Authors: Luke Rhinehart
Jim had made the dinghy fast and now appeared in the wheelhouse, looking uncertainly at the confrontation.
`You may want to run immediately,' Frank went on angrily. 'But I've got a wife and daughter thirty miles outside of New York City who may still be alive. I've got Jeannie and Bob to pick up.'
`The Foresters can't have survived what happened to Washington,' Neil said.
`They may have come down to Point Lookout earlier this evening,' Frank explained. 'In any case it's damn certain it's our job to go over and see.'
Àll right,' said Neil. 'But then we've got to get out into the Atlantic - before we're blown up or buried in radioactive ash.'
`Don't give me any more crap about an ocean voyage,'
Frank shot back. 'We're at war! We have to stay here!' `There may not be a here much longer,' Neil insisted. `Neil's right, Dad,' Jim broke in. 'We've got to get out of the Chesapeake.'
`Shut up! Both of you!' Frank shouted. He paced past Jim out into a side cockpit and then, after staring at the ballooning glow on the horizon, returned. Èven if New York's already been hit, no one can be certain how wide the destruction is around each city.' He paused. 'I'm going to try to fly north. I've got to get to Norah and Susan.'
Neil stared at him in disbelief.
Ì figure there's a chance they're still alive,' Frank
continued huskily. 'I can charter a plane in Salisbury to fly to Oyster Bay and bring them back.'
Neil searched Frank's anguished face.
Ìt's madness, Frank,' he said softly. 'That whole area has probably been hit. If your wife survived she's already fled out the island. There's no way . . Ì'm going,' Frank interrupted sharply. 'If there's only one chance in ten I've still got to try.'
Ànd what are Jim and I supposed to do?' Neil asked, brushing roughly past Frank to adjust the mainsheet. 'Sit here for two or three days waiting for the fallout or the next explosion?'
`You try to get the Foresters over at Point Lookout.'
Àll right, we'll do that,' Neil said. 'But then what?'
`You pick me up in Crisfield tomorrow night.'
Neil grimaced and turned away, shaking his head.
`We'll sail to Crisfield now,' Frank went on, 'and I can get to Salisbury by eight or nine in the morning.' Both he and Neil watched Vagabond sail past a red buoy, both instinctively noting the ship's speed. 'I should be able to get a plane by ten or eleven. New York by noon. If I give myself six hours to find her and Susan that'll get me back at Crisfield by .
. . nine tomorrow.'
Neil stared at him. 'Look, Frank,' he began, glancing at Jim who was listening with grim attentiveness. 'Not many people are going to survive what's happening. Those that do are those that act fast and . . . ruthlessly. Those that know enough to cut their losses and run. Don't go. We can go over to Point Lookout to check for the Foresters now and then ride the tide down out the bay later tomorrow morning.'
Frank flushed.
Ì'm going,' he said. 'And you're not using my boat to escape your responsibilities.'
`What responsibilities?' Neil exploded. 'Tell me, what in God's name you think any of us can do now against
incoming missiles except-try to survive. Every second you delay us you're risking me and your son and the Foresters.'
Ì have to try to save my family and there may be other things to do,' Frank went on. 'We can't just run.'
`We can't help anyone dead,' Jim blurted out.
`Jim's right,' Neil said.
Frank leaned against the wheelhouse shelf, put his face in his hands, and rubbed his forehead. When he looked up, much of his colour seemed to have drained away. Ì'm going to try,' he said softly. 'Get Vagabond turned around. If I'm not back by nine tomorrow tonight ... by ten . . . that's when the tide's high . . . you can leave without me.'
As Neil stared forward past the mainmast and across the water he felt resentment at Frank's putting him in the villain's role of running. During the last crisis three months before, he'd considered what he would do if a nuclear war broke out and decided he'd probably have it easy because he'd be on a boat at sea or on the coast and thus could flee the explosions and fallout. But the holocaust had actually found him becalmed without an engine seventy-five miles up a bay in the middle of dozens of prime targets, owner and guests and family scattered to the winds. Frank's effort to find his family in the north complicated things further and was insane: every moment they remained in the Chesapeake decreased their chances of survival.
`Don't go, Dad,' Jim said after a long silence. 'Please don't go. We can't help Mom now.'
Ì've got to go,' Frank replied, turning to walk out into the port cockpit. 'I could never forgive myself if ... I didn't try .. .
Neil turned the wheel over to Jim, told him to bring Vagabond about, and walked after Frank.
Àll right,' he said, standing near him and looking at Frank's frightened, determined face.
'If you've got to go, so be it. We'll take you to Crisfield and then go to Point Lookout to try to help the Foresters, then back into Crisfield. tomorrow.'
Ànd you can leave without me at ten,' Frank concluded. Ì plan to sail south at no later than ten, tomorrow night,' Neil agreed without expression.
Frank nodded gloomily. As Vagabond swung about to take Frank back to Crisfield they all stared forward at the terrifying glow on the horizon. On every other side the world was dark.
`Be back on time, you fool,' Neil said softly to Frank. 'We need you.'
`Yeah,' said Frank huskily. can't let you steal my boat.'
1 0
By the time Jeanne was within a few miles of Point Lookout she was out of her state of shock. Point Lookout, she knew, was a dead end: a small town at the end of the huge Vshaped peninsula bordered on one side by the wide Potomac River and on the other by the Chesapeake. The nearest bridges were almost fifty miles away and might have been destroyed by the blast over Washington. She would meet Vagabond in Point Lookout or have to get herself and the children on to another boat. Hundreds, thousands of survivors from the destruction to the north would be funnelled south to this tiny town, and everyone would be seeking a boat.
She knew that Vagabond might not come for her, that Frank might conclude that she and her family had been killed. She could only hope the trimaran was already in Point Lookout and would wait a few hours at least.
Lisa too had regained control. She seemed to need to talk, so Jeanne nodded and grunted while her mind worked along in its own channels. Mostly Lisa recited what she could remember from reading pamphlets about radioactive fallout, a subject Jeanne already knew well. Neither of them mentioned her father, dead, Jeanne assumed dully, in Washington. Her strongest emotion when she emerged from shock was anger: anger at the Russians and Americans who had created this war that had killed Bob and was threatening to kill Lisa and Skip.
As they neared Point Lookout it struck Jeanne as strange that she could see other drivers, like herself reacting to the largest crisis of their lives, yet say nothing to them. Each vehicle was its own separate island, its occupants shipwrecked alone. And something else was strange: there didn't seem to be anyone at home along the road. The area was deserted. Then she realized: there's no electric power. The lights are out. Forever.
The thought 'forever' chilled her even as she recognized it as melodrama; she shook her head to get rid of it. But she felt her anger rising again to see on either side of the road the dark houses, as if already everyone inside of them were dead. The stupid, thoughtless life-haters were doing it: they were blowing up the world.
When she entered the village of Point Lookout it too was dark. By the time she arrived at the waterfront it was a little after eleven. The only lights were from the cars and the glow to the northwest. She drove past a place called 'Kelly's Marina', but turned in when she saw a sign saying `Municipal Marina'.
The parking lot was not crowded, and she chose a spot at the end next to a small saltwater creek and parked. For a moment she sat there staring down at the barely visible black flowing waters of the creek and ignoring Lisa's question of 'What are we going to do now?' Then, after watching someone running through the yard carrying a kerosene lantern, she turned to her daughter.
Ì want you to stay here with Skippy,' she said quietly. `Lock the car doors. Don't let anyone in. I'm going to see if Frank is here yet.'
`Yes, Mother.'
Ìf he's not here,' she went on, 'we'll have to wait. Maybe
we'll go to the motel or perhaps we'll stay here. But you stay here no matter how long it takes me to get back.' 'I will, Mother,' Lisa answered. 'You be careful.' When Jeanne leaned over to give Lisa a kiss she found herself being hugged strongly by Lisa's long arms.
Ìt's going to be all right, honey,' she said softly as she
loosened herself from the embrace. 'The bastards haven't killed us yet.'
After getting out of the car Jeanne waited until Lisa had locked the doors and then hurried through the parking lot towards the docks. In the darkness she noticed clusters of people gathered quietly in the parking lot and along the dock. She felt alone and vulnerable, then frightened as some car's headlights would suddenly sweep over her like some new nuclear blast. She knew what a trimaran looked like -thank God Frank had such a strange-looking boat - but in the darkness it was difficult to tell if three boats together were three boats or one large trimaran. Several boats were lit up and most people hurrying along the waterfront had flashlights.
How she wished she could talk to someone. There was a .war, a war, and everyone just hurried past, ignoring her.
The dock was a giant 'T', but after searching along both its arms she had not found Vagabond. Finally she stopped someone hurrying towards her to land. Èxcuse me, do you know if there's a trimaran . . `Can't help you, lady,' the man replied, not even slowing his pace.
Closing her eyes Jeanne moved over to a piling and held on to it to steady herself. She noticed several boats dimly visible anchored out and wondered if Vagabond were among them. She could feel her arms trembling again and thought of Skippy and Lisa in the car, depending on her.
Okay. Eleven-twenty and the trimaran's not at the municipal dock. It might not get here until dawn. She'd check with the dockmaster and motel for messages; she'd take a look at any other marinas here in the heart of town; and then all she could do was wait. There was no dockmaster on duty and when Jeanne finally got a man to listen to her question about Frank's boat he said he knew nothing about any trimaran. She returned wearily to the car.
Lisa, wide-eyed, lowered the window on the passenger's side.
`Frank's not here yet,' Jeanne said with exaggerated nonchalance. 'He may not arrive until dawn. I'm going to check the motel down the street to see if maybe he got a message through to us before the . . . I'll be gone another half hour,' she concluded. 'Why don't you climb in back beside Skippy and try to get some sleep.'
Ì'm not sleepy.'
`You need some rest.'
Ì've been keeping an eye out for Frank.'
Jeanne examined her frightened, eager-eyed daughter. be back,' she said, and walked away.
In the darkness the motel was difficult to locate. Lit only by the glow from the northwest the place seemed like a ghost town in some horror film, the main street like a path through a dark canyon.
There was no message at the motel and they had no room for her, having given it to some 'personal friends'. Sorry.
She searched Porter's and Kelly's and then the municipal docks again but there was no trimaran. As she returned to her car she realized that in an hour and a half she hadn't heard a friendly word.
Lisa was still in the front seat, slumped sideways asleep. When Jeanne unlocked the driver's door she stirred but slept on. Jeanne decided that she herself should sleep. If Frank arrived now he'd certainly wait until morning before leaving again. She relocked the driver's door and climbed over the seat to arrange herself on the sleeping bag beside Skippy. After pulling the light blanket up over herself and Skip, she stared up at the dark ceiling of her stationwagon. A strange sense of unreality flowed through her. Was she really lying here in her car three hours after the start of a nuclear war? The warm softness of Skippy's body beside her seemed so human, so nice, so reassuring. She lifted her head to look out the window: figures with lanterns and flashlights moved in the darkness along the. dock. Someone shouted. The war was real. After a while Jeanne slept. She was awakened once in the night by a scream but when she sat up saw nothing. There was then only one light moving in the darkness. Near dawn she was awakened again by someone shaking her foot and then pulling her whole body out of the back of the stationwagon. When she sat up she banged her head on the car roof and, awake, saw two men, one of whom had hold of her feet and was dragging her out the back of her own car. Banjo was growling.
'Stop it!' she shouted, but the man dragged her to the edge of the stationwagon's rear and then took hold of her arm and pulled her roughly out.
`Give us the car keys,' he said, his fingers digging into her upper arm, his face, tensely expressionless in the early light of pre-dawn, only a foot away from hers. Fully awake, but still groping for reality, she looked speechlessly back at him.
`Yes ... yes, of course,' she finally said. 'But let us get our stuff out.'
When she tried to turn back to the car the man held her fast. Ì found them,' she heard the other man say, and saw he had her handbag and now the keys.
The man holding her then flung her off to the side, sending her stumbling over the small embankment and down on to her face, rolling towards the shallow creek. The cold water struck her legs like a slap.
`Let's go,' she heard a voice say.
1 1
Vagabond was moving towards Point Lookout with agonizing slowness. The nightmare of the war was compounded for Neil by the more personal and immediate nightmare of running in place, being unable to move forward no matter how hard he tried. It had seemed an endless crawling toward Crisfield with Frank in the wee hours of the morning, and since leaving him off just before dawn, an endless crawling in light winds to try to cross the bay.