by Hunt, Jack
Today he had his eyes set on Nautilus Island, but not for the reasons Jake and his mother had talked about it. The place had always intrigued him. It was privately owned by some bigwig with a crapload of money, and there were a number of rumors floating around that the owner fancied himself as a bit of a Hugh Hefner, holding large parties with lots of women, drugs and sex. Others said he was the CEO of some big corporation in Bangor, and the century-old building with tennis courts and king-size pool was only used as a summer retreat. Then of course there was a rumor that some eighteen-year-old self-made millionaire entrepreneur owned it. Whatever the truth was, it was intriguing and he planned on finding out.
Max stood upright on his pedals, gliding down Battle Avenue toward Dyce Head Lighthouse. It was a favorite spot with tourists. They couldn’t go in the lighthouse but they could view it from a distance. The tiny white home beside it was private property but there was a sign indicating a path that fed around the back of the barn through the woodland and to steep wooden steps that led down to the waterfront. With so many people leaving Castine after the blackout, he’d taken a small fishing boat from an abandoned home and stashed it among the trees near Dyce Head.
As he swerved, glided and pedaled along the short path, he noticed how hardly anyone was out. He’d only seen two other people that morning. A jogger, and someone walking their dog. That was the strange thing about life after the EMP. People tried to maintain some semblance of a normal life by following a routine. For some that was jogging, working out, for others it was walking their dog or even going to work if their job allowed it. Though the only businesses still operating were fishing companies looking to trade fish in exchange for life’s creature comforts. For some that meant candy and moonshine, for others gasoline, whatever was left. Five and a half months into this and there really wasn’t much of anything left. Those who did have, squirreled it away and were smart enough not to tell others. Those who did often became the focus of theft.
A warm breeze blew in off the water as Max dragged the ten-foot boat out of the brush, over the rocks and into the choppy waves. He shrugged off his backpack and threw it in before stepping into the boat and firing up the motor. Fortunately, it still had a small amount of gas from whoever previously owned it. He tugged on the pull cord multiple times before it spluttered to life, and water kicked up behind the boat. He eased away from the shore and started to cross the half-mile gap between Castine and Nautilus.
He saw a few fishermen heading out of Castine harbor and others in Penobscot Bay catching fish. Sunlight glistened on the water’s surface almost blinding him. Fishermen glanced his way and he raised a hand. An old-timer returned the gesture, having no idea that he was heading for private property. While Max hated trying to survive each day, in a strange way he kind of liked the fact that he didn’t have to go to high school. If he didn’t have chores to do, and if he had more friends, maybe he would actually like this new world.
Saltwater sprayed in his face. He squinted and looked at the island coming into view. Nautilus Island was shaped like a boot with the top end barely connecting with another island at low tide. The only way to reach it was by boat. He directed the boat towards the 300-foot wooden dock that jutted out from the north side. He was glad to see there were no other boats moored. It meant the island was empty.
As much as he liked living at the Manor, the idea of moving to the 38-acre private island with ocean views seemed more than adventurous, it felt safe and he hadn’t felt that way in a long time. Through the trees he could just make out the huge house high up on the bluff, surrounded by century-old sugar maples and tall pines. Nearby was a cluster of buildings.
Excitement rose in his chest as he cut the engine and glided through the water towards the dock. The bow knocked against the wood and he reached up for some rope to moor it. After tying it off, he climbed onto the dock, slung his bag over his shoulder and stood there looking at the island. He couldn’t believe he was here. In all the years he’d lived in Castine, he’d only ever seen it from a distance. He couldn’t begin to imagine what it must have been like to own it. He stumbled down the rickety dock, curious but at the same time cautious. There was no telling who might be there. With so many home invasions, he knew he was taking a risk venturing onto the island. That’s why he kept his gun in the holster. He didn’t want to give the owner any reason to shoot him, if they were there.
Max hurried onto the island. The gravel path cut through a lush forest with a tennis court off to the right, and a small Cape Cod cottage on the left. He could see the main house in the distance but was curious about the cottage. Max approached it and peered through the window. No movement. No sounds. No one was home. He twisted the knob. The front door was locked. He went around to see if there were any windows open. None. He figured after five and a half months the place would have been ransacked by now but it was still in tiptop shape. Why hadn’t anyone headed over to the island? He considered smashing a window and going inside but his excitement over visiting the main house got the better of him. Jumping down off the front porch he broke into a sprint heading for the mammoth house further inland. He could just make out the creamy gray exterior and brown shingles through the woodland. Sun beamed down through the trees onto his forehead as the end of the path opened up to a large driveway. A golf cart covered in dry leaves from the winter was off to one side. Seemingly, no one had been there since the previous summer. That was a good sign.
Max jogged up to the main door and gave the handle a shake. Locked. He roamed the perimeter of the house, tugging on the windows but knowing that he would likely need to smash one. As he reached the rear of the home he was greeted by the incredible sight of a solar-heated infinity pool covered with a blue tarp that had been rolled out to prevent leaves drifting into the water. “Oh, now this is what I’m talking about.” Now he wished he’d brought a towel. Max glanced to the west, towards the pool house. Maybe he didn’t need to. He approached the tiny clapboard structure flanked by planters. Beyond the glass double French doors were shelves of towels, and pool equipment. Max took out his handgun, looked around, then used the butt to break one of the glass panels. It shattered sending shards of glass inside. He holstered the weapon and reached in to unlock it. Klunk. What a sweet sound. He entered and pulled a thick white towel off the shelf and brought it to his nose, sniffing. Perfect.
Before taking a morning dip he did one more round of the house, just to be on the safe side. Satisfied that no one was home, Max stripped out of his clothes, tossed them on a pool chair and rolled back the tarp to reveal the pristine water. Fully naked, he crouched and dipped his hand below the surface and ran it back and forth. It was surprisingly warm. Max made his way to the diving board, climbed onto it and curled his toes at the end. He bounced a few times, feeling sheer joy. “Woohooo!” he bellowed before doing a dive bomb into the pool. He plunged into the tepid water and emerged wiping his hand over his eyes as he rolled over onto his back and looked up at a bright morning sky. Ah, now this was what it was all about. Forget worrying. Forget spending all the time in survival mode. The world had gone to shit. Why not enjoy the perks that came with it? He did the backstroke to the far end and rested his forearms on the wall. Now if he just had a few bottles of beer, some weed and a female companion it would be heaven.
He pulled himself out of the pool and faced his back to the water. He put his arms up in the air, then down at his side before doing a terrible backflip. The chlorinated water went down his throat and he came up choking.
Once the water was out of his eyes, he looked towards the pool chair, planning to get out and dry off, that’s when he noticed his clothes were gone. “What the heck?” He whipped around, turning a full 360 degrees. He’d put them on that chair. Where were they? His heart started pounding. Cold fear shot through him.
“Looking for these?” a male voice asked.
Max twisted to see a kid no older than him perched on the wall beside the hot tub. In one hand were Max’s clothes and backpac
k, and in the other a handgun. His handgun! The guy was wearing a dark baseball cap, black sunglasses, a solid olive-green military jacket with gold buttons and a worn ranking patch on the arm. Beneath that was a black T-shirt, and faded jeans tucked into military-style black boots. He held out the gun and turned his hand as if admiring it.
“Yours?” he asked.
Of course it was, he wouldn’t leave the house without packing some heat. He’d had a Walther P99 in the holster on his hip and two extra magazines in his backpack to cover his ass if he got into a bind. Even though his mother had been against the idea of him carrying, the recent string of murders and the attack on their home had made her rethink. Besides the obvious reason — personal safety — Jake had convinced her that while it might not have been common in Maine for kids his age to carry a gun, it wasn’t uncommon throughout America. In fact it was easier for an eighteen-year-old to get their hands on an AR-15 than it was a handgun. And in rural areas with a strong tradition of hunting, like Minnesota, a rifle could be bought at the age of 14 without parental consent.
Anyway, she agreed on one condition: that he only use it around Jake, at least until he was eighteen. Of course he wasn’t going to listen to her. Who in their right mind would leave home without a gun in this shit storm?
Now he wished the damn thing had been waterproof, he could have taken it into the pool with him. He groaned and gave a nod.
The guy’s lip curled up. “A Walther P99.” He screwed his nose up. “I’m more of a Glock man myself.” He grinned at Max before lowering it.
“You live here?” Max asked.
The guy looked around casually with a smile on his face. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Well, you mind tossing my gear over here?”
He laughed, tapping the gun against his leg. “All in good time, grasshopper. First, a few questions— being as you are trespassing.”
“As are you if you don’t live here.”
“Never said I didn’t.”
“Ha! But you never said you did,” Max shot back, jabbing his finger at him.
The guy stared then got up and began to walk away with his gear.
“Okay. All right. Ask the damn questions.” Max sighed, shaking his head.
He returned and sat on a step. “Where you from?”
“Castine.”
“What brings you here?”
“Probably the same reason you’re here,” he replied in a sarcastic manner.
“Answer the question.”
“Exploring. You?”
“I ask the questions, you answer them. Got it?”
Max eye rolled. The guy set the gun beside him and reached into his pocket. He retrieved a small tin. Inside was some weed, and rolling papers. He took it out and began to roll himself one while he looked at Max. “You always go swimming butt naked?”
“Always,” Max replied. If he was going to ask dumb questions, he’d give him dumb answers. The guy laughed as he licked the paper and rolled one. He twisted the end and placed the reefer in his mouth. He brought a lighter up to it and paused before lighting it. “You went to Bucksport High School. Right?” A flame burst to life and he scorched the end, taking a few hard pulls before coughing hard.
“Yeah.”
“I know. I used to sit behind you in math until my parents decided to move to Blue Hill.” He blew out a cloud of gray smoke and leaned back, using his one arm for support. He acted so nonchalant. Meanwhile Max was beginning to get cold. He started to shiver; his teeth chattered. “Worst move of my life. But at least the girls are hotter at George Stevens.”
What was this kid trying to prove?
“That’s debatable,” Max replied.
“Oh it’s a proven fact. Bucksport is full of hags.”
“Yeah, name one?” Max asked finding him amusing.
“Maria West.”
Max narrowed his eyes. “All right, I’ll give you that.”
He burst into laughter and Max couldn’t hold his in.
“You done with your twenty questions?”
The kid got up and strolled over with his things and dropped them beside the pool. He extended a hand and Max clasped it. After pulling him out he removed his sunglasses. “The name’s…”
“Eddie Raymond. Yeah, I remember you.” Max reached for his clothes and put them in front of him. “You mind?”
“Nothing I haven’t seen before. Well, nothing that small but…”
Max gave him the bird and walked back into the pool house to get changed. All the while Eddie waited outside, still holding his gun. “You know, I thought I was the only one that came here.”
“After today you still might be,” Max yelled from inside. Eddie leaned against the door peering in like a peeping Tom. It was really off-putting.
“I’ve stayed here a few nights.”
“Stayed?” Max asked.
“Yeah. Oh that’s right, you checked the windows. You won’t get in that way. I’ll show you.” Max reemerged, running the towel over his black hair before tossing it. “Come on, I’ll give you a tour.”
“Think I can get my gun back?”
“Sure.” He removed the magazine and handed it over before leading the way. Max fished into his backpack for a second magazine but they were gone. “Oh, I took the liberty of lightening your load. You’ll get them back when we part ways. But I can’t have you shooting me in the back, now can I?” he said casting a glance over his shoulder and grinning. They were halfway to the house when they heard voices, multiple, deep and booming. Both of them froze.
2
The copperhead struck without mercy, its venom coursed through his hand like molten lava. Landon whipped back, gripping it in agony. At first it had felt like nothing more than a wasp sting until he saw the fang marks and blood on the side of his hand. That soon changed. Pain, frustration, disbelief. All of it culminating at once, overwhelming his mind. Five hundred and forty-three miles of pushing through some of the worst terrain and weather. One and a half months on the Appalachian Trail, making it through countless near-death encounters with small-town thugs, crazy hikers, and unstoppable bouts of hunger — they’d survived it all — then this had to happen. Over halfway. They were making progress. Landon stared in disbelief at the pack he’d laid outside the outhouse of the heavily forested High Point Shelter. Landon stumbled back, air catching in his throat just as the copperhead snake slithered out of his bag and disappeared into the underbrush. It wasn’t in there two minutes ago. He was sure of it. He’d put his hand into the bag and retrieved the wipe tablets. How could this be? He staggered as he tried to get to his feet.
“Beth!”
He didn’t need to call her, she was already sprinting towards him, bow in hand, ready for the worst. Grizzly was right beside her, panting up a storm. “What, what, what?” she said as her eyes scanned the forest looking for threats. He lifted his hand and her jaw dropped. “No.”
“Copperhead. It was in my bag.”
He rocked back and forth, the pain was overwhelming.
“Are you sure that’s what it was?”
“Yeah.” He knew how important it was to know what had bitten him to get the right anti-venom.
“Where is it?”
“It’s gone. Over there,” he said pointing with his good hand. Grizzly dashed over as if understanding and began sniffing the brush.
She dropped her bow and removed his watch, followed by the tight raincoat he had on. “We need to get you medical attention and fast.” He went to get up and she told him to stay sitting down and to keep his hand above his heart to decrease circulation. “Don’t be moving around. You try to move and your heart rate will increase and then the symptoms can get worse.”
“Right… but shouldn’t I get away from this spot?”
“Billy!” Beth yelled.
Billy, aka Maestro, had turned out to be one hell of an oddball. After saving his ass back in Virginia, they’d barely managed to get a word out of him but get a little alcohol in him, o
r some weed, and he was like another person. In all honesty, Landon was hoping they would have parted ways by now because his mood swings were starting to worry him. The only thing that seemed to keep him on an even keel was cigarettes. Within a matter of days he’d blown through the pack Landon had given him, and had it not been for a stop in a small town in Virginia, he was certain they might have seen another side to him. Billy wandered over, no urgency in his pace. “Problem?”
“Give me a hand bringing him over to the shelter.”
“Can’t he walk?”
“What’s it look like?” Landon said, losing his rag as blood trickled out of his hand. Within a matter of minutes his hand had started to swell. The pain was excruciating and getting worse by the second. He ground his teeth and rocked his head back groaning in pain. Billy put an arm around his waist and with the assistance of Beth helped him back to the tent. Although his legs were working perfectly fine, his vision was beginning to blur. All the while Beth was talking to him trying to keep him calm.
“Every snake is different. Copperheads aren’t the worst and bites can vary in toxicity,” she said.
“Am I going to die?”
“No. I mean, you could but few die from these within the first four hours. If it happens it’s many hours or even days later. We just need to get some antivenom.” She cursed. There had been some in their backpacks before they were taken and in all the towns they’d visited so far their minds were too focused on getting other supplies to think of that.
“He could die,” Billy said. “Seen it happen.”
Landon started hyperventilating.
“Hey, hey. Calm down!” Beth said. Grizzly sidled up to Landon and curled around him as if trying to keep him calm.
“Really?” Landon asked.
“Oh yeah, death or severe tissue damage can happen. Hell, you could lose a limb. But I doubt that will happen to you.”
“Billy. Would you shut up!” Beth said. “You’re not helping.”