by Joe Nobody
They’re frightened, he deduced. They’re practically scared stiff and only going through the motions to survive. They’re hanging their hat on recovery, trying to hang on until rescue. How long can they survive without liberation? How long before they simply give up?
Wyatt lifted his cup of iced tea, smiling at the lady who offered a refill.
The world’s not coming back anytime soon, decided Wyatt. Those little signs are false, creating a veneer that’s hiding the rot underneath. The gunman today scratched the surface, exposing everyone to a little bit of the truth. I sure hope all these nice people can handle it when reality hits them between the eyes.
Charlie’s family dug into the steak dinners. Rose instantly suspected the meal had been stolen, but didn’t ask any questions. Already-cooked steak, uncovered dishes of green beans and corn, combined with the pistol sticking out of her husband’s belt made it clear the banquet was of dubious origin. She was so tired, so worried about the kids, she didn’t even care.
She settled on rationing the groceries, placing limited portions on everyone’s plate. Charlie took a break from the beer he was enjoying, grunting disapproval when Rose sat his share on the table. He threw a questioning look at his wife, “What’s up with this? Wasn’t there enough in that box for everyone?”
Rose responded with a short tone. “We’ve got to make this last a few days, Charlie.”
He waved off her concern. “There’s plenty where that came from, Rose. I figured out all those boats over at the marina are full of food. There’s got to be barrels of gas for the generator, too. I only brought back what I could carry this first trip.”
Rose’s hands went to her hips, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “Charlie, I’m sure you found this meat already cooked. Or did you decide to grill it on the way back? You took this food from someone. Don’t lie to me.”
Charlie shrugged his shoulders, “I got lucky and ran into a picnic. They were happy to share since they had so much.”
Rose shrugged dejectedly and shot him a look of “whatever,” moving to break up an argument between the kids. She was so hungry she really didn’t care where he had gotten the food, promising to take it up with him later. Charlie ate his share and finished off another can of brew. His mind was smug with relief as he gazed toward the marina, plans for the next visit forming in his head.
After one and all had eaten their fill, the ladies divided the leftovers while the men gathered at one end of the pool. Hank had settled down and was trying to sound reasonable, “I want to start off by apologizing. I should not have accosted that guy, no matter what I felt at the time. Someone could’ve gotten hurt, and that’s the last thing I want.” Looking around the group, he was relieved to see his apology was generally accepted.
Wyatt, in a way, was relieved the episode had turned out as it had. Hank had always been a little bit of a hothead. Wyatt believed fast tempers could be extremely dangerous, now more than ever. Calling 911 wasn’t an option, and justice wasn’t real anymore - for good guys or bad. Maybe this will cool his jets a little, he thought.
Wyatt wasn’t sure why, but several of the men looked at him as if he were the leader of the group. The gathering became quiet, the men mulling around and glancing his way as if they were waiting on Wyatt to start the meeting.
Reluctantly, Wyatt said, “I think we need to keep an eye out for a few days. I don’t know what else to do. Everyone is pretty busy keeping up with battery charging, fuel transfer, and searching the boats. If we organize some sort of neighborhood watch, it’s going to draw down on our manpower.”
Several of the men voiced their agreement. A few, however, did not. One of them was David, and he spoke up, “I’m willing to pull extra hours to keep an eye on things. I think it’s obvious we’re going to have visitors, and I, for one, believe we should be ready to deal with them.”
Another man stepped forward. “What are we going to do? Shoot people? I think there is a higher moral question here – does everything in the marina really belong to us? Is it really ours to defend? What if the looters are women or children? Do we hold a trial? I have a lot of issues with all of this.”
Wyatt was quick to respond, “I agree. I’ve already run through all of this in my head, and it’s a difficult situation at best. Are we really going to be in an ‘every man for himself’ environment? I can’t answer that right now, and I don’t think anyone else can either.”
David chimed in, “Let me ask everyone this – if we were all at home right now, wouldn’t we want our neighbors at the marina to protect our property for us? If any of the absent boaters arrived here tomorrow, we can look them in the eye and say, ‘We only took what we needed.’ If we let random looters start raiding the marina, they may damage the boats and could take a lot more than food. ”
David’s comment caused everyone to pause. No one had really looked at things from that perspective as the focus had been on surviving day to day. Almost a minute went by before David continued. “If I may, how about we at least agree to meet in the morning, take an inventory of what weapons we have and begin to work on some sort of plan in case more strangers start showing up and causing trouble?”
Procrastinating seemed to agree with everyone as most of the men wanted time to think, perhaps talk it over with their spouses and families. Hank suggested meeting at the head of pier two at 8 a.m., and all agreed. The summit broke up, and everyone meandered back to their boats, carting the leftovers and dirty dishes.
As Wyatt’s family made the way back to Boxer, father and son dawdled, staying back a piece from the girls. David sensed his father’s discomfort, but misread the reason. “Dad, I’m sorry, but I had to speak up for what I felt was important back there.”
Wyatt stopped walking, uncertain where his son was going. It took a moment for David’s concern to sink in. Wyatt had to smile, “Son, I raised you to have respect for other people, but also to voice your own opinion. You didn’t show any disrespect to me at all. I’m proud of the way you handle yourself. The army’s done well with you.”
David stared down at his feet. “I just…I don’t know. It seems funny to disagree with you.”
Wyatt reached up and took him by the shoulder. “David, what you did back there was leadership. You’re a man now, and again, I’m proud of you. Don’t worry about it. We’ve got so much on our plate right now. Always do what you feel is right. You can’t let the fear of being wrong now and then cause you to freeze up.”
Father and son embraced, and then picked up the pace to catch up with the girls. It dawned on Wyatt that he was being hypercritical of himself. Here he’d just given David a big, long speech that he hadn’t been able to live up to.
Wyatt reflected back on his actions when the business was failing. Deep down inside, he couldn’t identify any one decision or action that had instigated the decline. There wasn’t any single event where he made a bad call. Yet, it had all come crashing down around him. There had to be a reason, some catalyst or trait that prompted it all to happen.
Just because I can’t make a good decision, doesn’t mean David can’t, thought Wyatt. This wouldn’t be the first time a father had told his son to be better than he is.
After everything had been stowed away on Boxer, Morgan came out to the deck and sat next to Wyatt. She made small talk for a few minutes and then asked, “Everything okay with you and David?”
Wyatt’s head snapped up and he looked at his wife, amazed at the woman’s perception. Did she really have eyes in the back of her head? “He’s just trying to get comfortable in this new pair of shoes he’s wearing. The shoes are called ‘manhood,’ and they can be a tight fit now and then.”
Morgan smiled at her husband’s use of an analogy. It was one of her favorite things about him. She patted her Wyatt on the knee, “Do you male types ever get comfortable in them? It seems like a constant struggle, even for those of you who have been wearing them for years.”
Wyatt smiled and glanced skyward, “No, they never se
em to fit right. Sometimes tight, and sometimes loose. He’s a good kid, Morgan – you did one heck of a job with him.”
“We did a good job with him, my husband. We both deserve credit. I see so much of his father in him. The older he gets, the more he reminds me of the young man I fell in love with so many years ago.”
Wyatt put his arm around his wife and drew her close. He couldn’t help himself and smirked, “Which young man was that?”
Morgan playfully slapped at him and kissed his cheek. “You know very well who I was talking about.”
Wyatt kissed her forehead and smiled. She let him settle for a moment and then said, “It was Jimmy Thompson…you remember him, the captain of the football team.” They both started laughing so hard, Sage stuck her head out of the cabin door to ask if everything was okay. She realized her parents were doing that crazy lovebird thing again, and that made her smile. She made a waving gesture as if to say, “Never mind,” and ducked out of sight.
The task of getting the kids to bed was much easier since their tummies were full. Charlie and Rose had tucked blankets, said prayers, told stories, and answered questions for a few minutes before wishing sweet dreams and blowing out candles. One bed had required a detailed checking for monsters suspected to be lurking underneath. None were discovered.
Charlie made his way to the back stoop, seemingly mesmerized by the dark skyline. His thoughts turned to the harder questions about life, wondering if the world would ever return to the way it had been. The screech of the screen door opening prompted him to turn, even though he knew it was Rose. She sat beside him without comment, pretending to be interested in the stars. She had to admit, without all of the city lights, their twinkle was much more intense.
She sighed, “Charlie, we need to talk about that food you brought home.”
Her husband looked at the grass that hadn’t been mowed in almost two weeks. He wanted to change the subject, but decided the effort was useless. “I told you the truth. I smelled someone cooking on a grill. The smell was coming from the marina. I went over and asked if they would give me some food. It took a little convincing, but they filled the box, and I brought it back.”
Her tone was sharper than she intended, “It’s the little convincing part I’m worried about.”
Charlie exhaled deeply and proceeded to tell his wife the entire story. The only part he left out was asking for the beer. Rose listened quietly. After he had finished, her voice became softer. “Thank you for telling me the truth. I understand why you did what you did. I have a question for you though. Something I want another truthful answer to. What would happen to me and the kids if one of those men had shot you dead?”
He started to respond, but she cut him off, “Just think about that for a while, Charlie. You don’t need to answer me right now.” She stood, reaching for the door, but paused. She bent over and kissed him on the head, “I love you, and the kids love you, too. You’re a good man who’s been through some tough times lately. We’re all better off together. Just keep that in mind, Charlie. I’d rather be hungry and together than fat and alone.”
Rod was sitting on the front porch in a lawn chair, his position partially concealed by a pillar and a tall bush. His sister’s house was way too muggy to stay indoors, so he spent as much time as possible out here where the air wasn’t so close. He preferred the front porch so he could keep a watchful eye on the street and the neighbors.
He’d been locked up for twenty days awaiting an arraignment for armed robbery and assault with intent. He owed some serious people a significant sum of money, and they had grown weary of waiting to be paid. The interest was mounting, and the collection efforts grew more intense every day. Rod had progressed from worried to downright panicky, eventually ending up at desperate. After a rather heated confrontation, where Rod’s head had been smashed into a brick wall, the message was clear. Come up with some cash, or the misery would escalate.
His normal source of income, stealing bags and unsupervised purses from the 5th Street Beach, didn’t pay all that well. Jacking the occasional car stereo was risky, barely providing cigarette money. Still, every now and then, he got lucky, or so he had thought.
Rod was making his way back to his room after a fruitless evening searching for inebriated tourists to pickpocket. He hadn’t had any luck finding a victim who was beyond noticing the removal of a wallet. The lack of success was frustrating, but not all that rare. It had always been spotty work, but a guy had to do whatever he could to get by.
He stumbled upon the Porsche convertible, sitting in a remote overflow parking area. The top was down, making the expensive sports car an irresistible draw. As he approached from the shadows, he noticed an empty bottle of rum perched on the hood. Casually strolling alongside the sleek machine, he glanced inside and almost freaked.
Slumped over the center console was a tiny blond-headed woman, apparently sleeping off an eventful Saturday night. Rod scanned the vicinity, nervously checking for potential witnesses. There wasn’t another soul in sight, which was to be expected, given the early hour and isolated location. In the seat beside the woman was an expensive-looking handbag. Rod moved to the passenger side, reaching in to snatch the potential bonanza.
That’s when he made a big mistake. While bending over to grasp the purse, his eye caught the glimmer of an even bigger prize. The streetlight above illuminated the diamonds surrounding the gold-tone face of a Rolex wristwatch. Like a packrat drawn to a shiny object, Rod’s attention fixated on the twinkling jewels, his hand immediately releasing the purse strap and grasping the expensive timepiece.
Normally, Rod would have absconded with both items, but the woman moaned and shifted positions. Seeing no sense in pressing his luck, Rod trotted off into the darkness, thrilled with the rewards of a hard day’s toil.
Rod’s excitement over his haul kept him from sleeping. Waiting for the pawnshops to open on Monday morning was out of the question. By lunchtime Sunday, he’d found Mohawk Billy’s caddy parked outside of Lefty’s Pool Hall. Rod didn’t frequent Lefty’s often. The clientele typically consisted of violent, more sophisticated criminals - men who didn’t like to associate with petty, beach bum riffraff.
Still, Rod knew Billy would extend credit as long as sufficient collateral was offered. After what amounted to a 20-minute session of sweaty palms, veiled threats, and one-sided negotiations, Rod paraded out of the pool hall with five crisp Franklins. He also carried a commitment to repay eight of the $100 bills by midnight the next day.
That Sunday afternoon was one of Rod’s most glorious days. Ten dime bags, a new tattoo, and one rusty .38 special revolver later, he found himself broke, but happy.
The next day, Rod managed to roll out of bed and stumble to the closest pawnbroker before they closed. He thought his heart would fail when the bearded man behind the counter shoved the watch back and said, “It ain’t worth nothing. It’s a fake.”
A hastily obtained second opinion didn’t change the appraisal.
Two days later, a couple of big dudes claiming to be Billy’s cousins found Rod. Despite assurances of making good on the loan, the large gentlemen didn’t accept his sincerity. Rod would carry the scars from that beating for the rest of his life, which wasn’t a long-term prospect at that moment.
The Stop N’ Fill on the corner had been busy all day. Rod followed the manager out of the store after the night supervisor clocked in. He knew the guy would take the day’s proceeds to the night deposit box at Second National Bank. He would have gotten away with the heist were it not for the Galveston County Sheriff’s patrol car cruising the area. A man sprinting away from a bank attracts attention. Things really get interesting when the runner is carrying a gun and a bank deposit bag. The police tend to notice such things.
Still, the goonies couldn’t collect the debt while he was in the slammer.
When the power failed, the guards kept the prisoners in the courtyard of the Galveston county jail for the remainder of the afternoon. After the
third day without electricity, the deputies started calling in sick. On the fifth day, only one guard showed up.
The inmates hadn’t been fed or allowed any time in the yard, which led to a rapidly deteriorating situation. That lone officer must have feared a full-blown riot, or perhaps he was a softhearted individual. Right before abandoning the jailhouse, he hit the battery-powered emergency switch that unlocked the cell doors.
It took the prisoners about two minutes to break through the outer metal doors of the jail. When the final barrier to freedom fell, all 119 inmates strolled back into society. Rod was one of them, and after milling around the island for a while, he began the 20-mile trek to his sister’s house. He avoided the highways and busy thoroughfares, expecting the police to be searching for the escapees. He arrived early the next morning at his sis’ place, only to discover she was on vacation. That was just fine with Rod. Sis had disowned him months before, a domestic dispute initiated after his third arrest for drug possession. Her being out of town would save him the trouble of begging to stay for a few nights until he could come up with another plan.
Rod was enthralled with his sister’s neighborhood. An entrepreneur of sorts, he was quick to recognize opportunity, and this subdivision was a target-rich environment. He was in awe as he crept around, peeping in people’s windows. All of these well-to-do jerks had big screen TVs and tools in the garage. He could make quite a haul out of here. Then it dawned on him that there wasn’t anywhere to sell the goods. He didn’t have a car, and even he was smart enough not to try and pawn something so close to where it had been stolen. No, he needed to think through a plan.
