Fools' Apocalypse

by Anderson Atlas

  Josh huffs. “Ghosts are impossible.”

  “The human soul is a powerful thing,” Markus says. “Sometimes the soul can get trapped on Earth because it loses its way.”

  “So, we’re going to be seeing ghosts all over the place now?” Tanis mutters.

  Ian looks away. “I thought I saw two men fishing, but it was foggy and my brain has been in a frying pan for days. So it was just a hallucination.” His eyes shimmer with moisture that he’s trying to hide.

  This isn’t over. They’re still in the middle of the storm.

  Chapter 1.32

  Ian:

  The Great Storm

  Ian has been sailing the Pioneer south along the east coast for three days. Two days ago he tapped into his teen years when he took dingy sailing classes in the Etang de Perols, not because he wanted to, but he knew they wouldn’t have enough fuel to get to Cuba and stopping ratcheted up the risk. Etang de Perols was a beautiful bay outside of Montpellier, France. He’d gone there every summer until his mother needed more seclusion. She complained about the hordes of people on the beaches until his father couldn’t take it anymore. That’s when they started going to Fiji and Tonga for their summer vacations.

  Come to find out, the 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 Ian had to find them and figure out how to get them up. Eventually, he got the smaller jib flying. The other one was more difficult, so he had Tanis stuffed it back in the sail locker where he found it. The only other sail he 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 the halyard. He had no idea what sheet was used to control it, and the sheer amount of ropes draped over the boat would frighten away any modern sailor let alone a dingy racer. It didn’t matter though. Ian got the Pioneer cruising at a decent pace without the motor, and that’s what mattered.

  After those first couple of days, he felt like he was getting the hang of it. Every now and again the wind would push them around. At first it was scary, but then he began to anticipate the gusts because he could see them coming. The wind would race across the water creating white caps on the waves. Seconds later the boat would rock. Turning into the puffs of wind eases the hit, and he’s not pulling his hair out in clumps anymore.

  Unfortunately, he’s not sure where they are, or if they’ve hit Virginia yet. Convenient signs like the ones on the freeways saying, ‘Welcome to Virginia!’ aren’t out here. To top that off, Ian doesn’t know how to read the maps, and he’s not sure they have the right one aboard anyway. He’s sailing blind like idiot explorers.

  Any moment now he expects the ballast to hit a sandbar or rock and end this adventure, but it hasn’t happened yet. And with the shoreline far away, he’s feeling great and more in control than he has in a long time. The wind is strong and they’re making great time.

  A sea bird follows their wake, gliding on an upward draft like it’s a fixed-wing airplane. Its head cocks to the side, and Ian sees its eye. Another one joins it. The two scan every detail of the boat before deciding it’s a lost cause and drop away. Ian gets goose bumps running through his skin like electric fire flying through his fried nerves. Dolphins play in their wake. Tanis, Rice, and Andy yell and scream as they watch them. Hana tears up. Ian laughs, which feels alien, a useless vestigial emotion. Even so, the dangerous world has been reduced to a blemish in his thoughts like hairline cracks in an old painting. There is a sweetness in the air. He’s not hungry, not sad, not even anxious. This is peace.

  Then Ben opens his mouth. Damn him sometimes. He points to the northeast where a few lightning strikes flashed in the sky. Ian hopes to outrun the storm, so he heads closer to the shore, feeling more at ease with land on the horizon.

  Hours later, there is more lightning. The sun has vanished and darkness sets in. There’s trouble coming for sure, but it isn’t the walkers or an act of God. It’s the fury of Mother Earth.

  Then the storm hit. It came up so fast. Ian clenches the wheel. They’re in for a serious wash.

  Ian tacks 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, and the boat is nearly sideways. Ian immediately turns into the wind and loosen the rope that leads to the mainsail. The boat slows, and the sails start whipping back and forth. His adrenaline ramps up his senses. He turns back toward land and let the wind fill the sails again. He has no idea what to do next.

  Another gust from the east knocks into the Pioneer, heeling it over again. Ian’s losing control. Rice screams. Ben’s grip slips off the railing, and he falls into the mast. The wind eventually lets up but for only a second. A more powerful gust hits moments later. Tanis slips and falls onto the railing as it dips into the water. Ian lets go of the wheel and loosens the main sheet again. The boat naturally turns upwind and slows. His heart is on overload.

  “Okay. . . if I remember right, we have to shrink the sail size!” Ian shouts over the tempest. Dark clouds come from the ocean faster than seemingly possible. The sea swells. The rocking increases.

  “I ain’t Captain Dick here!” Ben yells. “How do we shrink the sail?”

  Ian hands the wheel to Isabella. “Keep it going upwind if you can.” She nods. Ian runs to the bow and Ben follows. “We have to take down the jib! That’s the very front sail!”

  “Shouldn’t we take all the sails down?” Ben asks as heavy rain starts to fall, and the wind gets cold, fast.

  “I don’t think so! I think we need a sail even during a storm. You want to be able to steer the boat. Otherwise, we lose control.”

  “Whatever you say!”

  The boat heaves upward as the waves continue to grow in size. The two struggle to get to the bow. Water splashes over the side, drenching them in a salty spray. Ian’s feet slip on the slick wood. The waves lift the Pioneer up and down. The horizon disappears on the upside of the wave.

  Ian grabs hold of a security line that leads from the end of the bow to the deck of the boat and cautiously works his way to the furthest jib. He unties the halyard line that controls it and holds it in his hand. He thinks he can pull it down and save the sail, but he’s wrong. The halyard rips away and he loses his footing as the boat tips over the crest of a wave. He’s 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. Ian can’t catch the line, so he’s essentially lost the sail.

  The boat rocks downward into the bottom of the wave. Ian’s holding on to the security line with every bit of muscle he’s got. His stomach feels like it touches his toes. The boat rises like a ride at an amusement park and a wave of water hits him, dousing his thoughts.

  Ian slowly works his way back to the forward mast. Ben is still following. This time Ian grabs the halyard and wraps it around his wrist.

  “Ian!” Hana yells. “We’re going right toward the shore! We’re too close!”

  Ian pulls the halyard as hard as he can, trying to pull the forward sail down. Nothing budges. He flaps the line and pulls again. It frees and slides down. Hand over hand, Ian pulls until the sail is bunched up at his feet. He steps over rumpled cloth and yells to Ben, “You secure the sail to the boom! We can’t lose it! Don’t fuck this up!” Ben nods.

  As Ian runs to the wheel, it feels less like running and more like dancing.

  “What can I do?” Isabella asks, stepping away from the wheel with a snap as though Ian is her commanding officer.

  The wind pushes them hard again. The rain intensifies. “We need to tack! I need you to lower the back mainsail two spots!” Ian points 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.

 
Ian tries to sound calm even though the situation rapidly declines. “See that rope?” He points it out. “It’s the halyard. It holds the sail up. Untie it and pull it down until you get to those ties. Then tie the hanging part of the sail up. Got it?”

  Ian is way out of his game. If he does anything wrong, they all die. The boat will flip and drag them down into Hades. Beyond the stern, the small wooden rowboat is still tied to the back but might not be for long. It swings violently back and forth on the waves.

  Ian turns 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 ties the line. Now they only have the small bit of mainsail left. Ian can tell things are better because they aren’t being pushed around so much and he has more control. However, they are far from safe. The storm is still carrying them 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! Get Josh and look under the floorboards 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!” Ian hopes that there are manual pumps and that they look the same as the ones on his father’s yacht.

  “Take that rope,” Ian orders Ben. “It’s the sheet that controls the mainsail.” Ian points 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!” Ian yells and turns the wheel hard to port. The boat rises on the back of a huge wave and turns. They soar up the swell and back over it. The mainsail flaps like a broken-winged bat. As Ian continues 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. The bowsprit plunges into the dark water. The crest of the wave is taller than they are!

  Ian’s stomach seems to drop into his colon like he’d swallowed lead. Only after they start back up the wave does he feel the blood pumping in his veins again. He figures they should head out to a safe distance, heave-to, and wait the storm out. Ian desperately tries to remember how to do that. Back in France they were taught to heave-to if they got injured or if something broke. He remembers to push out the mainsail as far as it will go, turn the wheel the opposite direction, and tie it down. It must work because sinking and having to use the rowboat 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 sick, too. Ian can see it in her face. He orders everyone to go down below.

  It’s just him at the helm. He watches the dark clouds roll over themselves. Lightning snaps through the atmosphere and cuts the sky apart and the thunder is deafening. He’s drenched. The rain stings his face and visibility is nothing.

  “Oh yeah, you stupid storm. I’m fucking Ahab now! I got you.” Ian bellows and turns the boat into the next wave. “You’re gonna kill the last people on Earth? Piss on you!” Thick saliva builds in his throat. He spits it out as his stomach tightens. He’s sick, but keeps 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!” Ian laughs. “You knew that I’d do what Zilla wanted. You knew this would happen, and you didn’t stop it! Fuck you!” Ian spits again with the vehemence of a million suffering voices. His throat feels like it’s bleeding.

  A huge wave breaks on the bow and sends so much water onto the deck that it pushes Ian’s feet out from under him. He holds on to the wheel and pulls himself back up. He cries out, “How the hell was I supposed to know this would happen? I’m sorry Mom, Dad, to my cousin Rick and Liana, my whole goddamn extended family. Oh, Tammy, my little niece.” Tears fly out of his eyes and snot from his nose. He continues 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.”

  Ian throws up into the splashing ocean water around his feet. He grips the wheel so hard his knuckles ache.

  A million years seem to pass. All sound drowns out. Ian feels like he’s underwater, submerged in pain and remorse. It is probably a hallucination, but he can see thousands of lights around him. They look like fireflies. They blink and skitter around the splashing water. One comes close to his face. He flinches. The sickness in him pauses while he watches 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 he can no longer see them. The boat hits the bottom of the wave then rises. He’s dizzy. So dizzy.

  Ian fights the waves for a long time until he can’t fight anymore. He tightens a lever on the wheel, locking it from moving. Then struggles to the main mast sheet. He can’t control his muscles. He has to scream to tell them what to do. A wave of nausea rolls over his consciousness, and he feels like he’s just blacked out. He lets the main sheet out as far as it would go and ties it down. It is hard to do, but he gets it done. He struggles to the cabin, throwing up along the way though there is nothing left in his stomach. A wave knocks his feet out from underneath him and he slides to the other side of the deck like he’s on ice. Pinned to the safety railing by the force of something great, everything is still and silent with just a hint of white noise.

  The boat rocks forward. Ian’s head spins. His fingers find rope and latch onto it. He pulls himself up only to get hit by another wave. Ian pulls harder than he ever has in his life. He fights the water and the wind until he gets to the cabin door. The boat rocks again, almost completely sideways this time. He slides to the safety railing. The cabin is so far away it looks dwarfed.

  The boat rocks the other way, and Ian’s grip weakens. If he lets go, he will be thrown off this boat and into the ocean. His fingers loosen as temptation teases him. He feels okay about this end. Maybe this is what he deserves. He closes his eyes and releases the safety line. His body slides across the deck and slams into the opposite side. Ian thinks he feels himself going over.

  But he’s not going anywhere. His 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, Ian slides back toward the cabin. Another wave is about to hit. It rises above the boat, a wall of water so tall it blocks out the clouds above. Inside is a shadow of a demon. It looks into Ian’s soul, singes his bones and comes to take him away.

  The cabin door opens, and there is Hana. She reaches out for Ian, and at the last possible moment, he plummets into her arms. His face smashes into her skull, and she pulls him inside.

  Chapter 1.33

  Isabella:

  Intracoastal Death Trap

  Isabella had never felt so sick in her life. The storm off the coast of Virginia was fierce and lasted for hours. Everyone got real sick. Stupid sick. Vomit covers the galley. Ben’s fancy chicken parmesan dish tasted good on the way down, but not on the way up.

  After Hana had saved Ian from falling overboard the two had passed out under the settee, clutched in each other’s arms. Josh was curled up by the sink and the others were in beds. Isabella couldn’t make it to a bed and remained on the settee, holding onto the cushion with all she had.

  She woke up the next day, heat cooking the vomit in the galley, creating a foul stench; the dog didn’t mind. He licked it up like it was melted cheese. She stepped over Hana and Ian and climbed the stairs.

  The Pioneer is sitting on a sandbar half a mile off the beach. They were lucky they weren’t on the beach, because there were a dozen puppets gawking at them and more coming. The luck would run out. Once the puppets realized they could cross the sand bar, they’d be swarmed.

  She poked her head into the galley. “Hey, rise and shine, we’re fucked.”

  Hana snaps awake and pulls herse
lf from Ian, who’s pale eyes flittered fitfully. She shook him, gently. He wakes and moans.

  Isabella gets impatient and comes down the steps, steps over splatters of barf, gagging on the stench and starts to open the hatches and windows. The breeze helps her relax.

  She kicks Ben, who had curled up in the kitchen. “Up. Help clean, now.”

  Ben peeks at her and moans. She kicks him harder, and he gets up. Everyone helps clean the boat. Hana drags a hose from the topside, which sucks up sea water, and sprays clean the fuckin’ disgusting chunks and slippery acids pooling in corners and dripping from the walls.

  When they’re done, they all go up top. The light bites into Isabella’s brain, but the cool air flows over her sweat-beaded skin and through her hair.

  She looks over the side of the boat, squinting. Puppets roam the beach like animals on the savannah. They know food is near and are looking for a way to feed. These fuckers haven’t chatted with the others in Jamaica Bay otherwise they’d be attempting to swim. When one decides to take a walk into the big blue, they all will. She looks through the binoculars. There are dozens coming, cutting across waist-high grasses. This area seems like a tidal flood land. No homes or roads or parks.

  Ian shows Isabella a map of the East Coast he found. “I think we’re at the Oregon Inlet Bridge.” He points out some of the landmarks. “See, the beach over there ends and starts again over there. The only place with such a narrow inlet is at the Oregon Bridge.”

  “Get to your point,” Isabella snarls, still feeling nasty from being sick all night.

  “We’re by North Carolina,” Ian continues. “Well, this map has tide warnings and storm warnings all around cape Hatteras. It’s where currents collide to make big storms and even bigger waves.”