Chapter Eleven
The days wore on, one seamlessly melting into the next. The isolation of the church's enclave was complete, with the exception of Martin's visits to the yacht. Supplies were dwindling rapidly and it was left to Martin to gather what food he could. Each morning Martin cast off from the little beach and made his way across the bay. The weather determined the menu. On calm days Martin could venture out onto the flats. Here he caught trout and redfish. He gathered oysters and clams and crabs. When the wind was blowing and the bay became angry he was forced to cling to the calmer waters protected by mangroves or he fished in the sheltered creeks. These areas produced sailor's choice, sheep head, snook and stone crab. Each evening the little band, thrown together by fate, enjoyed the day's meal and each other's company.
"Bruce these Stone Crab claws are delicious! It's my understanding that you are only allowed to harvest one claw per crab. I hope that you obeyed the law!" chuckled the old priest.
"Oh definitely", smirked Martin. Leah giggled.
"Father", she said, "I believe that starvation trumps the law."
"Definitely" injected Father Gonzalez as he poured water into his glass.
Suddenly two very large explosions shook the ground and rattled the little cabin's windows.
"What was that?" exclaimed Martin as he jumped to his feet. Leah rose slowly.
"It came from that direction" said Leah pointing.
"That's the airport" said Father Gonzalez.
The friends sat listening intently when an eruption of small arms fire exploded around their sanctuary. Martin doused the fire.
"I think that we should all get back to our places" said Father Ryan.
The next morning as Martin dragged his kayak down to the water he met Father Gonzalez pushing a wheelbarrow loaded with three buckets of water.
"Morning' Bruce", he called cheerily. Here's your water for the day. Think you'll have any luck today?"
"Hope so", replied Martin.
"Well. I found some macaroni in the pantry so I'm gonna make macaroni salad for tonight" said the priest, his voice hinting at a trace of pride in his resourcefulness.
Martin responded somewhat distracted as he surveyed the bay, "Cool. The water is pretty glassy, feel like some more crab? I know where there are a lot of Blue Crabs. That would go nicely with some pasta, huh?"
"Excellent Bruce! Looking forward to it. Sad really isn't it?"
"What's that Father?"
"That we have nothing else to look forward to in our isolation except some meager meal."
"I think that perhaps these are the end days Father. I mean who would have ever thought that it would come to this?"
"Pray, my son, pray. I'll set your water in the kitchen for you", said the priest as he continued on the little shell path, water sloshing out of the buckets as the wheelbarrow bounced along.
"Thanks Father!" Martin cried as he hopped into the kayak and began paddling off across the mirror like bay. The sky was hidden behind a veil of high clouds, marbled in varying shades of gray. The absence of the sun meant an absence of a glare upon the water, making it easier to spot fish below the surface. Martin came upon his favorite flats and began fishing. It wasn't long before he had a fish on the end of his line. As he reeled his catch in he saw it was a large Ladyfish, flashing its silver flanks even in the subdued light of an overcast day. "Crap" he said as he continued to bring the inedible fish in. Suddenly, from Martin's right there was a rushing of water and a large dark shape shot past the kayak. There was a hard pull on the line but only for an instant. A shark had rushed in and sliced the struggling fish in half. Martin was at first amazed and then a little worried as the attack happened so quickly that Martin was not sure just how large the beast was and Martin sat very low in the water. The dorsal fin broke the water a few yards in front of the vessel. From the dorsal fin and the eddies created by the tail, a couple of feet behind the dorsal fin, Martin estimated the shark to be around four or five feet long. His mind went back to his youth when his uncle would take him and his cousins shark fishing at Sebastian Inlet. He recalled how the shark meat was unlike any other fish he had ever tasted and that it had no bones, allowing his uncle to cut the flesh into steaks. An idea began to form in Martin's mind. If he could pull it off, they would eat like kings tonight. Martin reeled in what was left of the lady fish and snatched his tackle box from between his legs. He twisted three wire leaders together and taped them up and down their length with some electrical tape that was, for some unknown reason, in the bottom of his tackle box. He then placed a large and rusty treble hook on the leaders. He hooked the Ladyfish on and began searching for the shark. He could no longer see it. Just as he was giving up hope a school of mullet exploded across the flats. Martin still did not see the shark but he surmised that it was the cause of the mullet's panic. He slowly and gently paddled his boat nearer to the sight of the commotion and cast out to where the water was still frothy from the rush of fish. He waited for some ten minutes before reeling it back in. Half way back to the boats it felt as if he had become snagged on something. He pulled hard and the pole double over but he could not free the line. He pulled again and then, much to his delight, the line began paying out and causing the reel to buzz as it spun faster and faster. It wasn't long before Martin began to worry that all of the line would be pulled off of the reel. He pulled as hard as he dared, for fear of breaking the line, and reeled in twenty feet before he lost thirty again. It went on like this for over an hour. First the shark would peel line off of the reel and Martin would retrieve most of it before it paid out again. Eventually an exhausted Martin had an exhausted and very angry Black Tip shark alongside his kayak. Martin was wondering how he would kill the shark when he remembered that he carried the pistol given to him by Robbie. He fired one shot into the shark's head and tied it to the back of his boat and headed towards shore busting with pride.
It took Martin a couple of hours to clean the shark. He cooked it over orange wood. When the others arrived for the nightly ritual of dinner and Martin told them the story of his battle with the shark, they were astonished.
"Bruce, this is the best fish I have ever had!" declared Leah.
"I second that!" concurred Father Ryan.
"Thanks, but it's probably because we are all half-starved", responded Martin.
The friends were startled by three loud explosions in quick succession to one another.
"What was that?" asked an obviously anxious Leah.
"Dunno", countered Father Ryan, "It came from the direction of the airport."
The explosions were quickly followed by a chorus of small arms fire. The friends sat around the fire silently listening as the gun fire slowly spread around the surrounding city.
"I wonder what this is all about." Martin said as much to himself as anyone else. The familiar thumping sound of approaching helicopters prompted Martin to toss a bucket of sand on the fire. The group watched as several white helicopters flew low over the bay in the direction of the city.
"I think that we had all better retire for the night. Something is obviously going on. Are you going to be alright out here all alone Bruce? You're welcome to come to my place if you like", offered Father Ryan.
"Thanks but I'll be OK it was a busy day so I think I'll just turn in. Maybe after a few hours of sleep I'll wake up in my old apartment and this whole nightmare will be over", quipped Martin. The priest smiled at him as he patted him on the back. Martin watched as his friends filed down the path along the bay.
The next morning Martin, having taken his boat out and secured the evening's meal, paddled back towards the yacht of the banker. He could see the man sitting on the stern.
"Morning!" called Martin. But the man just sat there staring down into the cabin. "You alright?" Martin asked. The man slowly turned and looked at Martin. At first he seemed not to even comprehend that somebody was speaking to him. But then, as though waking from a dream, the man slowly came to his senses. The former executive disp
layed none of the self-assurance of the previous days. His hair was disheveled and he appeared to be exhausted. The man kept fidgeting with something in his hands unseen by Martin. The man spoke, devoid of any emotion, all the while staring down into the cabin.
"She's dead."
"What?" Martin inquired, not sure of what was going on.
"My wife, she's dead. She wasn't feeling well yesterday. Last night she got really sick and had trouble breathing. This morning she died. It's the flu." Martin sat in his little kayak bobbing next to the large white hull of the yacht. Bracing his eyes against the glare Martin asked, "Can I help you in any way? Do you need anything?" The banker just shook his head. "Don't just sit here all alone. I know some priest. Come ashore with me", as Martin spoke his mind couldn't believe that his heart had taken command of his voice. There was something of a logical panic stirring in his mind's recesses as he heard the words that he spoke. The man obviously had been exposed to the flu. If he came ashore with him and brought the body of his deceased wife they would all surely catch the virus but what was he to do? He could not leave the man sitting there alone with the corpse of his wife.
"Go now. Please go and leave me alone."
"Isn't there anybody else? Can I try and contact somebody for you?"
"My daughter and her family are gone; they are on their way to the southern Bahamas. They came by three days ago to say good bye. I'm sure they all are sick too." Then the man stood up suddenly. Martin was alarmed to see that he was holding a pistol. He started waving his arms and as he spoke his voice cracked under the enormous grief that he carried.
"My family is all dying or dead! The whole damn country is falling apart! The whole world has lost its mind, this is the end! My God where are you? What have you done?" The man fell back onto the bench on the transom as his voice drifted off into sobs. "What have you done?" The man resumed his previous posture leaning forward onto his knees and staring down into the cabin. Once again his voice was devoid of emotion as he asked Martin to leave.
Not knowing what else to do Martin reluctantly paddled away from the yacht. "I'm going to go get help! Don't do anything stupid, I'll be back in just a little bit!" Martin called over his shoulder. He dug his paddles deep into the chilly waters as he sped his little craft as quickly as he could back towards his little beach. Then his stomach lurched as he heard a loud pop. He stopped and looked back at the yacht. The man could not be seen. For a moment Martin contemplated going back. He soon came to the conclusion that it was futile. The man was either dead or dying. There were no hospitals, no doctors to save him. The man wanted to join his wife in death. Martin began to wonder if that was not such a bad thing in the current state of the world. Slowly he paddled back towards his sanctuary and for the first time in a few weeks the violence and despair of the world had come back to him. Martin wondered how it would all end. Would it ever end?
Reaching his beach Martin pulled his boat up onto the beach and tied it off to a little mangrove tree that he always used to secure his boat. He hauled out a cooler full of protesting crabs. He noticed that the weather was changing. Low gray clouds were torn by a cold north wind. Martin stood beside his little craft deep in thought and greatly disturbed over the suicide of the man when the familiar deep thumping sound of helicopters jarred him from his dark thoughts. Five white helicopters flew low over the bay towards the beach. The aircraft had barely disappeared behind the tree line when a barrage of gunfire erupted. A loud explosion and a fireball rose over the tree. Martin made haste towards the cabin. After dinner that night a driving rain arrived. Martin started a fire and sat in the rocker staring into the fire as he used to gaze at his T.V. in the previous times. He wondered what was going on beyond the relative safety of the old coquina walls. The U.N now seemed to be in the U.S. and playing a malevolent role. Martin went out onto the porch and watched the raging storm gather itself. The only sound was that of a driving rain and a cold howling wind. The bay was whipped into a tempest. Martin noted that he had not seen it this angry before. Suddenly a sick feeling swept over him. The kayak! "Damn it!" cried Martin as he leapt off the porch and dashed out into the storm. He raced along the path, his bare feet splashing in chilled puddles. Arriving at the spot where the kayak had been he saw that it was no longer there.
"Son of a bitch!" he screamed, spinning in a circle and thrashing at the air in a display of complete frustration and anger. Not only was the kayak gone but so was the little tree and several feet of shoreline, so fierce was the storm's fury. Martin raced up and down the beach; pulling his pants up as the weight of the water they were absorbing pulled them down. Not finding the boat he sank onto a log and sat in the pouring rain dejected and despairing. After several minutes of sitting in the maelstrom Martin eventually returned to the warmth of his little bungalow. Stripping off his wet clothes he slid into his bed. There he remained for the whole of the next day, depressed and listening as the storm continue outside.
The next morning the storm was over and left in its wake a topaz sky. Martin lay in bed gathering the motivation to rise when he heard voices from the woods just behind the little cottage. He leapt from his bed and peered out the dirty window just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of two men moving quickly through the dense undergrowth. He retrieved the pistol from the closet and slipping it into his waistband he ran out onto the front porch, hoping that the men would continue on past the cabin. Standing there on the front porch his senses were heightened. He strained to hear anything. He was startled when a young man walked around the corner holding an armful of broken branches. The young man was also startled at the sight of Martin.
"We were just gathering firewood"
Martin said nothing but only stared at the young man. He was angry that the sanctity of his sanctuary was violated by the stranger when yet another young man stepped around the corner. This man, however carried himself very differently than the first. Martin innately perceived his body language as a threat. Martin's anger grew within him.
"You're trespassing'" said Martin.
"That so?" responded the second man. The man stepped up onto the porch where Martin stood and walked passed him, defiantly staring at Martin as he casually walked into Martin's cabin. The anger was now a rage boiling within Martin. Martin glanced at the first young man who stood there, obviously surprised by his friends actions. He began to glance around nervously before calling out to his friend, "C'mon Calvin! Whatcha doin' man? Let's get the hell outta here."
Calvin walked back out onto the porch. "Hell no Denny! This is a sweet setup man! C'mon in man and check this shit out."
Martin spoke, barely able to control his rage. "Get the hell out of my house."
"Your house? Yo ain't you heard boy? It's the fittest survive and your lil white ass ain't gonna do shit!" responded Calvin as he pushed Martin down the steps of the porch.
"What the hell you doin Calvin? You lost your damn mind?" cried Denny.
"Denny, shut up!" demanded Calvin. "Whata you all scared about? This candy assed white boy ain't gonna do shit!"
Without thought Martin pulled the pistol out of his waistband and fired a single shot into Calvin's chest. Calvin stood for a moment stunned and looked down at his chest in shock. He looked up at Martin in disbelief. Denny leapt up onto the porch, hand raised in surrender.
"C'mon Mister, we're out of here."
"You get the hell off of my land and if you come back again I'll kill you" said Martin in a deep, measured and menacing voice. Denny help the crumpled Calvin down off of the porch and they disappeared back into the woods from which they had appeared. Martin dashed back into the cabin. He bolted the door and fell onto the couch. "Oh my God", he repeated over and over. He stood and paced back and forth, sick to his stomach. He did this for the entire day. When darkness came he feared starting a fire or turning on his lantern for fear of broadcasting his location to anyone who may be seeking retribution. He went back into his room and slid down the wall under the window so that nobody could attac
k him from the window. He sat there, pistol on his lap and emotionally drained until he eventually drifted off to sleep. The next day he awoke, stiff and sore but elated that there had been no retribution. Martin rose and gazed into the woods, watching and listening for indications of anybody in there. Satisfied that he was safe he walked out onto the front porch. There on the grass in front of his little cottage was a stark reminder of the horrors of yesterday. It was the piles of wood that the intruders had dropped. Martin picked up the wood and tossed it into the woods, ridding his sanctuary of any indications of the shooting. Staring off across the bay it occurred to him that none of his friends had come by last night. So Martin set off down the trail towards the parsonage. Wandering along the path he noticed that many of the boats had left the bay. Arriving at Leah's door he knocked. There was no answer so he knocked again. Sister Loretta's door opened and the nun stepped out. For the first time she did not wear a habit. Martin was struck by her form without the concealing and flowing habit. The good sister was a big woman. She was as tall as Martin and very masculine in her build. She had a thick head of gray hair pulled back into a pony tail. "Leah is getting water with Father Gonzalez" said the nun.
"Oh, I was just concerned because nobody came by last night", Martin explained.
"We didn't want to expose you. You see God has delivered a sick child to us. A young woman who was orphaned by the flu. Unfortunately she is very ill with the flu. Father Ryan found her unconscious at the sanctuary's front door. We were working in shifts since the night before. Pray for her Bruce, she is deathly ill."
The first thought that passed through Martin's mind was a reflex of the old Bruce Martin, they must be insane to bring a sick kid into the church, and they would all get the flu now. But just as quickly as the self-absorbed thought entered his mind it was replaced by the full knowledge that as a human, a Christian and a fellow American, there was no other alternative. After all, you could not leave a sick child to die alone on the steps of God's house. Martin nodded and assured the nun that he would continue to forage for food for the group. Then he had a very lonely stroll back to his cabin. Along the way he heard only the chatter of waves upon the bay, the song of a Mockingbird and the cry of a gull. The clanging of the empty flag pole brought back memories of that cold night when he and Leah were saved by the good Father. He made up his mind right then and there that he would do whatever would be necessary to help his friends, even if it cost him his life. The new resolution put a little spring back into his step and he retrieved his pistol and wandered into the woods to see what he could shoot for dinner.