Flotilla (33 page)

We couldn't use the Internet because Pacific Fisheries was monitoring network traffic. Stacy was trying to watch all the major social networking sites at once for news and information. We couldn't post our contact information like they did - it was driving me nuts. I doubt Mom and Dad would even begin to know how to find us again, much less get in contact without getting us into more trouble. Trying to pay attention to site is exhausting, though. Everyone has their own version of the story and you have to go to two or three places to get a complete picture. After a while the data starts to blend together and nothing makes sense.

We fell asleep again in the lounge that night. This time I was exhausted but I couldn't stop thinking about everything that was happening. My mind kept grinding over and over different problems. Eventually I dozed off, only to wake myself up from a dream I was having. In it, Dad and I were arguing about him leaving us on the boat. We kept going back and forth on why we needed him here and why he needed to go ashore. Madison finally started screaming at me to shut up and the last part of my dream I was saying in a weird groggy voice, "Let me just make one last point..."

I woke up on the floor of the lounge and Madison was awake, too. She was still on the couch but up on one arm looking at me. I took a moment while I sorted myself out of the dream - it was so real I wasn't sure exactly when I woke up.

"You were talking in your sleep," she said. "You said something about a final point."

I grunted wearily. "I'm sorry - I was arguing with Dad in my sleep."

I could see her grin in the darkness. "At least if you argue in your dreams you have a chance of winning," she said. I just smiled ... we both were too tired to laugh, or even chuckle. Siblings can make the funniest jokes to each other. Somehow, they're never quite as funny if you repeat them to other people. "Did you win the argument?"

"No," I replied. "At best it was a draw...you were telling me to shut up."

"Wow," she said. "Realistic."

We went back to sleep again - I woke up several times but managed to go back to sleep again. When I woke the last time, the sky was that grey color that comes in the predawn. We alternated between watching the TV, trying to sleep more and scarfing down any junk food we could find.

Madison and I were both dreading the phone call we had to make - Dad had told us to try calling on the second day. How was I supposed to get over there without getting snatched up? I found ways to avoid doing it until the afternoon. It must have taken me an hour to make my up there, watching every direction at once for problems.

That turned out to be a waste of time ... most the Security guys were gone. The ones that were left were guarding the ship and they ignored me. The
Phoenix
was a madhouse of activity: people were camped out on the deck of the ship or in the theatre where they were broadcasting news reports. The grocery store on the
Phoenix
was a complete shambles and some people were arguing violently over what was left. I had brought some money to snap up some chips or cookies but there was no hope of that. They were down to dented cans of olives by the time I arrived.

It took me a while to find the Colony Operations Office - I had never had a reason to visit before. It was a crummy room the size of a closet with stained blue carpet and ancient wood paneling. Inside, I found a very stressed-out lady screaming into the ship-to-shore radio phones. They were going back and forth about supplies and information. I guess the offices in Long Beach were being abandoned while the shore-based employees were being evacuated. What were we supposed to do? I hung around until a lull in the conversation appeared and then I waved to get her attention.

"Can I make a phone call?" I asked.

"Honey,
I
can't make a phone call," she replied. "Which boat are you with?"

"The
Horner C
," I said. "My dad - "

"I know, honey, I know," she said quickly, before I could cry or something. "The boat lift made it to shore and I'm sure your dad will be back with you before you know it."

"I just need to call my mom," I said. "My sister is worried-"

"All civilian traffic has been suspended," she cut me off again. "Don't you have a cell phone?"

"My dad did, but he left with it," I said. "He told us to see you."

"I don't know why he would have done that, we don't have public phone facilities."

"Well...I guess he thought it was an emergency."

"He
left you
with no one to take care of you?" she said incredulously, like she suddenly realized that a fifteen-year-old kid was asking for his father and mother. I hated the adults who didn't keep up with what I was saying.

"They had a draft," I said.

"He should have gotten out of it," she said, "or gotten someone to watch you." That made me think: could Dad have stayed and took this as a chance to jump ship on us? That made sense, especially after our fight. I started feeling angry toward him again but I put it aside to see about the phone call.

No dice. She blew off my argument quickly and mechanically like she had practiced it. I'm sure she'd already had enough people in there for her to practice on. I'm sure she could patch a call through for us but she wasn't having it. Maybe I could try again later. I spent a few more minutes, arguing with her and hoping she wouldn't find a way to have me drafted. Then I left to go back to the
Horner
.

Our current position is: 35deg20'10.25"N 120deg53'31.64"W

Miguel was gone but somebody needed to run the
Gun Range
. This was the worst crisis any of us had ever experienced but people still wanted the
Gun Range
for the TV and cold beer. Priorities, I guess. I had just reached the
Horner
after my trip the
Phoenix
and here was some middle-aged white lady on our back deck waiting for me. She stood up from the chair she was sitting on and tossed me a ring of keys.

I caught them and looked at her. What was this about? "We need to open up," she said, turning to leave.

"What?" I asked. She turned and looked at me with withering contempt, like I was a bug or something.

"The
Barco de Arma
...the
Gun Range
, you idiot," she snapped. "Get it open. We got customers."

Pause with me for a moment here: we had guys from Pac Fish occasionally sweeping the docks looking for people to draft. We had a national, maybe worldwide crisis that was
killing people
not 120 miles away. My Dad was gone, my mom and grandparents were dead ... maybe. Before he left, Dad was using me as his favorite verbal (and occasionally physical) punching bag. All that was going on, but now it didn't matter because this crazy lady showed up and I'm still an employee of the
Gun Range
.

It turns out that she was Miguel's wife. Where had she been all this time? She didn't think I was worth telling, apparently. Normally, I'd lose the keys and ignore her but Miguel was a friend and plus, he had Internet and a phone. Madison and I would start hanging out there and only going home to change clothes or sleep.

Even with the
Gun Range
being reopened, people were becoming increasingly ugly. Random guys would show up at the counter asking when the
Dixie Star
was going to be start again. I had to confess, I had no idea but nobody wanted to hear that. Pac Fish had used this emergency as an excuse to kill all access. Maybe they would have anyway ... the more conservative members of the colony were getting vocal about the
Dixie
being a 'den of vice'.

After my shift, I was puttering around the
Horner
and stretching out some hoses when the Bible Belt Lady appeared and had something she needed to speak with me about. I was surprised since we hadn't had anything to say since Dad introduced us on the first day of the summer. "She's from the buckle of the Bible Belt," Dad had explained. Her family arrived earlier this year and Dad had pointed out the Shakedown Boat with the crosses and vaguely Biblical phrases painted over the windows in white liquid shoe polish. After the introduction, Dad told me to avoid them unless I wanted a lecture. What did she want?

"It's about that den of vice your father is working in," she said, upset to the point of tears.

"Den of vice?" I asked. I wasn't trying to be smart...what did that mean?

"That's right," my self-appointed conscience said. The charm of her Missour-ah accent was blunted by the trailer-trash lecture she was giving me. "That place is an abomination to our community and no self-respecting parent (she was looking right at me when she said it) would let their kids go work on there!"

"Well, good," I said. "The
Gun Range
sells beer but I don't drink it."

"I'm talking about the casino ... the
Dixie
Whatever!"

"Dad works on the
Dixie
but I don't," I replied. "He doesn't let me come aboard."

"Why couldn't ya'll have something like Branson?"

"Branson?"

"Branson, Missouri," she said. "They had all you wanted out of Las Vegas except for the gambling and the nekkid girls." I wasn't sure how to respond to that ... I always want to crack up when someone says 'nekkid' instead of 'naked'.

I know she was probably trying to pressure me into convincing Dad to give up the casino when (or if) he returned but that wasn't going to happen. Dad would give me and Madison up before he gave up such a cherry gig. Who was she to suddenly start giving me all this advice, anyway? I was suddenly in charge of commentary on how Dad lived his life? Go take it up with him, not me! I was working myself into a towering rage of self-righteous hate at this crazy bag when someone joined the conversation.

"So in other words, they had everything you wanted out of Vegas except for everything you wanted out of Vegas," a voice said from over my right shoulder.

I saw the little wheels turning behind her eyes and she recoiled in outrage. I didn't even have to turn my head, I knew who it was. The
clink
of a Zippo and the smell of an unfiltered Camel simply confirmed it.

"I was talkin'-" she began.

"I know," Trash Man said in a soothing voice. "But right now, Jim and I need to talk about how we're going to keep vice and other bad stuff out of the Colony. There's a committee being formed, you know."

"A committee?"

"Oh, yeah," Trash said, pointing back toward the
Phoenix
. "Go on up to the main office and ask about it. They'd be glad to have you as a member." Her eyes lit up and she muttered a 'thanks'. Then, she started to quickly shuffle off as fast as her shower shoes would allow her on that wet dock. Trash tasted his smoke and squinted toward the horizon, watching her go. "That'll keep her busy," he said finally.

"Thanks," I said warily. I was happy to get away from that crazy broad but what did he want?

"It was nothing," he said. "This gives us a good chance to get acquainted. How's your Dad? I was sorry to see him go."

Trust the old fool to say something to get me upset. Of course we were freaked out since he left and every passing minute added to the tension. We were ending the third day after everyone left. No word from Dad, Mom, my grandparents or anyone and we were pulling our hair out. The news wasn't getting better as things really started to let go on the mainland. Madison and me ... we wanted to be heading for shore even if we had to do it pulling the docks behind us. We wanted our Dad back, we
WANTED OUR DAD BACK
. I wanted to scream it in Trash Man's face. Why was that so hard to understand?

He was waiting for me to say something. When I let a few minutes go by, he goes: "So, nothing?"

"No," I said glumly.