“Fair enough, I guess. It’s not like we have a judge and a few lawyers about to have a trial. It was pretty cut and dried what had happened,” Izzy agreed grimly.
“It doesn’t make it any easier on my conscience.”
“I wonder if the same thoughts occurred in the minds of the first European settlers here, so many years ago,” Izzy mused aloud.
“That thought has crossed my mind a couple of times also. It’s just about the same. They were here, alone, with no direct contact with the rest of the world, pretty much on their own in the wilderness. They could have been on the moon for all that mattered,” Tim said.
“And they did okay, didn’t they?”
“That they did. And so shall we. But, Iz, let’s make sure we don’t have any witch hunts like in Salem, alright?
Izzy gave a little laugh at that one. “I agree. What else do you plan on doing?”
“As soon as you say Taco is okay, I think he and I will take another trip over to Camp Navajo to see what kinds of goodies we can scare up, stuff we can use for defense.”
“No siege mentality?”
“I can’t rule that out for now, Iz. It’s a whole new world, one we’re still learning to deal with.”
“I’m sure you’ll be able to work out a good defense for us.”
“It’s something I’m not used to, Iz. I’m more of an offensive thinker.”
“As most good soldiers are,” Izzy said sagely. He stood and made a move to head inside. “I think I’ll go check in on my patient.”
“Wow, a doctor who makes house calls.”
Izzy grinned and entered the house.
Tim heard the distant rumble of thunder. He walked over to his Hum-Vee and retrieved his carbine, slinging it over his shoulder, then went up the dirt road that led up to the other houses in the compound.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said to the trees, and headed up the road towards Ian and Paula’s house.
It was going to be a long summer.
Chapter 10: Fair Winds and Following Seas
The sounds of the Andrews Sisters, complete with the pops and crackles of the old vinyl 73 rpm record, one of hundreds Suplee had found in the radio shack of the ship, came out of the speakers in the officer’s wardroom of the freighter. Suplee had thought it would be a nice idea to have it piped throughout the ship during the day.
Everyone sat at the long table enjoying a breakfast that Mary had made that morning. In between bites, their three visitors told them their individual stories of survival.
The oldest one, a man in his late thirties, bald as a cue ball and tattooed in full sleeves, set down his coffee cup and sighed. “So there you have it. After everyone died, we sort of found each other, and made a go of it here on the base over the last few years. We thought we were the only ones left, then the other day we saw this ship sail in, and we were in shock.”
“I’ll bet,” Ensign Johnson commented.
“You said that you were going to be sailing this ship over to Hawaii. I talked it over with Steve and Beth last night, and if you’ll have us, we’d like to come with you. Help you crew the ship.”
“I can’t say that we don’t need the help, Chief,” Johnson said. “I know you were a Navy man, a chief petty officer, and I could use your expertise. Harry here was a Petty Officer on our last ship. We’ve been through a lot together, been through hell, actually. He’s now my First Officer on this ship. I know you outrank him in the old life, but things are different now. You won’t have any problems with that, will you?”
“No, sir, none at all. We all understand completely. We just want the opportunity to do more than just survive. We all thought that we were the only ones left, for a long, long time. Now you say that there’s a settlement in Pearl, and another one in Arizona? Hell, I’m just happy to see you all!”
“Alright then. I know I need the help.” Johnson turned to his other visitors. “Do you agree with him?”
“I don’t know a thing about ships, I was a manager at a diner, Steve said. “I’d like to learn, and be of use.” He was in his early thirties, bespectacled, and had long, mousy brown hair, and a pleasant enough disposition.
“A diner, eh? Maybe we can utilize you here, and you can help Mary in the galley,” Johnson said.
The only other visitor, a slight waif of a girl in her early twenties that had short, severely cropped blonde hair that still had the remaining streaks of pink from a bad dye job still visible smiled broadly, and added, “I was a student at U-Cal. Liberal Arts. I don’t know how useful I’d be, but like my friends said, I’d like to be helpful.”
“I’m sure we can find a place for all of you,” Johnson said. “Like I said, though, this is a ship, not a democracy. What me, Mr. Suplee or Mr. Nakamura say, goes.” “Anything you say, Mr. Johnson,” the Chief said. “And I guess you can call me Ken.”
“Welcome to the SS Jeremiah O’Brian. I guess you’d like to move in as soon as possible, and there are plenty of cabins to choose from below, so take your pick.”
“Thank you, sir, we’ll do that right away. What’s the first order of business?” Ken asked.
“First thing is, I’d like to get her alongside the docks, and then fill up her bunkers with oil. Then we’ve got to get some pressure washers on deck and get all this bird shit cleaned up, and get the rust painted. It’s going to be a big job, and you’ll be happy to know I’m one of those officers who doesn’t mind getting dirty.”
“Sir, I’m glad you said that. She is a sight. If you want, we can get started on that this morning,” Ken said eagerly.
“Alright then, that’s settled. Mr. Nakamura?” Johnson said, turning to the Japanese man. “If you could, fire up the boilers after you’re done eating.”
“I start right away, Johnson-San,” Nakamura said, picking up his cleared plate and standing with a respectful bow, and then leaving.
“I’ll clean up here,” Mary said, leaving the rest still at the table.
Johnson looked over his now doubled crew. “It’d be nice to have a few tugs to help us alongside the pier,” he said. “But I think we should do okay without tearing too much up.”
“Agreed, Mr. Johnson,” Ken said.
“Sir, once we’re alongside, I’d like to do that thing we discussed before,” Suplee said.
“Absolutely, get that out of the way, Harry. I think it’ll clear your mind.”
“Yes sir. I’ll get right on making preparations to get underway, Skipper,” Suplee said, standing and leaving the wardroom.
Steve and young Billy started to clear off the table of the dirty dishes, leaving Ensign Johnson and Beth alone. The woman looked at the officer with a puzzled look after watching Suplee leave.
“Anything wrong?” he asked her.
“No, I was wondering what you meant by ‘do that thing’ is all,” she said, unabashed, and that made him raise his eyebrows. The girl was rather outspoken, he’d noticed, saying whatever popped into her head without thinking it rude or nosey. Johnson decided that no harm would come of telling her.
“Mr. Suplee had a wife who was expecting, here in San Diego before everything happened. This was our home port, and he had an apartment not far from here. He just wants to go over, and, well…” he trailed off, becoming uncomfortable all of a sudden.
“He wants to be sure she’s dead. I understand. I’ll go with him, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a car. It’s rigged to run on propane. Ken did it.”
“You’d better ask Harry first. It is kind of a personal mission,” he said.
“I understand. I’ll ask him,” Beth said, and then left him alone in the wardroom, leaving him with his thoughts.
He still hadn’t told anyone else about the warning from Jerry on Oahu; only he and Suplee knew about it. He decided to let it rest for the time being. There was nothing they could do about it, and getting the ship seaworthy was his number one priority.
Johnson left the wardroom, heading down to the engine room to help Nakamura
with the boilers. It took several hours to get the steam up to pressure, and with a mad dash from the wheelhouse to the wing bridge, and frantic signals on the ship’s telegraph, they finally brought the lumbering ship alongside the main fueling pier of San Diego Naval Base.
After another mad dash to get her tied up securely before drifting back out into the channel, they got a diesel generator out to the fuel oil pumps, ran the hoses up the ship’s bunker fill ports, and soon they were transferring thousands of gallons of oil from the holding tanks on shore to the ship.
Johnson was on the bridge, staring out at the naval base, while Billy was playing with the ship’s wheel and making motor noises without a care in the world. Johnson looked at his son and smiled, hoping the boy could hold onto his innocence as long as he could. Movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention, and he looked over to see Suplee entering the bridge. He walked over to the boy and ruffled his hair.
, “Skipper,” Suplee said to the boy, “you sure did a great job getting the ship to the dock!”
“Aye, aye, Mr. Suplee!” the boy beamed and saluted. Suplee returned the boy’s salute and walked out to the wing bridge where Johnson was still standing.
“I told Mr. Nakamura to secure the boilers for now, that we’d probably be here for a few weeks while we get the ship ready, Skipper. Smoking lamp is out, and we’re taking on oil at a good rate. Ken is supervising the fueling, and we should be topped off in a few hours.”
“Very good, Harry, is there anything else?”
“Not really. Ken also says he knows where a few pressure cleaners are, so we’ll get on that tomorrow, and then get some paint on the rust. I’ll head over to the ship’s stores tomorrow to see what we can stock up in the way of food. He says there’s still shitloads of non-perishable stuff over there, it’s what they’ve been living on these last few years. We should be well set, I think.”
“Harry, do you think you’ll have a problem with him?”
“You mean the rank thing?” Suplee asked. When Johnson nodded, he said, “Not at all. We had a good talk earlier when we were setting up the fuel oil pumps. I told him everything we went through on the Hughes. He understands completely. He’ll be a team player. I think they’re all just as happy as pigs in shit to be with us.”
“As long as you’re okay with it. I want to know of the first inkling of any problems though, got it?”
“Aye, Skipper.”
“We’ve been through too much to let some ego bullshit get in the way.”
“No problem, Bill.”
“I mean it, Harry. The first feeling of shit you get, I want to know about it,” Johnson insisted.
“Skipper, I’ll let you know, I promise. Now, that other thing…” Suplee said, looking out over the basin.
“Yeah, you head out and take care of that,” Johnson said with a nod of encouragement. “Go and get the girl, Beth. She said she had a car, and that she could drive you around for any errands you need to run.”
“We’ve already talked,” Suplee said with an odd look on his face, sort of a cross between bewilderment and a smile.
“Get on to it. Daylight is wasting away.”
“I’m going to see if I can scare up some air-con units too.”
“Make that a priority. It’ll be like an oven below decks soon, and then we’ll all be sleeping out on the forecastle.”
“Okay, Skipper. I’m off.”
“Harry,” Johnson said before he walked away. “Take a rifle with you.”
“What for, sir?”
“That wasn’t a suggestion, Harry. These new people may not have seen anyone else, but it never hurts to be safe.”
“Aye, Skipper. I’ll grab one of those M4s that the sergeant major gave us.”
“Be careful out there.”
“I will, Dad,” Suplee quipped, leaving the bridge and making his way down to his cabin where he retrieved a carbine from his locker. After loading a 30-round magazine in the weapon, he shouldered it and headed down the three decks to the gangplank, which led onto the pier. He did a quick inspection of the fuel lines running up to the ship, and seeing everything was in order, he looked around for Beth.
He found her sitting Indian style smoking a cigarette on the hood of a beat up and rusted Yugo. She smiled when she saw him, flicked the butt aside, and hopped down.
“This is your car?” Suplee asked, wide eyed.
“I know it’s not much, but it gets us around town,” Beth said, heading to the driver’s side door, which squealed loudly when she opened it, its hinges sorely in need of lubrication.
“A Yugo,” he said with a snort, and got in the passenger’s side, sitting down on the dusty and cracked seat. The sun was high and bright, and the day warm, so he rolled down the window as they drove through the base, letting some cool air into the overheated interior.
“Thanks for driving,” he said amiably. “Hey, it’s been a while. Could I bum a smoke off of you?”
“It’s been a while for what, Harry?” she asked with a coy, sideways smile. She handed him an open pack of Marlboros with one hand without taking her eyes of the road. Suplee took one out, and lit it with a butane lighter she held out, blowing the smoke out the window.
“A little stale, but beggars can’t be choosers,” Suplee said, savoring the smoke.
“There’s a bucket load at the PX on base. A lot of everything,” she said, giving him a sideways glance as she headed out of the main gate.
“Head up Division Street, my place is over in Valencia Park,” he directed, and Beth turned the wheel and headed east.
“The complex on the corner of Valencia Parkway?” she asked.
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“I know right where it is.”
The drove along in silence, and Suplee looked out at the passing buildings. Everything looked rundown, weeds growing everywhere. Dust and dirt coated everything, and years of paper and trash had accumulated in every nook and cranny. It looked like it hadn’t been occupied for a thousand years. He didn’t see any bodies, but it had be over six years since that terrible day, and all would have been consumed by buzzards and coyotes a long time ago. He was glad of that, but the thought of that still made him shudder.
Beth turned into the parking lot that was lined with tall, dead palm trees. In fact, Suplee realized, all of the trees around were dead, and he wondered why. Then it hit him, most of Southern California was really a desert, and the vegetation had only thrived in this city because of irrigation. With no people or power to run the pumps, the water ran dry, so the trees died.
She pulled up in front of the building that Suplee had indicated and shut the engine off. She looked over at him questioningly. Suplee looked at the façade of the two-story building and sighed, making a move to open the door.
“Do you want me to come with you?” she asked.
He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “No, you stay here.”
Suplee got out, retrieved his carbine, and headed into the courtyard. He walked through a gate and passed a swimming pool that all of the apartments faced. Once filled with sparkling clear water and surrounded by children’s laughter, it was now dead, only half-filled with dirty water, an ugly dark green from an algae bloom. It was now nothing more than a mosquito farm. He made his way along the path that led to his front door.
He stared at it for several moments, thinking about what to do. He’d lost his keys years ago. He took the carbine and racked a round into the chamber, taking the safety selector and placing it on three-round burst.
Taking aim at the doorknob, he squeezed the trigger once, and a short blast erupted from the rifle with a deafening roar in the enclosed area. The door splintered some, but the lock held fast. He laughed at himself.
“I guess that only works in the movies,” he cracked out loud.
He slung the carbine back over his shoulder, kicked out with his booted foot just to the right of the doorknob, and was rewarded by the sounds of cracking and s
plintering wood as the door flew inwards.
He stood there another moment, looking into the darkened portal, and then went through the door. He scanned the sparsely furnished living room. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, but other than that, looked pretty much as when he last saw it.
He wandered around the apartment, looking at this and that, and then went down the short hall towards the bedroom. A sickly-sweet smell permeated this part of the flat, and as he neared the closed door to the sole bedroom, he reached for the doorknob with a shaking hand.
His heart was beating so loud he thought that it might beat out of his chest, and in the dim light coming through the bedroom window, he saw a form, blackened and mummified, lying half covered on the bed. The same mousey blonde hair he remembered from so long ago was spread about the form’s head like a sick halo.
He looked over to a crib that had been erected next to the bed, saw a small form wrapped in a dusty pink blanket and he began to shake. Bile rose in his throat, and he turned to leave, not before his breakfast came up, spraying the wall in the tiny hallway. He rushed to get outside, but made it as far as the living room again, where he dropped to his knees and vomited the rest of his stomach’s contents on the pale gray carpet that he’d always hated.
He vomited until he was dry-heaving, and when he was truly finished, he braced himself on the cheap IKEA coffee table and stood on shaking legs. He looked up, and through tear stained and blurry eyes, saw a figure standing in the doorway framed by the bright afternoon sun.
He pushed by the figure and out into the courtyard where he collapsed into a dirty lounge chair by the filthy swimming pool. He set the carbine down on the seat next to him, and placing his face in his palms, wept loudly, sobbing uncontrollably. He felt a hand on his shoulder, then an arm circled around him, pulling his head down into a warm, inviting bosom.
He felt Beth’s hand in his hair, and she cooed comfortingly while he cried. After a while, the sobs slow down, and he looked up at her.
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