by J. B. Craig
Ronnie burst out laughing at his own joke. When his laughter subsided he added, “Oh, right. I was going to name it ‘Nice Ketch,’ but I didn’t talk to you about them yet, so you wouldn’t get the joke. A ketch - spelled K-E-T-C-H, not C-A-T-C-H - is the name for that kind of sailboat.” Then he laughed maniacally as he proceeded to tell Maria all of the virtues of a ketch-style sailboat.
“So, a ketch is a lot of boat for you,” Ronnie said. “We’re going to sail on mine for a week or two, and then we’ll give you a few extra days to get a handle on the big one. But it’s what you’ll need; it’ll definitely get you to Annapolis, and probably also home to Virginia.”
“I love it,” Maria said. “It’s a beautiful boat.”
“Yeah, sailing around Point Lookout is no joke, or so I’ve read,” Ronnie said, “So we made sure to grab you something big enough to handle it. It’s got two masts - the forward one is the main mast. I made sure this one had a good spinnaker - it’s beautiful, but not too big, so Pete here can run with the wind without flipping her over and drowning you.”
“Look, Yoda, just because I liked the run best doesn’t mean I’ll capsize us,” Pete said, holding up a hand. “All I said was, boats should go the same way the wind blows. It’s cool to go with the wind and still have it be so quiet.”
“Yeah, that’s cool, old dude,” Ronnie said dismissively. “I didn’t get it for you; I got a reasonable spinnaker so you can’t drown my girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?!” Maria sputtered, laughing. “Who decided that?”
“Me, obviously. You two aren’t together, and you’re way too cool for him anyway. He doesn’t even know when to duck,” Ronnie teased. “He’d be concussed or overboard if you hadn’t saved his butt a half-dozen times yesterday. I did try!”
“Hey!” Pete said, with mock outrage. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Ronnie snorted. “Just kidding, dude. I wouldn’t really let a first-timer fall overboard.” He stretched up on his toes to give Pete’s shoulder a manly pat. “But a good knock to the head would be just what you deserve. Situational awareness, dude. Heard of it?”
As the two continued their friendly bickering, Maria shook her head fondly and headed into the kitchen. “That’s some kid you’re raising,” she said to Barb, who was frying up breakfast on the gas stovetop. “What’s for breakfast? Can I help you?”
“No ma’am, but you can get a pile of plates and set the table,” Barb said. As Maria did, Barb explained, “Canned meat isn’t exactly gourmet dining, I know, but it’s pretty good hot. Some of our neighbors downstream are a little older, and they barely use their house. I don’t think they’ll make it here, and since that’s the case I think they’d be okay with us raiding their pantry.”
“My dad says it’s not raiding if you need it for survival,” Maria said. “As long as you don’t steal their valuables like jewelry, pictures, and stuff like that.”
“He sounds like a very wise man, Maria,” Barb said. “I hope you two are able to get to him and your momma.”
“We’ll do our best, Momma Barb,” Maria agreed. “We’ll be moving on soon, I think. Pete and I don’t want to eat all of your food.”
“Don’t be silly. You stay until Ronnie says you can sail. That’s the end of it,” she said, no-nonsense. “We’ve got farms and fish all around here. Whatever happens, we won’t starve. We just need a few weeks of canned and boxed food.”
“I can fish!” Maria announced. “My dad made sure I knew how to do that. What’s biting?”
“In April, nothing is biting, hon,” Barb said. “But that’ll change in a few weeks, don’t you worry. We’ve got lots of empty part-time houses around here, and most are my friends. They won’t have a problem. Eat your meat, and be patient. Ronnie says you’re learning fast. It’ll come.”
One by one, the days passed. Pete and Maria studied under Ronnie’s enthusiastic tutelage during the day, and at night Ron and Pete would run scavenging raids to nearby houses while one of the women kept watch.
While still distant, the sounds of nighttime gunfire became more and more frequent. Maria was worried about her hosts, but Ron assured her that they would be fine. On one of their ‘runs,’ Ron had come across several weapons to defend himself and the family. He even outfitted Pete with his own ‘rifle’ - “Technically still a pistol, but it’s got a little more oomph,” Ron explained. The semi-auto 9mm CZ Scorpion had a ‘buffer spring holder’, which helped to balance the otherwise front-heavy pistol and also served as an unofficial shoulder stock. It had a single-point sling and two thirty-round 9mm magazines. Ron also gave Pete forty rounds of ammo he’d found.
Pete protested that he and Maria were both decently equipped and that Ron should keep it for the family. “Oh, I’m still keeping the big guns,” Ron had said. “But you aren’t much of a sailor, so you’d better be damn sure you’re able to protect your captain. She’ll be ready soon, and if you’re going to stay with her, you can’t afford to be dead weight.”
True to his word, ‘Captain Maria’ was comfortably handling Ronnie’s smaller boat within the week. Pete conceded that she was the more natural sailor, and continued to help the Antonios keep the supplies stocked. Within a few more days, she had sailed her own ketch into the ‘big water’ of the upper Chesapeake Bay.
After Ronnie’s thumbs-up on her line work the next morning, Ronnie declared that Maria had passed. “And I have something for you to celebrate,” he said. “Come inside with me and let’s tell everybody the good news.”
Once inside, Ronnie told the family that she had passed. After a round of hugs and applause, he took out a weathered nautical map of the bay out of his pocket and spread it out on the kitchen table. “Sorry it’s so worn. It’s my old one,” he said apologetically. “Hopefully you can find a nicer one along the way, but this should at least get you to your uncle’s house.”
“No, no, it’s perfect! Thank you, Captain Ronnie,” Maria said. She bent down and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’re a good teacher.”
Ronnie went bright red, stunned into rare silence. For a moment Maria worried she’d embarrassed him too much, but after only a second or two he gave her a friendly hug back, cleared his throat and continued on. “I marked my best guess of where your Uncle Timmy’s house is, based on what you told me. You said he lived on the Magothy River on the shore of Gibson Island. Gibson Island is right here -” Ronnie pointed to a land mass jutting out on the map’s coast. “And the marina you told me about is probably somewhere around here,” he said, tapping a black ‘X’ on the map.
“Where are we now?” Pete asked, and Ronnie pointed to a little sketch of a house. “Right here, to the north,” he said. “Since you’re heading south, I think you’ll actually need to sail past the island, then turn inland so you can come in around it. It should be somewhere in this last inlet right here, just before you get to the highway bridges over the bay. Even you can’t miss them, Pete.”
“Haha, very funny.” Pete leaned over, following Ronnie’s trail with a finger. “That doesn’t look too bad, does it? I didn’t realize we were so close.”
“At this point, you’re actually about as close by sea as by land, and since cars aren’t running you’ll get there a lot faster if you sail,” Ronnie pointed out. “It’s about twenty-five miles, give or take a few, so you should be able to cross it in less than a day as long as the wind holds.
“So, clear the island, go starboard - to your right, Pete,” Ronnie added imperiously. “And go up the inlet before the bridge. From there, it will be up to you to find his house. These directions should get you within a mile or so, but I’ve never personally been out there. Mom doesn’t want me to sail that far.”
After being so isolated, being within a day’s sail of family seemed too good to be true. “Maybe when you’re a big-time sailor and things have settled down a bit, you can come out and visit,” Maria said. “But for now, she and your dad will probably need your help.”
“Probably,” Ronnie agreed, with all of the easy arrogance of youth. “Just remember to watch the channel markers, okay? There’s lots of shoals and stuff on the bottom from when Baltimore was being built up and the channels were dredged, so you have to be careful, especially at low tide. You’ll be fine as long as you mind them, or the wind doesn’t pick up too much. We didn’t get to drill on any big-wind issues, but you’ll figure it out.”
“Or sink the boat,” Pete replied sotto voce.
“I heard that,” Maria scolded. “I’m not sinking this boat.”
With the lessons done and a plan firmed up, it was time to pack up. Pete and Maria returned to the ketch with their backpacks and bikes to find Barb stocking the galley kitchen of the Lady Maria with boxes of canned food and dry goods. “I don’t want to hear it,” Barb said, when Maria protested. “I know you’re a good sailor, or Ronnie wouldn’t have passed you, but you just never know. If things get wet, or if it takes you longer to find your uncle’s house than you planned for, I’ll sleep better knowing that we sent you off with plenty to eat.”
After a night of restless sleep, the Antonios saw Maria and Pete down to the dock. After a round of tearful hugs, Ronnie helped cast off the lines. As they waved goodbye, Maria could see that even Pete didn’t have dry eyes.
“That little turtle Pete is something else,” Pete said. “I’ll miss him.”
“They’re good people. The world needs more like them,” Maria agreed. “Now - watch your head; we’re coming about.”
11. On the Lady Maria
The trip out of the Antonios’ house on Bush River was uneventful. After several days spent practicing tooling up and down the river, Maria was fairly confident in her ability to navigate its twists and turns. Pete took a spot in the cockpit, settling in for the ride.
Once they hit the open water of the Chesapeake, they were pleasantly surprised by a northwesterly wind, allowing them to make good time as they ‘ran’ south with the spinnaker. Once the sails were set, Pete jokingly hopped up to the bow of the boat and spread his arms wide as he called “I’m king of the world!”
Maria burst out laughing - Pete only got to enjoy his best movie impression for a second or two before he got a face-full of brackish bay water. After a few splutters, he sheepishly returned to the cockpit. “I’ve decided that first mate is fine,” he announced cheerfully.
It was a warm day, so he took off his wet shirt. “I saw some clothespins below. Do you think I can clip this to this wire thing? What did turtle boy call it, a ‘guy line’? Or is that too trailer trash for you?” He turned to Maria, who was looking at his six-pack appreciatively. “Um, hello captain, my eyes are up here.” She blushed. “That was funny. You’re supposed to laugh.” He pointed to his face and then laughed out loud when Maria snorted.
As Pete and Maria sailed down the bay, they passed several channel markers and small islands, as well as caution markers for shoals that could tear the keel off the sailboat. Following Ronnie’s directions, Maria gave them a wide berth.
When they passed the opening to Baltimore’s Harbor, they saw plumes of smoke rising to the northwest by the Bethlehem steel plant and the birthplace of the national anthem, Fort McHenry. Hearing it from the Antonios had been a shock, but it didn’t come close to seeing it in person. Pete and Maria’s cheerful banter slowly dried up as they took in the charred buildings, the unsettling lack of other boats in what was usually a bustling port city. Maria knew that however long it took to get the rest of the world back on the grid, it would take large cities like Baltimore, the per-capita murder capital of the US, even longer to rebuild. She was glad that Pete was there to witness it with her - he provided her with silent support, gently squeezing Maria’s shoulder from time to time as they continued down the coast.
They’d occasionally get close enough to shore to see people waving at them. They didn’t know if that was a wave of “come save me”, or just “hello”. They assumed the latter and moved at good speed towards the quickly approaching Chesapeake Bay Bridge, the marker for their first big turn and tack.
When they got close enough to see activity, they could tell the situation was dire. Cars were on fire on the bridge, and there appeared to be a battle raging at the western base. Barricades were set across the bridgeway, and shots were fired on both sides. It looked like the people of the Delmarva Peninsula had closed the road to those escaping from the Baltimore side - and defending their territory with bullets.
Maria watched in shock as a large truck began to roll forward, assisted by gravity and men pushing it as it rolled along the downward slope of the bridge as it approached the shore. Several men fell back from the barricade to jump out of the way. As the truck exploded against the barricade, a chunk of the bridge dropped into the river ahead of the Lady Maria. Dozens of attackers swarmed beside the flaming truck, and the defenders fell back to the peak of the suspension bridge to rally a defense at a secondary barricade.
“Coming about,” Maria shouted. Pete, who had finally learned his lesson, ducked. As they turned the ketch in a starboard pivot, Maria could hear some things shift in the cabin. She wasn’t used to turning in such a stiff breeze. She ordered Pete to drop the spinnaker, as they would need to slow down to negotiate the narrower, shallow channel between Gibson Island and Cape St. Claire.
After dropping and stowing the spinnaker, when Pete was sure that they weren’t going to capsize, he went back to the wheel with Maria. “I’m not sure what was going on at the bridge, but who tries to blow up a bridge while they’re still on it?” Pete said. “What do you think would have happened if they did sever the bridge from this shore? None of them would survive a fall of that height, let alone have the strength to swim to shore. Things must be desperate if they’re willing to try crazy stunts like that.”
Maria nodded grimly. “It’s been a few weeks since the lights went out,” she said. “I’m guessing they’re running out of food in Baltimore and Annapolis, and the people from the cities want to get to the Eastern Shore’s farmland.”
“That doesn’t say a lot of good things about your Uncle Timmy’s situation,” Pete pointed out.
“Maybe, maybe not. He’s got a narrow strip of land to defend, and Gibson Island at his back. Plus he’s got lots neighbors in his community to take care of one another” Maria said. “Their community is part of the Magothy Harbor Association, and they all get together for meetings and picnics. If there are any safe zones on this side of the Bay, his neighborhood should be one of them.”
“You’re the boss, Captain,” Pete said. “Some days, I just wish I was back in Oklahoma. We don’t treat our neighbors like what was going on at the bridge.”
“Well, cowboy, maybe I’ll sail you to Oklahoma after I check in with my parents,” Maria suggested, smiling. Then she paused, face turning red as she realized her mistake as Pete burst out laughing.
“Maria?” Pete said. “Oklahoma is landlocked.”
“Coming about,” Maria said quickly. “Heads up, first mate! I’d hate to concuss you.”
As they entered the lee in wind behind Gibson Island, Maria soon recognized the beach where she and her cousins had spent so much time over the years. She steered for the inlet and aimed for one of the mooring points in the river.
“Pete, drop the main sail,” Maria called. “I can coast in.”
“I’m on it,” Pete shouted.
After a few seconds, Maria noticed that they weren’t slowing down. “Pete, any day now,” Maria said through gritted teeth.
“It’s stuck!” Pete called. “It’s tied too tight. Must have been the wind!”
“Cut it, Pete!” Maria yelled.
Too late, Pete cut the line holding up the mainsail. Maria steered as best she could, but she was still coming in too hot. She was trying to stop the boat, but the hastily tossed sea anchor only slowed them so much - her only two options left were the wooden pilings or the rock seawall.
Maria screamed as she turned the boat into the pilings, praying
that wood would be a softer landing than stone. Wood splintered as the pilings impaled the ketch at the water line, and the Lady Maria began to take on water. She and Pete tossed their packs on the dock and scrambled to rescue their belongings from the galley.
The crash was loud enough that several people in the neighborhood had come out of their homes with guns. As they began to come closer, Pete dug the 9mm out and held it over his head, not pointing at anyone.
“We come in peace! Don’t shoot,” Pete called as they closed in on the sinking boat.
A short, stocky guy came running down the road, an AK-47 assault rifle in his hands. He talked to the neighbors, took the lead, and approached the boat cautiously. Maria was coming out of the galley with a box of canned fruit and looked up, taking in both Pete, who was was getting a bit twitchy with his 9mm, and the stranger.
“At ease, Pete.” Maria shouted, with a wide grin. “It’s my Uncle Timmy!”
