by Joe Nobody
Morgan stepped in a little closer to him, almost in his face. “It would be greatly appreciated if you took that same attitude with your children.”
She started to turn away, but Wyatt stopped her. “Now just a minute, Morgan. That’s not fair…not fair at all. What am I supposed to do? She wants to be little Miss Independent and hates me if I treat her like a child. When I let her have her way, then you’re mad at me. I can’t win.”
Morgan spun back to face Wyatt, her tone on edge. “Since when does fair have anything to do with it, Wyatt? Where is it written that parenting involves winning?”
Wyatt could feel a domestic disturbance coming on. Arguments were rare with Morgan, but did occur. Such disagreements always involved the children, it seemed. He stood for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts and calm emotions. Morgan seemed to sense his feelings, and her voice and expression suddenly changed. She looked down at her feet, shaking her head slowly.
“I’m sorry, Wyatt. I shouldn’t be so upset. It’s seems like I’ve been losing everything lately. It’s more than just our home and all our stuff. My world has suddenly disappeared. The kids are one of my few anchors with reality. They’re my tether to our past, and my link to the future.”
Wyatt’s blood pressure went down several notches, and he felt the muscles in his back relax. He nodded his understanding while saying, “I understand, Morgan…believe me, I understand.”
Morgan stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her husband. “You’ll forgive me if I’m a little overprotective?”
Wyatt returned the embrace. “I think we’re all going to find ourselves forgiving others a lot more often.”
After the excitement of the snake attack subsided, the exploration of the island was begun anew. The teams regrouped and marched toward their designated sections, everyone paying a lot more attention to the ground. David and Todd were assigned to scout the beach.
The island was a long, thin piece of land. A sandy path led from Army Hole directly to the gulf, a walk of slightly more than a mile. The duo’s mood was solemn after the incident with David’s sister, Todd wisely remaining unobtrusive, allowing time for the adrenaline rush to subside.
They had walked several hundred yards when the path intersected a very unusual sight. Stretching as far as the eye could see to their right was a long, broad slab of concrete. Looking like a superhighway extending through the middle of a deserted island, the visual effect was so stunning the two explorers couldn’t help but stop and stare.
“Wow, that’s awesome!” exclaimed Todd. “I didn’t think it would look like that.”
“I know. That’s huge,” answered David.
The pair was gawking at one of the runways constructed for the Army Air Corps during World War II. Matagorda Island had been converted into a training station and used as a practice area for bombing runs. David knew from the charts and guidebooks that in fact, part of the island further south was severely cratered from the blasts.
While weeds sprouted through the seams and cracks, the expanse was still impressive. Built to handle the huge B-29 Superfortress aircraft, the wide lanes of concrete were 8,000 feet long. David commented, “It’s kind of spooky in a way…almost haunted. There was so much activity here at one time – now there’s nothing.”
After a few minutes of fascination, the two continued down the path toward the ocean. Whiffs of salt air manifested themselves as the two negotiated waist high sand dunes crowned with sea oats and cord weed. Before long, they could hear the surf tumbling onto the beach, and then they were there.
Matagorda State Park was described in the tour guides as having one of the last untouched beaches along the Gulf coast. Given the remote location of the isle, humans rarely visited the park. The first thing both of the guys noticed was the seaborne litter dotting the yellow-white sand.
Unlike the pristine shorelines often visited on vacations, Matagorda’s sand was cluttered with debris. Some of the refuse was natural, some manmade. Driftwood, vegetation, seashells, and dead jellyfish littered the sand. Even though they might be hundreds, if not thousands of miles away, people had left their mark here as well. Plastic bottles, fishing line, garbage and other discarded remnants of civilization could be spotted along the coast.
The pair automatically headed for the water, crossing a flat beach area that was over 100 yards wide. Todd was the first to pull off his shoes and wade in knee deep. He didn’t stay long, “Oh! Wow! That’s cold.”
David laughed, “It won’t be for long. Another month or two, and it will be like bath water.”
They decided to hike south for a while, mainly to see if anything significant had washed ashore. David kept an eye out for footprints while they were walking.
They soon noticed another difference with this place. Larger, more colorful varieties of seashells were lying around. Unlike public beaches, there weren’t any people combing the sand for souvenirs or retirees with metal detectors seeking treasure. David also noted the amount of driftwood and scrap lumber scattered about. The potential fuel source might be important.
After following the water’s edge for 20 minutes, the duo decided to cut inland and return with their report. Before long, they were crossing the runway again, and this time they could see the outlines of hangars to the south. Another team was supposed to be scouting this area, but the guys decided to go explore just a little more before heading back.
As they approached what was once the main operations area of the old airfield, the amount of land covered in concrete grew exponentially. Taxiways, ramps, and parking areas constructed to handle dozens of large aircraft spread far and wide across the island. It was an eerie, almost apocalyptic landscape with the skeletons of old hangars bordering the paved surfaces. The hefty buildings had mostly collapsed from lack of upkeep and the occasional hurricane that swept the area. Rusted steel beams rose skyward, some several stories tall. Large sections of roof had collapsed or been blown away. Rotted shreds of wood and sheared strands of red rebar poked out of random piles of rubble, mimicking the shape of sea grass strands poking out of small sand dunes. The whole place reminded them of a Hollywood movie set – one constructed for a film about the end of the world.
It dawned on David why the airfield felt so eerie; it was the disconnect between the scene that lay before them and the hush that surrounded it. Other than a mild breeze lightly stirring the dunes and the drifting sounds of passing seabirds, this place was absolutely silent. He tried to think of somewhere else that had mammoth structures of iron and concrete but were without sound. He couldn’t come up with anything. That’s what it is, he thought. My brain is used to engines, horns, people and machines whenever I’m next to manmade structures this large. There isn’t any of that, and it’s messing with my head.
Todd’s voice was low, respecting the ghosts. “This looks like those pictures of German cities after the bombers hit them.”
David nodded, his tone trying to sound mature and calm to the younger man. “Yeah, but this is just nature reclaiming what is really hers. This is just neglect and lack of maintenance. I’m actually surprised there’s this much left after all these years.”
After walking through a few of the more complete structures and finding nothing of interest, they decided to head back to the boats. David turned, glancing back at the site one last time. He hoped the cities back in the real world didn’t look this bad.
Something woke Wyatt, and he was confused for a moment about what or who had been so rude as to interrupt his dream. He lifted his head off of the pillow and stared into the darkness that filled the inside of Boxer’s main salon. Evidently, David heard it as well because the door to the rear cabin slid open, and his son strolled out into the night air, carrying the rifle.
“David,” he whispered. “Any idea what that was?”
The cabin’s nightlights illuminated his son enough to see him shrug his shoulders while mouthing the words, “No idea.” David motioned that he was going up to the deck and chec
k things out. Wyatt swung his legs over the edge of the berth and slipped on his shorts. The shotgun in his hands comforted him as he followed his son up the steps.
As soon as David opened the sliding glass door, both men could hear voices. The first one they made out was female. “I’m telling you it was a bear! There were two of them on the boat. Not big bears, but still, they scared the crap out of me.”
A man’s voice responded, “There aren’t any bears on this island, honey. Are you sure?”
David looked at Wyatt and mouthed the question, “Bears?”
Before Wyatt could answer, the woman’s voice shouted, “Look! Look! Over on that boat! There they are!”
The blast of a weapon sounded next, instantly followed by the report of a second shot.
David moved quickly, heading toward the ruckus. Since the boats were all rafted together, passing from one vessel to another required caution. Wyatt was trying to follow, but couldn’t keep up. A third shot ripped through the air just as David made it to the cruiser where all the fuss had started. Wyatt was taking his time to avoid falling overboard into the cold water.
Throughout Crusoe, lights were coming on, quickly followed by people sticking their heads out and asking what was going on. Wyatt, trying to reach the vessel under siege from the local wildlife, was stunned when David shouldered his rifle and fired a shot. This must be serious, he thought.
He heard David say, “I think I got that one.” The woman screeched again, “There’s another one over there.” David shouldered his rifle and let loose another blast.
Wyatt was still two boats away, carefully hopping from swim platform to transom, desperately trying to avoid a midnight swim. Up ahead, he could see his son standing beside a man and woman, all three of them desperately peering into the night like an invading army was attacking their boat.
“What are we shooting,” Wyatt asked when he finally climbed aboard.
The woman answered, a little annoyed, “Bears. What else would we be shooting at?” She immediately turned back toward the dock, her head pivoting as it searched for the massive mammals.
Wyatt didn’t buy it. “David, what’s going on?”
Without taking his eyes from the shore, David responded, “I dunno, Dad. I’m not sure they were bears, but they were pretty big and very fast. I think I hit one of them.”
“How big?”
“Bigger than the average dog, I’d say. Dark brown fur – very fast and the one stood on its hind legs. I bet it was over three feet tall.”
By now, several people were awake and gathering on nearby boats. Most of the men had guns, and everyone wanted to know what all the fuss was about. Again, the woman who had first spotted the creatures turned, an in an annoyed voice instructed the crowd, “Shush now – we’re killing bears over here.”
Wyatt rolled his eyes, tired of the whole thing. “David, come on with me. Show me where you think you hit one of them. I’ll grab a flashlight.”
Before the two men could climb off of the cruiser, the sleepy captain of a neighboring vessel yelled out, “Who shot my boat? Somebody shot my boat!” Wyatt almost laughed - the image of the boater standing in his underwear and pointing at a hole in his fiberglass just seemed so out of place.
Wyatt put his hand on David’s shoulder, “This is getting out of hand. Did you shoot his boat?”
David immediately shook his head, vigorously denying the charge. “No, sir. But I know who did.”
Someone, Wyatt couldn’t tell who, responded. “I shot at your boat. You had a bear on your swim platform. Did you want me to let you get eaten by the bear?”
Before Wyatt could comment, the woman screamed again, hopping up and down and pointing toward the shore. “There’s another one.” Her husband fired again.
Two flashlights zeroed in on the spot and Wyatt couldn’t believe his eyes. In the beam’s weak glare, he watched the backside of a large, furry butt waddling away at a rapid lope. “What the dickens,” Wyatt said to no one in particular. It actually looked like a small bear from the rear.
Wyatt mumbled again, “This is turning into a circus.”
Flashlights were now probing the shore in search of attacking wildlife. The whole dock looked like a WWII city using spotlights to search the sky for enemy bombers. Wyatt raised his voice over the dim of the crowd, “Hey! Everybody stop shooting! Right now – no more shooting. David and I are going to go over and check it out. We are NOT bears.”
Some wisecracker at the back of the crowd did his best Yogi Bear imitation, “Ummm…Mister Ranger, sir, I was just looking for a pic-ah-nic basket.” The remark eased the tension somewhat. Someone else added, “Hey, Boo Boo - let’s go check out those boats.”
As the two men scrambled toward shore, Morgan met her husband with a concerned look. “We’ve not had great luck with the local wildlife lately. Are you sure you want to chance being eaten by a bear?”
Wyatt rolled his eyes and passed by Morgan without further comment. David and he climbed onto the concrete wall of the dock, now tentatively walking to the location where David thought he had scored a hit.
There were knee high weeds and underbrush in the area, and it took them a while to find the body. Sure enough, David had plugged the offending animal. David rolled the beast over, and Wyatt found himself looking at the biggest raccoon he’d ever seen.
On a scale of raccoons, this guy had been a monster. Wyatt estimated it would stand almost four feet tall on its back legs. The creature must have weighed over 35 pounds. David nudged the body with his rifle barrel, attempting to verify it was truly dead.
“That’s not a possum, son – that’s a raccoon.”
David looked up and played along with his father’s sarcasm. “Really? I’m so glad you’re along, Mister Ranger, sir.”
Before they could return and report there weren’t any bears, shouts of alarm rose yet again from the boats, excited voices and flashlight beams seemingly everywhere.
Wyatt and David rushed back to the dock to find two more of the animals silhouetted by the lights. They were huge! David raised his rifle and Wyatt stopped him. “What are you doing?”
“Dad, those things will eat us out of house and home. They will chew dock lines, electrical wire and eat every bit of food we have. They’re like 30 pound ultra-smart rats.”
Wyatt didn’t like shooting things that weren’t shooting at him. While he thought David was exaggerating just a little, his point was valid. Still, shooting a wild animal in these circumstances?
Before Wyatt could respond, the animals ran back into the underbrush and out of sight.
Great, just great, Wyatt thought. That’s all we need. We’ve got the world falling apart all around us, and now we are besieged by racc-zillas coming out of the woods. What’s next?
New York City, New York
March 10, 2017
The sun breaking around the curtains woke Helen. She managed a glance at her watch – 6:47 a.m. Pushing back the multiple layers of blankets, she gasped as the cold air overpowered the snug, warm cocoon of her bed. The frost around the window confirmed what she already knew – it was going to be another cold one today. Glancing down at West 36th street, she could see people were already up and milling around. Ya gotta love the city that never sleeps, she thought. Twenty stories below and three blocks down, she could see the line was already forming at the FEMA distribution center. Hopefully, the trucks would be on time today and not cause a long wait - again.
Helen dressed quickly. She mused at how simple life had become since everything fell apart. She didn’t have to worry about her outfit being too heavy or too light. Her “fashion statement” varied little day to day. These days, she donned multiple layers of clothing even if she didn’t need to venture outside. Thinking about the cold gave her a moment of panic as she realized the buckets might be frozen again. Rushing to the bathroom, she was relieved to find only a thin layer of ice on top. She used the facilities, not bothering to pour any water into the back of the toilet –
it was an unnecessary waste, unless she had to flush solids.
Using the handle of her toothbrush, she poked a hole in the ice and stirred the frosty water around. She had run out of toothpaste days ago and now brushed with only water. She seemed to feel better after performing even basic hygiene.
Glancing in the mirror, she felt a pang of guilt. She had used extra water yesterday to wash her hair. The combination of her scalp itching and one of her bouts of depression made the splurge mandatory. She just couldn’t help it. She would hide it though. She would tuck her still shiny tresses under a hoodie. These days, simple things like that made you stand out. Clean hair or clean clothes could cause someone to question where the water, detergent, or shampoo came from. Things could really become edgy if people thought you might have more. The situation could become dangerous if they decided they wanted to take it from you.
Helen made her way to the kitchenette and nearly tripped over the bag of garbage that had gathered. She had meant to take it down with her yesterday, but had been behind schedule and procrastinated performing the chore. The garbage heaps smelled so rancid she loathed even passing close to them. One lady in the food line a few days before had shown Helen where a rat had supposedly bitten her on the ankle. The woman had warned about getting too close to the huge piles of rubbish gathering in the empty lot down the street.
On the counter were the remains of last night’s meal. Helen sighed as she realized there wouldn’t be any breakfast this morning. She had left the unfinished portion of the military MRE (Meal Ready to Eat) uncovered. The roaches would have no doubt visited the food, and there had been warnings about the insects spreading disease posted all over the city. Without the constant cycle of spraying, the roaches were taking over Manhattan.
Glancing again at her watch, she knew it was time to get going. Dropping off the trash would take 20 minutes, and that would still put her way deep in the line to get food. Rushing to the bathroom, she consolidated her water into a single container. With her empty buckets in one hand and the bag of trash in the other, she left her apartment and began the considerable hike down the 20 flights of stairs.
