by Ray Wench
“Dad,” Bobby said.
“Get Caleb. We should be ready to go in a few minutes.”
“Dad,” he repeated.
“Just a minute, Bobby. I have to tell Lynn something.” He jumped up on the porch two steps at a time.
“Daddy, listen,” Becca said with more force.
Something in her tone made him stop and turn.
“She's gone, Daddy. They're all gone. Lynn, Caleb, Ruth and Alyssa. They packed up after you left and drove off. She wouldn't talk to me. She just gave me a hug and told me to be safe and tell you she was sorry.”
Stunned, he sat down on the top step and tried to wrap his head around what his daughter had just said.
“What's going on, Daddy? Why did she leave? Did you guys have a fight?”
Mark was too devastated to respond.
Bobby walked closer. “Dad. What should we do?”
Becca came over and stood next to her brother. “She said she left a note for you.”
“Dad,” Bobby said. “Talk to us. Do you want to go find her?”
Mark drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. He shook his head. “No, I think we should go fishing.” He stood.
“What?” said Bobby. “Are you sure?”
“No, Daddy. You need to go after her.”
Again, he shook his head. “No. This is what she wants. She wants her space from me. Load up the SUV. I'll be ready in a minute.” He stood and went inside. In the bedroom he found the envelope lying on the dresser, his name printed on the outside. He picked it up, fearful of what lay within, placed a finger under the flap, hesitated, and set it back down where he'd found it.
So be it.
He left the room and closed the door behind him.
His dark mood made for a long, silent and strained drive. They were a good ten miles down the road before Mark remembered his children were in the car. He glanced over. Bobby sat in the back, his head rested on the seat, eyes closed. Becca stared out of the passenger side window. Guilt helped him shake free of the depression. They'd been excited about this trip for days. Now, they looked as if they'd rather be anywhere else. He couldn't blame them. Ironic that the very trip that had enlivened them for more than a week was also responsible for the dark cloud that shrouded the vehicle now.
Determined to bring the fun back, he cleared his throat and said, “So, I've been thinking. I had a friend who owned a boat he used to keep docked at this marina. He took me out on it several times. I think it's a twenty-seven footer and ...” he turned and forced a smile to his face. Both kids’ faces remained expressionless. “... I know where he keeps, or at least kept, the key.”
Neither one spoke.
“Come on guys. I'm sorry for my bad mood. We've been looking forward to this trip for days. Let's not ruin it now.”
Becca was first to speak. “It's not that we're not excited, Daddy, it's just that, at the moment, there're more important things that need to be dealt with. We could go fishing any time.”
“We could. And I was going to suggest that this morning. But, when I found she ... well, anyway, that changed, and I for one am gonna have some fun. So, before we get too far away, let me know if you'd rather go back.”
“That's not what we’re saying, Dad,” said Bobby. “Lynn's important, not just to you, but to all of us. You should've talked to her before we left.”
“Leaving without settling the problem is a big mistake, Daddy. Trust me, as a woman, I'd be more hurt that you left without talking about the situation.”
Mark felt anger surfacing again. That had been his intent. How was he to know Lynn would pack up and leave in the middle of the night? “There was nothing I could do. I wanted to talk to her, but she was already gone. I have no idea where she went or even where to start looking for her. Besides, she said she needed time to think. I'm respecting her wishes.”
He pulled to the side of the road. “By the time we get back we'll both have had time to think and cool down. We'll be able to discuss the situation without saying things that will hurt each other. I understand what you're saying and appreciate your concern, but had she wanted to talk, she would've still been there. The fact that she couldn't wait to leave tells me she had no interest in talking. When she's ready, I'll listen. Now, do we go back, or do we go fishing?”
“Seems to me, you're the one who left first,” Becca said.
Bobby leaned forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You're really not helping.”
“Hey, just saying—”
“Let them figure it out for themselves.”
Becca looked at Bobby, who shrugged. Looking back at his father, Bobby said, “You think those keys will still be there?”
Mark smiled. “Won't know till we look.”
Becca shrugged and said, “Drive on, oh clueless one.” She slid down in the seat and put her feet up on the dash.
Mark didn't move, feeling unsure of his decision.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Becca said. “The longer we sit here, the longer Bobo has to think about how bad I'm going to kick his butt catching fish. That's just too cruel, even for me.”
Mark laughed. Bobby gave a derisive snort. “You must be dreaming again.” He made a sound with his mouth. “Hmm! I can already taste that candy bar.”
“Yeah, about that. I think the best you're going to be able to do is smell it on my breath.”
“What? Are you serious?”
“What can I say? Give a girl chocolate, it's going to get eaten.”
“Unbelievable.” Bobby shook his head.
Mark drove back on the road laughing to himself. This trip and being with his children was the best therapy he could have for Lynn leaving him, or what his dark thoughts now termed, her betrayal of him and the family.
Three
Mark estimated the drive would take about an hour and a half to reach the marina and channels that lead to Lake Erie. He hadn't been fishing for many years, but he knew it might be too late in the season for a great haul. On the other hand, there wouldn't have been many fishermen depleting the numbers this year either. Anyway, there was never a guarantee when you went fishing. They were either hitting or not. This was just as much about the adventure as the fishing.
That thought gave him pause. Wasn't that exactly what Lynn had said? No! He shut down the replay of her voice in his head. Looking for adventure and searching for trouble were two entirely different things. Not necessarily exclusive, but definitely separate.
They reached the expressway and went south on US-23. North was the faster route, but it would bring them too close to the city and the potential for danger. The thought leaped to his mind, See Lynn, I'm going out of my way to avoid trouble.
The sun had risen and as the road curved east, shone straight in their faces. A multitude of various vehicles dotted the road, and Mark slowed to maneuver around them. Several times, the abandoned vehicles were so prolific he had to drive along the shoulder to continue.
Mark swung north onto I-75 then took the off-ramp for 795, east. The sound of his children's excited voices as they chided each other kept negative thoughts from his mind. The morning was shaping up nicely. For late October the weather had been remarkably warm; more late spring than fall. The majority of trees still retained their green canvas. He relaxed and slid an old Keith Urban CD into the player. The first song’s upbeat tempo quieted Bobby and Becca and soon had them all tapping in rhythm.
Becca started to sing along and Mark turned to watch her. Gone was the intense, hard-edged woman he'd come to accept as his daughter, who had replaced the young lady he’d sent off to college, what seemed so many years ago. She looked at him and winked. The sight warmed his heart and brought back an instant flood of memories.
The song ended, snapping the moment.
“Not bad, sis,” said Bobby.
“Thanks, Bobo.”
“I mean, if you enjoy the sound of a bullfrog croaking.”
The next sound was a smack.
; “Ow!”
“Serves you right, asshole.”
The peace was nice while it lasted, thought Mark.
At the end of 795, Mark took I-280 north until he hit Route 2. There he continued east. It would've been faster taking the turnpike, but Mark wanted to take the more narrow and residential path and explore. Most of the foraging they'd done, for food and essential goods, had been on the western outskirts of the big city. After witnessing the death and destruction of the survivors inhabiting the suburban city of Sylvania, he thought it best to avoid the more populated areas. Now, six months after the event, he hoped the Wild West attitude had died down enough to make passage and exploration safer.
Maneuvering the two-lane road was more difficult than the expressway. It left little room when blocked by abandoned vehicles. Steep drainage ditches often lined the roadsides. Several times, Mark had to reverse and find an alternate path around. In the end, they were forced to double back and take the turnpike.
They stayed alert for deliberate roadblocks. If the path looked too cluttered, as if arranged purposely, they stopped a distance away while Bobby and Becca scanned the area with binoculars.
Eight miles down Interstate 80/90 they found just such a blockade. Mark braked less than a quarter mile away, staring at a semi that stretched across the entire road. That was not in itself suspicious – the road was narrow enough that one truck could do the job – but the two smaller cars driven underneath the semi, between the wheels, made Mark leery about advancing.
“There,” Becca pointed without lowering the glasses. “I just saw a head pop up and drop out of sight.”
She pointed to the interior of the semi's cab. “I think it was a woman. She looked out of the window.” Becca turned and looked at her father. “It's definitely a trap.”
Mark nodded. He'd been watching in the side mirror to see if anyone came up behind them.
Bobby's excited voice brought his attention back to the front. “Dad, they're using the drainage ditches to flank us.”
Without hesitation, Mark threw the gear into reverse and punched the pedal. He draped his arm over the seat and turned, and guided the SUV straight back. A mistake now could put them in a ditch. Seconds after he reversed, gunshots sounded. “Stay down! Grab your guns and get ready to run if they disable the car.”
A bullet punched through the windshield. Several others impacted the body. Mark outdistanced the shooters, but the bullets still followed. Fifty yards down the road was a driveway leading to a large storage building once used by the Ohio Department of Transportation. Mark steered the SUV up the drive, slowed and spun the wheel hard. Shifting into drive he shot back on the turnpike heading west.
“Bobby, open the map and find us a way around.”
Paper rustled in the back seat. A minute later he heard, “Ah, okay, looks like we need to go back to the next exit, ah, probably ten miles.”
Mark followed his son's directions, exiting at the next ramp. “Okay, now turn right here. About three or four miles on, turn right again. We'll have to make a few more turns to get on Route 2, but I don't see any other way, unless we go all the way to the way to the next turnpike entry.”
“We'll keep that option open if we need it. Let's try this way first. Keep your eyes moving. Bobby, you take the left, Becca the right.”
They wound their way along a more residential road. At one point, Becca saw a young girl jumping rope in the back yard of a small house. The child stopped to watch them go, but did not react to alert anyone, nor did anyone else make an appearance. In other circumstances, Mark might have stopped to make contact, ,but now, their senses heightened and checking for danger, he kept moving.
Mark made the next few turns with caution. Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the junction with Route 2. They drove east about six miles and found another roadblock, this one two pickup trucks, nose-to-nose, across the two lanes. They stopped well short of it and managed to find a route around it without much difficulty.
Back on Route 2, they arrived at a place where the turnpike was in view. Mark eased the vehicle forward to a point they could see down the road. Through the binoculars, the roadblock on the turnpike, now to the west, was a dark line across the western horizon.
“I definitely see movement,” Bobby said, “but it's hard to determine how many people are there. My guess is at least six, most likely more if they're bold enough to block the road.”
Becca said, “I think the one on Route 2 had more people, but it looked a lot less organized.”
Mark agreed. He sped away east. “Bobby, keep watch behind us. I don't want them sneaking up on us.” He knew there would be some survivors out here. After all, it stood to reason that if he could draw fifty people around him, others could as well. One of his goals for the trip was to establish contact with at least one other community like theirs.
He thought about Lynn. If she believed he was out looking for trouble, she really didn't know him very well. Making more connections with other like-minded civilized groups was a way to join forces when needed, to trade and develop a new sense of community. He had no desire to fight anyone. He would respond with force only if force were aimed at him, or members of their family. What did she expect? He had to defend them. Maybe it was for the best they were no longer together. He pushed the thought aside to focus on the road.
They wound past the old defunct Davis-Bessie Nuclear power plant. The sight made him wonder about the safety of the fuel. Had it been shut down properly or would there be a meltdown at some point? It had been six months, wouldn't a nuclear event have occurred by now? The grounds were deserted and looked abandoned. Regardless, he had no interest in exploring there. He turned the SUV down the road that led to the marina and Lake Erie.
Four
“Great! Now, who's this?” Kentae said aloud. He watched the SUV pass from his vantage point inside the copse of trees on the side of the dirt-and-gravel road leading into the marina. It looked like three people inside. A shard of fear pierced his heart as he thought of his new family on board one of the larger boats docked at the pier. He had to get to them before they were discovered.
He waited for the SUV to go around the bend before breaking cover. He raced across the street and crashed wildly through the overgrown weeds and small trees. Emerging on the opposite side, he caught a glimpse of the SUV, as it turned to the right. He bolted left. Whatever they were searching for they had gone away from Shavonne and the kids.
He ran hard, his arms pumping like a sprinter, one hand wrapped around a Ruger 9mm he'd found on one of his forays in a house not far from there. He didn't have enough bullets left though; not to deal with more intruders. He'd used most of them when he ran into two men who'd tried to relieve him of the food he'd collected. That hadn't gone well for them.
He hadn’t told Vonne about that. She worried enough as it was about his constant trips away from them, without knowing all the details of his encounters. But what was he supposed to do? They had to eat, and the fishing wasn't consistent enough to feed them for long. Besides, as much as he liked fish, there were only so many days in a row he could eat it.
Kentae stopped behind a dumpster and scanned the assorted docks. His slight frame was coated with sweat. A wide variety of boats, large and small, pleasure and commercial, were still berthed there. On the far side of the channel to the right, he saw the SUV crawl along, as if searching for a particular craft. It stopped. He glanced down the pier in front of him all the way to the end. The large sailboat bobbed in a gentle roll. He caught sight of Kendra darting past a window. A shudder ran up his spine. What if the girl ran up on deck in full view of the intruders? He had to get to them before they gave themselves away.
The ground in front of him was wide open. If any of the occupants of the SUV so much as glanced his way they couldn't help but see him. He looked right. To his relief the vehicle continued on, evidently not finding whatever they were looking for. He took the opportunity to make a break for the pier. There, he dropped to
all fours and peered around a twenty-seven foot Criss Craft. The SUV was still moving. Kentae bear-crawled past two more small crafts, before stopping behind a much larger boat. There he stood and walked to the end, watching the SUV’s progress without fear of being seen.
The vehicle inched forward and stopped. Evidently, it had found what it was looking for; it turned into a parking spot in front of a cabin cruiser. Three people, two men and a woman, got out. While the older of the two men walked toward the dock, the other two stretched and looked around. Their excited voices carried over the channel, but the words were lost in the breeze.
Kentae gave a nervous look at the vessel he'd called home for the last few months. To his horror, Kendra had come outside and was now playing with something on the aft deck. Whatever it was had her standing, up swinging around, then dropping down. He sent a glance toward the people on the far channel bank. Neither of the men faced in Kendra's direction, but the woman appeared to look directly at her.
As Kendra popped up again, he prayed she would look his way. He gesticulated wildly with his hands in a downward motion, but the girl did not see. Kentae's nerves felt on fire. He weighed the chances of advancing further unseen, but the next two berths were unoccupied. Even a peripheral glance would catch him in the open.
He swept his gaze along the dock to find a safe path to the boat. His only real option was to drop into the water on the far side of the dock and swim. Kentae looked up and, at that moment, Kendra caught his eye. A bolt of mixed relief and panic hit him. She waved. He feared she would shout out, or at the very least, draw attention to herself with her hand movements.
Using both hands, he motioned with a downward sweeping wave. She waved back with both hands, evidently thinking he was playing a game with her. Frustrated, he shook his head, lifted his arms over his head and slower this time brought his arms down, dropping to his knees at the same time. To his relief, Kendra followed suit, ducking below the gunwale. He blew out a big breath and sneaked a furtive glance at the trio across the water.
