Sweetness in the Dark

by W. B. Martin

  And the best part about Bruneau, having grown up there, John and Paul knew most of the people in the area. They were all hard-working folks that would defend their property. The kind of neighbors you needed in a time like this.

  “So you got everyone to Bruneau?” Paul asked.

  “Mary still didn’t want any part of it, but I got the kids all loaded and on their way before I told her. She was angry. I told her she could catch them and meet us outside Bend. The pulse hadn’t hit yet so her Toyota Prius was still working fine,” John said.

  “And no Mary?”

  “We waited at the Pine Mountain turnoff on Highway 20 ‘til the pulse hit. We ditched my state-issued university pickup. We had to change out the points on the Chevy like we figured we’d have to do. Then we all headed over to Idaho,” John said. “Brittany was pissed and probably still is, but Mom is dealing with her. I left Tyler in charge with Dad. We siphoned some gas out of the dead cars and headed up here.”

  “Did you go through McCall? We heard it was bad there.”

  “So did we. We came around through Murphy and up to Weiser to avoid any Boise spillover. Payette was a little dicey but we waved our guns out the window and the surly ones backed off,” John said. “I think we’ll head home through Emmett and cut across the farmland to Marsing. Then back to Murphy and Bruneau.”

  “Wait. Did I hear Bruneau? I need to get to Boise right away,” the general said.

  “We can get you to Boise, but first we need to get the kids safely to Bruneau. I haven’t asked, but where are your grandkids parents?” Paul asked. He dreaded the answer.

  Ed’s eyes began to mist up as he fought back the tears. “My only daughter and her husband had finally saved enough money to take their dream vacation. They were in Italy when this all happened, I’m afraid.”

  Everyone stood quiet with the realization of their probable fate. Europe would be in turmoil and they were strangers in a strange land. Who would take them in and feed them? Paul wondered.

  “Well then, the grandkids can be safe at my parents’ house until they get home,” Paul lied. “Then we’ll get you into Boise. They’ll be perfectly safe in Bruneau ‘til things settle down.”

  Ed wiped away the tears that had run down his cheeks. Paul could tell he knew the truth of his daughter’s chances, but he agreed that the grandkids should be out of harm’s way. He would be busy getting civil order back to Idaho.

  Chapter 7

  Tasman Sea, near New Zealand

  The Tasman Sea had been relatively calm for this time of the winter. The seas had been routinely in the ten-to-twelve foot swell range with winds in the moderate squall rate. With thirty-to-forty knot winds pushing the forty-foot Cheoy Lee sailboat, the Leffingwell family was making a fast crossing without any mishaps.

  The two older boys had adjusted to life at sea and stood watch during the daylight hours. This left Desmond to take the night watch. He didn’t mind as he got to finally sleep on a routine basis during the day. Only the two young daughters were still suffering from bouts of seasickness.

  Desmond and Marina were worried about the youngest, Jamie. While Carole was finally eating and keeping food down, Jamie still heaved up almost everything that she ate. Her body wasted away from what had been a healthy ten-year-old girl when they had left. Motion sickness patches seemed to help a little, but drugged her so badly she could barely move.

  “We need to get Jamie off this boat soon, or I’m afraid she’ll…” Marina said.

  “I know.” Desmond cut her off. He knew that she couldn’t last with no nourishment. “The last fix put us within two hundred miles off the Cook Straits. At the rate we’ve been going we should reach the South Island tomorrow.”

  “Are you nervous about entering the Strait?”

  “Sure. It’s notorious for its wind. I feel better that I’ve sailed out of Nelson before when we’ve visited. Spending time on a boat up around Abel Tasman National Park helps. I’m at least familiar with the landmarks,” Desmond said.

  “But that was in summer when the weather was calm, and we were in protected waters most of the time.”

  “I know, Marina, I know. But we have to pray that this weather holds. If we get a storm in the Strait, we might get blown straight through into the Pacific Ocean,” Desmond said.

  The two remained quiet as they sipped their tea. Michael was at the helm with his older brother standing watch with him. Desmond had just checked on the two boys to make sure they had their lifelines securely attached to the boat.

  “Land! I see land. Off the starboard bow,” Noel yelled.

  Desmond ran up the companionway ladder and into the cockpit. Noel handed him the binoculars he had been using. Michael kept a tight grip on the wheel as another twenty foot swell rolled under their stern. Desmond fought to maintain balance as he scanned the horizon where Noel pointed.

  As the swell lifted the bow, the boat lurched to port. Desmond lost his balance and started to fall as the boat leaned to his left. He reached out to grab something, but found nothing but air. As he realized he was going over the side into the rolling sea, he threw his arm up and caught the lifeline that was stretched around the gunwale on the boat’s stanchions. His forearm caught part of the taut wire. Noel dove across the cockpit to tackle his dad around the legs to hold on to him.

  Desmond’s tentative hold on the wire wasn’t enough to keep him on board. He had forgotten to attach his personal lifeline as he ran up onto the deck and now he was about to pay the price. As the big sailboat continued to roll over, Desmond went over the side, head first.

  Noel fought to stay with his father as he joined his dad in the rolling sea. The boat quickly sailed on as Noel’s lifeline played out and then snapped tight. Noel dug his fingers deep into his dad’s legs and held him against the pull of the boat.

  It seemed forever, but finally the pull on the rope slackened. Desmond reached around and grabbed his son’s upper harness and pulled up face-to-face. Desmond saw the fear in his son’s eyes as Noel wrapped his arms around him.

  At sixteen, Desmond suddenly realized that the little boy that he had raised had turned into a man. Noel’s death grip on his dad showed the strength his body had been developing. Desmond smiled at his son to relieve some of the tension.

  Desmond’s thoughts now turned to the difficult task of getting both men back into the boat. In a calm sea, a stern ladder would be lowered and both swimmers could simply climb back in. But in the middle of the Tasman Sea in winter conditions, the job was significantly more difficult.

  Michael had performed yeoman work in tacking the big boat into the wind. With the sailboat now luffing, the line connecting them to the boat wasn’t pulling them under as it had been. Desmond saw that Michael had pulled the rescue sling out of its holder and attached it to the boom. He remembered, Desmond thought.

  They had practiced water rescues while sailing off Perth over the years in different conditions. But today was the most extreme conditions his son had ever faced. And the risks were the highest.

  The Cheoy Lee luffed into a thirty-knot wind. The sails flapped violently as the boat pitched with each swell. It was a very dangerous position to have the boat in. The boat was essentially sailing backwards as Marina now kept the rudder steady while her son worked on the rescue.

  The sling was lowered and Desmond climbed in. Michael hit the winch handle and cranked with all his strength. Desmond felt himself slowly being raised when the boat pitched over a swell. Suddenly Desmond was twenty feet in the air as the boat’s bow pitched down.

  Then just as suddenly he was back in the water as the bow raised up the next wave, but luckily he was still in the rescue sling. As the boat moved over the next swell, Michael reached over and grabbed his father and pulled him into the cockpit.

  Noel was still being pulled along behind the boat and was starting to look blue from the cold ocean water. Desmond helped Michael lower the sling to his brother. Noel put the sling around him. Desmond flew on the winch to pull
his son aboard. Finally all were back aboard, shivering.

  “You idiot! You could have died just now,” Marina yelled at her husband. “How could you come out on deck without your lifeline?”

  Desmond didn’t respond. He knew he had screwed up. If not for Noel’s quick action, he knew he would be lost at sea right now. The chance of finding a swimmer in this kind of sea was infinitesimally small. By the time the crew turned the boat around and tacked back to where they thought the person had gone overboard, the current would have changed everything.

  “Son, thank you. You saved my life. And Michael, good ship handling. You kept everyone safe today,” Desmond said. After his wife had stormed below in anger, he added. “Now go below and get warm, Noel.”

  Desmond sat down and took the wheel from Michael. Bringing the boat back around on course, his hands were still shaking from the near-death experience. He stared straight ahead as he contemplated the fate God had almost dealt him.

  “Dad,” Michael said quietly. “Please don’t do that again.”

  “Michael, the sooner we’re off this boat, the sooner I’ll be happy.”

  “Dad, I saved these.” Michael held up the waterproof binoculars. Luckily they had only fallen into the cockpit as Desmond went over the side.

  “Now, where was I?” Desmond asked as he double-checked that his lifeline was securely attached.

  Lifting the glasses up, Desmond made out a glimmer of land. As he studied the outline, he remembered the small outlying islands at the entrance to the Cook Strait. These appeared from their shape and location to match up with the chart in the cabin. He decided to wait a bit to go check, as Marina was still banging pots together below.

  It was the next day before they were fully into the Strait. The weather held and Desmond had slackened the sails during the night to make sure they made land in the daylight. With no navigational aids working, he had to sail by dead reckoning now.

  Ruataniwha Inlet was just north of Collingwood. Desmond had sailed on a friend’s boat out of Cranberry Marina, so he was familiar with the inlet. But in winter, it would be tricky. The sand bars and currents would be different from when he had been here last.

  Desmond made out the headlands near the inlet. He scanned the area for activity but no one was visible. He had hoped that maybe someone would be out fishing in the inner portion of the inlet. Someone that could warn him off any hidden dangers.

  But with no one to help, Desmond prepared the boat and crew for the final run of their journey. The excitement was palpable as everyone wanted to get off the boat. But no one was sure what awaited them on shore.

  It had been over two weeks now since the lights had gone out. Was this part of New Zealand safe to land? Desmond questioned. Had he brought his family to a place worse off than where they had been? Worry flooded over him as he lined up the Cheoy Lee to enter the inlet.

  Things worked splendidly as the big boat was soon inside the break of the inlet. With no functioning motor, Desmond had to work the sails to move the boat up to the marina. He spied an open dock on the outside which would give him the best opportunity for a clean landing.

  As he tacked, Desmond noticed life in the form of two people heading toward the dock. Michael and Noel stood by with bow and stern lines as Desmond made one last turn. He quickly pulled the cleat to release the main sail and the big sail fluttered down into Marina’s grip. She gathered it up and put bungee cords around it for security.

  Losing way, Desmond released his jib line and the sail flapped into the wind. Carole worked the roller reefing and took in the sail. The boat very slowly slid into position against the dock. The two boys jumped onto the dock and secured the sailboat.

  “Very good seamanship, Captain,” one of the people Desmond had seen approaching said.

  “Thank you,” Desmond responded. “I’m Desmond Leffingwell. My folks live over in Aorere. Can you tell us what is happening here? We just sailed from Perth to escape the troubles.”

  “Must be bad indeed for you to risk the Tasman in winter with your family,” the man said. “Things are pretty quiet here in spite of things. Life just got a little more simple for folks around here, is all. And no tourists coming through town heading up on the Heaphy.”

  Desmond recalled his time hiking the Heaphy Track. It headed over the mountains to the west coast and then headed south for a few days. It was the only place in New Zealand that grew bananas, and was immensely popular with young travelers, he thought.

  “Can we leave the boat here for a bit ‘til we figure out things?” Desmond asked.

  “You’re right. No worries mate. Although we did have a bloke steal a sailboat about a week ago. Haven’t the foggiest where he was headed,” the man said.

  They spent the rest of the day working on the boat. They dried out the sails and stowed them below. They closed up the sailboat and put additional mooring lines on for extra protection. They didn’t think they’d need the boat again, but one never knew.

  * * *

  The next day the Leffingwells gathered up their personal belongings and set out on the twenty-five kilometer hike to Aorere. Desmond thought they could make it in one day, with him carrying Jamie. With the boat in the inlet, she had been able to eat finally, but her strength was gone for any arduous task.

  As Desmond placed her on his back, he realized just how thin and frail she was. Grandma would be happy to stuff her when they got there.

  Five hours later, the family trudged the last kilometer to the family farm. Desmond looked up to see his Dad walking toward him. Everyone picked up the pace to greet Grandpa.

  “Son, I’m so glad to see you here safe,” Leslie said as they met in the road.

  “Dad, you don’t know how glad we are to be here.”

  “Well, come up to the house. Grandma has food ready. Word arrived by bicycler yesterday. Figured you’d be starving,” Leslie said, with three grandkids hanging on him. “And it’s great you’ve all come to visit.” He looked at his son with a startled expression when he caught sight of Jamie.

  Desmond returned the look of concern. “We’ll be right. I hope your food supply is full as always. You might tell we’ve missed a few meals lately.”

  “Got plenty. You know your mother. Always busy in the kitchen, canning and baking.”

  As Marina carried Jamie the last bit to the house and the other kids ran ahead, Leslie said. “But Son, it’s bad out there. Real bad.”

  “Grandfather’s been on his short wave set then?” Desmond asked. His grandfather was a World War II veteran. He had been a radioman in the New Zealand Royal Air Force and had seen action on Guadalcanal when New Zealand sent its forces there in support of the U.S. Marines fighting the Japanese.

  He had continued his interest in radios throughout his whole life. Desmond recalled sitting at his grandfather’s old shortwave set talking to people from around the world.

  “Granddad’s old set survived?”

  “No transistors. Built long before they existed. All tubes and hard-wired. Thing hums to life whenever the wind blows and we have extra electricity,” Leslie said.

  “So all your old equipment made it, too.”

  “I had a new inverter that fried itself to death. I just got the old one out of the shed and rewired it up. Everything works like you remember it. Never upgraded any of it, except for that bloody inverter. Some fool down at Nelson told me I could be more efficient with it,” Leslie said.

  “So, how bad is it?” Desmond carefully asked.

  “Granddad has his regular contacts and about half are still on the air. The big city operators are the ones missing. From the guys in the country we get reports of thousands of people drifting out from the cities, looking for food and safety,” Leslie said.

  “We knew Perth was going to be bad. That’s why we left.”

  “Good thing you did, Son. We contacted a Ham operator in Walpole. You know, down on the south coast from Perth. Granddad talked to him and I guess Perth is a ghost town now. The fe
w people that are getting through to Walpole report armed roadblocks all the way, with the locals trying to keep all those people out of their area. I imagine there’s not enough food for the locals, never mind all the people escaping the cities,” Leslie said.

  “It was picked clean by the time we left Mandurah. I can only imagine now. And what are they all going to do ‘til the summer gets here and they can plant new crops?” Desmond asked.

  “Starve. Or kill and steal from the few that prepared, I’m afraid,” Leslie said. “I’m glad you’re home. You and the boys can help with the local security here. All the people in the area have banded together to help each other out. We’ve had a few city people escaping Wellington, but getting across the Strait has kept most of them up north.”

  “And Auckland? I remember Granddad had a war buddy up there somewhere,” Desmond said.

  “Yes, he has a farm outside Whakatane. He’s still on the air. Reports people roaming the countryside. Says not too many from Auckland have made it that far south yet. I’m sure they’re still eating their way through the farms around Hamilton,” Leslie said. “But the folks around Whakatane are getting ready. They’ve set up their security and have put up roadblocks.”

  Desmond realized that the rural people were just as at risk as the city dwellers. Most families relied on the grocery store for their weekly supplies. Once they were cleaned out, the supply chain had stopped deliveries of new food. While the farms of New Zealand produced a lot of food, individual farms didn’t regularly store large quantities on site.

  The local farms did have their cows, sheep, chickens and other animals to carry them through the winter, but the supply was finite, and if the animals were all killed for food, there would be no stock to breed new animals.

  And with no refrigeration, a butchered animal had to be consumed right away or it would spoil. Cooperation between farms was needed to use their animals in an efficient way. Having outsiders kill off the herds would only lead to starvation for all. Hence, Leslie’s talk of local militias forming to protect their area.