“Ladies, below. Andrew, load the 20 gauge too.” When Andrew peered up from the companionway steps, Mack shook him off. “Stay where you are.” He wanted to see what was speeding down the river. Mack held his head low as he waited for the sound to come into view. Military? A U.S. Navy SEAL inflatable with 1000 horsepower jet propulsion, two 50 caliber machine guns fore and aft and a top speed of 45 knots? The Requiem would never be a match for that kind of firepower. Mack sank into the bottom of the cockpit. Better they see an abandoned pleasure boat than a potential strike threat.
A buff-hulled Hatteras sport fisherman with a flybridge three levels above the water came swinging around the point upstream, its wake arcing whitewater across the still river. The flying bridge could have served as an air control tower, the outriggers radio or radar antennae. Mack crouched on the cockpit sole hoping the boat would look dead and empty. “Andrew. Ease back into the dark. No movement.” When the wake rocked the boat, Mack lifted his head, shielded by the binnacle, enough to see the pilot at the flybridge helm facing the Neuse. It seemed they had been ignored by the passing boat. Perfect. They never slowed or hesitated at the sight of Requiem. If only that would be the reaction most of the time.
“Okay. All clear.”
“Are we always going to hide when another boat passes?”
“I don’t know. We have a lot to learn. This one appeared suddenly, barely revealed by the noise of it engines, so I reacted cautiously, conservatively. When in doubt, better to take cover.”
“What if one of us had been on the bow fishing? Or climbing aboard from the dinghy? We would not have had a chance to conceal ourselves.”
“True. And the only option then would be not to respond. The less motion the better. The passing boat might not notice any one person even if they see us. It’s a parallel to the “gray man” theory. If there is nothing remarkable, then many people observe nothing, or at least nothing that connects in their memory as anything other than a vague and static image. We can hope they would see our boat as a derelict, abandoned and worthless.”
“So, you’re saying you could have just remained sitting in the cockpit and the captain of the other boat might not have seen you anyway?”
“Yep.”
“That’s confusing.”
“I know. That’s why I keep repeating that we have a lot to learn. When is discretion irrelevant? When might it be critical? I would prefer to ignore passing boats while fully analyzing potential threats. But that will take a lot more experience than we currently have.”
Mack reflected on the conversation. Shit. He had put the family in an untenable position, at least in the near term. He knew too little about risk assessment in these conditions. With no military background, his knowledge came from books, a decent start in the absence of hands-on learning, but painfully wanting if faced with real violence from well-armed and possibly experienced attackers. Often, the best defense seemed to be a bold offense. So cliché. Then again, a first strike advantage might be all they had. That would mean assaulting someone who might or might not be an actual threat, harming another person who was possibly just like them, seeking safety and seclusion from the collapse of civil order. How to evaluate without increasing the risk to his family? How to judge the appropriate response in a given situation? He wished that weapons were not part of the equation. Weapons always escalated the potential for conflict as neither party could afford to ignore the risk of the other using their weapon.
Weapons inflicted a presumption of violence. During the descent into civil disorder and the melting of the rule of law, even police in major cities where training should have been superior lost sight of their role as protectors and peacekeepers, firing guns too hastily simply because they had ready access to a pistol or two on the hip and had become increasingly fearful of the public. Confronted by alleged criminals, even non-violent lawbreakers, many police resorted to maximum first strike advantage, shooting before arresting or charging a suspect. They demonstrated to society as a whole the effectiveness of killing first and questioning later. In all cases, the law enforcement officers claimed, as coached, to feel their lives threatened despite the suspect being unarmed and fleeing (conditions that will result in the arrest of a private citizen defending themselves with a firearm). Weapons clouded judgment and perspective, so how could Mack educate his family so that they protected each other without needless violence? Was such a goal achievable?
Mack picked up his notebook and began to make a list of situations and conditions that might trigger a concern for physical safety. He often thought better with a pen in his hand. Write the problem, write what is known about the problem, then brainstorm on paper possible solutions or options to avoid or resolve the problem. He had killed a lot of notebooks with his approach. Ideally, he would have liked to adopt a tactic of firing only if fired upon, but he knew that meant that one of them could be seriously, if not mortally, wounded before taking defensive action. What other line might they draw?
The sun danced through the pines with golden spears of light and mottled shadows on the still river. Mack stopped writing to scan the shoreline and woods. Morning brought renewal, a fresh day, a new beginning to the rest of the days ahead. He smiled at the quiet beauty around the boat and sighed. He could not, would not, resolve all of his concerns in the course of that dawn or that day. And that had to be okay because that is the way it was for them in that time and place.
“Susan, any coffee left?”
“Sure dear. Hand me your mug.” As she returned the mug up to the cockpit, she asked Mack, “You alright?”
“Yeah, just trying to sort out more issues than I should attempt at one time. Thanks. By the way, it’s a lovely day up here.”
Susan climbed the companionway steps and looked around before settling onto the bench beside Mack. “You’re right. It is beautiful. I hope none of us ever forget to appreciate these moments. I know we may face some troubled times, but we will always be on the water surrounded by nature, and that should outweigh our mundane concerns.”
“Be sure to remind us, especially me. I can get fixated on problems to solve a well as problems to anticipate. Please don’t let me forget to smell the proverbial roses.”
“I won’t. I promise. I love you and can see how hard this will be for you. Hopefully we will find a routine that works.”
“I love you too. We’ll find our way as long as we four work together.”
They hugged, each watchful over the other’s shoulder. “Who’d have thought our country could collapse in so many ways in such a short time?”
“Not me. Not within the course of barely a year. At least we have a starting point for the next chapter of our lives whatever may happen to the rest of the country or the world.” Mack sighed once more, tired but clinging to hope, to the positive, to solutions rather than tribulations. “So, what do we need to tackle today? What can we do to complete the organization of shipboard life for all of us? What can’t be finished by sunset, we’ll put on a list for later.”
Susan chuckled, “You and your lists.”
“Sorry, the only way I know to stay organized and keep track of more than my aging brain can remember on its own.”
“You’re not that old.”
“Maybe not, but I feel older than I did a decade ago. I’m lucid enough not to depend on my memory.”
“Okay, okay. Do we need to put one of the kids on watch while you and I go below?”
“Let’s see if Matty is up for it.”
Susan called to Matty in the forward cabin, “Matty, your choice. Wash breakfast dishes or take the morning watch.”
“Are you kidding? I despise washing eggs off plates. I’ll take the watch. Do I get the shotgun or the pistol?”
“Your decision. Which do you feel most comfortable with? We’re all right down here if anything arises, so maybe the pistol is more discreet.” Mack handed up the pistol and a pouch of ammo along with the binoculars.
“Can you hand me my book?”
“Sorry, Sweetie, that’s not a good habit. Reading bifurcates your attention. Now, if you want to draw or paint, your focus will be outward. Less distracting.”
“Well, I’m not really in the mood to draw or paint, but hand up my stuff just in case.”
“So, what are your responsibilities?”
“Daddy, you know I know how to stand watch.” With affectionate exasperation, Matty then recited sing-song, “Report anything that moves unless I can identify an animal source, any sound out of the ordinary, anything that seems out of place or remotely suspicious.” Then she smiled at her father.
Mack smiled back. His children were grown, but as with many parents, they would always be his little boy and little girl. He and Susan were proud of their maturity and independence and understood how odd it must feel to them to be back home living with their parents in their late twenties. But Matty and Andrew accepted the situation; the world as they knew it had changed, vanished. What had been normal and familiar no longer existed. Navigating the new world required self-reliance, collaboration when possible, and hopefully a community of trust. With limited options, many of their friends had also returned home to live with parents and form the nucleus of a reliable, interdependent community. These skills seemed to have been lost in the 21st century, but those who sought collaboration discovered the skills had merely been suppressed, closeted in storage like collectible trinkets gathering dust in a forgotten corner of an attic.
Rural families adjusted more easily than urbanites. Accustomed to self-sufficiency if not full sustenance agriculture, rural families knew how to adapt. Large gardens, hunting for their meat, doing without in lean times. People who grew up in the cities had cultured a dependence on the just-in-time delivery system where anything they wanted could be found at almost any hour of the day. The experience of planting small patio herbs and tomatoes did not translate well to the rigors of maintaining a garden. Size was one element, but the assault by wild animals was another. Rabbits cannot reach high rise balconies.
Luckily for the urbanites, new communities needed labor. Aging rural couples, widows, or widowers often needed the young backs that could work large gardens in the hot sun. The new needs provided a natural segue into a new collaboration, a basis to respect previously unskilled (or technology-focused) millennials, a foundation for a new community unimagined in the few decades preceding the collapse. Skinny jeans merged with overalls, tattoos with calluses. Appearances faded in the stark heat of working for food and shelter, friendship and safety.
Matty could hear the murmur of her family talking in the cabins below. She did not need to understand the sounds as words to be comforted by the assurance that she was not alone. Lifting the binoculars to her eyes, she searched the shoreline from the middle distance out toward the main river. A phosphate barge plowed into waves from a stiff north wind, the spray rising above the square bow and sweeping in a mist aft to the wheelhouse of its tug boat three barges back. Matty thought it odd that the phosphate mine continued to excavate its massive pit alongside the Pamlico River, then she reflected on the many uses of the mineral, not least of which was in explosives. Naturally, people were starving, but the national war machine must be fed. In regular times, the phosphate might be a key ingredient in fertilizer, but large-scale farming had ended with the failure of the supply chain.
With the binoculars snug to her face, she swept the shoreline to the west where a channel left South River for a cluster of fish houses with nets strung in the sun and crab pots stacked in orderly cubes. A couple of small crabbing rigs were tied to rough docks at the edge of the marsh, but Matty did not see any people moving around or any activity at all. The quiet was not peculiar enough to warrant her attention, but she was curious. She started a strategic analysis of what facts she could glean from her view. Was there a boat (or more) missing, out on the water elsewhere fishing, checking nets or crab pots? Had the place been abandoned? If so, what benefit might that be to her family? Were there unused lines or other gear that could be scrounged? She would not steal, but if the occupants had left for good, then everything else was up for grabs. If her family did not scavenge the site, someone else would. Simultaneously she noted to herself how weak that rationale was. Her parents had taught her that what is not yours is someone else’s; therefore, leave it alone. At least, that was the “rule” before the pandemic. Since the crumbling of the nation as a whole, survival surfaced as the driving force, and that required finding whatever you needed wherever you could find it. Unprotected, supplies might as well be piled in the “free to a good home” bin.
“Hey Dad,” Matty called below.
“What’s up?”
“D’ya think we could use a few crab pots?”
“Sure. The issue is where to store them. They consume a lot of space.”
“Yeah, but a couple would not take too much room, would they?”
“What are you thinking?”
“For one thing, crabbing is easy and passive, and all of us like crabmeat. But also, there is an old fish house toward the mouth of South River that has a whole stack of traps, and the place appears to be abandoned. There are lots of nets too.”
“Maybe we can check it out when we take the dinghy to Gator Cove. The nets might be easier to squeeze into an unused void. In the meantime, keep an eye on the place. You know I do not want to take what others need.”
“Okay. I’ll keep looking.”
“I know you know, but remember, don’t get fixated on one spot or location.”
“Aye, captain.” Even though Mack could not see her, he knew she was giving him a mock salute, her face skewed with sarcastic rebellion.
Mack turned to Susan. “Speaking of checking Gator Cove, I think I should take the dinghy over this morning. Then I’ll run across to that fish house and see what I can learn.”
“Are you going alone?” Mack could hear the apprehension rising in Susan’s voice.
“No, Matty can go with me, and we’ll travel with full gear.” “Full gear” was their family code for being armed. “Which reminds me. Overnight, I woke thinking about how it is time to maintain loaded weapons at all times. When that fisherman came down the river in his boat and I asked Andrew to load the shotgun, we were unarmed while he shucked the shells into the magazine and chamber. That could have been a critical delay. We need to be both vigilant to see trouble before it arrives and prepared so that we can act immediately if threatened.”
“I don’t like that, Mack. I don’t want loaded weapons on the boat when there is no threat.”
“Dear, we now live in a world where the threats are omnipresent. Near or far, actual or perceived, identified or not. The moment we are unready is when we create the greatest danger for ourselves. We can keep the chambers empty so long as the magazines are full. That mitigates the risk of accidental discharge to some degree. But the main rule is, as always, we treat every gun as loaded. Safety on. Never pointed at anything or anyone we do not intend to kill.”
“I know the rule. I just don’t want the risk in our home. Hell, I don’t want to accidentally shoot a hole in our hull.”
“Me neither, but the risk exists whether we choose it or not. It is either loaded guns or vulnerability to Merks, Marauders or MAGs.” Mack put his arms around Susan, “Look, I know this is a lot to accept in a short time. But the sooner we embrace the defensive changes, the sooner it becomes our norm, and we cease thinking about what is different from the way it used to be. I love you. I love our children. My nightmare is failing to protect you whether by being unprepared or inattentive.”
“I know. And I’m trying. I just never thought I would need to carry a weapon unless I was bird hunting. I cannot conceive of shooting at a person.”
“I know what you mean, but I also know that the Mama Bear inside you will not hesitate to shoot if one of your children is threatened by people who intend harm.”
Susan shook her head with grudging acceptance of what Mack said. She dreaded the day she might be faced with using a gun, but she knew it was unlikely to be a choice that she controlled. Mack kissed her forehead and gave a reassuring smile. “Maybe we need to make you a hat that reads ‘Mama Bear’.” Susan’s lips bent a reluctant grin as Mack chuckled.