Pilgrimage: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Story Page 4

  She looked down along the length of the tower. The water was a good ten feet below the flood line on the tower’s exterior. A collection of tangled branches was stuck against the side of the tower, likely grounded underneath the surface.

  And trapped within those branches, another miracle. Two miracles.

  Leigh twisted her body to look up toward the roof of the tower. “Rock!” she called, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Come here! You’ve got to see this!”

  CHAPTER 9

  EVENT +2:15 Hours

  Peaks Island, Maine

  The kayaks appeared to be in good shape. Both of them were stuck, side by side, in the branches scratching up and down against the concrete tower. A third kayak was barely visible, one curved end of it peeking above the water. Even more miraculous than Leigh’s discovery was that both of the salvageable kayaks were two-seaters. And both had paddles strapped to them.

  “They must be from that rental place we passed,” James reasoned. “I think these’ll work.”

  “How do we get down to them?” Leigh looked at the growing distance between the window and the water’s surface and then back at her husband. “We can’t risk jumping that far. Especially since there’s so much junk in the water.”

  “I’ve got a rope,” James reminded his wife. “Actually, we have two of them. The packs each have a hundred-foot paracord in them. They can handle plenty of weight.”

  “That’s fine for Max, you, and me.” Leigh glanced over at her daughter, still asleep. “But I don’t know about munchkin over there. How is she going to Army Ranger her way down a rope into a floating kayak?”

  James bit his lip and shrugged. “I’ll carry her on my back.”

  “Right.”

  “Seriously.” James’s brow furrowed. He was bothered by his wife’s lack of faith. “I’ll go down and secure the kayaks, make sure they’re not taking on water. Then Max comes down and gets into one of them. You follow. Then I climb back up and get her.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “The option, then”—James wasn’t in the mood for a debate—“is staying here. We have enough cliff bars, water, and electrolyte packets to last us three days. That’s it. Your call.”

  Leigh sighed. “You’re right. The water is only going to recede more. We’re better to risk it now.”

  “Good.” James nodded. “I need your help.”

  Together they fastened one of the paracords to a rust-covered rebar handle sticking out of the interior concrete wall and strung it out the window. Leigh held the second cord in her hands. They’d use that for the kayaks once James was on board one of them.

  “This should hold me, no problem,” he told his wife and son and climbed onto the windowsill. He looped the cord loosely through one hand and backed through the opening, almost sitting on the exterior wall, and used his feet to walk himself backwards down the length of the tower. He felt the give in the cord as he inched backward. The back of his leg tinged with pain as he pressed his extended leg with each step.

  “You okay?” Max called from the opening.

  “I’m good.” James looked up and smiled at his son. “No problem.” He walked another few steps and checked over his shoulder. He was just a few feet from the tangled mess of branches at the edge of the tower.

  James regripped the cord tightly with both hands and freed his left foot from the wall. Dangling his foot just above the water, he was able to toe one of the kayaks closer to him. He pushed with his right foot and jumped the short distance to the kayak, landing face first onto the neon green fiberglass. His weight shifted as he tried to maintain his grip on the kayak, but it tipped and he slid into the water.

  The current was surprisingly strong under the surface. He could feel the debris slipping past his legs. His wound screamed with pain, but he maintained a hold on the kayak with one hand. James held his head above water, knowing that if he slipped underneath the surface and lost his grip, the ebb would carry him quickly away from the tower.

  “Dad!” Max called. “You okay? Do you need me?”

  “I’m good,” James grunted, swinging his other arm out of the water to find a grip on the kayak. He pulled himself up slowly, trying not to capsize the fourteen-foot watercraft. It cooperated and he slid into the rear cockpit seat.

  James looked back up at the window, some fifteen feet above the water. His wife managed a weak smile. Max gave him the thumbs-up with both hands.

  “Toss me the other cord,” he called up and Leigh threw one end of the paracord at her husband. She held the other end. James thanked her and then looped the cord through the small opening in the seat back in the front cockpit. Using a sailor’s figure-eight knot, he secured the kayak temporarily.

  Reaching out to his left, he grabbed onto a thick, leafless branch, and pulled his kayak toward the other. It was only a few feet away on the other side of the debris web.

  “Be careful,” Leigh yelled down to her husband. “Don’t tip.”

  “Thanks.” James waved up to his wife and winked. “I’ll try to stay upright.”

  He gave the branch another tug and floated close enough to reach one of the paddles attached to the kayak at its stern. But the paddle slipped from the kayak, he lost his grip, and the long oar floated away from him. It was lost.

  James cursed under his breath and, using a paddle aboard his kayak, swung the vessel around the other side of the debris, working to avoid catching the attached paracord in the sharp, broken branches reaching above the surface.

  A small current caught the kayak and shoved James away from the debris, but he paddled against the ebb and worked his way close enough to the other kayak to reach out with his paddle and stab at it. He caught the front cockpit and yanked, freeing the other kayak from the debris. Quickly, he dug against the other kayak, bringing it to the side of his kayak. Still holding the paddle in one hand, he reached out with the other and grabbed the side of the front cockpit.

  He reattached his paddle to its onboard mooring and loosened the paracord on his kayak. He pulled on the slack, giving him enough length to run the cord through a seat back on the other kayak. With the two side by side, he climbed into the second kayak and tied another figure-eight knot. Now they were secure.

  “Walk back,” he called up to Leigh, “and pull on the cord! Get Max to help you!”

  Leigh waved an acknowledgement and backed away from the window. The cord tightened, the slack disappearing, and slowly the kayaks moved toward the tower wall. James used his hands to manipulate the cord around the protruding debris until the kayaks were safely moored at the wall.

  “Toss down the packs first.” James stood in the cockpit, his feet spread into the narrow gaps between the edges of the seat and the frame of the kayak. “I’ll catch them one at a time.” He balanced himself against the tower wall with his hand, ready for the first bag.

  “Here it comes.” Leigh held the pack away from the wall and dropped it.

  James let go of the wall and caught the pack with both hands. He wobbled and almost fell over, but caught himself and put the pack into the front cockpit.

  Leigh tossed the second pack and James had no trouble with it. He slung it into the other kayak and then readied himself for Max.

  “All right,” James said. “Son, it’s your turn.” James steadied himself against the wall and held the climbing cord loosely at his waist. “I’m going to suggest that once you clear the window, you slide down hand over hand. Wrap your legs around the cord. Don’t use the wall like I did.”

  Max nodded and grabbed onto the cord. He pushed himself from the window and did what his dad suggested. He reached the kayak without any problems.

  “Okay.” James patted his son on the back. “I want you in the front of the other kayak. Get in the front, put your mom’s pack on your back, and then wait for your mom.”

  Max did as he was told. It was time for Leigh.

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t get Sloane down first, somehow?” She was leaning out of
the opening. “I don’t want to leave her up here by herself.”

  “She’ll be fine,” replied James. “Plus, I’d rather leave her up there alone than have Max out here by himself.”

  “Good point,” she said and climbed out onto the window ledge. “I woke her up and told her you’d be back to get her. She seems okay with it.”

  “Come down the same way Max did,” James instructed. “It’s easier than the way I did it.”

  Leigh wrapped her legs around the cord and then grabbed with both hands. She took a deep breath and dropped from the window, bouncing slightly from the give in the nylon cord. She slid down, hand over hand, wincing each time her wrapped wrist bore any weight, and made it to her husband.

  “You’re in the kayak with Max,” James told her. “He’s got your pack. I’ll give you one of my paddles. That way each of you have one. As soon as I get back down, you’ll move over.”

  “Okay.” She wrapped her arms around James’s neck. “Be careful.”

  James kissed her on the cheek and grabbed the cord. He wrapped a small section of it around his hand and then tested the slack as he put his right foot on the wall. Then, hand over hand, he pulled himself up the wall to the small window. Sloane was standing there, tears welling in her eyes, Noodle suffocating against her chest.

  “You’re okay, baby,” James whispered as he hoisted himself through the opening and into the tower. “We’re gonna be fine.”

  “I’m scared,” she whimpered and grabbed her father around his waist. “I’m scared we’re going to die.”

  “Look.” He knelt down and looked his daughter in the eye. “Mommy and I are going to keep you safe. If we can be okay after the stupid car crash, we’ll be okay through anything.”

  “I don’t want to leave here,” she pleaded. “Can’t we just stay here? Why can’t we stay here?”

  “Well”—James kept his voice calm and even, rubbing his daughter’s shoulders with his hands—“we need to get home. We can’t stay here. This is an island. Mommy and I know it’s better for us to get off of the island.”

  “We don’t have a car,” she reminded him. “We can’t take boats all the way home to Maryland.”

  “You’re right,” said James. “We don’t have a car. But we’ll find one just like we found the kayaks. Right now, though, it’s important we get into the kayaks and start paddling away from the island. It’ll be another adventure, okay?”

  She sniffled and bit her lower lip before digging into the corner of her eye with her knuckle to wipe away her tears. She nodded.

  James looked at the two cords affixed to the tower. He’d have to leave them. If he loosened the climbing cord, he’d be screwed. If he unloosed the one holding the kayaks, he risked them floating away from the tower as he descended. He turned back to Sloane.

  “Here’s the plan, Sloane,” he told her. “I’m going to climb onto the windowsill and grab onto the rope. Then,” he explained, “I want you to hop on my back and wrap your legs around my stomach and your hands around the top of my head. Then we’re going to slide down the rope. Easy. Got it?”

  She nodded.

  James climbed onto the sill and faced out toward the bay. There were more boats out there now. Some of them looked like they were moving. That was a good sign, he thought.

  Sloane hopped on her father’s back and did as he instructed, her sweaty little palms flat against his forehead. He knew she was frightened.

  “Do you have Noodle?” he asked.

  “He’s inside my shirt,” she told him. “He’s scared too.”

  “Tell him we’ll be okay,” he suggested and, without looking down, spun around slowly so that he was facing the inside of the tower. His daughter’s grip tightened around his midsection as he swung her out over the water. “Here we go.”

  With a careful, slow motion he backed out of the window, his grip on the cord almost as tight as his daughter’s around his head. Her face was pressed against the back of his neck. He could feel her shallow, nervous breaths against his ear. Her heart was pounding. But she said nothing as he began to lower them away from the window.

  She was only forty pounds, but she might as well have been four hundred when she shifted against his back and moved her hands down his face and wrapped her arms around his neck. Sloane, whimpering from fear, tightened her grip, putting too much pressure on James’s throat as he slid down the rope using only his arms. As he tried to stop her, he exhaled. It only exacerbated the danger.

  Their feet were a good ten feet above the kayak when his vision blurred. His daughter was choking him, but he couldn’t tell her to stop. He couldn’t let go of the cord to move her hands. With little air in his lungs, he was on the verge of blacking out.

  The pulse in his temple intensified, the veins bulging, as he worked to catch a breath. He tried pulling in air through his nose, but it didn't work. It was as if he was under the roiling water, dropping deeper and deeper into the blackness.

  But he pressed on, gripping the rope as tightly as he could as they slid down. He grasped at her hand twice, but couldn't pull it from his neck. They were just six feet from the kayak.

  James squeezed his eyes shut. His daughter slid up his back, her thighs pressing against his lungs. She didn’t know what she was doing.

  He could feel the strength in his hands weakening as he rushed to try to close the distance to his wife. He knew he couldn’t make it. So with one push, he pressed his foot into the wall and spun them around to face the kayak.

  Leigh saw her daughter’s arms around her father’s neck, his face purpling from the pressure. She reached up to grab at them and yelled at her daughter, “Sloane,” she cried, “let go of Daddy’s neck. He can’t breathe.”

  The girl was too scared to understand what she was doing. She couldn’t move.

  James felt the panic of suffocation. His arms trembled, his legs twitched as his brain struggled to find oxygen. His grip loosened on the cord and they fell. Leigh caught Sloane as James tumbled onto the kayak and rolled into the water, unconscious.

  His body slipped under the surface, caught in the tangle of branches. But Leigh grabbed at him quickly. With one hand she held onto his leg before putting Sloane into the rear seat. Gripping the back of his shoe, she jumped into the cold water, losing her breath as she kept her head above water.

  “Max!” she called. “Help me!”

  Max bounded to the kayak and leaned over its edge, holding onto his father’s leg while his mother dove underwater. She resurfaced with James as Max let go of his leg and grabbed underneath his armpits to pull him onto the bow of the kayak.

  Leigh, still in the water, held her husband on the fiberglass. “Move, Max!” she snapped. Max slid to the rear of the kayak so that his mother could pull herself into the front cockpit. She leaned over her husband, his legs still dangling in the water, and pounded him on the back repeatedly. It did nothing.

  “Check if he has a heartbeat,” Max told his mom. He’d taken CPR at school and remembered the basics.

  Leigh pressed her fingers into James’s neck and felt a weak pulse. She then rolled him onto his side, careful not to push him back into the water, and pounded on his back again.

  “That’s not the right—” Max started.

  “Not now!” his mother yelled, each slap onto his father’s back more passionate than the one before. Leigh was on the verge of giving up when James convulsed and coughed up water.

  James coughed again and then sucked in a ragged breath as his eyes opened. He licked his lips and rolled onto his back, his chest heaving as he regained consciousness.

  Leigh threw herself onto her husband, almost tipping the already overloaded kayak, and sobbed into his chest. “You’re an idiot!” she told him and grabbed his face with her hands. She looked him in the eyes. “I can’t keep saving you!”

  James wrapped his arms around her back and held her. Staring up at the sky, clouds beginning to build against the blue morning sky, he knew she was right.

>   She couldn’t keep saving him. Then there would be nobody to save her.

  CHAPTER 10

  EVENT +4:30 Hours

  Casco Bay, Maine

  James wasn’t a metrosexual. He didn’t get manicures and pedicures, use too much gel in his hair, or spray his body with the latest quasi-masculine scent. But he didn’t work with his hands either. He was a teacher. The worst he might suffer was a paper cut or writer’s cramp. After two hours of paddling across Casco Bay, toward Portland, his hands were blistered.

  Each stroke to the left, to the right, was more painful than the one before. The blister on his right hand had popped. The skin was raw and had started to bleed.

  There was a pair of gloves in each of the packs. He’d given them to Max and Leigh. It was more important they have them, especially with Leigh’s wrist, James thought, though he didn’t tell her it was probably fractured.

  James was wheezing as he paddled west toward the shore. He knew the risk of pneumonia after a near-drowning was high. He’d already popped the first dose of the amoxicillin he had in his pack, hoping he could stave off an infection in his lungs.

  The bay was littered with trash. There was a long, wide sheen of what James figured was oil or fuel from a boat or ship that didn’t make it.

  There was virtually no wind, but the water was still choppy.

  Sloane was in the front of his kayak. She’d sat quietly for the last hour. Occasionally, she’d lean back in her seat to look up at the sky.

  Paddling just ahead of them were Max and Leigh. They led by about thirty yards, occasionally resting to let James catch up. The trip was taking longer than James thought it would. He knew the ferry ride from Peaks Island to Portland was a little more than three miles.

  And while that was from the western side of the island to the easternmost point in Portland, he didn’t figure the distance to be much farther from the southeastern corner of the island to South Portland.