With a swift motion, and a large weight of uncertainty, the baby was lifted back into the boat. Anthony paused a moment for the boat to stabilize before setting the basket down. Nobody wanted to raise a baby in a post-apocalyptic world, except for those who were lucky enough to know the responsibility they have to endure and learn to work with what is presented to them.
It had been 5 years since the meteor made impact, just east of the Rocky Mountains, in the South-eastern Utah region. Pressure from the impact travelled through the magma layer under the earth’s crust and created geologic havok on the opposite side of the world, off the east coast of India. The two disaster zones left the world in a dark dust cloud cover for over two years, with the impact area slowly filling in with water to form a newly created sea. Damage from the massive earthquakes and new crust faultlines rippled half the planet, leveling a third of the cities in the northern American continent and throwing the planet six degrees off it’s original rotation axis. Power and food reserves had dropped to the point of desperation, causing over 30% of the world population to starve to death up until last year, and more on that teetering edge as the weather slowly starting to improve in the past 9 months. For three years now the world was dealing with massive amounts of dark, intense cloud storms and torrential rains. This year appeared to be the final dark years as those hard weather conditions were beginning to subside, allowing the situation for this man and others to try to use a boat safely on the muddy Mississippi River without too much heavy flow or threat of being caught in a draft to one side through one of the flood destroyed levees.
“I won’t be checking what you are now. We don’t have time. I need to get you to safety before we both get killed or eaten on this river.” He said, setting the child and carrier down in the far end of the boat for counter-balance. The reminder of Moby Dick had him more on edge now, wanting a safe harbor.
Scanning the water in the dimming evening light he gathered his strength and began rowing again. He wasn’t sure if there were any safe areas were in this area of the river, having usually visited another area further downstream, and the years of storms and floods changed areas frequently every season too. To his luck, he discovered a structure looming out of the water in the distance. He made an effort to get there as quick as possible, considering the safety of the situation which could be a possible benefit, or worse of danger, though he knew with a delicate package, he had to take a chance.
“Lodging for two I hope, in this forsaken hole of an area. Gods be with us.”, he said quietly with eyes upturned for a few of the words, not knowing if he was asking the nature gods of the various worldly theologies for their blessings, or if he was cursing the idea of religions altogether again. If there were Gods, they never seemed to time their blessings on him for when he needed them most. This seemed possibly to be another of those odd mythological quandaries which plagued him before.
The barn he was approaching had probably been caught in a flood and shifted here. The upper level of it now resting partially on land and partially in the water, was laying with the hayloft window in the water, most of it underwater with about the amount of the boat above water as the remainder of the opening for Anthony to row through.
“Tight squeeze, but something to work with. Make do with what we can. Of course talking to ourselves like this with…” he said, stopping at that moment remembering that that was one of the sayings his wife used to say in tough times. “Just get inside that thing you dolt.”
He scraped the bow of the boat through the opening on the upper jamb of the hayloft window, getting close enough to one side to grasp the weathered wood. The block and tackle shaded his entry as he guided the dinghy inside. He needed to lay flat in the boat, save for his arm extending out to use the side of the window to guide the boat in. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing, but he did it and got the craft into the shelter.
Once in the darkness he paused, allowing his eyes to adjust. He was surprised by the interesting bounties the view inside afforded the odd pair of travellers. Chain tied oil lamps, a third of one of the lofts still full of musty but intact hay bales and a wall of antique farm tools, the shadow of some on the wall of those fallen and lost.
“There were some thoughtful people around here at one time. They must have been good folk little one.” He was in need of a benefit now, given his confusion and desperate mental state. This was part of the adventure still in his head. He was dedicated to it no matter what the obstacles and challenges. He was too strong a man to fail and go back on his desire for a different start, or at least at one time he was a strong enough man.
He reached out to grasp the rope from the block and tackle, dry and brittle above water with weather and age, and flexible and waterlogged from the water below. Gathering up enough to throw on the loft, though as he did, enough of it splashed back into the water, spraying him and the boat with a relieving cold awakening. Over to that side he went, using the framing of the barn walls to pull the boat over to the edge of the loft by an open area where he took up the rope again. He tied the boat to a wood post there, angled from the damaging ride in the water, but strongly attached still the same.
First out he lifted the basket parcel he rescued before getting out himself. Making sure the boat was secure, he tested the still strong structure and floor of the barn remnant. When he was sure it was a good place, he began to move bales around to create a sheltered corner where weather and cold could possibly be kept at bay for the first night of stay in this hospitable refuge of time lost.
He did not truly understand what he was doing, almost as if the hard time of being a failed parent once before had never rubbed off on him. And just thinking of survival first at this moment, he seemed to put those memories aside for now as he worked to protect the child he did not yet know.
It had been 5 years since the meteor made impact, just east of the Rocky Mountains, in the South-eastern Utah region. Pressure from the impact travelled through the magma layer under the earth’s crust and created geologic havok on the opposite side of the world, off the east coast of India. The two disaster zones left the world in a dark dust cloud cover for over two years, with the impact area slowly filling in with water to form a newly created sea. Damage from the massive earthquakes and new crust faultlines rippled half the planet, leveling a third of the cities in the northern American continent and throwing the planet six degrees off it’s original rotation axis. Power and food reserves had dropped to the point of desperation, causing over 30% of the world population to starve to death up until last year, and more on that teetering edge as the weather slowly starting to improve in the past 9 months. For three years now the world was dealing with massive amounts of dark, intense cloud storms and torrential rains. This year appeared to be the final dark years as those hard weather conditions were beginning to subside, allowing the situation for this man and others to try to use a boat safely on the muddy Mississippi River without too much heavy flow or threat of being caught in a draft to one side through one of the flood destroyed levees.
“I won’t be checking what you are now. We don’t have time. I need to get you to safety before we both get killed or eaten on this river.” He said, setting the child and carrier down in the far end of the boat for counter-balance. The reminder of Moby Dick had him more on edge now, wanting a safe harbor.
Scanning the water in the dimming evening light he gathered his strength and began rowing again. He wasn’t sure if there were any safe areas were in this area of the river, having usually visited another area further downstream, and the years of storms and floods changed areas frequently every season too. To his luck, he discovered a structure looming out of the water in the distance. He made an effort to get there as quick as possible, considering the safety of the situation which could be a possible benefit, or worse of danger, though he knew with a delicate package, he had to take a chance.
“Lodging for two I hope, in this forsaken hole of an area. Gods be with us.”, he said quietly with eyes upturned for a few of the words, not knowing if he was asking the nature gods of the various worldly theologies for their blessings, or if he was cursing the idea of religions altogether again. If there were Gods, they never seemed to time their blessings on him for when he needed them most. This seemed possibly to be another of those odd mythological quandaries which plagued him before.
The barn he was approaching had probably been caught in a flood and shifted here. The upper level of it now resting partially on land and partially in the water, was laying with the hayloft window in the water, most of it underwater with about the amount of the boat above water as the remainder of the opening for Anthony to row through.
“Tight squeeze, but something to work with. Make do with what we can. Of course talking to ourselves like this with…” he said, stopping at that moment remembering that that was one of the sayings his wife used to say in tough times. “Just get inside that thing you dolt.”
He scraped the bow of the boat through the opening on the upper jamb of the hayloft window, getting close enough to one side to grasp the weathered wood. The block and tackle shaded his entry as he guided the dinghy inside. He needed to lay flat in the boat, save for his arm extending out to use the side of the window to guide the boat in. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing, but he did it and got the craft into the shelter.
Once in the darkness he paused, allowing his eyes to adjust. He was surprised by the interesting bounties the view inside afforded the odd pair of travellers. Chain tied oil lamps, a third of one of the lofts still full of musty but intact hay bales and a wall of antique farm tools, the shadow of some on the wall of those fallen and lost.
“There were some thoughtful people around here at one time. They must have been good folk little one.” He was in need of a benefit now, given his confusion and desperate mental state. This was part of the adventure still in his head. He was dedicated to it no matter what the obstacles and challenges. He was too strong a man to fail and go back on his desire for a different start, or at least at one time he was a strong enough man.
He reached out to grasp the rope from the block and tackle, dry and brittle above water with weather and age, and flexible and waterlogged from the water below. Gathering up enough to throw on the loft, though as he did, enough of it splashed back into the water, spraying him and the boat with a relieving cold awakening. Over to that side he went, using the framing of the barn walls to pull the boat over to the edge of the loft by an open area where he took up the rope again. He tied the boat to a wood post there, angled from the damaging ride in the water, but strongly attached still the same.
First out he lifted the basket parcel he rescued before getting out himself. Making sure the boat was secure, he tested the still strong structure and floor of the barn remnant. When he was sure it was a good place, he began to move bales around to create a sheltered corner where weather and cold could possibly be kept at bay for the first night of stay in this hospitable refuge of time lost.
He did not truly understand what he was doing, almost as if the hard time of being a failed parent once before had never rubbed off on him. And just thinking of survival first at this moment, he seemed to put those memories aside for now as he worked to protect the child he did not yet know.
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