Jakarta Pandemic, The (63 page)

The 2013 pandemic had exposed the nation’s essential service infrastructure to a slow burn, which caused a rapid, critical failure across the board, launching the country into chaos. While the northern most states and the upper Mid-west added freezing temperatures and winter storms to the disaster already unfolding, the warmer regions were hit the hardest. The harsh winter weather dampened and eventually extinguished the widespread rioting, looting and violence that continued unabated in cities like Atlanta, Dallas, and Los Angeles. Even the mid-Atlantic cities saw their share the devastating civil unrest that ultimately claimed just as many lives as the H16N1 virus.

Not much had changed on Capitol Hill. The likelihood of another pandemic virus striking in our lifetime was a statistical impossibility, claimed the epidemiologists…and they were probably right. Funding for national emergency preparedness remained level and consistent with pre-2013 levels, with few politicians willing to suggest cuts, especially with over twenty-six million deaths attributable to the inadequate pandemic preparedness budget authorized by Congress in the years leading to the Jakarta Pandemic. Of course, with the U.S economy making slow, but steady gains, even fewer politicians were eager to increase disaster preparedness funding or spend money infrastructure improvement programs. Major natural disasters had been shrugged off for decades, given a flurry of attention for a month and pushed to the sidelines.

Alex and Kate understood that United States could not weather another nationwide disaster, and had taken the appropriate precautions to ensure the safety of family and friends. They would all converge on the isolated farm in Limerick, Maine, where they could live off the grid indefinitely, until society settled back into a routine. Standing in the open cockpit of their boat, staring at the blood red, man-made magnetic aura spread over the continental United States, a sudden realization struck him, nearly buckling his knees. Ryan. He took a seat next to his wife and spoke.

“We have to get back fast. I give it two, maybe three days before all hell breaks loose in Boston. We need to get Ryan out of there and…” said Alex.

“If it hasn’t been nuked,” interrupted Kate.

“I don’t think…”

He stopped to consider the flash of light that had woken him. It had come from a different direction than the red atmospheric aura. Was it possible that the United States had been attacked with nuclear weapons? One flash. That was all he had seen. He expanded the scale on the handheld GPS plotter to make a quick calculation. He created a waypoint over Boston and started the navigation function. The system plotted a straight course from the boat to the waypoint. He stood up and compared what he saw on the GPS chart to their physical orientation in the cove.

“The flash was centered there,” he said, pointing his entire hand directly south. “Boston is almost twenty-five degrees to the right of that. If it was a nuke, they’d detonate it directly over the city. That was somewhere pretty far off Cape Cod,” he said, not completely convinced by his logic.

“I hope you’re right,” she said.

He placed the GPS receiver on the top of the cabin and pulled used both hands to pull her off the bench. She came reluctantly, the grim nature of their circumstance weighing her down. He embraced her tightly, but kissed her neck gently, followed by her ear. He drew his face even with hers and stared into her eyes.

“I’m just as scared as you about Ryan. He’s going to be fine. We’ll get this boat back to Portland, and I’ll bring him home to you. I promise,” he said.

She nodded and met his lips for a brief moment, before placing her head on his shoulder.

“I know it’ll be fine. We’ll be fine,” she said, sitting back down and rubbing her face.

“I think we should wait until there’s enough light to see the lobster pots on the water. The last thing we need is to get tangled up and kill the engine. It’s 5:09 right now. Sunrise is at 5:50. We get underway fifteen minutes after that. That give us plenty of time to get our shit together, secure for sea…maybe try to raise someone on the handheld radio. I wish we one of the satellite phones. If the GPS satellites are still working, there’s a good chance the SAT phone network is intact. That’s all high orbit stuff...typically hardened against radiation,” said Alex.

“Remind me why we don’t bring a SAT phone out on the water?” she said.

“Because we don’t go far enough out to need one. We never leave Casco Bay,” he responded.

“I think we need to add them to the required equipment list,” she said.

“
If
we take another sailing trip, I’ll make sure to throw one in the bag. Anything else?” said Alex.

“I’ll wake the kids and start tidying up below,” she announced.

Kate stood up next to him, just as the wind picked up. The boat started to swing on the anchor line to face the new wind direction, which pointed directly where he had seen the flash of light. He heard a few trees snap in the distance before he reacted.

“Get below! Now!” he yelled.

Through the clear vinyl window of the dodger, he saw the lead edge of the airwave explode through the trees along the low cliff. He pushed Kate the rest of the way down the stairs and ducked his head into the cabin, moments before a dark wave of rocks and tree limbs pummeled the sailboat with thunderous jolts. Kate pushed Emily back into the L-shaped couch serving as her bed and jumped on top of her to keep her down. The boat lurched sideways with the initial blast, knocking Alex into the galley, where he tumbled to the deck, smashing his elbow against the counter. Within seconds, the debris shower abated, leaving them in absolute silence.

“Ethan! You alright back there!” he yelled through the open hatch a few feet away behind the galley.

“I’m fine. What the hell happened? The lights don’t work,” said Ethan.

“Grab your flashlight and get dressed. I need you out here in thirty seconds. Emily, change in the vee-berth. All hands on deck immediately. We have a problem,” said Alex.

“You think?” said Kate.

“You have no idea. We need to go topside to clear the mess and assess damage. We don’t have much time,” said Alex.

“I thought we weren’t leaving for another hour,” she said.

“I don’t think that’s an option anymore. Talk about this topside?” he said, pointing at the open hatch at the top of the stairs.

When Alex’s head emerged through the cabin hatch, the first thing he noticed was a half-inch thick layer of dirt covering every horizontal surface in the open cockpit. The second anomaly to catch his attention was a jagged ended, two-inch diameter branch protruding above his head, blocking him from standing fully erect and stepping into the cockpit. He pushed the branch to the right and maneuvered through the opening.

“Be careful,” he said to Kate, who squeezed through and joined him to survey the scene.

The branch had penetrated the left vinyl window of their dodger, stopped by the thick tangle of smaller branches that struck the dodger’s thick, aluminum frame. If he hadn’t pushed Kate out of the way to get down the ladder, the shredded edge of the branch would have impaled him. The sheer randomness of his survival reminded him of his combat tour in Iraq.
The odds always caught up with you.
A sick feeling rose from the pit of his stomach. He wanted to take a seat, but there was no time to for it. He stood on the cockpit bench and assessed the situation.

In the monochromatic, dark blue lighting, he could see the rest of the fifteen-foot branch hanging over the port side of the boat, straining the lifelines. His flashlight penetrated the darkness, exposing the rest of the boat. Kate’s light joined the effort and they scanned for obvious damage.

“I see a few branches and rocks, but nothing else. How’s your side?” he said.

“Same. This branch is the worst of it,” she said, directing her light at the fresh wood exposed at the torn end.

“Jesus,” she whispered, touching the sharp edge of the branch.

“Jesus is right,” he said, moving quickly aft to back of the cockpit.

He searched the murky water for their dinghy, hoping that he hadn’t expended all of their luck avoiding the deadly branch. The gray inflatable bobbed in the water along stern and appeared undamaged. He stepped out of the cabin and onto the swim deck, pulling the dinghy next to the boat.

“Can you clear that branch? I think if you dislodge it from the dodger, it’ll fall over the side on its own. I’m need to inspect the dinghy and start the motor,” he yelled.

“Got it,” she said.

He saw her walk along the starboard side of the boat and cross over to examine the branch. Satisfied that she had the branch situation under control, he stepped into the dinghy and pressed down on each side of the craft with both hands. The cold PVC exterior gave slightly to the pressure applied, which was consistent with early morning inflation levels. The colder outside air temperatures caused a slight contraction of the air inside each chamber. He quickly wiped the dirt from the sides, before turning his attention to the motor.

He had battled off and on for nearly four years with motor, having considered a watery grave on more than one occasion for the temperamental collection of metal and plastic parts. It should be simple. Open the air vent. Open the fuel valve. Open the choke. Start the engine. Except it had never been that easy. In four years, he could count the number of times it started without incident, on his middle finger, which he often lifted in protest against the manufacturer of the motor. Alex ran through his mental checklist and took a deep breath. He really needed this thing to work. Their lives would depend on it.

He pulled the starter cord and the motor sprang to life, puttering quietly at idle. He revved the throttle for a moment, letting the engine warm, before pushing the choke in. Everything worked perfectly, which meant that he had wasted his one good start for the year on a test. He considered leaving the motor running, but decided against it. They had enough time to get the motor running again, if they decided to abandon the boat and take shelter on the island. He stopped the motor, leaving everything in position for a quick start.

As he stepped onto the sailboat, he heard the branch fall away, followed by a quick scream. He flashed his light forward, searching for Kate, but couldn’t immediately find her on the deck.
Shit. She fell overboard.
He started to reach for the Lifesling preserver attached to the starboard rails, when Kate appeared from behind the mast.

“Fucking thing almost took me in with it!” she yelled.

“You alright?” he said.

“I’m fine. A few scratches,” she said, starting to walk back along the deck.

“Stay there. I need to check the anchorage,” he said.

He made his way forward and met her at the bow.

“We need to talk while I do this,” he said, reaching through the forward rails to grip the nylon line stretched into the water several feet below.

“That air blast came from the same direction as the flash of light. Took eight minutes to arrive. Only an massive explosion could create something like that…”

“Boston,” she muttered.

“I’m pretty certain that’s not the case. The wind correlated with the direction of the flash, which puts the explosion in the Bay of Maine,” he said, tugging on the anchor line.

“I hope so,” she said.

“Me too, for Ryan’s sake, but if the explosion was over water, we could be hit by a tsunami. Even a twenty-foot wave could sweep over the island without a problem. We need to decide whether to stay onboard and ride out whatever crests the island, or abandon the boat for the concrete lookout tower near the cove.”

“I don’t think we should leave the boat. If it get’s swept away, we’re stuck here,” said Kate.

“I agree, but we have no idea how big the wave will be. Remember those videos of the tsunamis in Thailand and Japan? Solid walls of water travelled inland for miles,” he said.

“How long do we have?” she said.

“I have no idea. If it took the wind eight minutes to get here, I’d guess we have at least another thirty minutes. The anchor feels fine,” he said, standing up on the bow.

“We might not have a problem at all, honey. From what I remember reading, tsunami waves are barely noticeable out at sea. The problem occurs when the wave hits shallow water. Something about the wave speed decreasing and the rest of the wave piling up behind it. We’re several miles from the mainland and this is a small island. A tiny blip in the ocean for a tsunami. It might not rise up enough to fuck with us.”

“Then we stay on the boat,” she said.

“Let’s get the boat ready for the worst. We’ll keep the engine running in case we break free of the anchorage and have to maneuver,” said Alex, starting toward the cockpit.

“I almost wonder if we should haul in the anchor. If a wave makes it over the island, the anchor won’t hold. If we get swept out of here, it could get stuck on something and cause a bigger problem,” she said.

He thought about what she said and flashed his light at the anchor line tied to the forward cleat. If they experienced the situation she described, he couldn’t imagine climbing forward to cut the anchor line with the boat pitching violently. He could remove the line from the cleat and run it back to the cockpit, where one of them could cut the line and permanently release the anchor if necessary.

“Start securing the boat for heavy seas. I’ll run the anchor line back to the cockpit. I’m glad you thought of that,” he said.

“I’m good for an idea or two,” she said, brushing against him on her way back.

“That’s one more than I’m good for,” he said, grabbing her hand.

“We’ll be fine, hon. I’ll be in Boston tomorrow, picking up Ryan. Nothing to it. We’ve been through worse.”

“I know. I’m just scared. We don’t know what’s going on out there. He’s alone in a new place. No friends. Nothing,” she said, nodding toward the western horizon.

“He knows what to do. Ryan’s the least of our worries. He’ll probably be waiting for us at the house when we get back,” he said.

She buried her head in his chest and didn’t respond. He decided not to push the feigned optimism any further. As a mother, she was entitled to worry more than the rest of them, and he had no intention of diminishing this right. The sailboat swung lazily to face a more easterly direction, raising his internal alarms. The sudden sound of rustling leaves caused him to squeeze Kate tightly. They wouldn’t have time to escape a sudden gust like the one that before. A stiff wind squall blew directly out of the east for a few seconds, causing them let go of each other and grab the nearest deck mounted handrail. No flash preceded the airwave, which indicated that the explosion had occurred over the visible horizon. The only thing due east of Jewell Island was Nova Scotia. When the wind completely died, he stared in the direction of the first explosion, wondering if they should reconsider the option to take shelter in one of the island’s solidly constructed, World War Two era lookout posts.