by James Sperl
Catherine released Tamara’s hands with a loving pat and sat back eyeing her children, none of whom wanted to meet her gaze.
“So, where're we gonna go? Back home?” Josh said dourly.
“Sort of. It’s a bit north of the city. Near the coast.”
“Are we gonna meet daddy there?” Tamara asked exuberantly.
“Not quite. We’re gonna meet up with him when...”
The world suddenly spun out of control.
Blackness washed over Catherine as a nauseating dizziness engulfed her. She clutched the edge of the table attempting to maintain consciousness, her vision reduced to white pinpricks of light.
Please, God. No.
“Mom? You okay?” Abby asked, directing the attention of Josh and Tamara to their mother’s plight.
“I...I need to...” Catherine stammered as she clamored to her feet, stumbling away from the table and almost falling. She righted herself and charged like a drunken sailor into the aft stateroom.
Josh was already on his feet.
“What’s wrong with mommy?” Tamara asked, tears welling in her eyes.
“I don’t know,” Josh said simply as he barreled after her, Abby and Tamara right on his tail. Josh reached the doorway and stared in at a sight he had never before seen in his life.
His mother had lost complete control.
In a wild frenzy, Catherine had pulled clothing from drawers, scattering the garments about the room as she flung them with reckless abandon. She finished a drawer, tossed it aside and then moved to the next.
“Mom!” Josh yelled. “What the hell’re you doing?”
“It has to be here,” Catherine mumbled incoherently. “It has to.”
“What has to be here?” Josh said.
Catherine ignored her son, abandoning the drawers and sliding on her knees over to the beds. She wrestled several duffel bags from below the lower bunk and unzipped one ferociously. She inspected it thoroughly, checking the canvas pockets and other interior zippered areas with quick jabbing swipes of her hand. She tossed it aside angrily, tears of frustration forming as she moved on to the next one, but was met with the same result.
She climbed to her feet in a panic, charging over to a small vanity near the bathroom. She knocked small bottles and lotions from the table as she ransacked the tiny drawers, yanking each of three out in succession and rooting about unsuccessfully.
Abby held a crying Tamara, having chosen to remain outside the room as Josh stepped in.
“Mom, what are you looking for?” Josh said loudly, real concern finding a foothold in his voice.
Catherine again ignored him and tried to shuffle past Tamara and Abby into the galley. “It must be out here. It has to...” Catherine murmured. But that mature boy she had been so proud of had not only advanced emotionally and intellectually, he had also developed physically. And when Josh’s hand clamped around Catherine’s wrist and forced her to sit on the bed with a defeated slump, two months worth of fear, paranoia, anger, sadness and isolation gushed out of her like a geyser.
Having reached her breaking point, Catherine leaned her head on her son’s shoulder and cried in a way neither she nor her family had ever seen before. She wailed in huge exhalations, sometimes struggling to catch her breath so that she could continue her meltdown. Josh looked helplessly to his sisters who could only stare as he cradled his limp and broken mother in his arms.
Tamara ran into the room, tears spilling from her eyes as she clutched her mother. Catherine draped a weakened arm around her, pulling her close with as much strength as she could manage.
Abby stepped tentatively forward and sat at her mother’s feet. She placed a reassuring hand on Catherine’s foot and sat in silence as Catherine continued to purge her demons.
Eventually the crying subsided and Catherine pushed herself up from Josh’s shoulder, wiping her forearm in huge swaths over her eyes and cheeks. She sat for what seemed like minutes then finally inhaled shakily. She breathed out a cleansing, centering breath and lifted her head slightly.
“It looks as though we have a change of plans,” she said.
Josh, Abby and Tamara looked at one another in continued befuddlement as Catherine set to explaining her actions. Sitting on the bed, her life and sense of purpose returning to her in dribbling amounts, Catherine told of what it was she was looking for and what, it appeared, she had forgotten in her hurried and panic-stricken escape from their home. She explained its significance and how, if they were ever going to see their father again, they needed to be in possession of it. She then turned to Josh and acknowledged that he had been right in his initial inquiry—they would be going home after all.
6
Ashore
It had been a wonderful evening. The meal at D’Anzio’s was exquisite and of a quality they rarely experienced; and when the bill had arrived on a fancy porcelain tray they recalled in a painful swipe of their credit card the oppressive reason behind their five-star infrequencies.
But it had been worth it. Too many weeks had passed since the last evening they’d spent together that could even remotely be considered a date, and that had consisted of the latest comic-book movie at the multiplex and a TGI Fridays.
No, tonight was perfect. They had dressed the part, Warren donning his finest Hickey-Freeman suit and Catherine exhibiting her slender curves in a navy blue Donna Karan strapless knockoff. They had talked and shared anecdotes of their week. They had held hands across the table and lingered endlessly over a bottle of Bollinger Champagne, Special Cuvée—the price of which had almost rivaled a car payment. But most importantly, they had laughed.
Having spent the majority of Friday and Saturday knee deep in more sailing lessons and re-supply efforts, the dinner, which had been Warren’s idea, was a relaxing and thoughtful gesture which reaffirmed to her that she was still in a committed, loving marriage and not in a corporate partnership. For at times, the latter had seemed to dominate the landscape of their relationship.
Oh, yes, there had been fights.
Driving in silence on Friday night, Catherine had expressed her sincere distaste for yet another fun-filled weekend rife with training. But more than this she had loathed the lies they had chosen to tell both their children and Terri, who had so graciously volunteered her time to serve as stand-in guardian while they were away. But Warren had shot back vehemently, defending his actions and all that it entailed claiming every little thing they did was preparation for a “when” not an “if”. Catherine remembered rolling her eyes at this and wondered how it could be that so many people before her husband had predicted the end of the world and failed so miserably, yet Warren was so resolute in his conviction.
They spent Friday and most of Saturday in total silence save the few bits of instruction Warren would fling at her. But Sunday had felt like a new day and both were just plain weary of keeping their figurative arms crossed over their chests. Conversation had begun naturally over breakfast and continued throughout most of the day without so much as a spat. And when Warren surprised her with the evening dress he had stowed in his suitcase, she forgot about the previous days’ bickering and succumbed to the romantic vibe he put forth.
The dinner finished, they had returned home. And as if by some telepathic prompting they had discovered a note from Terri on the refrigerator telling of the movie she had taken the kids to see a little over an hour ago.
The house was theirs.
Scampering up the stairs like two kids on Christmas Eve, Catherine and Warren made a beeline for their bedroom eagerly shedding their high-priced duds onto the floor in careless piles. They fell onto the bed, their mouths finding each other immediately, their hands caressing and feeling.
Catherine lay back, ready and willing to lose herself in the moment when Warren froze as if suddenly thrust into suspended animation. Before she could ask what the problem was Warren was on his feet and digging in their overnight bag. Standing buck naked, he withdrew the object he was seeking from the conf
ines of the bag and told Catherine he would be right back.
Catherine propped herself onto an arm and glared at her husband incredulously. Was he serious? They were in the throes of passion, ready to engage in a moment of bliss they hadn’t enjoyed in so long and he stopped for this?
But Warren had countered with an equal measure of disbelief, re-illustrating the importance of the object he held in his hand and how imperative it was that it be concealed at all times. And as he turned for the door to return the item to its hiding place, Catherine sat up. Never one for ultimatums she found this situation to be unacceptable and a fine time for one if there ever was. She knew that Warren didn’t respond well to threats, even of the sort that involved simple marital issues, so when the sentence “leave the room and sleep on the couch” had been uttered she knew the outcome even before the last word left her lips.
With an irritated swipe, Warren had snatched up his clothes from the floor and stormed out, closing the door emphatically behind him.
Catherine could only stare dumbfounded. Lying on the bed she gazed emptily before her, ruminating over the impact this night would have on her for weeks, if not months, to come.
But soon, other events would eclipse that evening, reducing the severity of the fight to the level of a playground spat. Yes, things would change. In ways she just couldn’t foresee.
Lying on her berth, Catherine drifted around in her head, floating along with the swell of the ocean that moved beneath the boat.
A glint of light sliced across the cabin wall accompanied by the creak of a sticky door hinge.
“Mom?” Abby’s voice whispered from the cracked opening of the stateroom.
Catherine had to shake herself from her trance of remembrance, wiping the glazed expression of regret from her face. She had been staring at the darkened wall in the stateroom for so long the blackish-brown knot in the wood paneling had taken on a hypnotic effect, allowing her to recall with relative ease and clarity her and Warren’s last “evening” together. It had not been a memory she wished to revisit, but the object at the heart of so much strife had been a unifying thorn in her subconscious.
She rolled over and faced her daughter. “Yeah?”
“Josh needs you. He...he says he thinks we’re here.”
Catherine sat up at this and rubbed her face vigorously. Composing herself with a few deep breaths she forced herself to her feet and pulled open the door allowing light to flood the room. She placed a hand on Abby’s shoulder and forced an unconvincing smile.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
Catherine followed Abby through the salon, up the stairs and out onto the deck where she immediately located Josh at the bow, binoculars to his eyes. The sun was thirty or so minutes from setting and there was thankfully little cloud cover. The sun would provide welcome cover astern as they made their approach inland.
She walked toward her son but managed only three steps before she took notice, her feet freezing in place as if stuck in tar. She peered with her mouth agape at the nightmarish vision that lay before her, moving up beside Josh.
Josh continued his reconnaissance through the binoculars, but sensed his mother’s presence at his side. He pulled himself away and, without so much as a sideways glance, offered the binoculars to his mother, sheer astonishment hijacking his face.
“You...you’re gonna want to look at this,” he said, his voice raspy.
Catherine raised the binoculars to her eyes and stared into the ocular lens. She could feel her heart begin to race as she adjusted the focus wheel with damp, sweaty hands. And as the images refined themselves with each turn, Catherine’s hands began to shake.
She knelt down and placed her elbows on either side of the bow pulpit for stability, truth rushing at her like a lightning bolt, sending electric shocks straight to her heart.
Through the binoculars she was able to make out the silhouette of a cityscape. Darkening skyscrapers in the downtown area stood like tombstones, glistening insignificantly in the muted oranges of sunset. On any given day these behemoths would glow like neon signs in even the poorest of light, but the towers she beheld were lifeless husks of their former selves. The lack of any illumination could only mean one thing: the glass in which so many of the buildings were encased had been removed. Or destroyed.
Catherine panned over other areas of the city searching for signs of activity, life, answers, anything. There were no cars or buses moving to and fro on the Lincoln overpass. No subways or trains whisking commuters from stop to stop. There were no airplanes departing or arriving from either of the two airports located near the city. There was no light of any sort. Not one street lamp, headlight or office fluorescent anywhere. But most disquieting of all, there were no people. Not one person moved along the shoreline, walked the beach or even strolled through the visible areas of town. The city seemed as quiet and lifeless as a cemetery, the chalky grays of dusk only lending to the eerie quality.
Catherine slowly lowered the binoculars. “What the hell happened here? Where is everyone?” she muttered to herself.
“Mommy, is that home?” Tamara asked from somewhere behind her.
Catherine turned slowly, her brain working feverishly to process everything she had just seen. Tamara sat with Abby near the stairs clutching Sniffles the elephant in her arms, a protective arm from Abby wrapped around her like a comforting blanket.
“I don’t know, baby,” Catherine uttered, barely able to choke out the words. For the duration of their time at sea, Catherine had only wanted to know one thing: Why? Why had they been driven from their home and their life, forced to live adrift in uncertainty for so long? The constant nag of ignorance had chewed away at her insides, but she knew the day would eventually arrive where all would be revealed. But now, compelled to navigate the shadowy, bleak city before her, she wished in no small way for the relative simplicity of sea life to return if just for a little while longer.
Catherine stared at the deck and the long shadows cast by the setting sun as they snaked over the fiberglass hull. She turned suddenly, peering over the railing into the water and took note of the enormous shadow preceding the boat as cast by the main sail. She whipped her head around to face Josh. “Let’s get that mainsail down.”
Josh screwed his face in confusion. “Why? We’ve got strong breezes and a lot of ground to cover still. Why would we want to lower it?”
“Because that sail,” Catherine pointed out, “will look like a huge black speck on the horizon to anyone keeping watch from land. I’m not convinced everything is as lifeless as it appears. There has to be somebody out there.” As she finished her explanation, Catherine’s words reverberated in her head. Yes, there had to be someone, hadn’t there? It couldn’t be just them. The odds were stacked heavily against it. Those poor people on the boat and the fiends that perpetrated their vicious acts against them had been proof. And that was at sea, for Christ’s sake. Certainly there were many others on the mainland, perhaps hiding, watching or even relocated away from the shoreline. The possibilities were extensive.
With this sudden nugget of realization Catherine’s spirit seemed to lift a little. But just as she had adjusted her attitude, Josh offered his own concern as he set to lowering the mainsail.
Moving to the mast he clutched the halyard in his hand, then quite simply and chillingly said, “There may be someone out there. But are they gonna be someone we want to meet?”
The outline of the city grew more ominous as they drew closer and with nightfall upon them the ghostly outlines of the skyscrapers stood like monsters in a darkened closet waiting for the right moment to strike. This sensation had been amplified exponentially as well since they had abandoned the relative safety and stability of their sturdy boat for the flimsy and cramped confines of the life raft in which they currently found themselves. Having discovered sunken ships and other debris floating dangerously in and around the harbor, the decision was made to abandon the unwieldy sailboat for the smaller, quieter and easier to navigate
life raft.
Josh turned away from the Four Star Retreat with no small amount of sadness. It was a boat he had grown to love. It had, in fact, become home to him and today marked the second time in three months he’d been forced to abandon his place of residence. He faced forward and continued paddling in concert with his mother as Tamara and Abby sat silently huddled together behind them.
“How you doing, Josh?” Catherine whispered, panting heavily.
“I’m okay,” Josh replied, lying through his teeth.
The shoreline remained extraordinarily haunting as the absence of a living soul persisted amid the supporting creepiness of gently lapping waves. Several piers emerged out of the darkness like spider legs, Catherine and Josh directing their strokes to the nearest dock as it seemed to reach out toward them. A final few pulls of the water and Josh was able to grab hold of a piling and anchor the raft to the pier with his body as Catherine quickly tied off the raft to one of the mooring cleats.
Their first objective reached, Catherine and her family could only sit quietly in the boat catching their breath and listening. The sound of sloshing water and tiny waves filled the crisp night air. The few boats still moored in the marina strained against the lines to which they were tied, initiating unsettling groans that only contributed to the unease.
“Okay, come on,” Catherine whispered as she turned to her daughters and offered them a hand. Josh had already climbed onto the pier and crouched low extending his arm out to his sisters and pulling them onto the dock. Catherine threw two backpacks loaded with supplies—food, medicine, water—up to Josh before she crawled out of the boat and joined her family.
She looked over her children then pulled them together in a tight circle. “Now listen,” she said, her voice low, “our only goal here is to get back to our home as fast as possible. We’re not on a survival rescue mission or a disaster survey. We have no idea what’s happened and therefore don’t know what’s safe and what isn’t. We only eat the food and drink the water that we’re carrying. Understood? You stay close by me and do exactly as I say when I say it. Is that clear?”