A Trip to Normal

by Ray Wench

  His heart sank when he stood again, Kendra stood up and giggled. His heart skipped a beat and threatened not to restart. Though soft, the sound of her laugh reached him with ease. How much farther did it carry? In answer, the woman on the far bank froze and scanned the marina. Ready to defend his new family, Kentae raised the gun and aimed. It was a long shot from there with a handgun and he wasn't all that proficient with the weapon, but if they became a threat, his shots would at least serve to keep their heads down until he could reach the boat.

  In a slow sweep, the woman's head moved from left to right, first taking in the shore, then across the first rows of boats. If the silly girl didn't get down fast, she'd be discovered and the fight would be on.

  Again, more frantic now, he waved for her to get down. She did, but less than five seconds later she was back up. This time, however, as soon as she stood, she was hauled down by some unseen force and did not rise again. Concerned, yet thankful, Kentae wondered what happened. He hadn’t heard a shot, nor had he seen anyone else on deck. A dark glistening face appeared in the cabin window. Shavonne. She had one hand wrapped around Kendra's mouth. With the other, she waved that she had everything under control.

  Kentae dropped to his haunches, hugged his knees tight to his chest and rocked gently. Once again, Shavonne had come through. He sat for a long moment before snapping from his tension-initiated fugue. The danger still existed.

  Seconds later, an engine sputtered to life across the water. He risked a peek. The woman was no longer in view. That gave him pause. Afraid she was on the move and sneaking up behind him, Kentae stood and let his gaze sweep the far bank. She was nowhere in sight. Panic raced through him and constricted his chest; he gripped the gun hard, as if choking the life from it.

  Where were the others? He focused on the boat. The older man was at the controls. The younger man emerged from the cabin, stepped over the side and walked up the dock toward the SUV. But where was the woman?

  Again he looked back down the pier expecting at any moment to see her advancing toward him. Could he shoot her? Hell, yeah, he told himself. If he had to, he would put her down, but even as the thought hardened in his mind, his hands shook. He'd had to shoot someone before. He'd shot at several people, but only once that he knew of, did he actually hit someone, and even though choice hadn’t been an option, he was sickened by the act. He stood over the man and watched helplessly as his life ebbed away.

  Kentae swung his gaze back to the boat. Shavonne would have the kids down and hiding, no doubt with the small .38 he'd given her, held in a far less shaky hand than his. He took in the far bank again. From behind the SUV, the young man and the woman appeared, carrying fishing gear in one hand and a large cooler between them. Kentae's heart lightened, the release of tension powerful enough to hurt.

  As they boarded the smaller boat, Kentae raced up the dock for the sailboat. Reaching it, he placed one hand on the gunwale and vaulted. He landed in a crouch, rolled and bounced against the far wall. He came to rest on his back staring up at an endless blue sky. He took stock of his body, making sure all parts still worked, and crawled toward the cabin. Inside, he pressed his face to the nearest window and watched as the intruders cast off and moved slowly away from the dock and through the channel, amazingly obeying the ‘no wake’ rule.

  Kentae did not take his eyes off the smaller craft until it was but a dot on the horizon. Only then did he turn and notice Shavonne, Kendra, and Toriano huddled on the floor. The skin color contrast made them look like a pre-apocalypse advertisement for diversity: Shavonne with her smooth black skin, wild hair and crooked smile; little red-haired and fair-skinned Kendra, who looked like the model for a China doll; and light-brown Toriano, the product of a Cuban father and Greek mother. His own chocolate color rounded the picture out.

  He gave them a reassuring smile, though inside his pulse still raced. It had been a long time since anyone had ventured into the marina to explore and search for food or anything else of value. He'd long ago stripped each of the boats of anything useful. Other than canned foods, there hadn't been much.

  “I think they've gone fishing,” he said, trying to keep his voice soft and steady.

  Shavonne nodded but offered no response. Her black eyes displaying the cold hard steel that had been constant since they'd first met.

  Ten-year-old Toriano said, “Why don't we go fishing?”

  Kentae chuckled and tousled the boy’s curly brown hair. “We can go fishing if you want.”

  “Cool.”

  “What about you,” he said to eight-year-old Kendra. “Would you like to go fishing too?”

  The little girl scrunched up her face. “Yuk!”

  He smiled at her, then looked up at Shavonne. Her stoic features had a sobering effect. He knew she was worried. She never took to the idea of living on the boat. To Kentae it was a logical choice. If trouble came, they could shove off and find safety on the water. On land, all they could do was run.

  Maybe he was wrong, but he felt good knowing he could escape to where others might not be able to give chase. Even if an intruder followed on a boat, defending would be easier and boarding more difficult. The sailboat not only offered size but the ability to move without the engines running, thus conserving their limited supply of gas. None of that mattered if they didn't see the enemy coming soon enough to shove off. This had been a close call.

  “We'll be all right,” he said to her. She turned her head to avoid looking at him. Yep, they would surely revisit their previous discussions sometime after the kids went to sleep.

  Five

  Mark closed his eyes and allowed the warm, mist-filled breeze to slap lovingly at his face. He throttled up, changing the angle of the deck. His hair blew straight back and reminded him to ask Lynn to trim him up. Instant sadness overwhelmed him. He stared out over the windshield without seeing.

  “Daddy, this is so awesome,” Becca said, snapping him from his dark thoughts. The smile on her face beamed like a lighthouse. Her hair streamed in all directions. She wiped strands from her face, grabbed the window frame, and hoisted herself up to absorb the full effects of the view and the breeze. Her laughter lightened his mood.

  Becca found a secure perch and released her hold on the frame, her weight well balanced above the protective glass, she extended her arm to the sides. “I saw this in a movie once. Yeehaw! This is amazing.”

  Mark laughed at her exuberance before his fatherly instincts took over. “Be careful. We're already a long way from shore.”

  Becca looked around. Land was an uneven line on the horizon behind them and to the right. Ahead lay nothing but open water. She let out another shout and jumped down. The deck rose to meet her, throwing her off balance and on to her butt. Mark laughed again.

  “Nice landing, sis,” said Bobby, as he came up the steps. “If you're practicing your diving I think the objective is to hit the water.”

  “Funny, Bobo.”

  He extended a hand and hauled her to her feet. She flung her arms around her brother's neck. “Isn't this great? The wind, the smell of the water, the warmth of the sun. It all makes me feel so … free.” She squeezed his face between her hands and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Did you bring my candy bar? ’Cause I'm sure as hell going to catch more fish than you.”

  “Dream on, fish face.”

  Mark shouted back over the wind. “Why don't you start getting the poles ready, I'm gonna stop in a minute or so.”

  The sibs went to work on the six poles they'd brought. As he glanced back watching them work, Mark was aware of warmth spreading through him: when was the last time he'd taken them fishing? It had to be quite a while. Rebecca was still in junior high. The images came back in a rush. His dead wife and youngest son were with them. He'd rented a pontoon boat because his wife had been afraid for Ben's safety. They hadn't gone out very far; Sandra wanted to stay in sight of land. Still, they'd caught fish and had a great day.

  As the memory faded, he looked out over the w
ater and smiled. Out here, away from the daily reminders, the world was unchanged and at peace. Coming here had been a good idea, despite Lynn's objections. Lynn. No, he wasn't going to allow anything to ruin this trip. He needed this, and if she didn't see that or understand his need, well, then … he smothered the rest of the thought. As much as he wanted to come here, he didn't want the cost to be losing her.

  “Ha!” Becca cried out. “Beat you.”

  “The heck you did. Look how you have the sinkers and hooks attached. The first cast you make they're gonna come flying off and you'll have to do it all over.”

  “You're just jealous.”

  “Hey, don't listen. I'll have half a dozen fish caught by the time you get your lines reset.”

  “You're just messing with me ’cause I beat you.”

  “Whatever, fish bait.”

  Listening to the banter restored Mark’s good mood. Yes, he needed this, regardless of what he went home to.

  It was mid-morning by the time the first fish was caught. Mark was the winner, to the groans and jeers of his kids. He'd settled on a spot about a half mile to the east of the old water intake. They'd been fishing for almost an hour.

  “I'm gonna move to the north a bit and try a new spot. One of you hoist the anchor.”

  “I've got it,” Becca said. “I think Bobby's too tired from hauling up garbage from the bottom of the lake.”

  Bobby had caught an old pop can, a small plastic cooler and the scariest thing, a boot with the bones of a foot still inside.

  “Hey, at least I caught something.”

  “Yeah, nice come back there, bro-ster.”

  Mark fired the engines and throttled up. Twenty minutes later he backed off to idle and scanned the area. “This looks like as good a spot as any. Drop anchor.”

  They settled in to do some serious fishing. Mark opened the partition in the windshield and climbed across the bow. There he sat and cast from a sitting position. Over the next fifteen minutes he repeated the process numerous times before he heard the exclamation of victory. “Ha! I win,” Bobby shouted. He held the small perch head high and waved it at his sister.

  “Now, wait a minute. There has to be a size limit, doesn't there? I've seen bigger fish in a guppy pond.”

  “We made no such restrictions to the bet. I'm gonna enjoy my candy bar.”

  A tug on the line told Mark he had a nibble. He waited patiently, bobbed the line gently, and as the tip of the pole bent he yanked it up, setting the hook. Excited, he reeled it in and as the fourteen-inch Walleye broke the water, he let out a childlike whoop to announce his catch.

  “Now, that's a fish!”

  “Wow!” Bobby said.

  “Way to go, Dad,” Becca said. “Bobby, you need to pass that candy bar to Daddy.”

  Mark climbed down to the deck. Using the needlenose pliers, he reached into the fish’s mouth and retracted the hook and ran a stringer through its gill. He set the fish back into the water and climbed back to his fishing spot. He had just completed his first cast when he heard a shout behind him.

  “I got one. I got one.”

  He glanced back in time to see his daughter doing a victory dance. Her perch was twice the size of Bobby's, a fact confirmed by the scowl on his face. To Bobby's amazement, Becca turned to him and held the fish up by the line. With a pout on her face and a baby's voice, she said, “Bobo, would you take the fish off the hook for me?”

  “Kiss my—”

  “Bobby!” Mark yelled.

  Silence. Then, “Please, Bobo; with tartar sauce on top.”

  Mark's line dipped again. He turned his attention to the pole and heard a victorious laugh from behind him signified that once again, Becca had gotten her way.

  He laughed loudly. “Yep, looks like this is the spot.”

  For the next forty-five minutes the trio hauled in one fish after another of a wide variety. Before the destruction of civilization, Mark would've instructed his kids to toss the sheephead, carp and other bottom feeders back. Now, they kept them all, regardless of size or species. Food was food. He would smoke the garbage fish and add some flavor to their mushy flesh. They could no longer afford to be that choosy when it came to food.

  After he placed another good-sized Walleye on the stringer, Mark was on the bow casting, when a line of small dots on the eastern horizon caught his eye. Squinting he tried to make out what they were. Had they been there all along and he hadn't noticed them, or had they only just come into view? Whatever they were, he kept an eye on them.

  Fifteen minutes later, he counted six distinctive shapes on the horizon and thought it might be his imagination, or that he'd been squinting for several hours, but the images looked a little bigger. Mark set the pole down and secured it under the rail, and climbed to the deck. He made a show of stretching, but as Bobby and Becca directed their attention back to their poles, he snatched up the binoculars and went up top.

  He trained the glasses in the direction of the shapes. After a slight adjustment, the images came into view: a small armada of various-sized speedboats was heading straight for them. Had they seen this boat or was it a coincidence that they were heading his way? He decided they couldn't take the chance.

  He turned and focused the binoculars in the opposite direction to make sure they weren't surrounded. The way back to the marina was still clear as far as he could see. In a long slow arc, Mark scanned the horizon, swinging from Ohio, to Michigan to Canada. Almost halfway back to the line of approaching boats, in the more wide open and deeper shipping lanes, Mark stopped. His grip tightened on the glasses and his heart seemed to freeze mid-beat.

  A large freighter had appeared, seemingly from thin air, like a massive ghost ship. Along the sides of the ship rode a line of smaller vessels, like a protective convoy. In a heartbeat, Mark swept the glasses back to the original grouping of boats. Now larger, Mark could make out more details. Each boat rode with its keel exposed, moving fast. A second line of crafts appeared behind the first, raising the total boats to perhaps twenty. On the lead boat, Mark spotted a man with binoculars aimed in his direction. As he watched, the man lifted a hand and gave a mock wave.

  “Oh, shit!”

  Leaving his pole, Mark ran for the deck and leaped. “Quick! Put down your gear and get the anchor up.”

  “Wh-what's going on, Dad?” Bobby said.

  “We've got company. Lots of company.” He started the engine. “Now, stop asking questions and move!”

  The deck became a blur of motion as brother and sister went into action. Becca stowed the gear and Bobby handled the anchor. Without waiting for it to come aboard, Mark had the boat turned and heading back the way they'd come as soon as the weight lifted from the lake bottom.

  “Becca, take the glasses and give me an estimate on how far away those boats are.”

  “Boats?” She lifted the glasses to her face and a second later, uttered, “Oh, shit!”

  After settling the anchor in its place, Bobby came up behind his sister. “What's 'oh shit!', Sis?”

  “There's like a whole navy coming straight for us.” She handed him the glasses. A second later Bobby issued his own, “Oh, shit!”

  Becca asked, “Can we outrun them?”

  “Perhaps not for long, but hopefully long enough to get ashore. If we can get to the SUV before they land, we'll have the advantage.”

  “You heard him, Bobby, start paddling.”

  Six

  The mist that splashed over the windshield had taken on the added weight of tension. A few large clouds dotted the sky and when one covered the sun, it cast an ominous hue over the water. Bobby pulled out his rifle and knelt at the stern, sighting through the scope. Mark heard him tell Becca, “With all this bouncing, any shot would be nothing more than luck.”

  Mark shouted back, the wind taking his words, “If you have to shoot, don't worry too much about hitting anything, just try to slow their approach. We need time.”

  “Daddy, some of them are definitely gaining on
us.”

  Mark didn't respond. Land had made an appearance on the horizon. He hoped he remembered how to get back to the channel into the marina. They flew on and he searched for landmarks. He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. There! That's the outer channel marker. They were still a long way off.

  “Oh, that man is so annoying.”

  “What's going on?” Mark asked.

  “It was bad enough the guy on that first boat kept waving at me, now he's blowing me kisses.” More to herself, she added, “Yeah, bring those lips here, lover boy. I'll slice them off your face and feed them to you.”

  The channel marker inched closer. Mark checked his fuel level. Should be more than enough.

  “Ah, Daddy?”

  “What?”

  “Some of the boats have broken away from the pack. They're spreading out.”

  Mark thought about what he'd just heard. They were trying to flank him, or perhaps limit the directions he could go. That shouldn't matter though, as long as they could maintain a sufficient lead. “Give me some details. How many boats seem to be gaining on us?”

  “I'd say six. Three of those look really long and sleek. They look like those racing boats you see on TV. When we had TV, of course.”

  “Give me a best guess. How far away are they?”

  “I, uh, I—”

  “Less than a mile, Dad,” Bobby said. “And seriously closing fast.”

  “Can we make land?”

  Pause.

  “Yeah, I think so, but it won't be by much.”

  “Okay, listen. I'm gonna go in hot. Brace yourselves, there might be a collision. Grab the guns and anything else of import and don't wait. Get on the dock and head for the SUV. Becca, come here and get the keys.” His daughter appeared at his side. He fished the keys from his pocket and handed them to her, but did not let go. He met her eyes. “Put these in your pocket right now. Do not take them out until you are on land. You understand?”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Get into the car, start it and turn it around. Be ready to move by the time I get there.”