by Bobby Akart
“No,” she replied.
Billy continued to chomp down the casserole. He directed his fork at his brother. “Could they fetch Randy and have him force me to open the vault?”
“No, Billy. If they couldn’t do it before the power outage, they can’t now.”
“Okay then. Let’s look at another scenario.” He paused for a moment and glanced around the table. Billy had the floor, just the way he liked it. “Suppose someone defaulted on a mortgage, you know, failed to pay in accordance with the terms of the document. And I, or the bank’s attorney, wrote up a demand letter and personally served it on them. Can I do that?”
Joella stopped eating and set down her fork to focus on her brother. “Well, sure. But under the circumstances—”
“That would be legal, would it not?”
“Sure.”
Billy had thought this through and adopted his best lawyerly tone. “And if they failed to pay, the bank’s lawyer could then serve further notice of our intent to foreclose in accordance with said document, post it in a prominent place at city hall just like we always do, and personally serve that upon the borrower. Right?”
Joella sighed. She knew she was fighting a losing battle. “Yes, Billy, all of those things could be legally accomplished in the manner you describe before and after the power outage.”
He wasn’t done yet. Billy glanced over at Randy, who provided him an imperceptible nod. “If after the foreclosure sale, the borrower refuses to leave, could I not sign a forcible detainer action requesting the sheriff to remove said deadbeat borrower from the premises?”
Joella pushed away from the table. She’d lost her appetite. “Yes, Billy, you can. It’s total bullshit that you’d resort to something like this, but it’s all legal.”
Billy smiled and looked at his wife. “This casserole is incredible, Wanda. Thank you.”
He shoved another big forkful into his burgeoning cheeks.
Chapter 28
Riverfront Farms
Southeast Indiana
It had been a long, eventful day as Riverfront Farms tried to establish some sort of routine. Squire, Chapman, and Isabella returned after being gone for over four hours. Sarah had the recent mainstay of the family’s evening meals, pork barbecue, warming on the cast-iron stove. Carly had the kids bathed and ready for bed after playing board games on the dining room table. Had it not been the onset of the apocalypse, one might see this as any other evening in the American Midwest.
Everyone took turns telling the group about their day. A lot of time was spent tending to their garden and chickens. In addition to preparing meals, vegetables were canned and readied for later. A discussion was had away from the tender ears of the children regarding the home invasion near New Middleton.
Squire was confident Riverfront Farms was far enough away from the interstate travelers that plenty of other targets were readily available before they reached his property on the Ohio River.
They’d only seen sparse barge traffic on the river, with none that day, and the same was true of gas-powered pleasure craft. That, coupled with the situation, brought other types of fishermen out in droves. Flat-bottom boats driven by small fuel-efficient outboard engines and the occasional canoe were the norm. Across the river, in Kentucky, several groups were seen each day shore fishing. It was an unusual sight.
Jesse had spent a considerable amount of time with Chapman over the last couple of days. Rachel had latched onto Isabella like a shiny new toy. She’d become her shadow, insisting upon hanging out with Miss Bella whenever she could.
It was obvious now that Carly and the kids were missing Levi. Carly was very concerned about his well-being and was becoming increasingly distraught in Sarah’s presence. Thus far, the kids were taking it in stride, but all of the adults feared the newness and excitement of their changed lives would take a toll on the little ones.
“France is sooo different from America, isn’t it, Miss Bella?” asked Rachel as she adjusted herself in Isabella’s lap.
After a game of Hungry Hungry Hippos, the family gathered in the family room to enjoy their final minutes before bed. Squire was already nodding off in his leather recliner, and Sarah had finished cleaning up the kitchen, so she too was ready for bed. However, the conversation between Rachel and Isabella was both touching and interesting.
“It is, Rachel. America has its own way and France has a different way. It is what makes us all so interesting.”
“Your words are different too. Not just the French words that grandpa likes. I mean the American words.”
Isabella laughed. “Actually, Rachel, I use English words. So do you, but your English is more American, and my English is based on England. That’s how I learned to speak your language.”
“There are two Englishes?”
Everyone laughed.
“Well, not exactly. They are the same, but in England, the way I learned to speak it, sometimes different words are used to mean the same thing as words used in America.”
“Like what?” asked Jesse. He was enthralled by the conversation, sitting forward on the fireplace hearth with his chin resting in his hands. He didn’t blink as Isabella spoke, hoping not to miss a word.
“Okay, here is an example for you. What season is it?”
Rachel shyly hesitated. You could see her young mind processing the question, nervous she might answer incorrectly.
Isabella quickly helped ease her anxiety. “It is summer, oui?”
“Yes! Oui!” Rachel excitedly broke out into song. “Summertime, summertime. Sum-sum-summertime!”
Isabella smiled and made eye contact with Chapman, then winked at him. “Okay. What is the next season called?”
“Fall!” Rachel and Jesse responded simultaneously.
“Ah, in England, it is referred to as autumn. That is what I call it.”
“It’s the same thing, right, Miss Bella?” asked Rachel.
“Yes, it is. You see, both countries have their own customs and mannerisms. England says autumn and America says fall.”
“Cool! Tell us another one,” begged Levi.
Isabella played along. “Okay, how about this one? When you get a cheeseburger at McDonald’s, what do you like to eat with it?”
“French fries!” shouted Rachel, startling Squire awake.
“Good, but in England, they are referred to as chips.”
“Like potato chips?” asked Rachel.
“No, silly,” her brother tried to correct her. “Like fish and chips. Right, Isabella?”
“Actually, you are both right. As I learned it, in England, chips are potato chips, and they are also French fries. Which, by the way, were probably created in Belgium, not France.”
Rachel dramatically fell backward onto Isabella’s chest and held her palm to her forehead. “This is confusing. It’s making my brain hurt.”
Carly stepped in to stop the etymology lesson. “Well, you two brainiacs have had a big day, and now it’s time to drift off into sleepyland. Let’s go.”
After the obligatory moaning and groaning, the kids passed out the hugs and kisses and good nights and moseyed off to bed, leaving the adults alone.
Chapman patted the sofa, inviting Isabella to join his side. The two cozied up to one another as Squire outlined the next day’s activities.
“I’d like to get a real early start and get the kids involved in fishing,” he began before Chapman interrupted him.
“Dad, that’s okay, but I meant what I said in town earlier. The sun can be deadly now. Granted, the skin cancers may take a while to reveal themselves, but the eye damage can be instantaneous.”
“Okay, we’ll be careful. The problem is that fishing at night is a waste of time. They just won’t be bitin’ in the river.”
“I know. We just have to be careful.” Chapman paused and turned to his mother. “What can we do to help you?”
“Well, it’s mundane, but necessary. Each day I can vegetables and cure meat as much possible. We’ll
be running out of Ball jars at some point, and that’s when we’ll begin to eat what we harvest. I spent a lot of time with the farmhands today. We allocated food to everyone to make sure their supplies were equal. I think our hands have a good understanding of what we’re facing.”
Chapman addressed his father. “I’m gonna ask this question every night until you guys answer differently. Do you want me to go find Kristi or Levi?”
Squire sighed and frowned as tears came to Sarah’s and Carly’s eyes. “Son, trust me, if I thought I knew where they were for certain, I would’ve left already. The fact is we could cross each other on the road and not even know it. We just gotta believe and have faith that they’ll safely find their way home.”
Chapter 29
Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, Canada
It was approaching dusk when Levi casually crossed the four-lane highway free from any oncoming traffic. He’d found his way through woods and backyards in small neighborhoods, using the compass as a guide and the winding creek that emptied into the St. Mary’s River as his easternmost boundary. Once he crossed the highway and entered the Bell’s Point Campground, he knew he’d come to the right place.
In addition to a dozen motorhomes scattered about the flat, open field adjacent to the river separating Canada from the United States, a tent city of refugees had formed. Tarp-covered lean-tos were scattered across the grounds, with as many as six people crammed underneath them to shield themselves from a slight drizzle of rain.
Levi was soaked and cold, but his determination kept him going. He walked past the settlement, pausing to catch a glimpse of the desperate, hungry faces that had come to the recently constructed marina at Redwood Sportfishing Charters.
Two docks extended into the shallow depths of the St. Mary’s River, containing a variety of fishing boats. A pair of large commercial vessels equipped with nets to harvest whitefish from the lake were tied off at the end of the hundred-foot docks. Closer in, smaller vessels for sport charters and anglers rounded out the Redwood fleet.
Despite the darkness, the commercial vessels were full of activity. Levi stopped a group of refugees exiting the docks. One of the men lit a cigarette, illuminating the dejected look on his face.
“How’s it goin’?” Levi asked casually.
“Not worth a shit,” the man shot back. He kept walking past Levi, with two older women by his side.
Levi persisted. “They say these boats can take us to the States. Is that correct?”
“Hell, yeah, if you’re a dang millionaire,” one of the women replied in a raspy voice. “They want thousands of dollars to get to Dee-troit.” The woman spoke with a Southern accent, stretching out the name of Michigan’s largest city with a hint of contempt.
“Ain’t nobody got that kinda money,” the man added.
“Them hussies didn’t either,” his female companion added. “They’ll pay in other ways, I reckon.”
Levi glanced at the boats and back to the group of three, who’d apparently given up on gaining passage across the river or through the Great Lakes. A U.S. Coast Guard patrol boat roared along the water from east to west. Bright spotlights illuminated the river, sweeping across the still surface as if searching for something.
The man took a draw on his cigarette. As he exhaled, he pointed toward the USGS vessel. “They’re capturing swimmers. It’s only a few hundred yards across, and some folks have tried to make it. The Coast Guard hauls them in and brings ’em back to that boat launch over there.”
“Even if they’re Americans?” Levi asked.
“It’s a new world, bud. No papers, no entry. Like a bunch of dang Nazis.”
Levi didn’t have complete confidence in the information he was receiving from this trio of negative Nancys. He turned and marched down the dock toward the fishing boats. Each was approximately forty feet long, with large booms that held the fishing nets. The wheelhouse was located toward the front of the vessel, and a series of portholes below it indicated to Levi that there were bunks and cabins beneath.
As he approached, two men were arguing with one another over who’d take the first shift driving the boat to Detroit. The dispute carried on between the two seemingly drunken men, which gave Levi an opportunity.
If what he had been told by the trio of refugees was correct, swimming across the river would just result in him being returned to Canada without his gear. Clearly, he didn’t have enough money to gain passage on the vessels, even if he still had his wallet or undoubtedly worthless credit cards.
The men continued to argue in the dark, and Levi decided to take a chance. Using his skills as a hunter to approach them without detection, he walked heel to toe, avoiding any hard steps on the heavy wood planks that made up the decking. Then, in a quick, smooth move, he carefully stepped onto a rear platform at the stern and crouched down.
He held his breath and focused on the men’s voices. The boat barely swayed as his hundred-eighty-pound frame climbed over the half-wall, and soon he was standing in front of a set of doors flush to the boat’s deck.
Levi’s eyes darted in all directions, scanning the wheelhouse and the deck for other members of the crew. Below the deck near the front of the ship, muffled voices and laughter could be heard.
Good, he thought. They’re distracted. Levi felt his way along the platform for the latches to open the fish holds. He ducked under the netting hanging from the long booms, which had been pulled up while the boat was docked. Finally, he found the stainless-steel rings that acted as door latches.
Levi opened the hold slightly, and the stench of dead fish invaded his nostrils immediately, forcing him to bury his nose in his shirt. His eyes began to water at the caustic smell, and he fought back the urge to vomit. He was about to lower the platform door and look for another option when the two men abruptly ended their argument and began to board the vessel.
Levi rolled his eyes and held his breath. He was going under the deck.
He lowered his backpack and rifle before crawling onto the piles of dead fish that covered the bottom of the hold. After he gently closed the door, he found himself immersed in darkness and decaying whitefish. The men had obviously found human smuggling more lucrative than commercial fishing, but were too lazy to clean out their fish hold. As bad as the stink was, however, it provided Levi an opportunity to stow away.
Ten minutes later, the engines rumbled to life and the fishing boat eased into the river. Levi rummaged through his backpack and used every available means of staying warm. The hold was just at the waterline and still had remnants of ice used to keep the catch from spoiling. Despite the small amount of ice and cold temperatures, the spoilage happened anyway.
Eventually, sleep overtook him, and the dreams he’d experienced in the forest came back. They bordered on hallucinations—vivid, real, and frightening. Animals, some of which took a partially human form, surrounded him. The visions were gory. Body parts, drenched in blood and grotesquely mangled, surrounded the creatures. Levi thrashed about, wanting to scream, but his voice failed him.
Then, as suddenly as the chilling nightmares of barbaric killings ended, they were replaced by feelings of cold and dread. In his dreams, water was everywhere. His mind conjured up visions of floodwaters engulfing whole towns. Frigid waters rushed into houses and businesses, carrying away people flailing about for help that never arrived. Screams for mercy filled his head, so real that his body shook violently on the bed of dead fish in an attempt to escape the carnage.
A loud thump caused him to jolt awake, his might and body awakening in an intense moment of clarity as a bloodcurdling scream of despair filled the boat.
Only, it wasn’t a dream that generated the screech. It was the voice of a woman on board the fishing boat.
“Please, stop. No more!”
Crying. Begging. Shouting.
Then another thump followed by a shout of agony.
Levi was fully awake, and he tried to scramble to his feet only to fall into the mess of rotting fish. He
processed the noises. The thumping. Feet shuffling. The sounds of a struggle.
And the pleas for mercy. It wasn’t a dream.
He recalled the words of the negative Nancys referring to hussies. Levi didn’t need to conjure up visions of what was happening in the bunks of the fishing boat. One thing was certain, it was brutal.
Levi found his rifle and made his way to the doors leading to the aft deck below the fishing booms. He slowly raised one of the doors to barely two inches. It was still dark. He opened the hatch a little more and listened for voices or footsteps, anything indicating that some of the men were on the deck.
Nothing.
He lowered the door and thought for a moment. There were more than two men on the ship. Even if there were three and they were unarmed, he was outnumbered. He thought about his wife and kids. They needed him at home. Was it worth the risk to rescue this woman?
What if it were Carly? Or even his sister. The woman being attacked was someone’s family member. She needed his help. He’d risked his life to save a mother wolf and her cubs. Why wouldn’t he try to save a woman who was being abused, or worse?
Levi cracked the door again and inhaled the fresh night air, sucking it in while trying to cleanse his nostrils of the smell of fish.
He was ready. He slid his rifle out first, and then, using his back, he forced the fish hold’s door open enough to hoist his body onto the deck.
He grabbed his rifle and scrambled against the outer edge of the trawler. His eyes darted about, searching for any signs of movement. He could hear better now that he was above deck. Despite the steady rumble of the boat’s motors, he could clearly make out at least two women crying and screaming, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of flesh being slapped.