Apocalypse Drift (42 page)
Morgan, along with several other boaters, waited anxiously for the wayward explorers. Wyatt noticed his wife’s st
ance - crisscrossed arms, steel-rod-straight posture, and an expression that said, “What have you done to my child?” When Sage and David strolled into the clearing, the protective lioness was relieved to see her cubs, a whisper of a smile touching her lips.
After tending and fussing over Sage’s scrapes and cuts, Morgan went looking for Wyatt.
“So, I heard Sage’s side of the story, now I want to hear yours. Did you really let her go walking through a snake-invested forest alone?”
Wyatt was a little taken aback by his wife’s aggression. “
Ummm…well…I completely missed the “Posted: Snake-Infested Forest Ahead” warning signs. I didn’t realize there were any snakes.”
Morgan’s finger became a pointing device. “Oh, that’s right. You only were worried about alligators.”
Wyatt shook his head, “Morgan, up until that point, I hadn’t seen anything more dangerous on this island than a sand flea. Still, I asked her to stay with me, but she’s got this independence thing going on and would have none of it.”
“Why did you take a gun along if this is such a tranquil place?”
“Ummm…I don’t know. I guess I felt it was better safe than sorry.”
Morgan stepped in a little closer to him, almost in his face. “It would be greatly appreciated if you took that same attitude with your children.”
She started to turn away, but Wyatt stopped her. “Now just a minute, Morgan. That’s not fair…not fair at all. What am I supposed to do? She wants to be little Miss Independent and hates me if I treat her like a child. When I let her have her way, then you’re mad at me. I can’t win.”
Morgan spun back to face Wyatt, her tone on edge.
“Since when does fair have anything to do with it, Wyatt? Where is it written that parenting involves winning?”
Wyatt could feel a domestic disturbance coming on. Arguments were rare with Morgan, but did occur. Such disagreements always involved the children, it seemed. He stood for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts and calm emotions. Morgan seemed to sense his feelings, and her voice and expression suddenly changed. She looked down at her feet, shaking her head slowly.
“I’m sorry, Wyatt. I shouldn’t be so upset. It’s seems like I’ve been losing everything lately. It’s more than just our home and all our stuff. My world has suddenly disappeared. The kids are one of my few anchors with reality. They’re my tether to our past, and my link to the future.”
Wyatt’s blood pressure went down several notches, and he felt the muscles in his back relax. He nodded his understanding while saying, “I understand, Morgan…
believe me, I understand.”
Morgan stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her husband. “You’ll forgive me if I’m a little overprotective?”
Wyatt returned the embrace. “I think we’re all going to find ourselves forgiving others a lot more often.”
After the excitement of the snake attack subsided, the exploration of the island was begun anew. The teams regrouped and marched toward their designated sections, everyone paying a lot more attention to the ground. David and Todd were assigned to scout the beach.
The island was a long, thin piece of land. A sandy path led from Army Hole directly to the gulf, a walk of slightly more than a mile. The duo’s mood was solemn after the incident with David’s sister, Todd wisely remaining unobtrusive, allowing time for the adrenaline rush to subside.
They had walked several
hundred yards when the path intersected a very unusual sight. Stretching as far as the eye could see to their right was a long, broad slab of concrete. Looking like a superhighway extending through the middle of a deserted island, the visual effect was so stunning the two explorers couldn’t help but stop and stare.
“Wow, that’s awesome!” exclaimed Todd. “I didn’t think it would look like that.”
“I know. That’s huge,” answered David.
The pair was gawking at one of the runways constructed for the Army Air Corps during World War II. Matagorda Island had been converted into a training station and used as a practice area for bombing runs. David knew from the charts and guidebooks that in fact, part of the island further south was severely cratered from the blasts.
While weeds sprouted through the seams and cracks, the expanse was still impressive. Built to handle the huge B-29 Superfortress aircraft, the wide lanes of concrete were 8,000 feet long. David commented, “It’s kind of spooky in a way…almost haunted. There was so much activity here at one time – now there’s nothing.”
After a few minutes of fascination, the two continued down the path toward the ocean. Whiffs of salt air manifested themselves as the two negotiated waist high sand dunes crowned with sea oats and cord weed. Before long, they could hear the surf tumbling onto the beach, and then they were there.
Matagorda State Park was described in the tour guides as having one of the last untouched beaches along the Gulf coast. Given the remote location of the isle, humans rarely visited the park. The first thing both of the guys noticed was the seaborne litter dotting the yellow-white sand.
Unlike the pristine shorelines often visited on vacations, Matagorda’s sand was cluttere
d with debris. Some of the refuse was natural, some manmade. Driftwood, vegetation, seashells, and dead jellyfish littered the sand. Even though they might be hundreds, if not thousands of miles away, people had left their mark here as well. Plastic bottles, fishing line, garbage and other discarded remnants of civilization could be spotted along the coast.
The pair automatically headed for the water, crossing a flat beach area that was over 100 yards wide. Todd was the first to pull off his shoes and wade in knee deep. He didn’t stay long, “Oh! Wow! That’s cold.”
David laughed, “It won’t be for long. Another month or two, and it will be like bath water.”
They decided to hike south for a while, mainly to see if anything significant had washed ashore. David kept an eye out for footprints while they were walking.
They soon noticed another difference with this place. Larger, more colorful varieties of seashells were lying around. Unlike public beaches, there weren’t any people combing the sand for souvenirs or retirees with metal detectors seeking treasure. David also noted the amount of driftwood and scrap lumber scattered about. The potential fuel source might be important.
After following the water’s edge for 20 minutes, the duo decided to cut inland and return with their report. Before long, they were crossing the runway again, and this time they
could see the outlines of hangars to the south. Another team was supposed to be scouting this area, but the guys decided to go explore just a little more before heading back.
As they approached what was once the main operations area of the old airfield, the amount of land covered in concrete grew exponentially. Taxiways, ramps, and parking areas constructed to handle dozens of large aircraft spread far and wide across the island. It was an eerie, almost apocalyptic landscape
with the skeletons of old hangars bordering the paved surfaces. The hefty buildings had mostly collapsed from lack of upkeep and the occasional hurricane that swept the area. Rusted steel beams rose skyward, some several stories tall. Large sections of roof had collapsed or been blown away. Rotted shreds of wood and sheared strands of red rebar poked out of random piles of rubble, mimicking the shape of sea grass strands poking out of small sand dunes. The whole place reminded them of a Hollywood movie set – one constructed for a film about the end of the world.
It dawned on David why the airfield felt so eerie; it was
the disconnect between the scene that lay before them and the hush that surrounded it. Other than a mild breeze lightly stirring the dunes and the drifting sounds of passing seabirds, this place was absolutely silent. He tried to think of somewhere else that had mammoth structures of iron and concrete but were without sound. He couldn’t come up with anything.
That’s what it is
, he thought.
My brain is used to engines, horns, people and machines whenever I’m next to manmade structures this large. There isn’t any of that, and it’s messing with my head.
Todd’s voice was low, respecting the ghosts. “This looks like those pictures of German cities after the bombers hit them.”
David nodded, his tone trying to sound mature and calm to the younger man. “Yeah, but this is just nature reclaiming what is really hers. This is just neglect and lack of maintenance. I’m actually surprised there’s this much left after all these years.”
After walking through a few of the more complete structures and finding nothing of interest, they decided to head back to the boats. David turned, glancing back at the site one last time. He hoped the cities back in the real world didn’t look this bad.
Something woke Wyatt, and he was confused for a moment about what or who had been so rude as to interrupt his dream. He lifted his head off of the pillow and stared into the darkness that filled the inside of Boxer’s main salon. Evidently, David heard it as well because the door to the rear cabin slid open, and his son strolled out into the night air, carrying the rifle.
“David,” he whispered.
“Any idea what that was?”
The cabin’s nightlights illuminated his son enough to see him shrug his shoulders while mouthing the words, “No idea.” David motioned that he was going up to the deck and check things out. Wyatt swung his legs over the edge of the berth and slipped on his shorts. The shotgun in his hands comforted him as he followed his son up the steps.
As soon as David opened the sliding glass door, both men could hear voices. The first one they made out was female. “I’m telling you it was a bear! There were two of them on the boat. Not big bears, but still, they scared the crap out of me.”
A man’s voice responded, “There aren’t any bears on this island, honey. Are you sure?”
David looked at Wyatt and mouthed the question, “Bears?”
Before Wyatt could answer, the woman’s voice shouted, “Look! Look! Over on that boat! There they are!”
The blast of a weapon sounded next, instantly followed by the report of a second shot.
David moved quickly, heading toward the ruckus. Since the boats were all rafted together, passing from one vessel to another required caution. Wyatt was trying to follow, but couldn’t keep up. A third shot ripped through the air just as David made it to the cruiser where all the fuss had started. Wyatt was
taking his time to avoid falling overboard into the cold water.
Throughout Crusoe, lights were coming on, quickly followed by people sticking their heads out and asking what was going on. Wyatt, trying to reach the vessel under
siege from the local wildlife, was stunned when David shouldered his rifle and fired a shot.
This must be serious
, he thought.
He heard David say, “I think I got that one.” The woman screeched again, “There’s another one over
there.” David shouldered his rifle and let loose another blast.
Wyatt was still two boats away, carefully hop
ping from swim platform to transom, desperately trying to avoid a midnight swim. Up ahead, he could see his son standing beside a man and woman, all three of them desperately peering into the night like an invading army was attacking their boat.
“What are we shooting,” Wyatt asked when he finally climbed aboard.
