Apocalypse Drift (19 page)

David continued to work the pole and reel. He’d never felt anything quite like this before. Whatever it was, it was exceptionally heavy, yet he was
able to reel in line. Over the years, his father and he hooked everything from an old Styrofoam beer cooler to waterlogged Nikes. Whatever was on his line now was moving, but heavy.

Wyatt watched, curious
what was bending his son’s pole almost in half. The prey didn’t seem to be fighting him, yet David was struggling to bring it in. He twisted to retrieve the net when the odd tone in David’s voice commanded his attention. “Dad…ummmmm…I think I’ve…oh my God.”

W
yatt peered directly into the water before concurring with his son. “Oh, Lord.”

David was
slowly towing a human body to the pier.
The pale, almost ghost-like skin reflected though a foot of muddy, brown water. David’s line tangled in the long, black tresses of the cadaver. After a few more cranks of David’s reel, they determined it was the body of a young girl, probably in her teens, but difficult to tell. The corpse was face down, her thin legs dangled a little below the surface, one of which had a crab attached. David stopped reeling. He’d had enough, his facial expression revealing his repulsion as he considered the possible fate of someone’s daughter.

Wyatt caught himself before suggesting a call
to the police. His next instinct embarrassed him even more – a strong impulse to turn off the water maker in the boat. Both men stood silently, gazing anywhere but at the body. Morgan’s voice added to the discomfort. “You boys bringing me something good to cook tonight?”

David spun and ga
gged.

Wyatt turned to see his wife walking down the pier, hugging a cup of steaming coffee. Despite a rolling stomach, Wyatt managed to hold up his palm, signaling Morgan to stop righ
t where she was. A confused expression crossed her face. “What’s wrong, Wyatt?”

His voice was soft.
“There’s a dead person in the water, Morgan. You don’t want to come over here right now.”

It took the remark a
second to register with Morgan. “There’s a what? A dead…a body? Are you sure the person is dead?”

David spoke up.
“Yeah, Mom. There’s no doubt.”

Morgan fought the urge to make sure.
After all, she was a nurse and was quite acclimated to gory scenes.
I’ve seen enough unpleasant images to last a lifetime,
she thought. Her face betrayed a thousand questions that were flying through her mind, but she didn’t ask any of them aloud.

David and Wyatt edged closer
to Morgan, the three deliberating over what should be done about the dead girl. The final decision was to cut David’s line and tie it off to the pier. That way, the body wouldn’t drift around the marina or frighten any residents. It was the best solution they could construct, given the situation. When the cell signal was available again, they would call the police and report the body. Until then, Wyatt didn’t even have a shovel to dig a grave.

Returning to the boat, Morgan warned Sage to stay away from the end of the
pier while the two men kept busy storing the fishing gear. Everyone was quiet, a melancholy stillness having descended on them all.

It
was David who broke the silence. “Dad, we need to go and find out what’s going on. I ran the cables for the satellite, but I can't get it to work. Either it won't align, or no one is broadcasting. We need to know what’s happening in Houston and the other cities. You know, this little marine community is pretty isolated. The worst of it is the not knowing.”

Wyatt agreed.

As soon as the fishing equipment was squared away, they let Morgan know the plan. As the two men stepped on the dock, Wyatt noticed David was toting the shotgun. He thought to protest, but quickly changed his mind.
What is this world coming to when I’m relieved my son is carrying a gun?

The first thing Wya
tt noticed as they left the pier was the lack of cars. On a normal Saturday morning, the marina lot would be full with families, carrying in groceries, fishing poles, and swimwear for weekend fun. Before the depression caused the price of boat fuel to skyrocket, people had to park along the street and walk a considerable distance to get to the water. Despite the grim economic times, the marina was still an exceptionally busy place on the weekends. While most captains kept their vessels tied up to avoid the cost of fuel, the lure of the water was still strong. As Wyatt surveyed the area, he noticed three, maybe four more cars than he had seen the day before. He estimated there were about forty cars total in the lot.

He
pulled the keys out of his pocket and negotiated the driver’s seat, legs still hanging outside. Despite the constant dinging signal, warning him that the door was ajar, he fingered the control in an attempt to locate a radio station. David waited nearby, handling the menacing gun like it was a common hammer or saw.
He’s scared, and I guess I don’t blame him. It’s not every day you fish a body out of the water and can’t call the police for help.

The radio identified
nothing but empty airwaves on both the AM and FM bands. Wyatt scanned the range twice and then switched off the ignition and locked the door.
Wyatt shared an exasperated look with David before asking, “What now?”

“
I wonder if that’s why I can’t get the satellite dish to work. I wonder if there are any signals there to receive.”

His father shrugged his shoulders. David poin
ted the shotgun toward the street. “Let’s take a walk up the drive and see what’s happening on the main road.” Wyatt didn’t think that would hurt anything and might provide a little better picture of what was going on. He could use a good walk anyway.
The duo progressed through the parking lot and then onto the marina’s driveway, which was actually a half-mile long private street. Their path was uphill, the land on both sides open, flat and blanketed with knee-high vegetation. Originally, this area had been cleared and leveled to accommodate homes, condos or a small business plaza. The real estate investors of yesteryear held tight to their cash these days, leaving nothing but a field of weeds where the promise of commercialization had existed before. The only business ever constructed was the bank at the corner.

As father and son traveled, it
dawned on Wyatt how quiet the world had become. It was almost lunchtime, and he couldn’t recognize the whine of a single engine or the hum of an air conditioner. There were no airplanes in the sky and no boats on Clear Lake behind them. It was if everyone had just disappeared. In a strange way, it was a pleasant sensation. As David and he crested the rise, the land flattened out to the level, featureless terrain of the southeastern coastal prairie. The horizon was littered with the rooflines of two-story homes and utility poles. This particular area had seen a boom in construction at the turn of the millennium, giving rise to entire subdivisions practically overnight.

The
y were traveling in the direction of Kemah Avenue, a street that had been nothing more than a sleepy country lane less than 30 years ago. Now it was home to strip malls, large outlet stores, and numerous fast food restaurants. The ever-increasing traffic had required two different expansions of the seldom-used lane. A boom area until 2008, development ceased altogether after the depression began.

To the two men scanning
Kemah Avenue, time appeared to have moved backwards 30 years. The five-lane high capacity roadway was completely void of life. David couldn’t believe the difference. “Wow! This is eerie. It’s like one of those old black and white ‘Twilight Zone’ shows – all of the people have vanished.”

Even the traffic lights were dark, gently swaying in the light afternoon breeze.

The two men continued until they reached the bank where Wyatt had witnessed the shoving match earlier. A police car, lying on its side, was the only evidence of the confrontation in the otherwise empty parking lot. The patrol car had burned, giving off a rank odor of smoldering plastic and melted rubber. Both men kept their distance. Wyatt noted the bank’s glass doors were shattered, the entranceway’s frames bent and twisted. Neither man wanted a closer look at the car or the inside of the bank.

David moved on while Wyatt paused
, pensively considering the once-vibrant business. Despite blaming bankers for the demise of his company, he didn’t wish this sort of violence on anyone. David continued to the avenue’s curb and scanned the street in both directions. The road was vacant for as far as he could see.

They decl
ared any further exploration pointless. Frustrated, the duo headed back to the marina. Halfway there, an unusual sound drifted across the wide, empty field from the east. At first, both men tensed, the wind-distorted noise was like someone crying or in pain. Moving closer, they observed a small, blonde head racing around the corner of a distant privacy fence. The running child was quickly pursued by two others, one of them yelling, “Tag! You’re it!”

The men watched the backyard game without comment, lost in relief and then-distant memories. Exchanging glances, it was unnecessary to speak. Both felt comfort at the previously mundane scene before them. Both realized how important it was to believe some things were normal, especially after witnessing the desolate landscape behind them.

Father and son continued their expedition in silence, soberly reflecting on the events of the day. When they were almost back to Boxer, Wyatt spoke.
“I think we should reach out to our fellow boaters around the marina. They are all probably wondering about what is going on as much as we are. Maybe someone has access to news or something. Why don’t you and Sage walk up and down all of the piers, letting everyone know we are calling a meeting this afternoon at six by the pool?”

David nodded, “That’s a good idea. It might also help to know who is down here. Last night with Bill was scary. That whole encounter could’ve gone very badly.”

Returning to the boat, Wyatt told Morgan of his idea. His wife agreed wholeheartedly, suggesting David leave the shotgun behind while his sister and he toured the marina. Before long, David and Sage were off, trekking from pier to pier, seeking neighbors.

Sout
hland housed 14 individual piers, each with numerous slips. Boxer was tied up on pier two, which accommodated craft up to 48 feet. Pier one was built for larger vessels, capable of handling yachts up to 100 feet in length. The smallest vessels at the marina were about 25 feet bow to stern. There was a mixture of power and sailing vessels, subdivided into practically every class, type, and length available.

The kids returned around 4
:30 and announced they identified 29 occupied boats. Everyone agreed to meet by the pool at six…everyone except Bill. He elected not to go, using bourbon as a painkiller and sleeping off the effect.

W
yatt had one last duty to perform before the meeting. Taking plastic trash bags from Boxer’s stow, he asked David to accompany him back to the marina’s drive. On their earlier trip, Wyatt had noticed an area filled with golf ball-sized landscaping stones. Filling two doubled-up bags with the rocks, they hefted the heavy load back to the end of the pier.

Using a tarp and two long boat poles salvaged from an unoccupied boat, the duo managed to wrap the dead girl’s body in a makeshift plastic shroud. The task at hand put both men into a grim, melancholy frame of mind. The teenager was close to Sage’s age, and Wyatt couldn’t help but wonder about the agony her parents must be suffering – the “not knowing” where their daughter was during all this mayhem had to be the worst. David’s thoughts tracked in tandem with Wyatt’s, clouded with images of his sister.

At Wyatt’s suggestion, David snapped two pictures of the girl’s face with his cell phone. They pulled a small sample of her hair for the DNA. It was the best they could do for future identification. Bill’s launch, an inflatable 14-footer with a small outboard, was used to tow the deceased out into the lake. Securing the two heavy bags of stones to the tarp, Wyatt mumbled, “Until the sea gives up her own,” as the two men watched the body sink to the bottom.

At first glance, the crowd appeared to be a normal cross-section of any social gathering. A closer inspection would reveal some minor differences. The age of the attendees was slightly older than the population at large, and the quality of clothing, watches, and jewelry indicated a little more disposable income than most people could claim these days. Owning a recreational boat during an economic depression when gas prices were over $9.50 per gallon required income. While Craigslist was littered with owners of jet-skis and sailboats desperate for cash, the monthly upkeep and other associated costs were staggering. Still, the water had an addictive lure, and there were ways to manage expenses. People didn’t leave the marina nearly as often. Owning a boat and using it were now two different things. Most of the marina’s residents had purchased their vessels years ago during better economic times. Some, recently joined by Wyatt and Morgan, used their floating cottages as permanent residences.