Apocalypse Drift (35 page)

Reed’s fork toyed with the green beans, pushing them around subconsciously while deep in thought. The food at Fort Meade wasn’t bad. Any of the government workers who mumbled a complaint were quickly reminded that over 300 million other people would probably give anything for the canned veggies and frozen chicken being served. The remark typically turned elite-sounding complaints into short tinges of guilt. In reality, Reed was surprised at the non-partisan manner in which all of his colleagues were acting.

A slight shadow interrupted the overhead fluorescent lights, causing Reed to glance up from his plate. It was Senator Conley carrying a tray of food. “Mind if I join you, young man?”

“Why no, Senator, please do.”

The elder statesman from Ohio sat his meal on the table across from Reed and managed the bench seat without complaint. Carefully draping the paper napkin on his lap, the senator scrutinized the contents of his plate for a moment before speaking. “It just dawned on me why this reminds me of army food. That’s because it is army food. You can tell what day it is by what they put on your plate, and most days you’re glad to get it.”

Reed chuckled politely at the comment. He consumed a fork full of beans and studied the older man. The honorable gentleman from Columbus, Ohio had been a common figure in American politics for over 30 years. His face was well known, having been beamed into American living rooms on a regular basis during his five terms of office.     

As a freshman congressman, Reed had experienced little exposure to the real power players in the nation’s capital. Now, one of them was sitting across from him, eating frozen chicken and drinking milk from a carton like a schoolboy.

“Have you had any contact with your family, son?”

“Yes, sir, I’ve had a single phone call over a military channel and two written letters exchanged. They are doing as well as can be expected.”

The senator nodded and continued to eat. Reed thought the man must have skipped a few meals because he was digging in with considerable gusto. Conley sensed he was being watched. “You’ll have to excuse my lack of dinner conversation today. I’ve been in committee meetings all day and didn’t get lunch. We are supposed to reconvene in ten minutes, and I don’t want to disrupt the proceedings with my stomach rumbling.”

Reed smiled at the remark.
“No worries, Senator. I wouldn’t want to be accused of denying a ranking democrat his substance.”

Conley’s smile was genuine.
“I wouldn’t have been caught dead having lunch with a junior Republican representative a few weeks ago. It wouldn’t have helped your career either. People would have wondered why you were fraternizing with the enemy. Now neither I, nor anyone else here cares.”

Congressman Wallace had to agree with the senator’s assessment. He was actually proud of how everyone here had been worki
ng so hard to solve problems in an attempt to get the country moving again. Gone were any disputes between right and left. Egos and platforms had truly been set aside because the country was in trouble – real trouble.

The senator swallowed a sip of milk and said, “Didn’t your father work at the Federal Reserve Board, Mr. Wallace?”

“Yes, Senator, that’s correct.”

“If memory serves, he died in a robbery some years ago.”

Reed hesitated, a flood of different answers filling his mind. Despite knowing better, he couldn’t suppress his response. “Officially, yes, it was a robbery. Personally, I’ve always had serious doubts about the incident.”

The response seemed to trouble the senator from Ohio. A fleeting glimpse of annoyance crossed the man’s face. The emotion passed so fast that Reed couldn’t be sure he was reading it right.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Wallace. It must be a difficult thing to live with…the not being sure, I mean.”

Senator Conley continued with his meal, Reed believing the topic was exhausted. He was wrong.

“My brother-in-law worked for the Fed in those days, Congressman. I’m curious, what do you believe happened to your father?”

The question sent Reed’s sixth sense to high alert, the senator’s approach and conversation now entering the realm of suspicious. Pretending to having trouble swallowing, the Texan bought some time to compose his answer.

“There were a number of inconsistencies with the final police report, Senator. In addition, new information about the case has recently come to light. Why do you ask?”

Conley was a master politician and had no trouble waving off Reed’s inquiry. “No reason, Congressman. I was just trying to make conversation. I’m sorry if I broached a sensitive subject.”

“No problem, sir. It’s not a sensitive topic at all. I just thought it unusual lunch conversation.”

The two men continued with their meal in silence. Conley signaled he was done by wiping his face with the napkin, wadding the paper into a proper ball, and depositing it on his tray. As he stirred to stand, he said, “Nice meeting you, Mr. Wallace. I promise to keep my dialog a little lighter next time. Good day, sir.”

Reed smiled as the man rose. “Good day, Senator.”

Conley picked up his tray and turned to walk away. To Reed’s astonishment, the man paused and then spun back.
“If I may, Mr. Wallace…a little advice from and old-democrat-dog to a young-republican-pup. Don’t allow your official actions to be driven by any personal agenda. It will taint your term and poison your service to our great nation. I’m telling you this because I hear you’re a bright young man who truly cares about his country. I’d give anyone the exact same advice.”

Without waiting on any response, the senator left, greeting someone at each table on his way out.   

Reed immediately replayed and analyzed the entire conversation. The discussion could have been what it appeared on the surface – a casual discussion between two elected officials. On the other hand, Conley might have been issuing a friendly warning. Was he trying to say, “We know what you’re up to, don’t even think of trying anything?”

God, you’re
paranoid
, he thought.

The whole exchange put Reed into a funk. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about, now the senator’s words added another layer to his fog. He’d been struggling to keep his chin up and remain functional as it were. He’d even considered visiting the base chaplain and having a conversation about depression.

Just as he was beginning to feel like things might improve, the man from Ohio had thrown a proverbial wrench into his gears. Reed was just realizing his melancholy state wasn’t entirely attributable to missing his family. His internal strife was based on the struggle to set aside what had been his primary motivation during the last few years of his life – the mission to find out what had really happened to his father. Now, the collapse of society demanded he put those private concerns behind him and work for the good of the people. He was struggling to accept that change.

The Texan supposed he wasn’t the only one battling an internal struggle. The national crisis impacted everyone a little differently. Some of those he worked with had lost family members in the riots, while others had loved ones who were missing, the military unable to account for their whereabouts or status. Many people knew for certain that their homes had been destroyed. It seemed like everybody had a different worry, loss or concern.

Reed chewed another bite of chicken, realizing the man that had shared a table with him was causing a flood of guilt to wash over him.
He’s right of course
.
I should be that focused
, he thought.
I shouldn’t be worried about anything other than putting the country back together again.

Everyone at the makeshift capital realized the citizens were hurting. The elected leadership of the country was doing everything in its power to repair, resolve and organize.
All the folks here are pulling together to utilize their strengths to contribute except me
, thought Reed.
I need to get onboard and push down this selfish desire for revenge,
he resolved
.

Sage yawned and pulled the blanket tighter over her shoulders. The northern gusts carried an arctic bite into the normally humid region of Texas. Her iPod was plugged into the cigarette lighter on the bridge, but she had turned off the device, feeling like her ears were becoming fatigued. The only
audible melody playing now was the orchestra of groaning anchor lines and the random splashing of a fish striking the surface of the bay. Most of the boats were running generators, but the dull, constant drone of the machines faded into a constant background hum – a kind of white noise – so relaxing it was coaxing her eyelids to close.

Before he had gone to bed, her dad had told her to wake him up if she got too sleepy. “Pulling anchor watch is about as boring as it gets. If you get tired, don’t hesitate to wake me up. I’d prefer to lose sleep versus lose the boat,” he advised.

Being the youngest, she had always felt like she didn’t contribute as much as everyone else. It seemed like she was always too slow or too weak to help out in any meaningful way. David was always so big and strong and fast. She loved her brother, but for years had secretly wished he would mess up at least once. Living in the shadow of perfection wasn’t easy. Tonight, she would pull her weight and do it flawlessly – no matter how mind numbing it was.

Besides, Sage was troubled about her dad. His lif
e had been hell the last year. And every time she saw him, she seemed to notice another visible sign of accelerated aging – greying at the temples, a few more wrinkles here and there, an apathetic gait. For a while, when the business was failing, her heart jumped into her throat when mom called unexpectedly. Sage was sure Wyatt was going to have a heart attack or worse yet, take his own life. Tonight, she could let him rest.

Time to do the checklist
, she thought.

She glanced at the radar screen mounted on the dash. The glowing display was the size of a small television. Unlike its stereotypical depiction in old war movies, there wasn’t a sweeping arm circling from a central point or nested rings indicating distance from the epicenter. Sage saw a picture that looked similar to a paper chart, where the white background coincided with the water, and land was colored grass-green. She could
zoom the picture in and out, her father explaining that a five-mile range was optimum.

The radar served as an electronic watchman as well. The device contained a function called a collision avoidance alarm that sounded an alert if another vessel were on a course to collide with Boxer. Sage knew the alarm was set, but her father had warned her it wasn’t flawless. “It will only start beeping if its computer brain is certain. It helps, but you can’t trust it.”

The boats around Boxer showed as blue dots on the radar. At the five-mile range, the Marinaville fleet appeared as a blob around the middle of the map.

Sage’s real job was to make sure an anchor didn’t pull loose during the night. That anchor could be Boxer’s or any of the other
boat’s. One vessel could drift into another if it lost its grip on the bottom. Floating onto an oyster reef or one of the well platforms that dotted the bay were other possible hazards.

The lower right-hand corner of the radar screen had two big numbers – Boxer’s longitude and latitude. Those values were Sage’s charge; slight fluctuations could mean the anchor was dragging. The numbers hadn’t changed.

More for entertainment than duty, her dad had left the night vision on the bridge. “If you get really bored, look at the stars through the night vision,” he had advised. “They didn’t name it a starlight scope for nothing.” Tonight, however, the clouds weren’t going to allow any stargazing. Sage had toyed with the scope a little, sweeping her gaze over the bay, picking out the other boats and some seabirds standing on Redfish.

She had also spied on her fellow watchmen. Three of the bigger boats had someone keeping an eye on the anchors. The larger vessels had been chosen for the task due to their having more folks aboard who were better able to share the duty, plus their hulls rose higher off the water, allowing for a better vantage.

Sage was pretty sure one of the other lookouts was napping. Until about an hour ago, the man had lit his pipe every 30 minutes like clockwork. She hadn’t seen the flash of his lighter for over an hour now. She couldn’t see the other sentry on watch from Boxer’s bridge. At one point in time, she had been tempted to call out on the radio just to have someone to share her solitude, but had decided against it. The noise might wake up her father or brother and that would taint her contribution.