Barren Waters, A Post-Apocalyptic Tale of Survival

There’s nothing wrong with enjoying looking at the surface of the ocean itself, except that when you finally see what goes on underwater, you realize that you’ve been missing the whole point of the ocean. Staying on the surface all the time is like going to the circus and staring at the outside of the tent.

―Dave Berry

Chapter 9

1 Year Prior

She pushed the food aside without saying a word. She hadn’t spoken in over a month.

“Sam, you need to eat,” Jeremy said. He caught her hand and turned it over to examine the meter at her wrist. “Your blood sugar is at sixty-two. That’s far too low. You need to eat something.”

Jeremy, though he was loath to admit it, was quickly losing his patience. He ladled a steaming cup of soup into a bowl, crumbled crackers upon it, and pushed it toward her. “Sam, what do you think mom would say? How would she feel about this? She sacrificed her life for yours, you know, but you seem bent on destroying her gift.”

She snatched the bowl and turned away from him. She had lost her patience with him as well, though he probably should have withheld that remark about her mother. He was using guilt to get what he wanted, which wasn’t fair to her. Guilt wasn’t the best treatment for loss and depression.

It had been thirty-four days since they’d been forced from the cabin, thirty-four days since Susan had died, thirty-two days since they’d last seen the smoke, lifting from the tops of the highest trees. In a macabre way, they had clung to those tendrils. They’d hugged their knees and stared, transfixed. First, the smoke had disbursed, lost its shape, before dissipating fully and blending with the clouds. It was difficult to watch it drift away. That sad sooty cloud had been the last of their home, and once it was gone, reality set in. They were alone, they two, homeless and hopeless.

Many times since that fateful night, Jeremy thought of the men he’d left inside the cabin. Had he put enough distance between them and Sam? They’d be angry, he considered. Infuriated, really. He tried to imagine their rage, and couldn’t. To have survived this ailing wilderness for so many years, and then to have found his luxurious cabin, only to watch it burn to the ground? Oh, yes. Their wrath would surely know no bounds. If they ever crossed paths with Jeremy again, their retribution would be anything but swift. They’d make him pay, dearly, and painfully. But he refused to dwell on that now. There were other pressing matters to tend.

He poured from the ladle and moved to the couch. They’d found this abandoned house several weeks ago, and hadn’t seen fit to leave it yet. They needed time to recuperate and heal. It was as much a mental break as it was a physical one. Jeremy needed time to formulate a plan, to take stock of their supplies and plot a course for their future. They couldn’t stay here long term, he knew, but for now, it was as good a place as any to carve out a temporary life.

After emerging from the woods, thirty-four nights ago, battered and broken of spirit and body, he and Sam had followed Main Street westward. It was an easy road, both straight and wide, and they’d traversed it in silence, their heads hung low. He’d been eager to leave Sevierville proper behind, and had followed Main Street until it became US-441, which they followed on foot toward Knoxville. But from there, he hadn’t really known what to do. Despite the planning he and Susan had done, and despite the brilliance of the cart in the woods, neither had considered a second destination. Why would they? What for? The idea was ludicrous. Losing the cabin was so farfetched that neither had created a contingency plan. The whole thing was absurdly implausible. What could force them from their private paradise? In what crazy parallel universe had a fire burned it to the ground? Yet here they were, vulnerable, exposed, with nothing but an industrial-sized laundry cart to keep them alive, and Jeremy was becoming increasingly concerned. Did they have the resources to make a new start? They were well equipped—yes—better prepared than most others he’d seen, but could they build a new life? More importantly, did they have the heart to?

Turning to Sam, he began his nightly ritual, speaking to her, yet receiving no response. “So,” he said as he slurped from his spoon, “I was thinking that tomorrow we go to the library, pick out a few new books for you to read. What do you think about that?”

She didn’t answer. Not that he was expecting her to. She hadn’t spoken a word since that fateful night, though he’d vowed to never stop trying to reach her. He knew what she was feeling, having experienced it himself. Ever since that fateful night, his emotions were like a nauseating rollercoaster ride. First came the anger, a deep and bottomless rage, something that surged at unexpected moments. He’d been difficult to live with those first few days. He hadn’t behaved the way a responsible adult should, the way a father should, and he’d known it. For a time, he’d withdrawn from her completely. He’d turned his rage inward and suffocated on it. It was then, he supposed—because of that rage—that she’d given up on him and stopped talking. At first, her silence had only fueled his anger. He’d lost his wife, his partner in life, his best friend and confidant, and now he’d lost her. The only person left in his life was refusing to acknowledge his presence. But why? It wasn’t fair. How dare she shut him out? How dare she pretend that he didn’t exist? Did she think his pain wasn’t equal to hers? What had he done to deserve her taciturnity? Perhaps she blamed him, he wondered privately, held him accountable for the path their lives had taken. But how could she hold him responsible for this? For the actions of thieves and murderers?

He wasn’t proud of his actions back then, or for the way he’d behaved in front of her. But by the time he’d thought to set things right, she’d already withdrawn inside herself. She’d needed him, and he’d failed her. He’d left her alone in a deep pit of grief, and now he wondered if he could ever forgive himself. It was his right to grieve; he’d lost someone too, but he could only do so in private, he’d concluded. It wasn’t healthy to brood openly. Nor was it healthy to curse or scowl. He shouldn’t be sharing his fears with her, or deliberating their next course of action out loud. Fathers held things together, stoically, with a steady hand and a compassionate heart. Sam had enough to worry about: where they would live, what she would eat, how she’d go on without her mother by her side. Jeremy would be a counterpoint to her sadness. He’d try to make the best of this tragic situation. He’d create hope and light, try to blanket her in it. He’d never stop trying to reach her. They didn’t have Susan, or the cabin, or the ark, but they still had each other, and that had to be enough. For tonight, and for many more nights to come, they had food, water, a roof over their heads. Best to focus on that, he thought. Best to let the rest fall away for a time.

“At the library, maybe you’ll find the Twilight series,” he suggested spiritedly.

She slurped at her soup, eyes fixed on the highest window in the room, at the deep starry night beyond the glass. They were sitting in the living room of this beautifully appointed home, with its granite countertops and smooth tile floors. In the living room hung a massive—yet useless—wall-mounted flat-screen television. The beds were outfitted with clean furnishings, and the bathrooms with semi-clean towels. Worn-down slivers of soap were curled in the corners of the shower. It was safe, quiet, a good place to mourn. They’d been here a bit over two weeks now, and Jeremy had used the time wisely. He’d organized their supplies, made a list of things he wanted to scavenge, and though she hadn’t spoken to him, she’d helped. She followed him quietly wherever he went, engaged in whatever activity he was doing. Since the fire, she didn’t like being alone. He could understand that. He felt the same way.

Together they boarded the windows of the house and conducted a thorough search of its grounds. Why particular homes were ransacked and destroyed, while others remained unmolested was a mystery to him. It made no sense. There was no rhyme or reason. This house had been picked clean, though thankfully, not ruined. There were no scraps of food to speak of, of course, no bottles of water, no clothing, no shoes, but it was clean, safe, and somewhat remote. He was surprised no one had claimed it yet. It was centered on several acres of forestland; the nearest neighboring home was at least several miles away, which was the reason he’d chosen it in the first place.

That night, in a fog, they’d meandered down the road, searching for something, though they weren’t sure what. They’d haphazardly turned down residential streets and followed dirt paths to remote areas. Years ago Jeremy had thought to pack an atlas inside the cart, and since losing the cabin, he’d put it to good use, plotting their path with a faded purple marker. They’d happened on this house by accident, really, while searching for a place to erect their tent.

“So,” he urged, “how about it then? The Twilight series? The Hunger Games? Or maybe you’ve been thinking about something else instead?”

She finished her soup and lay down on her side, and without saying a word, curled into herself. The outline of her spine startled him. He hadn’t realized how much weight she’d lost in such a short amount of time. Her vertebrae were visible through her thin T-shirt, and resembled a snake running the length of her spine. Grief, he said, to assuage himself. It was grief she suffered. Her sugars were fine.

With a sigh, he arose, stamped out the fire, and then stretched out beside her, clasping his hands behind his head. Though the house had four bedrooms, they hadn’t occupied any, choosing instead to sleep in the living room, together. Neither could face a night alone.

He peered at her slim form, the moon silhouetting her body in soft silver piping.

“Sam,” he said quietly, “you have to stop this. At some point, you’re going to have to talk to me again. I know you blame me for what happened to your mother. And perhaps you should. Perhaps it was my fault. After all, I opened the door, didn’t I? I didn’t do my job. I didn’t protect her. I failed you both. I lost the cabin.”

She didn’t respond, so he took a ragged breath. Something inside him felt different tonight. It was as if he’d weakened somewhat, as if a tender thread in his heart had broken. His emotions felt raw and close to the surface. Maybe he was lonely or his patience had thinned. Or maybe he was tired of pretending all the time, of feigning strength while crumbling inside. His voice shook when he spoke. He couldn’t control it.

“I’ve been lying to you, Sam, pretending to be strong. But I’m lonely. I need to hear your voice. I miss you. I’m weak. I’ve been trying to act strong, but I’m not. The truth is I’m the vulnerable one, not you. I’m the one who needs noise and laughter and books, and silly teenage talk about vampires and magic wands.” He pulled the blankets up to his chin, like a child trying to comfort himself. “I miss you so much, and I feel so alone. I just wish you’d say something, anything—for my sake. Sometimes weathering a difficult storm is easier to do when you’re doing it with someone else.”

She rustled in her blankets but didn’t speak. It hadn’t worked.

Well, he thought sourly, I’ve done what I can. I’ve tried everything I can think of to reach her. I’ve laid my emotions bare. I’ve been brutally honest. I’ve done what I can with what little I have. He blinked into the darkness, a thought taking shape. Wasn’t there one more thing he could do? One more thing he could share? To crack her protective shell, perhaps he’d have to do something a bit more drastic. He’d tried everything else; why not try this? He’d been considering it for several days now. He’d come to think of it as his last Hail Mary. But was it the right thing to do, he wondered? It certainly wouldn’t win him any parent-of-the-year contests, but if it bridged the gap between them, so be it. Shared experiences often incite empathy.

“Sam,” he began cautiously, “I know how it feels to lose a parent. It hurts. I remember the pain quite well. It hurts like nothing else I’ve experienced before. It leaves a deep and jagged scar, one that won’t heal no matter what you do.”

She scoffed, and the noise startled him. He tensed. He was accustomed to silence or his own ramblings. The sound of her voice seemed somehow alien. Her voice came ragged and low, but it came.

“No,” she whispered hoarsely. “You don’t understand. You have no idea what it feels like for me. Your parents lived to be old and gray. They died of natural causes. It’s not the same thing.”

With that, she settled into her blankets and attempted to shut him out completely.

“I only wish that were true, but it’s not. That’s not the story of what happened to me. The grandparents you thought were my parents actually weren’t. My real parents died long ago, when I was young.” His belly did a nauseating flip. So much had changed in her life recently. Would this information send her over the edge? “When I was three,” he continued bravely, “my father shot himself in the head.”

Flinching, she sat up smoothly in her blankets, her body stiff and straight in the moonlight. She sat still for a moment, her gaze fixed on the wall, clearly pondering what he’d just said. After a time, she lay back, stiff as a board, her voice softer yet no less accusatory.

“You’re lying to me. I know what you’re doing. I’m not stupid, Dad. You’re trying to make our situations sound similar. But they’re not similar. You should stop right here. What you’re saying doesn’t even make sense. It’s disgusting actually. You should quit while you’re ahead.”

He shrugged into the darkness, his eyes wide. “I’m not lying, Sam, and I think you’re old enough to know the truth. Blame and condemnation are adult concepts. If you’re going to adopt them, you should know the whole story. If you’re determined to hate me forever, then I guess you should know who you’re hating, and why. You should know everything there is to know about me. I’d like you to finally know the truth. Mom knew this story, and you should too. Adults make informed decisions, Sam, but not before they have all the facts. So if you’re going to alienate me permanently, I’d like you to know who you’re alienating first.”

Without another word, he turned over and closed his eyes. Let her ponder on that for a time.

The next morning was bright and warm, and together they set out for the library. She hadn’t said a word, but something felt different. He could sense her careful control, her restraint. It was just below the surface. The pressure was building. He’d lit a fire and he was watching it burn. And the best way to stoke a teenage flame, he had learned, was to pretend that it didn’t exist.

“We’ll go to the library first,” he said casually, “then I’d like to rummage a few convenience stores, see if we can’t find something useful.”

His hand found the shape of his gun, loaded and holstered at his waist. Since they’d lost the cabin, they’d encountered few people, and he really didn’t expect to see more. Without a convenient source of water nearby, these lands were practically useless. Not that there wouldn’t be people out here, families hunkered down in these hills and valleys, in places where fresh water could still be pumped from wells. But they weren’t likely to cross paths with anyone today. The gun was precautionary, a security blanket, one he wouldn’t leave behind ever again.

She said nothing as they ventured down the road toward town. The gravel beneath their shoes and their huffing breath were the only sounds he could hear, and he found himself imagining a strange and lonely world, a world in which they two were the last people on Earth. A shiver ran through his body. That fantasy could easily become reality. They might never lay eyes on other people again. Other decent people, he corrected himself, people with whom they would welcome acquaintances. There would always be gangs, miscreants, and fools. They’d even seen a few of these and hidden like cowards, behind houses or deep in the woods. But they were yet to cross paths with decent folk.

Her voice split the silence, nearly making him trip.

“So,” she said, “Are you gonna tell me then? Or were you just planning to let me wonder what you meant?”

He raised a mocking brow. “About what?”

“About what?” Scowling, she stopped in her tracks. When he turned to face her, she’d dug her feet in, and was standing, arms akimbo, wearing an exasperated look. He almost laughed, but caught himself. He knew that look. It was one that thrilled him. How like her mother she was.

“I mean it, Dad. Don’t play games with me. You told me that story to get me talking again. I’m not stupid. I’m talking. You win. I’m letting you win. But I want to know, now. You owe me an explanation. What you said doesn’t make any sense. Your mother was Olivia, and your father was Liam. Either you’ve been lying to me for my entire life, or you’re lying to me now. Which horrible one is it?”

Turning from her, he started walking again. “Olivia and Liam weren’t my parents. They were the people who found me and took me in. They found me, saved me, and adopted me, but they weren’t my biological parents.”

“And you never thought to tell me? You didn’t think it was important? Wait.” She stopped to shake her head. “That can’t be right. You have to be lying. Grandpa had diabetes—like me. You guys always said that I got it from him.”

“You didn’t. I’m sorry. Unbelievable, I know. But sometimes—as they say—truth is stranger than fiction. And yes, I understand: it’s unlikely. What are the odds grandpa would share the same condition as my mother?” He shrugged. “But like I said: it’s true. Your biological grandmother suffered from diabetes. You actually inherited it from her.”

He allowed her a moment to reflect on things, while enjoying the warmth of the sun on his back. It was a lot for her to digest, he knew. Hell, it was a lot for him to digest. Susan had known, but they’d never told Sam. There hadn’t been a reason to divulge it. It wasn’t that they kept it from her deviously. It just hadn’t come up, and the years had slipped by. Liam and Olivia were special to Jeremy, more like parents than adoptive parents. They were his parents in every sense of the word. They’d loved him, cared for him, planned for his future, and he’d returned that love intensely. Biology had nothing to do with it.

Besides, he mused, he could barely remember his biological parents, much less anything about the day they had died. There were flashes of red, and tactile impressions: the coldness of his mother’s hand, the firmness of Olivia’s round belly. He remembered the red stippling of blood that had feathered the policeman’s cheek. But there was nothing more than that, nothing spoken, or heard. The memories were akin to sensations. They were smells and colors, loud bursts of sound. It was the day his life was saved, not destroyed.

Sam pressed him further, but her tone had softened. “So you said your father killed himself. Is that right?” She cleared her throat “Shot himself…in the head?”

“Yep. That’s right.”

“I’m sorry. That’s…terrible. Can you remember much else?”

Jeremy sighed. “Not really. I remember Grandma Liv and Grandpa Liam, and the cops who were there, and the emergency personnel. I can’t remember much about my parents.”

“But what about your mother?” Sam’s brow furrowed. “What happened to her? If your father killed himself, then how did she die? Why did you go with Grandma and Grandpa instead of staying with her?”

He stopped and turned, caught the edge of her sleeve. This was the reason he’d brought this story up. This was the message he was trying to convey. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and forced himself to see this through. Despite its melancholic nature, this was something she needed to hear.

“My father killed himself because my mother had died. She died in our car, on the road. Grandma once said he felt culpable for her death, that he may have been culpable. We’ll never know for sure. But Sam.” He took a deep breath and centered himself. “My mother died from her diabetes. Back then, the way Liam and Olivia told it, only the wealthy could afford medicine. Society was crumbling. Treatments were scarce. It became harder and harder to treat her illness. People were beginning to raid convenience stores as they fled inland, away from the oceans. They turned on one another, stole from one another to suit their needs. It was an ugly world. Millions of people starved, while millions of others died from disease. Understand, Sam, that cancer, diabetes, and heart disease are death sentences if not properly treated.”

He suddenly sat in the middle of the road, pulling her down, though he didn’t know why. He was heavy as a stone, cast into a pond.

She glanced to her right, and then to her left, as though she feared they’d be seen and mocked. “Dad, get up! What are you doing? You’re sitting in the middle of the road!”

“I’m sorry, Sam. Am I embarrassing you? Are there cars coming by? Am I about to be hit?” Crossing his legs, he pulled her down beside him. “Let’s make one another a pledge, shall we? Let’s sit in the middle of this forgotten street and make one another a promise. But before we do, let’s stop this silliness. Let’s end this awkward silence between us. Guilt, though not an illness itself, can be a death sentence if allowed to fester. Look how it destroyed my biological father.” He took a deep breath and captured her hands, smoothing them inside his own. “Sam, you blame me for your mother’s death, and that’s okay. I blame myself, too.” When his voice threatened to break, he steadied himself. “Damn it, Sam. I fucked up. I never should’ve opened that door. I never should’ve let your mother put down that gun. Maybe I shouldn’t have let Doctor Jack come into our lives in the first place. Who the hell knows? ‘Should’ is a rabbit hole with a bottom we’ll never see. We can play the ‘should’ game till the cows come home, but in the end, it won’t do us any good. The past is gone. We only have now. We can choose to move forward as best we can, or we can choose not to. In the end, it’s up to us. We can get up every morning and move ourselves forward, or we can curl in the shadows and live in the past.”

She pursed her lips before speaking evenly. “Move forward? How can you say that? I’m not just going to forget about Mom.”

“Who said moving forward means forgetting? I loved her too, Sam. I loved her very much. I loved her since the day we met. But I won’t do to you what my father did to me. I’d never do that. It isn’t fair to you. If I quit trying, what will you do? If I roll over and refuse to speak, act, or eat, what’s going to happen to you?”

The lines around her mouth tightened. She was deep in thought. Maybe, he hoped, she was beginning to understand. After a moment, she squeezed his hands. “Dad, you’re wrong. I don’t blame you. Not for her death. Not for anything, really. I’m just angry. I miss her. I feel lost inside. I wonder if I’ll ever be happy again. What your father did to you was wrong. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“It was wrong, Sam, on so many levels. He gave up on me. He abandoned me. But do you know what was worse? In the end, he gave up on himself. He didn’t believe he had the strength to persevere. But perseverance is a big part of life. Sometimes when we persevere, when we push through the darkest and most difficult times, we find light at the end of the tunnel. Somehow we arrive at a better place than we were before. I’m not saying our lives will be better without Mom, or that the pain won’t take a long time to heal. I’m just asking you to persevere. With me, if you can. If we don’t give up, we could be happy someday. Life goes on. It’s a choice we make. One day, when we least expect it to happen, we might find that our lives are pretty good.”

She dropped his hands and stared at her open palms. “I can’t imagine our lives being good. I’m not there yet, but I know what you’re saying.”

“Good. That’s all I was hoping for.”

“I’m sorry, Dad.” She lifted her gaze. “I wish you had told me these things before, but I’m sorry to hear about your parents. I think your dad should’ve made a better choice. I think he should’ve tried harder, for your sake.”

He held her gaze with the fierceness of a lion protecting his cub. He didn’t want to scare her, but this was important.

“Samantha, part of persevering is having a plan. That’s the best lesson Grandpa Liam ever taught me. He planned for every occurrence, every outcome. His approach to life was systematic, methodical. I think this—more than anything else—is the reason you and I are still alive.” As he pieced together his scattered thoughts, he lifted his hands to massage his temples. “I’m not saying this very well, am I? What I’m trying to say, Sam, is this: you and I need to formulate a plan. And the core of that plan needs to be your illness. We lost so much in that fire. Too much. Your mother handed me the only disks she had, but they won’t last forever. We have to figure something out. So I need you to cooperate with me. I need you to understand why I do what I do. I’m developing a plan, but I need your help. To protect you, Sam, I’d go to the ends of the earth. But that’s something I can’t do alone. I need your help to persevere. Can you do that for me? With me?”

He saw her eyes well with tears she was much too strong to shed. Instead, she leaned into him, circled her arms around his neck. “I will, Dad. I’ll persevere. For you. For Mom. I’ll try harder. I promise.”

“Good.” He heaved a sigh. “Thank God. Now, let’s get to that library and get you a book. I assume you still want to torture me with the teenaged vampires and werewolves?”

She pushed herself to her feet and dusted her kakis. “I guess we can pick those up. But I think I want to read Harry Potter again. Do you mind?”

He smiled. People often did that. They recaptured a moment by recreating it. It was a healthy part of the healing process, and one he was happy to oblige.

“Yeah,” he agreed with a nod. “I’d like that.”