as the boat tips over the crest of a wave. I’m caught by the security line, but the halyard flaps around like a sea snake out of water. The jib whips and snaps nosily in the wind and threatens to rip from the ship and fly away. I can’t catch the line so I’ve essentially lost the sail.
The boat rocks downward into the bottom of the wave. I’m holding onto the security line with every bit of muscle I’ve got. My stomach feels like it touches my toes. Then we start rising again. It’s like a ride at an amusement park. A wave of water hits me, dousing my thoughts.
I slowly work my way back to the forward mast. Ben follows me. This time I grab the halyard and wrap it around my wrist.
“Ian!” Hana yells. “We’re going right toward the shore! We’re too close!”
I pull the halyard as hard as I can, trying to pull the forward sail down. Nothing budges. I flap the line and pull again. It frees and slides down. Hand over hand I pull until the sail is bunched up at my feet. I step over the sail and yell to Ben. “You secure the sail to the boom. We can’t lose it! Don’t fuck this up!” Ben nods.
I run as fast as I can to the wheel. As I do, it feels less like running and more like dancing.
“What do I do?” Isabella asks, stepping away from the wheel.
The wind pushes us over hard again. The rain intensifies. “We need to tack! I need you to lower the back mainsail two spots!” I point out the ties that are a few feet off the bottom foot of the sail.
“Too easy! Give me somethin’ harder!” she yells, but looks confused at the mess of ropes everywhere.
I try to sound calm even though our situation rapidly declines. “See that rope?” I point it out. “It’s the halyard. It holds the sail up. So you untie it and pull it down until you get to those ties. Then tie the hanging part of the sail up. Got it?” I’m way out of my game. If I do anything wrong, we all die. The boat will flip and drag us down into Hades. I look beyond the stern of the boat. Our small wooden rowboat is still tied to us, but
might not be for long. It swings violently back and forth on the waves.
I turn the boat back into the wind. The sail luffs wildly, snapping back and forth. Isabella, with the strength of two men, pulls the sail down two levels and then ties the line.
Now we only have the small bit of main sail left. I can tell things are better because we aren’t being pushed around so much and I have more control. However, we are far from safe. We’re still heading toward the shore. “Unless we want to crash, we have to turn and head back out to sea!” Markus pokes his head up from the ladder that leads to the galley. “We’re taking on water, Ian. What should I do?”
“Shut all the windows and then you and Josh look under the floor boards for pumps. The electric bilge will be disconnected, but there should be manual ones! Look for a simple baseball sized thingy that has a bar for a hand pump. Like an old well pump!” I answer, hoping that there were manual pumps, and that they look the same as the ones on my father’s yacht.
“Take that rope,” I order Ben. “It’s the sheet that controls the main sail.” I point it out. “You and Isabella pull it tight until that boom is centered. Then as I turn, let it out until I say stop.” They nod. “Jibe!” I yell and turn the wheel hard to port. The boat rises on the back of a huge wave and turns. We soar up the huge swell then back over it. The main sail flaps like a broken-winged bat. As I continue to turn, the sail picks up the wind and locks into shape. Isabella and Ben let out the sheet allowing the boom to swing out. Just then the Pioneer hits the bottom of the wave. Our bowsprit plunges into the dark water. The crest of the wave is taller than us!
My stomach seems to drop into my colon like I’d swallowed lead. Only after we start back up the wave do I feel the blood pumping in my veins again. I figure we should head out to a safe distance and heave-to to wait the storm out. I desperately try to remember how to do that. Back in France we were taught to heave-to if we got injured or if something broke. I remember only having to push out the main sail as far as it would go and turn the wheel the opposite way and then tie it down. I only hope it would work because sinking and having to use the row boat to get back to the land is not an option.
Thunder and lightning fill the sky. Ben runs to the railing and barfs over the side. Hana is getting sick, too. I can see it in her face. I order everyone to go down below.
Now it’s just me at the helm. I watch the dark clouds roll over themselves. Lightning snaps through the atmosphere and rips the sky apart with thunder. I’m drenched. The rain stings my face and my visibility is decreasing.
“Oh yeah, you stupid storm?! I’m fucking Ahab now! I got you!” I yell and turn the boat into the next wave. “You’re gonna kill the last people on Earth? Piss on you!” Thick saliva is building in my throat. I spit. My stomach tightens. I’m sick, so I keep yelling. “God, you better do this right and kill me! I’m the one that killed your children! You know it and I know it. It was me and Zilla!” I laugh. “You knew I’d do what Zilla wanted. You knew this would happen and you didn’t stop it! Fuck you!” I spit with as much vehemence as in the cries of a million suffering voices. My throat feels like it is bleeding.
A huge wave breaks on the bow and sends so much water onto the deck that it pushes my feet out from under me. I hold on to the wheel and pull myself back up. I’m crying now. “How the hell was I supposed to know this would happen? I’m sorry mom, dad, to my half brother Rick, my whole goddamn extended family. Oh, Tammy, my little niece.” Tears fly out of my eyes and snot from my nose. I continue yelling, “I took down the system, didn’t I? I fantasized about it, and I did it. Shit, man. I committed genocide and I didn’t even know it. I was the puppet on a string.”
I throw up into the splashing ocean water around my feet. I grip the wheel so hard my knuckles ache.
A million years seem to pass. All sound is drowned out. I feel like I’m under water, submerged in pain and remorse. It is probably a hallucination, but I can see thousands of lights around me. They look like fireflies. They blink and skitter around the splashing water. One comes close to my face. I flinch. The sickness in me pauses while I watch those lights. Then, as the Pioneer dips down, down, down into the bottom of the wave, the fireflies fly up. They rise into the dark sky until I can no longer see them. The boat hits the bottom of the wave then rises. I’m dizzy. So dizzy.
I fight the waves for over an hour before fatigue gets to me. I can’t fight anymore. I tighten a lever on the wheel, locking it from moving. Then I struggle to the main mast sheet. I can’t control my muscles. I have to scream to tell them what to do. A wave of nausea rolls over my consciousness and I feel like I’ve just blacked out. My vision returns. I let the main sheet out as far as it would go and tie it down. It is hard to do, but I get it. We are heaved-to. I struggle to the cabin. I throw up some more but there is nothing left in my stomach. A wave knocks my feet out from under me. Water bathes me violently. I slide to the other side of the deck like I’m on ice. It is still and silent now. Just a hint of white noise.
The boat rocks dangerously. I’m spinning. I search for a handle but can’t find one. Then my fingers find rope and latch onto it. It is tied to something. I pull myself up only to get hit by another wave. I pull harder than I ever have in my life. I fight the water and the wind until I get to the cabin door. The boat rocks. It’s almost completely sideways. I can’t reach the door handle.
Suddenly, the boat rocks the other way. It feels like we are spinning. I’m holding onto a handle on the side of the cabin, but my fingers weaken. If I let go I will be thrown off this boat and into the ocean. My fingers loosen as temptation teases me. I feel okay about this end. Maybe this is what I deserve. I let go. I close my eyes. My body slides on the wet, wooden deck and slams into the rail. I thought I felt myself going over.
My body is held by the railing as if in the grip of a giant hand. When the opposite side of the boat drops below the horizon, I slide back toward the cabin. I see the wave that is about to hit. There is a shadow in the wave like a demon is inside it. It looks into my soul and burns me.
The cabin door opens. There is Hana. I fall toward her. She reaches out for me and I plummet into her arms. My face smashes into her skull. She pulls me inside. We fall down the few steps to the floor.
Chapter 1.27
Tanis:
Kat is an Australian Shepherd mix. He’s only about forty pounds and is mostly hair. He’s white, marbled grey, and brown. His long nose is white and his small ears are floppy. He’s a great dog. He listens to everything I say. Kat’s pretty light, so I tuck him under my arm and climb the ladder to the deck of the Pioneer. He doesn’t mind all this. Even when I threw him into the small rowboat and he landed on a bunch of canned food, he didn’t yelp or anything. I think he is just happy to see me.
I’m happy to see him too. When me, Hana, and Ian were at my house I felt so alone. My parents were gone. I felt this weird feeling in my head that I’d never felt before. Everything seemed hopeless. I grabbed my bike and helped Hana pump the tires up. It wasn’t until we were riding down my driveway, flying by a crowd of dead people, that Kat had found us. He jumped over the neighbor’s shrubs and caught up with us. I totally freaked out. I had to stop and say hi. He kept up with us the entire ride back to the bay. That dog can run like Superdog.
When his paws hit the deck of the Pioneer he takes off. Gotta check the place out, you know? Such a good dog.
“Whoa!” Ben says. “The dog’s gonna shit all over the place.”
“I’m gonna shit on you!” I snap. “On your face,” I follow up under my breath.
“Don’t be a jerk,” Hana says to Ben, sticking up for me. “It’s the kid’s dog.”
Josh stops and pets Kat. “I should’ve grabbed some dog food at the store.”
Andy runs to the dog and hugs him.
“Dog’s gonna starve. We don’t have food for it,” Isabella says. “It will be your share that he eats,” she tells me.
“I’m fine with that,” I say. “He can have al
l my food if he needs it.”
Ben rolls his eyes, “You say that now.”
“Yes, you will be responsible for him,” Ian reminds me. He’s starting to act like he’s everyone’s dad.
I follow Kat around as he explores the boat’s deck. “He loves it!” I yell, but no one hears me. They’re all unloading the rowboat. I help Kat down the ladder and let him run around inside. I’d claimed one of the bunks earlier so I sit my bag on it. I take out the photo of my parents and wedge it in a crack on the side of the bunk.
The kitchen gets loud as everyone brings in the food and water. I join them to see what kind of food they got. Ben takes control of the kitchen. No surprise there — big guy, big appetite.
“Yeah!” he exclaims as he takes out a bag of cashews. “Buttery goodness,” he smells the cashews.
“There’s about five pounds of chicken in there. It was in the freezer and didn’t feel completely thawed yet. It should be good.” Markus says. “The rest of the meat is in cans.”
Ben tosses a can of spam in the air, “Oh, I love this stuff with eggs.”
Rice and Josh look eagerly at the food. I am so hungry I could eat my shoe. “Can we chow now?”
“I got this,” Ben says. “I watch the cooking channel all the time.” He looks over the food. “How about lunch stuff? Some chips and tuna sandwiches?” He holds up a box of individual mayonnaise packets. “Perfect, this stuff will last for years.”
“I’ll help,” Markus offers.
Ian tells Isabella to pull the anchor up and Hana to fire up the motor. We turn around and head out of Jamaica Bay on our way south to Cuba. Ben hands me a sandwich and I give half to Kat. We both want more, much, much more. Oh well. I might have to get used to being hungry.
Josh and I finally get the water heater working. We bypass the fried circuit board and rig the heater to run directly off the batteries. It’s a simple heating unit so it didn’t get fried. The water heater will run as long as our batteries hold up. It’ll drain the batteries faster, but Hana says the motor has its own start up battery so she isn’t worried about using the hot water heater. Markus also finds a storage box with eight brand new replacement batteries. We’re set. It’s like a fancy cruise.
6th Horseman, Extremist Edge Series: Part 1 Page 22