And now, the conclusion to Drift Away…

Despite my anger, the thrum of the engine lulled me into a sleepiness. I should check on mom again. Three a.m. Not likely we would get an answer from dad tonight. I hugged my legs until the chill took me back inside. I opened the cabin door quietly this time. Mom had fallen back asleep still sitting at the table, a pile of tissues cradling her phone. I latched the door and stepped down into the cabin.

Her eyes shot open. “He says he’ll be there.”

I heard her hurt, all the times she’d said those words and he hadn’t made it on time. “At the dock?”

“Does he know you told me?”

“Yeah. He does now. Your father and I tried to do best for you and for us.

“I know, mom. You both told me a thousand times.”

“It probably didn’t look so bad from the outside,” she said. “He wanted to stay my best friend. But I wanted a partner and a lov-“

“Mom. TMI! I don’t need to know this?”

“Sorry. I probably should have gotten counseling, too.”

“Yeah. It helped me.” This brilliant woman took care of everyone but herself. “You still love him? You haven’t even dated since he left.”

She snorted, loosening phlegm and blew her nose. “Yeah.”

“Maybe a best friend is what we all need right now.”

Mom turned away and her back shook. I wrapped my arms around her and climbed up into the chair that used to hold the two of us comfortably. Now it wasn’t so roomy. I held her as she sobbed.

#

The morning light woke me. Mom stirred next to me. I pulled myself up and out of the chair. “I’ll go check the course.”

The sun poked through the clouds over the horizon, broken hills in the distance to the east. My phone said we’d be at Santa Clarita in a couple hours. Should dad stay away? At least until we knew if mom was going to die or I was infected. He would have to decide. I tried to call him again. It rang twice before telling me all circuits were busy. Every fifteen minutes I tried to make the call again. On the third try, he answered as I was about to hit cancel.

“Dad?”

“Rina. It’s good to hear you.” His voice was hoarse, but strong.

“Dad. Maybe you shouldn’t come. If you don’t have it and mom does…?”

“Don’t be silly. Everyone on the planet is potentially infected by now.” A coughing fit exploded in my ear. When his voice came back it was softer and scratchy. “I’ll see you at the marina. How’s your mom?”

I swallowed, tasting an icky sense of metallic tang. “She’s sick. I’ve never seen her…” Rina struggled for the right word, “feeble.”

“I’ll be there, Rina. I love you.”

I reset the autopilot and paced the deck. Then I went below and checked on Mom. Her breath came in ragged inhalations, her phone asleep in her hand. I set it beside her, plugging it into the solar charger, and pulled the covers up. I kissed her hot forehead and returned to the tiller. I’d never thought about having to take care of my parents.

I returned to the tiller and sat, straining to see the hills before Santa Clarita.

There was a message from Dad’s cell. How had I missed it? I clicked to listen. No servers are available to retrieve voice-mail. I checked to see if he’d answered my texts. No. I threw my phone at the sail bag, then retrieved it and tried again. Twice. Three times. Four. Lost count. I paced, staring at the hills in the distance, my phone down to 27% in the yellow.

The low battery warning popped up as it rang through. “Rina?” Dad’s voice sounded hoarse. “I’m in the car. I’m sorry. But I can’t get near the marina. Must be a couple miles. I’ve driven all around. Cars are abandoned on the freeway. I’m tired. Going to rest. I love you, honey. I tried.”

“Oh, God. Please, no.” I sank into the sail-bag feeling like I’d been punched in the gut. I had to go get him. But how? I couldn’t drive. I was a spoiled, overprotected adolescent. The tears came and I didn’t care. It wasn’t fair. He said he’d make it to the marina. He’d believed he would and I believed him. But there’s a lie in the middle of believe. He’d told me that so I learned to spell it. “No.” I startled myself by saying it out loud. I said again. Louder. “NO!” I would find him and get him to the marina. Somehow.

I flipped screens to find my android and clicked it. My father’s name scrolled across the screen. He always lost his phone and I always found it. A red dot appeared upon the map. I hit directions to the marina. It gave me a jagged line to follow for 1.6 miles. Dammit. There had to be a way. Could he meet me someplace else where I could dock? I typed in docks in Santa Clarita. Industrial sites lit up on the map.

I hit my father’s number, but the phone buzzed, unable to connect, try again later. I sent a text: Can you get to the Port of Santa Clarita? I went to e-mail and sent the map. I repeated it as a text, a tweet, an Instagram and a Facebook post.

My phone showed red. Low power. “Dammit!” Should have plugged my phone in. I hurried down. Mom was white as a sheet and breathing shallowly. Snot dribbled down her chin. She didn’t notice when I wiped it away. I unplugged her phone and plugged mine in. I stood and watched, my heart pounding in my chest until I decided her breathing was at least steady.

Surely one of my messages would get through. As it was, he was closer to the Port than the marina anyway. I could go get him. But how would I bring him to the boat? He was twice my weight. I needed one of the big wheeled carts. The diesel strained and the rhythm increased. I rushed back to the tiller.

The wind had blown us slightly off course and the engine was trying to compensate. I changed the settings on the autopilot. The wind was taking me where I wanted to go. I pushed toward the port, praying that my father would be there. But a hollow spot in my throat and an ache in my chest questioned everything I’d ever believed in.

The autopilot alarm warned of shallow waters. I’d been staring at the heading, not the horizon. Some sailor.

The Santa Clarita Industrial area was as deserted as the marina was yesterday. The diesel gauge read a third of a tank. I’d pushed it hard. But there had to be diesel here somewhere.

With a hopeful sigh, I turned on Mom’s phone and put in her passcode: 1,2,3,4. Logged into my email account. A message from dad twenty minutes ago. Heading to the port. “Yes. You can do it, Dad.” I took over control of the motor and tiller, guiding the boat in close. No way the sailboat would hit bottom here where the freighters docked, but I needed to find a place to come ashore that dad could reach. Preferably with a self-service diesel service.

My phone rang, startling me. “Rina?” father’s voice, but soft and scratchy.

Oh, my god. I stood up. My mouth moved. My heart pounded.

“Did I get through?”

I cleared my throat. Sound. “Dad. It’s me. You got through. How close are you?”

“Oh, my god. I’ve been trying for the last half hour. I’m close. Where are you?”

I glanced around for anything distinct. “The old railroad terminal building? The one that’s a museum and gallery? I can see that.”

“Okay. I’ll get there as fast as I can. Come even if you don’t hear back from me, okay?”

“I will.” I hit the end call button. If we talked any longer, I would be a puddle of tears draining into the bilge pump. I steered the Vita in toward the docks. I found one with a ladder and nice padding all the way down the piers. I killed the engine a hundred feet away and jumped to the deck, playing out the line, hoping that I’d done like Dad taught me. The sailboat slowed as it came up against the waves lapping back from the shore. The stern drifting in faster, coming parallel to the dock with its sign proclaiming, Private. Do not dock. Violators will be fined. We wouldn’t be long, I hoped.

The boat stopped feet from the pier and I tossed the line up, hoping the loop would grab a cleat. It landed soundly on the dock and I hefted, leaning into the cabin, pulling with all my weight. The rope held and I kept pulling until the boat bumped gently against the foam on the pier. I did a figure eight on the sailboat’s cleat and tossed the rest of the rope down. I took the front line and wrapped it around a pier and recleated it. The ladder was a couple feet above the deck, smack dab in the center of the boat. Dad would be proud if he had seen it.

I took a deep breath and headed back into the cabin.

Mom stared at me listlessly. “We’re there.”

Here eyes stared at me, confusion clouded them. “Where?”

“Santa Clarita, Mom.” I felt her forehead. Feverish. “I’m getting you some medicine.” I fumbled through the medicine kit, trying to remember what she gave me for a fever. “Does your head hurt?”

“Uh huh.”

I grabbed two ibuprofens and a water bottle from the galley. “Here. Swallow these.” I handed them to her, but she didn’t reach for them. “Mom. Open your mouth. I want you to swallow these. Then I’ll give you water.”

She opened her mouth. “Water first.”

I poured some water in her mouth and then she held out her hand for the pills. She popped them in her mouth and swallowed, taking the water bottle from me and taking a big gulp.

“Dad’s out there, Mom. We’re docked. I have to find him. Have to get fuel.”

“Help me get off the boat. We can go to a hospital or something.”

“NO.” I stood. “You said no hospitals.” She couldn’t get off the boat without my help. “I’m bringing him here and we’re going back out.”

Mom coughed, phlegm spitting from her mouth as she shoved her kleenex toward it. She swallowed and nodded, leaning back.

I turned. If I didn’t go now, would I have the guts to go find my father? I climbed the rungs to the dock two at a time and ran, letting my aching legs free. I picked an alley and ran to its end before fear stopped me. I wasn’t really supposed to be here. I ducked behind a barrel of diesel attached to a pump and poked my head around the corner. Deserted. My phone still showed Find my android on the screen. It blinked. Several blocks away on the map. I texted Dad. I’m on my way. I ran again.

A row of cars littered the main road. Some of them had figures in them. No. Don’t look. Dad would be at the back. I focused, straight ahead. There. He was in the last car pulled over to the side, not wanting to block anyone else.

I sprinted, jerked the door open. The car was empty. “Dad?” I hollered, standing still, listening for an answer over my heavy breathing. I called again, louder, turning away from the car so my ears might pick something up. Nothing.

Chill. Think. No backpack in the car. But a bag of freeze dried food, snacks, and powdered drinks sat in the backseat. He wouldn’t have gone far.

I scanned the distance toward the converted Museum and also back the way I’d run. What if I’d run right by him? Was he sick enough to collapse somewhere? Possible, but more likely he wasn’t on that path. I hauled the bag of food from the back seat and shut the door. What if he came back? I pulled a pen from the glove box and scrawled, “Wait for me, Rina.” On a receipt tucked into the door pocket. I set it on the dashboard and shut the door.

The bag wasn’t too heavy, but I’d winded myself with the run. I walked toward the Museum’s tower scanning every building along the way, checking in between them.

Nothing moved. A cat, sunning himself on the top of a cement wall watched me pass. But no humans. Had everything come to a complete stop? No one coming to work on a Monday? No way things would fall apart that fast. Santa Clarita was small, but not that small. Where the heck was my father?

A pounding, tearing sound broke the quiet. The cat disappeared. I spun, looking for a place to hide. If it was my dad I wanted to find him, but it sounded like someone violent. I set the food bag on the cement wall and swung my leg up onto it, pulling myself over. I put the bag on the ground and peeked out over the wall. The banging continued. Finally, it stopped. Then nothing. Then a sound like an animal, like a baby elephant clearing its trunk.

The metal door to the public restroom swung open with a clang. My father came out lugging his pack and carrying a giant roll of toilet paper in his arms.

“Dad!”

He spun. “Rina?”

I hopped over the fence and ran to him, collapsing into him, hugging his skinny, but tall self as tightly as mom had hugged me.

“Steady, girl.” His smile greeted me. “I’m so tired. I was going to have a rest and then come to the dock.”

“It’s okay, Dad.” I led him to the lower part of the wall. “You made it.” I helped him out of his backpack and lay it beside him.

“Missed you, kid.” His breath came out in a wheeze.

We sat, me hanging on him, trying not to constrict his flow of oxygen. He used some of the tissue, turning away so I didn’t have to see the colored snot. He tossed it in the bush.

“Dad.”

“Sorry,” he sighed and pushed himself to his feet. “It’s biodegradable.”

“I guess, you always said…” I picked up the bag of food. “Can you walk now?”

“I think so.” He reached for his pack and swung it over his shoulder. It set him off balance and he sat down. “Might need you to keep me steady.”

His arm on my shoulder felt heavier than I expected. “Let me take the pack.” He didn’t complain as I pulled it back off his back and slipped my arms in, glad that he always packed light. I wrapped my arm around him. “Come on. Let’s go.”

After a hundred yards, he slowed to a plodding step. I dropped the bag of foodstuffs and took more of his weight.

“Rest.”

I wanted to keep going. But his feet stopped moving. I didn’t want to let him down. I wouldn’t be able to get him up again. “A little more, Dad. Let’s find a place to sit.” His feet shuffled forward again. At the end of the block, another cement wall cradled a garden of bright flowers. “A bit more and you can rest.” Me, too. When they got there she helped him sit next to the light pole. “Grab this if you need to. I’m going back for the bag of food.”

He nodded, his breath coming in bursts.

I ran back, not wanting him to see me cry. Tears slipped down my face. At least I’d get my family back together. I walked slow to give both of us time to recover.

“Why’s it so dead, Dad? Is the pandemic really that bad?”

“Well, it’s Labor Day. That accounts for some of the deadness. But the CDC suggested that folks who don’t have ‘necessary jobs” should stay home.”

“So we’re going to leave home and go for a sail?”

“Yeah. Sailing off to where? Yeah. Pretty crazy idea. But not the only crazy idea people have had recently. Better than committing suicide.”

“Yeah. I’m going to run this stuff to the boat, tell Mom I found you.”

“Don’t want to surprise her?”

“Nope. Not me.” I swung the pack back over my shoulder and carried the food bag in front. “Be right back. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

He nodded tiredly. “I’ll sit here and close my eyes.” He hugged the light pole.

I needed to know more. Were both of my parents going to die? Then what? They’d helped me grow up self-sufficient, though protected. Now? At least high school wasn’t a worry for the time being. I hauled the stuff to the boat, told Mom I’d found Dad, and went back for him.

He was where I left him, his eyes closed, holding the pole. “Dad,” I touched his arm.

His eyes flicked open; and he smiled. “Ready, set, go.”

I took it slow, at least this time I only had him to worry about. He insisted on going down the ladder ahead of me. I couldn’t have stopped him from falling anyway. He motioned me into the cabin ahead of him.

“Barry.”

“Mandy.”

“I missed you.”

“Good.”

Dad laughed louder than necessary. “Yeah. Good.”

“Missed you, too,” Mom muttered into her kleenex.

Dad politely ignored her admission as he hefted himself onto the bench seat at the galley table.

“Where to?”

Then they both looked at me. “North. Too hot down south. I’ve wanted to go to Oregon since I played Oregon Trail in 2nd grade.”

Dad and Mom nodded together.

How long would it take to get to Oregon? How long did they have left? “I’m going to let you to get reacquainted while I get some things taken care of.”

I skipped up the stairs to the deck and grabbed the two empty water jugs. I could fill them up where dad got the tissue.

Twenty minutes later I’d gotten the water back to the boat and then I realized more fuel would be important–the pump I’d seen on my way to find dad.

I tugged on the can of diesel. Too heavy to move. I shoved with all my might and it moved a couple of inches. So I sat on it and fumed. Stupid. Then I grabbed the next one, still empty, and unscrewed the lid. When it was half full, I stopped the flow and tried to lift the can. I got it off the ground. Getting it down to the boat was going to be another challenge.

I dragged the half can down the dock, stopping regularly to rest. Wishing I was stronger wasn’t going to help, only working harder and gaining muscle would.

When I got to the boat I rigged up a pulley to help me get the can down.

I stumbled down the steps into the cabin. Mom and Dad looked at me expectantly. I sighed and raised my hands in defeat. I got half a can of diesel and two gallons of water. I don’t know how we’re going to fill up.”

Dad stared at me, a confused look on his face. “Why don’t we go to the marina? We can motor up to the tanks for both diesel and water. It’s set up to take my credit card. The water’s free with the diesel purchase.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t ask.”

I made a growling sound at him.

“Communication, dear.” My mom said softly. “Use your words.”

Sounded just like the last trip we’d taken together. I laughed out loud. “You don’t want to hear the words I would have used.”

Mom rolled her eyes at me like a teenager. Dad laughed.

Where were they going after the marina? It didn’t matter anymore. We’re together. A family of sorts. Two friends and their kid at least. To hell with the end of the world. It’s going to have to come and get me if it wants me.

The End

If you’ve enjoyed this story and haven’t signed up for my newsletter yet. Please put your e-mail below for more FREE fiction, bonus materials, and announcements.  Thanks,