Flotilla (27 page)

Miguel nodded toward the front of the boat. "Get down back there and plug your ears, Jim." I crawled on my belly to the little bar area he had set up there. I never noticed it before, but the top deck railings were kind of a weird two-layer setup. The original outer layer of steel railing had an inner cage system that was backed with chicken wire. In between the two were old bags. I reached out and tapped one ... they were filled with sand - all of them. Funny, I'd never noticed that before.

The boats sounded closer now and I could see Julian and Miguel's feet as they lay side by side facing out. The railing that's usually there was folded down and they were quiet, not paying any attention to me. Miguel had put the machine gun aside and was looking out of a small pair of binoculars. Julian had said to me once that 'this wasn't the same as a spotter but better than nothing'.

"
Colony Patrol, hold your fire
," the voice boomed again.

That's when I knew this wasn't a movie. Somewhere on the colony, at some point when I wasn't there, they actually sat down and discussed shooting at people. Not only that, they had it all worked out like a fire drill. Hear the bell, grab a gun and prepare to kill someone. This wasn't Afghanistan, this was the United States! Didn't we have the Navy for this kind of thing?

"
Hold your fire, please. Do not engage unless you receive fire
." The warning echoed throughout the colony, the sound of human beings going to war.

It didn't hit me until later that night, when I was banging awake at the slightest sound, how quickly the world had changed. One minute, Dad and his buddies are being weird for the sake of weird. The next minute, one of the steadiest guys I know is looking through a rifle scope.

Is this real? Is this the Colony? Is this me, is this my life?

At that moment, hunkered down and holding my ears, my needs were very simple. I wanted the land, I wanted my Mom and I wanted to never see the colony again - not necessarily in that order. Coming out here, I had stepped across an invisible line that I didn't know was there. Now I was in the most dangerous place I had ever been to in my entire life.

I could hear the boats ... they were maybe 300 yards away. I couldn't see them, I could only hear them ... engines echoing in the little bowl of the back deck. Grumbly diesels and a lot more gas-powered motors. A few high-pitched PWC engines. It sounded like a convoy, nothing special, something I'd heard a few thousand times since coming here. That's what I couldn't get over: it was all so normal.

It took forever for the sound of the engines to leave us. I stayed down there, my legs cramping and then going to sleep. I guess they buzzed the colony before turning around and heading back south again. It probably took twenty minutes but it felt more like 20 years. The entire time, Miguel and Julian were like stone. They didn't move at all. The alarm changed in pitch and the klaxon went away.

My legs were cramped and I had to pee. I didn't dare move until Miguel turned to look back toward me. "You okay?" I nodded and he smiled grimly. "You're a man today, boy." He looked back toward the horizon and it was quiet for a minute, nothing to hear but the wind and the ship's alarm. The wailing alarm eventually went silent and an eerie calm set in.

"
Stand down, stand down
," the fuzzy voice said. "
First, let me say: well done. Patrol captains report to the wardroom for a debrief ... no later than 1730. Thank you for your cooperation - the alarm is now over.
"

The echo rolled through the colony and it fell flat around my ears. The alarm was over. People were no longer trying to kill us. Life was normal.
Adults are such liars
. I wanted to piss myself and puke simultaneously. I could hear people slowly start to come outside again. Miguel hauled himself off the deck wearily, rolling his neck so that I could hear individual vertebrae pop. Julian rolled to a sitting position and picked up the rifle so he could cradle it in his lap.

"Come on out," he said, not looking at me. I stood carefully, looking at the horizon, still trying to process what had just happened.

"No worries," Miguel said. "They just buzzed us. They do that sometimes."

"Buzzed us?" I said. "You guys had guns!"

"So did they. We have more."

"Guns? Pirates?" I started to hyperventilate, like I did that day in the winter.

"Calm down, bud," Julian said. "They've just stepped up their stuff in the last few months. We've all had to get used to it." He explained how the colony was a pit stop for drugs and illegal aliens. Pac Fisheries was turning itself inside out to remove it but it hadn't cleaned house yet.

"Why didn't you guys tell me about this?" I asked. "Does my Dad know?" They shared a look and Julian busied himself putting the gun back in its case. Miguel disappeared below to re-lock the gun cabinet. No one ever answered my question.

I returned to the lounge. The gun cabinet looked like nothing had touched it and I saw why I hadn't noticed the lock before - it was covered by a tiny circle of felt. You really had to look in order to see it. Miguel was wiping the counter with a rag and I asked him to use his ship-to-shore cell phone. Mine was still on the
Horner
and I didn't want Mom to scream about the bill.

"Who you wanna call?" he asked again.

"My mom." What a dumb question...

"You don't wanna call her, Jim," he said, smiling sadly.

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because why?" I finally screamed. "I want to go home! I want my sister to stay home. I want to catch the first boat or plane back to the mainland!"

Miguel's reply scared me more than anything else that had happened today. "You'd never make it," he shrugged.

"What do you mean, 'never make it'," I demanded.

"Just that," he said. "They watch who leaves. You especially."

"Me?" He just nodded. "Why me?" I was just a kid...who would spend that much time watching me, even if I was on a boat heading for shore? Why was I so important? The answer hit me and I was afraid to ask Miguel the next question.

"Miguel." He looked up at me, smiling with a pained expression on his face. "What's my Dad up to?"

Our current position is: 35deg 5'54.83"N 120deg40'11.77"W

So let me tell you a story ... it'll help you understand the rest of what I'm about to say.

When my sister was 2 and I was 6, I asked my mom to shave my head so I could be like my little sister. Madison was diagnosed two months after her second birthday with a rare form of cancer, Ewing's Sarcoma. The radiation therapy and other treatments meant that she lost her hair. My sole contribution to her recovery was asking to shave my head.

At the time, we three were living with my grandparents while Mom went to school and paid for it by doing nights at a video store over in Sunland. She was gunning for an MBA and finishing her third year and she was on track to graduate early when the doctor drops the atom bomb on us. Madison had bone cancer and she might lose her leg.

Nobody told me what was going on - I was six, after all. All the adults started acting weird: Mom and Grandma were crying and Grandpa was out in the back yard. Rather than let us see him cry, he was viciously attacking the lemon tree with an old pair of hedge clippers.

Mom had to quit her job and we spent days in different offices filing paperwork so that she could get her daughter treatment for her cancer. When you're poor and you're on state assistance, getting any kind of medical is difficult and when it's cancer it is impossible.

But don't tell Mom that.

She attacked the problem like everything else in her life: she made it her full-time job. Paperwork, calling offices, sending letters and even threatening to call every TV station in LA - she made sure that they didn't let Madison down when it came to getting any kind of decent care. Mom became rabid on the topic and it's something I've never forgotten. I remember that look in her eye when she reached across a counter and grabbed an oncologist by the front of his shirt. I have no idea what she said to the man, I saw all this happen through the glass in the door of his office, but it got him to switch out Madison's meds.

As Madison's treatment started and she was miserable, cranky and tired all the time - it really threw our house into a mess. Her little curls started falling out and she cried because it hurts to lose your hair. I was a pill myself because all I really understood was that my younger sibling was getting 100% of the attention and all I could manage was what was left over when she fell asleep and just before someone would collapse in a weary heap on a bed or couch. I threw tantrums, I started acting up; I just wanted someone to pay attention to me.

Mom, Grandpa and Grandma all realized that I needed some more information about what Madison was going through. They told me that she was sick and every sniffle or stomachache would have me running to Mom, "Mom - do I have what Madison has?" They got a few books for kids about being sick but I didn't make the connection until the sixth or seventh time through one about kids and cancer. It finally dawned on me what was going on and I asked Grandpa, who was reading to me: "Does Madison have cancer?" Grandpa's eyes welled up and he was unable to answer.

Not one of my prouder moments.

My little sister had a serious, possibly life-threatening disease. I had no reference for this and the problem went from "Mom doesn't love me anymore" to balloon into some big, huge issue that I couldn't wrap my little head around. At this age, though, kids have marvelous coping mechanisms. I asked Mom one day, 'could I shave my head?' and she looked at me oddly: why did I want to do that? I just shrugged and said "I dunno ... make Madison feel less weird, I guess." Her eyes filled with tears and she pulled me close. She kissed the top of my head and sent me to Grandpa.

I thought he might be upset at the request; he's been cutting my hair out on the back porch every month for several years. For some reason, though, he just smiled and said "Sure, sport." Grandpa drew on the old bed sheet that was my barber apron for the longest time and then took the guard off of his old Wahl clippers. In the warm evening air with the smell of lemon blossoms all around us, he shaved my little head back to a fuzzy cue ball. Mom and Grandma laughed and cried at the same time - I held Madison up and we took a picture of the both of us chrome-domes. Mom keeps the picture in a scrap book somewhere.

I'm just telling you this so that later on, when you ask why I'm freaking out because the Colony just turned into the Wild West, I can say "I love my little sister" and you'll understand what I mean. I guess I love her. As much as anyone can ... Madison can be kind of a pain.

Where was I ...

The last 24 hours sent me into a complete panic when I suddenly realized how dangerous the Colony had become. Pirates, guns, drugs ... that crazy Trash Man ... somehow it was all connected and it was all bad. Now my sister was walking into this thinking she was going to spend her summer making fun of the Children of the Burning Man and scoring free sodas off of me at the
Phoenix
Grill.

I had another one of those moments where the problems go completely sideways and you have no context for it. Just like when I realized my sister had a disease that might kill her when I was six. This time, however, I didn't have someone around to laugh and cry at the same time or read a book to me that explained what was going on. I was in over my head and now I was bringing one of the most important people in my world to be a part of it.

To the phone.

After the pirates paid the Colony a visit, I spent the rest of the day going from boat to boat trying to beg a phone call. Any of my customers that might have some minutes they felt like lending, anyone who had a phone for emergency purposes - I paid them all a visit. I didn't want Dad to know what I was up to and he liked to sniff my cell bill for calls to the mainland he didn't feel like paying for. Either way, nobody wanted to let me call.