Ever Onward

by Wayne Mee

  “Matthew Bridger n’ his daughter Heather,” Gus answered. “Mat’s a retired banker or such from down Portland way. Has a big place just up ta coast. Loads o’ money. Loves boats. Has a 40 footer. Not a bad seaman for a mainlander.”

  “Where is this Mat now?”

  Gus waved his hand towards the ocean. “Sailed off ta Portsmouth a day or two after things changed. Said he’d be back, but I aint so sure.” A distant look moved swiftly across the old man’s face. For a fleeting moment Josh thought he saw sadness; then it was gone and Gus turned his toothless grin on them all. “Enough talkin’. Ta Sheddas ‘re ready.”

  They were sitting on Gus’ raised veranda overlooking the bay, the stilts supporting the rickety structure as old as their owner. The dark waves of the Atlantic rolled beneath them as the sun turned the western sky the color of molten lava.

  It turned out that Gus knew Billy’s uncle; not well, but enough to know he had been a good lobsterman. It also turned out that Gus knew about the two men they had seen back in Somersville.

  “They came through here over a week ago. Two men and a woman.” Gus had put his false teeth in, making his Maine accent easier to follow. “Said they were looking for other survivors, but I didn’t like their looks. Both men had rifles ‘n one had a pistol stuck in his belt. They didn’t stay long ‘n that was just fine by me.” He reached down and began scratching the pup’s ears. “I aint seem them since.”

  Josh lit his pipe as fresh coffee brewed on a small wood stove. The rest were gathered around. Billy was quietly playing his guitar. Og was basking in the attention his new friend was giving him.

  “Always liked dogs,” Gus said. “My last one died a few years back. You wouldn’t be interested in selling this one?”

  Jessie smiled and shook his head.

  “Thought not,” Gus said. “A boy needs a dog. Besides, money aint worth shit now, is it? Pardon my French.”

  “Did those men say where they were from?”, Josh asked.

  “Aye-ya,” Gus replied, lighting his own pipe. “Over Bar Harbour way. Where all the city-folk gather. Too much noise ‘n bustling about for me.”

  Josh leaned forward. “What bothered you about those men, besides the fact that they were armed?”

  Gus looked at Josh for a long moment, then put his pipe aside. “You don’t miss a hell of a lot, do you son? No, it were more than the guns. For one thing they said they worked for Chisolm Cannery, and that means John Chisolm. Me and Chisolm never did exactly see eye to eye.”

  “And why is that?, if you don’t mind me asking.”

  “I don’t mind at all, Josh. I’ve been telling anyone who’ll listen for the last dozen years that John Chisolm is a shark! A no-good, back-stabbing, net-cutting bastard that would use his own mamma for bait! He cornered the market here abouts n’ bought our catch for a third of what it was worth. When someone tried to sell someplace else, an ‘accident’ happened!”

  “What kind of accident?”, Eddy asked.

  Gus frowned. “A sudden fire, a boat sank, in a few cases, beatin’s.”

  Flame snorted. “Sounds like this Chisolm plays rough!”

  Brad stood up. “But that was before the Change. Frozen lobster tails aren’t exactly in great demand these days.”

  Josh studied his pipe. When he did speak, his words created a silence that hurt the ears. “Slaves are. Especially female ones.”

  Gus looked at Josh with wonder in his eyes. “How did you know?”

  “You said two men and a woman were in the truck, but only the men were armed. We’ve seen the same sort of thing before.”

  “On a road-block up in Vermont.”, Eddy put in. “Some guys had a girl chained in their camper.”

  Gus glanced from Tina to Flame and back to Tina, a look of worry on his weathered face. “That girl they had with them. I saw her hands through the windshield.”

  “What was wrong with them?”, Tina asked.

  Gus reached out and gently patted her arm. “They were tied, little lady. Tied to the wheel.”

  Beneath the waxing moon, the three men watched the two boys and Billy run with the dogs along the beach. Gus was bustling about inside heating water on his woodstove. He had a large tub he used for lobsters and both Tina and Flame were inside getting ready for their first hot bath in two weeks.

  “Doesn’t sound too good,” Brad said, shaking his head and pouring another cup of coffee. Gus had produced a bottle of rum to sweeten the brew and Brad helped himself to that as well. Eddy nodded, holding out his mug for a refill. He skipped the coffee. “It didn’t take long for everything to hit the fan, did it? I mean, its been less than a month and people are already keeping slaves!”

  Brad shook his head. “I can’t believe that. A few sadistic bastards maybe, but not everyone!”

  “What do you think Snake was after?”, Eddy put in. “Tina, that’s what. Just like those guys back in Vermont. Christ, Brad, with civilization down the tubes, who’s to stop a gang of assholes from doing whatever they like? Before long things could look like a bloody Mad Max movie!”

  Brad turned to Josh. “You’re the history teacher. What do you think?!”

  Josh sighed. “It’s happened before, many times, but never on such a large scale. When the Roman Empire fell nearly two thousand years ago, all of Europe went with it. It’s a sad but well documented fact that when law and order go, people quickly revert back to barbarism. Not everyone right away, but it only takes a few to start things sliding backwards.” Josh drew on his pipe, then continued. “Think about what happens when the police go on strike, or there’s a major power-out. It doesn’t take long, either. Look at us. We are all armed to the teeth; we all expect the worst of any strangers we meet. Others will do the same. In the end it all depends on the personality of the group.”

  “The good guys against the bad,” Eddy said.

  Josh smiled. “Its a bit more complicated than that. When it comes right down to it, most people are somewhere in between. Myself included. Circumstances influence each of us.”

  Brad shook his head. “Okay, I agree, but only up to a point. We carry guns to defend ourselves. Most people will do that from now on. But that doesn’t mean most people will accept slavery!

  “You’re right, Brad, most wont. But as time goes by that will probably change too.”

  “Why?”

  Josh scratched his ear. “Because the market for slaves will expand. Right now its limited to a few sadistic bastards, but soon there will be other reasons besides sex.”

  “Like what? To pick cotton?”

  Josh shook his head. “Maybe not cotton, but something pretty close. Remember, we now live in a world without power. No lights, no electricity. I don’t know how to fix it, do you? In six months the only food available will come from cans or what we grow or hunt ourselves. For now we’ve got plenty of machines and the gas to make them run, but who is going to fix them when they break? Who is going to make more when they’re all used up?

  He pointed at the oil lamp casting its warm glow over the deck. Summer moths flitted around it, drawn by its light. “As time goes on, hands will replace machines. Some will be willing to do the work themselves and some won’t. As in the past, the powerful will control the weak, and the shit jobs will be done by slaves.”

  “Not everyone will be like that!” There was anger in Brad’s voice. “Would you keep a slave?!”

  “No, I wouldn’t, but then I’m not living alone. I’ve family and friends around me. But what about some lonely survivor living on a farm or in a shack by the sea. Along comes a fella with two or three women tied up in his truck. That nice, kind, right-thinking farmer would be sorely tempted to buy or trade for an extra pair of hands, if only to have someone to share the loneliness with. In time they might even come to love each other, but the ‘market’ for slaves, especially females, will continue to grow.”

  “Shit,” Brad whispered, pouring himself a straight shot of rum. “When you put it that way, I might buy one my
self --- if only to free her!”

  Josh nodded. “And the market won’t only be limited to female slaves. What about a community with more women than men? A young male slave might find a willing buyer there too.”

  “Christ, Josh!”, Eddy put in. “You make it sound so bloody natural!”

  Josh relit his pipe, warming to the subject despite its cruel contents. “Less than two hundred years ago, Eddy, it was natural. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t nice, but it was done just the same. Remember, brains thought up civilization, but slaves built it. Egypt, Greece, Rome were all built with the blood and sweat of conquered nations. Even the U.S. The Civil War was fought over slavery and that wasless than two hundred years ago. In the twentieth century, machines replaced slaves, making slavery unnecessary. Now in the twenty-first the machines are failing. Soon, very soon, they will be gone.”

  Flame, standing in the doorway with a towel wrapped about her, smiled at Josh. “You give one hell of a lecture, professor. Makes me almost wish I’d stayed in school.” Still dripping from her bath, the thin flannel clung to her body.

  Josh smiled. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to make a speech.”

  “Oh, I liked it,” she said, pulling the towel tighter. “Especially that part about the horny farmer. After all, nobody likes to sleep alone.” Then she was gone back inside, leaving the three men staring after her.

  Eddy winked at Brad. “She’s still trying to hook you, Josh. Playing both you and Brad like a couple of game fish.”

  Brad reddened. Though it wasn’t supposed to be known, Brad had slept with Flame twice since their little talk on Mt. Washington. The first time had been that very night at Lakes of the Clouds Hut. After the moon had set she had quietly crawled into his sleeping bag. At first Brad had tried to resist, but need soon got the better part of valor. She had come to him again several nights later. Both times in the morning she acted like nothing had happened. That was nearly two weeks ago. Since then her ‘visits’ had stopped. Clearly she wasn’t in love with him. Brad was relieved to find that he felt the same way about her. They were friends, and that seemed to be enough.

  Both Eddy and Josh, however, knew about the two late night ‘visits’, and Eddy delighted in teasing Brad every chance he got. It was also clear that Flame had now set her cap for Josh. She went out of her way to be nice to him, flirting openly. Brad was also relieved to find that he wasn’t the least bit jealous. He and Flame were good friends and had been casual lovers, but they weren’t in love. In this ‘Brave New World’, what developed between Josh and the beautiful red-head was none of his business.

  That said, he found himself watching her walk away with hungry eyes. So much for rationalization.

  Og suddenly bounded up the rickety steps. Billy and the two boys followed. Princess brought up the rear, her nose constantly testing the wind for strangers. “Hey, dad,” Jessie called. “Billy says he’s got a cousin living in Bar Harbor. Says she’s married with two kids.”

  “That so, Billy?”

  “Sure is, Mr. Williams. Beth, Uncle Jim’s daughter. I only met her a couple of times. But she seemed nice. I guess now...”

  “I guess now we’d better have a look at Bar Harbour.” Josh put a hand on his former student’s arm. “Don’t give up hope, Billy.”

  Billy smiled. “I won’t, Mr. Williams.”

  Josh held the young man’s arm. “And Billy, call me Josh.”

  Chapter 22: ‘THE HALL OF THE FISHER KING’

  Seal Cove

  Maine July 21

  “You really mean to go to Bar Harbor?”, Gus asked.

  Josh looked at the weathered little man. “After what you told us about this Chisolm, I was hoping to avoid it. Now we have no choice. One of our own may still have family there.”

  “Then I’d better come with you. Chisolm is a slimy bastard, but I know the way he moves.”

  Josh smiled. “You’re more than welcome to come along, Gus, all the way back to Crown Point if you want.”

  Gus looked surprised. “Me, leave the sea and go traipsing off to the mountains? I’d be like a fish out of water!”

  Josh placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Lake Champlain is a hundred miles long, Gus, but let’s take it one step at a time. First, we’ll have a look around Bar Harbor, then you can decide.”

  A half hour later they all piled into the vans. Gus was carrying an old bolt-action Enfield that looked like it had been made decades before World War I.

  “My great grand daddy’s!”, Gus beamed. “Kept it on my boat in case sharks came around. Aint fired the damned thing in years. Still, since we’re going to see John Chisolm, seems like the right thing to bring along.”

  “Mind if I have a look?”, Brad said.

  Gus handed him the ancient carbine. Brad shook his head as he saw the pitted metal. When he forced open the stiff bolt, it came apart in his hand. After giving the rifle back, he opened a small cabinet in the Westfalia and took out a stubby little handgun. It was the Mustang 9 mm Pocketlite that had belonged to Bert. “Here you go, Gus. Shove this in your pants and try not to shoot off anything important.”

  Gus chuckled, “It’d take something bigger than this popgun!”

  Brad then reached under the seat and pulled out the heavy Overland Coach gun Josh had picked up back in New York. Its chrome-plated twin barrels and open hammers gleamed in the sunlight. He broke it open and shoved in two 12 gage shells loaded with #2 shot. “This do? We’ve got two of them.”

  Gus grinned, his store-bought teeth nearly as dazzling as the crome-plated cannon. “Shee-yit! Chisolm better watch his ass now!”

  The drive to Bar Harbor was spectacular. The road followed the rugged coast, then cut over the small granite mountains dotted with dark, twisted pines and outcroppings of white and pink quartz. Winding their way down to the east side of the peninsula, they stopped at a lookout above the bay. The picturesque sea-town lay before them like a scene out of Melville’s Moby Dick. Josh almost expected to see a Yankee Clipper anchored in the harbor. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps John Chisolm would have a leg carved out of whalebone and look a lot like Gregory Peck.

  What he did see was a fancy looking yacht tied up near a large rectangular building built on the edge of the sea. Beyond that a beautiful two masted sloop rested at anchor in the harbor.

  “That’s Matthew Bridger’s ship!”, Gus said excitedly, pointing at the large sailboat. “What the hell’s he doing back here?”

  “Let’s go ask him,” Josh replied.

  They moved slowly into town. By now everyone knew the drill by heart. Flame was out front on her Harley. Josh followed close behind, with Brad (and now Gus), riding shotgun. Eddy’s van with the boys and dogs came next. Hanging back in the rear was Billy and Tina in the tow-truck. If the ones up front ran into any trouble, the heavy truck was to be their ‘Cavalry Charge’.

  Bobby’s welding skills had come in handy. Tina, a pistol-grip shotgun in her hand, sat in a deep swivel office chair Bobby had welded behind the cab. A similar shotgun and Earl’s old deer rifle were in a bracket beside her chair. She was protected on the front and the sides by thick sheet metal. Cut in these were what looked like overlong open mail-slots. Gun ports for Tina to shoot through. The high backed chair was steel plated on the rear and had a seat belt. The small group had learned the hard way to be prepared for unfriendly surprises.

  Bar Harbor was a tourist town. Built on a slope leading down to the water, its main street was lined with quaint little shops and boutiques designed to draw the female of the species like a moth to a flame. Carved benches and church pews were stationed outside for the following males to wait while the age-old ritual of ‘Shopping’ took place. If the trailing mates were lucky, a bikini-clad sprite may wander by, giving them something to ponder besides the pigeons in the park.

  There were no shoppers now, however, and the quaint little stores had taken on the look of pretty flies encased in amber. A lone dog sniffed at the quaint waist baskets.
(No such crass a thing as a garbage can was allowed to mar the ritual!) Og, riding in Eddy’s van, sniffed at the strangeness as they passed. Princess growled quietly.

  At the bottom of the street they came to the docks. Turning right, they passed the restaurants and boat rentals and moved on to the working section. Here quaintness quickly faded away. The ritual played out here was an even older one: men had gone to sea in ships, braved wind and wave and brought back their catch. If they got back at all.

  Now the nets hung limp on the racks. Lobster traps by the dozens were stacked against weathered shacks and boathouses, waiting patiently for the hands that would never come again. At the end of the street was a long, low building. The dirty white sign on top read: J.W. Chisolm and Sons, Processing Plant. A shiny new pick-up was parked out front.

  Flame pulled off the road opposite the plant. Josh and Eddy followed. Everyone got out and stood behind their vehicles. Flame joined them. The tow-truck stopped two hundred feet back, crouched in the middle of the road like a wary beast.

  “Don’t see anyone,” Flame said. “We going in?”

  Josh nodded, taking the second Coach Gun and slinging a belt of shells across his chest, he turned to Gus. “That the same pick-up that stopped by your place?”

  “Aye-ya, that’s her.”

  “Brad, you cover us from here. Eddy and the boys will do the same. Flame and I will go see who’s home. Gus, you still want to come along?”

  Gus hefted his new weapon. “Hell, yes!”

  Josh grinned. “But we go easy. All we want is a friendly chat with Mr. Chisolm.”

  Flame grunted. Like Josh, a belt of shotgun shells crossed her chest. Her Smith & Wesson hung from her shoulder holster. Dressed in boots, olive hiking pants and a black tank-top, she looked like something out of the Terminator. Pumping a shell into the short Riot gun she’d brought from her bike, she smiled at Gus. “Just in case they don’t feel like chatting.”

  “Aye-ya.” Gus had probably never heard of Arnold Swartzinager, and he certainly had no idea who Sarah Connor was, but he knew Death when he saw it --- and it was standing there right beside him in the form of this beautiful young woman.