Authors: Luke Rhinehart
And as they struggled, the horror of the unfolding nuclear destruction was becoming more real. At the dock in Crisfield Frank had tried to telephone his wife and reported back dully to Neil and Jim: 'The operator didn't even try. She said - the operator said . . .
"I'm sorry, Sir, New York State is disconnected." ' He'd laughed joylessly. They had all listened in the darkness to the transistor radio and on the entire A.M. dial they were able to bring in only five stations where normally there would have been forty or so. Dribs and drabs of hurried, sometimes barely coherent news drifted out. It often took the reporters several repetitions of each frightened report before a piece of grim news could be accepted as confirmed and indisputable. The idea that Washington and New York and apparently fifty to a hundred other places had been destroyed and that twenty to eighty million people had already been killed; that almost all major radio and television stations were not operating; and that the war was continuing: all this was almost beyond their ability to handle. It seemed beyond some of the announcers' abilities to handle. A few read the news items as if they were reading a weather report and made it seem so
absurd that at one point Frank giggled. Others would become emotional and be replaced by a more controlled voice.
One commentator pointed out that there was no way of knowing how many nuclear warheads had hit a given target, whether the target had been struck directly or peripherally, and whether the explosion had occurred on the ground or in the air. Knowledge that a place had been hit at all usually came only from that place's total silence. There were few eyewitness reports.
All United States military personnel had been ordered to report for duty. Where the home base was 'no longer a viable alternative' they were ordered to report to the nearest military base of their service.
The President issued a statement at 4.30 A.M. indicating that he and all cabinet members were safe, but that dozens, perhaps hundreds of US Congressmen had been killed in the blasts over Washington and other major cities. Offensive action had been commenced against the Soviet Union; nuclear war was occurring in Europe and Asia too. Although at least twenty major American cities had already been reported hit and twice that many missile and other military sites, the implication was that for some unstated reason the Russians hadn't unleashed as devastating an attack as might have been expected. To Neil it meant only that worse might yet come. One exchange between two announcers on the Norfolk radio station particularly depressed and frightened him. Ìs there anything new from the national news wire, Herb?' a man's tense, hurried voice asked.
`There's still no contact with NBC news in New York, John. All we've got, actually, are the items we're picking up from WTUV in Richmond, but they seem to have a direct connection with the Federal government.'
`What about WBZE here in Norfolk? Do they have access to the ABC news wire?'
`No. All three network news services are out.' `What about the west coast centres?'
`Los Angeles and San Francisco were both hit, John. There's just no contact . .
`What about military targets here in the Norfolk area?'
`The mayor has ordered the evacuation of all non, essential personnel,' the other voice replied. 'I'm afraid that with the US Naval base here and the shipyards in Portsmouth, this would appear to be a prime target area . .
Neil knew that if Norfolk, at the mouth of the Chesapeake, were hit, they might never escape to sea.
By the time they were away from Crisfield and on their way to Point Lookout the net effect on Neil of listening to the frenzied preliminary reports of destruction was to produce a strange and unexpected emotion which, he realized after a moment, was shame. He felt like a child whose classmates have run amok: although he wasn't personally involved, the destruction was somehow his responsibility. Yet the dawn and early morning hours almost belied the reports they were hearing. A third of the way across the bay the day was clear; the sun shone brightly on the still water. A mile away Smith and Tangier Islands lay lush and green and silent like some bucolic utopia. Land and houses on the now receding eastern shore lay gleaming with postcard-like clarity. There even seemed to be an oysterman up and working the oysterbeds to the southeast. It was as if the radio reports were an Orson Welles prank. But to the northwest the nightmare of the new life was clear: a huge grey cloud spread over half the northwest horizon, quite dark low in the sky, but the greyness reaching quite high up. The mass had no shape but was diffuse. A second area of cloudiness to the northeast was merging with it. Philadelphia? Only from the east through south to due west was the sky still clear. Norfolk still lived.
By 8 A.M. the breeze began to pick up and Neil felt that if it held or freshened further they would make Point Lookout by ten-thirty. As their progress became routine and they ceased listening to the radio Neil was saddened that he felt no desire to try to rush northward to anyone's rescue. When he imagined his parents struggling to survive after an explosion over Boston and great damage to their town of Ocean Bluff he felt depressed and vaguely ashamed, but the idea that he could get there and become a rescuer simply had no reality. Frank's plan seemed insane. For Neil it was as if the war had created a new world, one which ended all previous relationships. One's family would now be defined by those one found oneself with. And the new world, for Neil, would survive only if they could make it out to sea.
`What do you know about nuclear fallout?' Jim asked from beside him, interrupting his thoughts.
Ènough,' Neil replied.
`That stuff we see ahead of us is radioactive fallout,' Jim said. He looked at Neil as if searching to see how horrible this fact was. The grey cloud cover to the northwest was more pronounced now that the sun was higher in the sky. It also seemed to be spreading slightly towards them.
`Yes,' said Neil. 'I expect it is.'
Ìt will spread,' Jim said.
`Yes,' Neil replied quietly. 'But we're almost a hundred miles away.'
`We won't be at Point Lookout,' Jim replied. 'And even so I think it's got closer since dawn.'
Neil squinted at it as if noting the fact for the first time. `Maybe,' he said. 'But this northeast wind is helping us. It's moving the stuff away at right angles.'
`You told me earlier you think the wind will be shifting to the north,' Jim persisted. Neil went out into the port cockpit to adjust the genny sheet, and then returned to the wheel.
`We do what we must do, Jim,' he said. 'Right now we're
sailing Vagabond to Point Lookout.'
Ànd when that stuff starts falling on deck?' Jim asked, still searching Neil's face for Neil's fear.
Neil hid it and looked back at him neutrally.
`Then we sweep it off,' he replied.
12
Jeanne and Lisa, with Skippy and the dog huddled around them, blinked in bewilderment at the chaos that was now the waterfront of Point Lookout. Two hours after they'd been thrown out of the stationwagon by the two men, there were several hundred people where the night before there had been perhaps two dozen. In places along the docks and on wooden picnic tables a thin layer of ash had been discovered at dawn, a discovery that had increased the panic. Jeanne had already seen people siphoning gasoline from automibiles for boat engines or for another car; seen men rush past with guns stuffed in their belts, rifles in their hands. Along the dock milled people pleading with those on boats to take them aboard, the women sometimes weeping, the children silent. She had seen five or six people with burned faces and arms and two people being carried on makeshift stretchers. One of the cars that had driven into the parking lot had most of its red paint blistered.
One by one over the two hours since she'd been up searching for Vagabond, vessels had motored away from the dock area, a few completely packed and low in the water, others with only two or three people aboard. Some were motor yachts, some sailing boats; most were open boats with inboard and outboard engines. All wanted to get away from Washington and the fallout.
Although many ships had already left, the waterfront was still crowded. Several boats that had been anchored, were now coming in to get fuel or to pick up passengers. Others were arriving from down the Potomac.
Jeanne had recovered from the shock of being thrown out
of her car. The men had let Lisa and Skippy leave and had tossed out the children's dufflebags, her larger suitcase and a sleeping bag, but had driven off with her smaller suitcase, her handbag, and a lot of little stuff in the car, including snack food she'd tossed together. She had no money or credit cards and they hadn't eaten breakfast. When she'd rolled into the creek she'd wet her jeans through so had changed into white shorts and tee-shirt; her wet boat shoes she'd had to leave on since her other footwear was in the missing smaller suitcase.
As she stood with one arm around Lisa's waist and the other holding Skippy's hand, she was tremblingly considering other options. With every minute that passed the chances of the trimaran's arriving at Point Lookout grew smaller. She could conceive of no reason for Frank not to have arrived by now. He'd said he hoped to come at ten last night, early morning at the latest. What could possibly stop him from motoring across the bay? Her only conclusion was that Frank had decided that she and her family were dead. He wasn't
,coming.
So what could she do? She had no husband, no home, no car, no money, no friends, and no place to stay. Her isolation and powerlessness saddened and angered her. The burned faces, sightless eyes and the shuffling, numb way so many people moved frightened her. She had to focus on her alternatives but when she did she could see only one: she should try to get across the bay to Crisfield. Frank would probably not be there, but it seemed her only, hope. At least it was movement. She should try to hitch a ride on some other boat.
Even as she decided, she could feel herself absorbing the alternating numbness and hysteria she saw all around her. The people were becoming more numerous and the remaining boats fewer. Two fistfights had broken out at the gas dock and just after ten a man there was shot. The absence of electric power had forced the marina to develop some sort of mechanical, siphoning system and the dock-master's effort to ration the amount of fuel he pumped seemed to have initiated the shooting. Within two minutes of the gunshot everyone seemed to have forgotten about it. The wounded man, had staggered off alone. There were no policemen.
When she went in search of a boatowner willing to take her and her family across the bay, she left Lisa next to the marina office to take care of Skippy and their two bags and went out on the docks alone. Each remaining boat was bounded along the dock by men and women either dully or passionately begging for a chance to board. Around the first boat were two families, two stony-faced mothers, their children cowering big-eyed around their legs, the husbands, angry, holding out money. She didn't see any sense in competing, so she moved on.
The second boat was a twenty-five-foot motor yacht with two men working on its engine. One of them looked up at the group accosting him from the dock. She saw the man stare appraisingly at an attractive blonde woman who was pleading with him to take her and her child, and then his gaze shifted to Jeanne herself, first her bare legs, then her breasts, and finally her eyes. She felt a sensual shock: from fifteen feet away and without uttering a word, the man seemed to have propositioned her.
She hurried on. The third boat was filled to overflowing, but as she passed it she had the feeling that people had boarded an empty boat and that no one really knew what was going on. Most of those looking for a vessel were women, children and older men. She was walking back from the end of one of the arms of the 'T' when a slender young man about thirty came up and stopped her.
Àre you looking for a boat?' he asked.
`Yes,' she replied eagerly. 'I want to get across the bay to Crisfield.'
Ì might be able to help you.'
`Thank God. I've got two children too. Where's your boat?'
`Two children?' the man said, frowning. 'We've only got room for one more person.'
`They're only children ...' Jeanne pleaded. 'They won't take up much . . Ì'm sorry, ma'am, we're just too full.'
When he brushed nervously past her and hurried away, she stared after him in shock. '
You BASTARD!' she shouted at his retreating back.
As she headed back down the docks towards where she'd left the children she realized how vulnerable she was, especially with two children. No one would want that additional burden.
Lisa and Skippy were where she'd left them, hot and hungry. Lisa had fished a half-eaten banana out of a trash can and Skippy, after first accusing it of being dirty, had finally eaten it. She grabbed Skippy's hand and they traipsed like the war refugees they were down the fifty feet of road to the entrance to Kelly's, but seeing that Porter's Boatyard seemed much less crowded she went on first to it.
At the gate two men with shotguns greeted her.
`Can we help you, ma'am?' one of them asked.
`Yes, I hope so,' Jeanne replied, thankful for the first politeness she'd experienced all day. 'I . I need to get a boatride across the bay.'
`Do you know anyone in here?' the man asked. `No.'
Òur orders are that no one is permitted to enter the yard unless they're the friends or guests of owners of one of the boats here. I'm sorry.'
Òh.'
She hurried back to Kelly's Marina, which was slightly less crowded than the town docks, but the situation was the same: boatowners nervously preparing their boats, refugees looking for rides. She halted in the yard before going out. She had nothing to offer that the others didn't have but she had to try.
`Lisa,' she said to her daughter at her side. 'I want you to keep yourself and Skippy thirty or forty feet behind me and out of sight. Follow me, watch me, don't lose me, but stay. away until I call you. Do you understand?'
`Yes, Mother,' Lisa replied. 'What are you going to do?' Ì'm trying to get us a ride across the bay where I hope to find Frank.'