A houseboat. Finegan Fine

its side, and the smaller boats can no longer be seen, having sunk. The

raft make of logs had been tied to the houseboat earlier, and is

starting to tug away from shore with the houseboat as it drifts in the

current, the outgoing tide. The log continues,

Floods everywhere. Landmarks unrecognizable.

We’re out of food and water. Gas almost gone.

Finegan takes another swig from the jug, flipping more pages, scanning.

The shoreline is in the distance now, the floating raft lit from the

left by the setting sun. The final log entry says,

Drifted close to land. Taking the dinghy over.

Abandoning ship.

Finegan is about to take another swig from the jug but ponders it

instead. He goes over to the side of the houseboat and pours the rest

of the homebrew overboard, setting the jug down. He looks out at the

floating raft, drifting downstream with the outgoing tide along with

the houseboat. He says,

Lets cut that loose and go upriver a bit, see

what’s to see up there, eh?

Finegan picks up a knife and walks over to where the floating raft is

tied to the houseboat, slicing the line.

87

Eating Rats

The houseboat is peddling down what would have been main street of a

small town. Two-story brick buildings line both sides of the main

street, flooded to the floor of the second story. Much of the brick is

broken off, some buildings no more than a single wall with some boards

sticking out of it.

The place appears deserted until the mayor appears in a broken second

story window. The window has been knocked out to form a doorway, and a

rowboat is tied by a rope that disappears into the doorway. The mayor

is shirtless, has folds of skin hanging over the waist of his baggy,

dirty pants, as though he has lost a lot of weight. He has a scraggly

beard and hair on the long side too. He leans in the doorway, yelling

at Finegan.

You got any food?

Finegan replies,

Depends. You got anything to trade? I’m a

trader.

The mayor flaps his hand toward Finegan in disgust, as though to say

“go away”, and turns his back, walking back into the room.

The entire length of main street, several blocks, is flooded, with a

hillside at the end rising up out of the water. At the end of main

street is a hill topped with a nursing home complex. There are several

buildings, all of similar shape and size, and a parking lot. Finegan

heads for that hillside.

______________________________

Finegan and Joey are walking through the entry of the nursing home

complex. The buildings show the effects of quakes and high winds, some

thrown sideways, some collapsed in place, others standing but with

windows broken and roof partly blown off. A sign laying along the

walkway says, in fading paint, “Coolridge Retirement Home”. Finegan is

looking around as he walks, sometimes walking backwards, looking for

life. He hears a screen door creaking open. The woman manager says,

Can I help you?

A woman in her 30’s, her long brown hair held back by a bandana, is

standing in the doorway, holding the crooked screen door open. She is

wearing a man’s shirt that is too large for her, bound at the waist by

a tie, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She has a long colorful

skirt beneath, and is barefoot. Several cats run in and out of the room

88

as she opens the door. Finegan jerks his head to the side at the sound

of her voice.

Finegan Fine here, mam, trader. Perhaps I have

something you’ve been looking for, something

you need.

The manager says,

Oh, I don’t know. Unless you’re a floating

pharmacy. You that houseboat down there? The

one piled with, ah . . boy, you do come loaded.

What’all you got?

Finegan smiles and says,

Don’t rightly know, mam, until I do inventory.

As I said, I’m a trader, and I find I can rise

to any occasion.

Finegan stops short at this point, all but putting his hand to his

mouth, realizing they are flirting with each other and dropping

innuendoes. The manager catches this too, and tries to put the

conversation back on a safe footing.

Well, ah, we’ve got a retirement home here, old

folks. Mostly what they’re missing is

medication, but those that suffered from that

passed early. Now I’m here as head nurse with a

hardy lot. Old, but hardy.

The manager steps through the doorway into the driveway circling the

complex and motions to Finegan and Joey to follow her.

Come on back, I’ll show you.

______________________________

The nursing home vegetable garden is at the back of the complex. Most

of the gardens are raised beds, long rectangular beds formed by a heavy

lumber posts laid horizontally on top of one another, held firm by

stakes along the outside driven into the ground. The wall is two feet

tall with soil in the interior of the bed. There is a pipe running down

the center of each bed for watering with a spigot at one end. The pipes

have holes punched into them so water sprays out down the length of the

pipe. In between the beds is what was intended to be lawn, but it has

not been mowed in ages. Instead, there are wheelchair tracks and a path

between the beds, from use.

89

Several oldsters are tending the garden. Half are in wheelchairs, which

pull alongside the beds so the oldsters can simple reach over and pull

weeds or collect produce or whatever. Some oldsters are using walkers

and sit on the edges of the beds. The beds were intended to be

accessible and to not require bending down, designed for the

handicapped or aged.

Finegan and the manager are followed by a curious Joey who is trying to

get the many cats to come up to him. He bends over and calls to them,

but they are illusive though interested and keep circling him. The

manager is pointing while talking.

We were fortunate, having these put in ahead of

time. And we saved the seed, year to year. All

those things were therapy, physical therapy.

We’d make a big deal out of it, sorting seeds

into plastic zip bags and labeling them,

sharing them with family. Now it’s proved to be

a Godsend.

Some of the oldsters turn their heads at their approach and smile and

wave. Finegan asks,

What do you do for meat?

The manager puts her finger to her mouth, a shush motion, and in a low

voice replies.

I’ll tell you later.

Finegan and the manager have been walking along the path, which circles

around and returns to the complex buildings. They are approaching some

benches along the path. The manager sits down, patting the seat next to

her for Finegan to do likewise. She looks down the path to be sure no

one is close enough to hear.

You can see we’ve got cats. We’ve got a

population explosion.

The manager glances at Finegan’s face, prepared to drop the bomb and

wanting to see if he’s ready for it.

I’ve got several female cats that bring me

their catch. It’s the females that hunt. . .

Must be a rat population explosion somewhere,

as they rarely fail to deliver. Every morning,

there they are, dead rats, fresh meat, on my

doorstep.

90

She glances at Finegan’s face again.

Well, it’s protein! I cook it to death, meat

falls off the bone, mix it into the soup that’s

supper every night. . . No one’s died yet.

Finegan leans back against the bench back, putting one foot up on the

other knee, relaxed. He says,

I’m sure you’re not the only one. . . Don’t you

fish?

The manager says,

We don’t have a pier. Don’t have a boat. And

except for myself, who could manage it? They’d

drown trying. . . We do have a pole and line.

Some relative would come for a visit and haul a

resident off to some riverbank for a picnic. So

we had a pole and line on hand. . . But I can’t

leave. I’m the only one here. . . Plus my day

is long enough as is.

Just then one of the female cats saunters up with a dead rat in its

mouth and drops it at the manager’s feet. The manager leans forward to

praise and pet the cat.

Why thank you Mitzy! That’s a beautiful gift!

______________________________

The peace on the main street has been shattered by the sound of lumber

being pulled apart, nails loosened but still holding and complaining as

boards are pulled apart. The mayor comes to his window to see what’s

going on.

Hey! You can’t take that! That belongs to

someone.

Finegan appears in a window near where his canoe has been tied. The

window has been pushed out for easy access. He sticks his head out the

window to yell back.

So sue me. . . How come you’re not helping that

woman up there tending the old folks?

The mayor gets a disgusted look on his face and flaps his hand again in

the direction of Finegan, as though dismissing him, and turns to

shuffle back into his apartment. Lumber pieces start flying out of the

window – studs and railings and numerous floorboards, splashing as it

hits the water. In the background there is more hammering as Finegan is

retrieving nails as he dismantles the building.

91

The oldsters in the garden are all shock still, their jaws a bit agape,

heads turned in the direction of the noise, listening to the sound of

construction.

______________________________

That evening the manager, Finegan and Joey, and several of the oldsters

in wheelchairs or clinging to walkers are looking out over the water in

a beautiful sunset. A floating pier can be seen, with a long ramp down

to the pier accessible by wheelchairs. Former 6” wide hardwood floor

boards from one of the old flooded town buildings, torn from the floor

of the second floor, are used as the pier bed and lengthwise as a ramp

to the floating pier. As the water raises, the pier will too.

Posts from an interior railing are placed along the side of the ramp

and pier, with rope strung between the posts as guardrails. The whole

lot is irregular, the posts painted white, the floor boards a scuffed

brown, and the rope of varying thickness. Finegan did not have a saw so

the ends of boards stick out at the end of the pier. Studs have been

hammered along the top of the pier bed, along the edges, as wheelchair

guards. Some chairs from the raided second story apartment are placed

here and there for those coming to fish on walkers.

The manager looks sideways at Finegan, who is standing beside her. She

says,

You must stay for supper. And I think the

residents have some seed they want to share

with you. They don’t see much family these

days. In fact, not in over a year.

Then realizing what he must be expecting for supper, she whispers.

Tonight, it’ll just be vegetable soup!

Finegan whispers back.

No, no, have your usual! I’m fine with that!

Then, turning to the residents grouped around her, the manager says,

We may not have TV any longer, but now, during

these beautiful sunsets, we can do some

fishing! Does anyone remember what we used for

bait? John, do you remember? Worms. Yes, it was

worms from the garden!

______________________________

Finegan and Joey are coming through the fog, approaching the houseboat

where it is moored below the nursing home complex. Finegan has a clear

plastic bag filled with little zip lock bags of various seeds, hand

92

labeled and dated. All is taped watertight. Barney is barking in

greeting, his tail wagging. Finegan says,

Better tuck this high and dry.

Joey reaches down to pet Barney, appreciating the fact that he is not

evasive as the cats were. Joey tells Barney,

You wouldn’t have wanted any of that soup

anyway, buddy. Just yucky vegetables. . .

Joey stands up and looks around for some leftovers from breakfast to

give Barney, taking them from a covered frying pan atop a box. Barney

snatches the fried potatoes from his hand and gobbles them down. Joey

says,

Just old people food. They didn’t have much.

Just dead rats.

Finegan smiles as he puts away the package of seeds, and

says,

Yeah, who’d eat a rat!

93

The Pawn Shop

Finegan and Joey are walking through a business district of a small

flooded city. The business district is above the water line, though

most of the small city and its suburbs have been flooded. The area

appears deserted and has as usual been devastated by quakes and high

winds. Shingles have been ripped off roofs, masonry buildings have

collapsed, frame buildings have been thrown sideways, and any signs not

painted on the buildings themselves have been blown about and are in

the street. Portions of the signs can be read, saying things like

“Insurance” or “Municipal” or “Handy Mart”.

It is drizzling, so Finegan and Joey are steadily becoming damp, their

clothing starting to stick to them. They arrive at a former pawnshop,

the fading sign painted on the wall above the door. The door open, and

they hear noises of someone bustling around inside. Finegan says,

Ya spose they’d have an umbrella?

The pawnshopman is rearranging shelves, moving items off a shelf,

dusting the shelf, then returning the items. For all the clutter, the

place is immaculate, all except for the pawnshopman himself. He is

short, has an extremely dirty white shirt on, rolled up at the sleeves.

He wears a gray-stripped vest, also covered with dust in places. His

gray striped pants are bagging and stretched out over the knees from

too much kneeling. His black leather shoes are scuffed, the shoelaces

flapping under foot.

The pawnshop is filled with items, so every shelf is crowded and every

corner piled high. Items line the front of the counter and are piled on

the counter top. These are all items formerly of value, when a monetary

system was in place and people were not starving. Jewelry lays in

piles, though some is placed under the counter for safekeeping.

Electronic equipment is stuffed into the shelves behind the counter,

with some speakers placed along the front of the counters. Fine

ballroom dresses and tuxedos are hanging on a rack toward the back of

the shop. Dish sets, fine pottery, glassware and crystal are displayed

on one shelf, the boxes containing the full place settings behind these

display items. Leather cowboy boots and matching belts are on another

shelf, along with accompanying items such as cowboy hats. Under the

counter in one spot are displayed metals of honor from past wars or

with a presidential seal, given in appreciation.

Finegan and Joey are gawking, looking around in amazement as they

slowly walk down the middle of the shop, between the counters. They

94

look high and low, not saying a word, taking it all in. The pawnshopman

says,

What can I do you fer?

Finegan says,

Got any umbrellas?

The pawnshopman says,

None of those, but got a sale on over here . .

He walks over to a counter top piled high with video games.

Half price, today only.

Finegan says,

But we got no electricity!

To which the pawnshipman replies,

It’s coming back.

Both Finegan and the pawnshopman stop the conversation and just stare

at each other at this point, as Finegan is stunned at this delusion and

the pawnshopman does not want to get into details. Finegan leans an

elbow on the counter, leaning toward the short pawnshopman who is

standing proudly behind his wares, fingertips resting on the counter

edge and back ramrod straight.

How do you figure? You must know something I

don’t.

To which the pawnshopman replies,

Yez sireee, it’s coming back. When they come

through here laying new lines and roads, we’ll

all be back in business again. Yez a matter of

time.

Just then a man wearing his Sunday best, suit and bow tie and shined

shoes and hat walks into the pawnshop. He is carrying a small wooden

box, which he sets on the counter. He opens it carefully and music

plays. He almost visibly breathes a sigh of relief, as though he had

expected it might not work right. He looks at the pawnshopman, who

says,

Not much call for these, but it is a beauty.

What you looking for?

The man in his Sunday best looks a bit worried as he is going to try

for food instead of the usual – cash.

I’d trade for a sack of flour for the mizzus.

The pawnshopman replies,

None of that, but I do have a sale on over

here.

He gestures at the pile of video games.

______________________________

95

Finegan and Joey are walking away from the pawnshop, followed closely

by the man in his Sunday best who has several video games in his hands.

Finegan turns on his heel to address the man, still fascinated by the

mass delusion ongoing in this town. Finegan nods to the pile of video

games he is clutching.

Can’t eat those.

Finegan is now walking alongside the man, who is trying out the

pawnshopman’s sales pitch on Finegan, as he must now go home and face

the little lady.

These are worth more, overall. Growth item. Low

price now but the value of these babies will

skyrocket!

Finegan asks,

So when are the crews expected to arrive?

The man in his Sunday best says,

We ain’t heard, but that’s cause they’re real

busy.

Finegan is still engaging the man in his Sunday best in conversation as

they approach his home, having never encountered a mass delusion

before. The path is along a path worn into the yard, which is no longer

mowed. Joey has now caught the fascination too, and realizes what

Finegan is trying to do with his polite questions. Joey is walking

along beside Finegan, straining to hear every word.

The home where the man in his Sunday best and his missus live has

collapsed, the roof falling into the center of the home, the beams

having broken during the quakes. But an entry into one wing has been

arranged through a window, a piece of rug placed over the windowsill to

soften the slide in and out. The porch of the small home is sloping but

the roof is holding.

The missus is wearing a cotton dress and slip-on shoes, sitting on a

stool in the yard, plucking a chicken. She has her long hair piled on

top of her head and pinned with hairpins, out of the way of her work.

The missus is gutting the chicken, pulling the entrails out into a

bucket between her knees where she has also placed the feathers. She

tosses the plucked chicken into a roasting pan to her side, and digs

around in the entrails for the heart, liver, and kidneys of the

chicken, also to be roasted. As the threesome approach, she looks up.

The man in his Sunday best says,

Another bargain, my dear! I’ll just put these

away with the rest of our treasure.

96

At this, he sprints for the padded window frame, and putting one leg

inside he slips through to escape any questions from the missus.

Finegan and Joey are left to introduce themselves but no need as the

missus starts talking.

Oh Lord. More junk.

The missus swings on the stool so she is facing the roasting pan and a

pot with some dressing, and begins to stuff the dressing into the

chicken. It’s evident that she does the work around the place while her

husband dreams on about the recovery to come. Finegan is in the midst

of motioning toward the window where her husband disappeared, ready to

speak and has his mouth open, but is interrupted again. The missus sits

up straight, catching her breath, and brushes away a strand of hair

that has escaped the pins.

At least it keeps them busy. We had some that

just withered away, couldn’t take the loss.

She nods in the direction of the padded window where her husband

disappeared as she bends to finish stuffing her chicken.

He thinks he’s got gains.

Just then the man in his Sunday best appears in the padded window,

slinging one leg out and turning to pull the rest of his body through.

He has a chalkboard in his hand and holds it up with an ecstatic look

on his face.

Maw, best ever!

______________________________

The pawnshopman walks up to his shop and opens the door with a key.

A crowd of a half dozen people has formed outside the pawnshop, all

carrying clothing or small boxes or electronics in their hands. Some

are dressed in casual clothes, others wearing their Sunday best. The

pawnshopman says,

Open for business!

Finegan and Joey are walking down the middle of the street, past this

congregation, heads turned to watch the drama.

The crowd is bargaining with each other while waiting for their turn in

the pawnshop. One woman holds up a sequined dress, holding it out to

her side for display, trying to sell it to a man who is holding a box.

Another man has mounted antlers of a deer that he is holding in front

of him. He is approaching first one and then another in the crowd, but

they turn their backs on him.

As Finegan and Joey are leaving the business district they pass a man

carrying a large picture frame, devoid of a picture, toward the

pawnshop, followed by a woman carrying a large iridescent vase.

97

______________________________

Finegan and Joey are returning to the houseboat, moored near the

business district of the town. They are walking up the gangplank,

greeted by a wagging Barney. Finegan, who is first on the plank, throws

a comment over his shoulder to Joey.

I like our stuff better.

Joey grins and laughs in agreement.

98

Slave Labor

The houseboat is approaching a rock outcropping and water fall. Finegan

is on the roof, with Joey peddling. The water is deep, but because of

the rock outcropping Finegan is being cautious. Suddenly he holds his

hand out to stop Joey.

Whoa!

Finegan is in shock.

Holy shit.

Dozens of skeletons, picked clean by fish and crabs, are under the

clear mountain water. Some are of children. Some pieces of clothing in

tatters are here and there still on the bodies, but mostly the

skeletons are white and quite visible. Joey comes bounding up the boxes

from the rear of the houseboat to see. He and Finegan stand side by

side, in silence.

As the houseboat is moving along the rocky shoreline, in the

background, in the woods, we see movement, a man crouching behind a

rock. Finegan motions silently for Joey to stop peddling and to drift,

and to stay where he is. Having seen the bodies and seeing the man’s

caution, Finegan speaks quietly, not knowing what might be nearby.

Yo. Is there danger nearby? We saw those

bodies.

The escapee looks over his shoulder and then steps forward to the

water’s edge.

Can you get me outta here? I’m too old to work

anymore, scheduled for termination. . . Please.

They’ve got dogs, they’re gonna be tracking me.

Having seen children’s bones, Finegan does not assume this man to be a

criminal, and hops down to get the canoe.

______________________________

The houseboat is approaching a small wooded island. It is surrounded by

deep water, at least a mile from the rocky coastline they just left.

The houseboat is maneuvered to a bay at the back of the island, and all

three aboard tie the houseboat to partially submerged trees there. Now

that they are invisible, they can talk. The escapee is eating some cold

potatoes and fish and a tomato, with gusto. Finegan says,

I’d cook you a proper breakfast but if they

have dogs, that’d give us away.

Finegan looks around him to double-check their location.

99

As is, they can’t sight us, and if they weren’t

looking this way when we left, they’re

clueless.

Joey says,

I was watching, and I seen no activity. I think

we’re clean away.

The escapee starts to cry, not sobbing but just tears running down his

face as he stuffs the food into his mouth and chews away. Barney comes

up and sits by his feet, looking up - an attempt to comfort the

escapee. Finally, Finegan can wait no longer and picks up the story

line where they presumably left off earlier.

So these guys chasing you, they’re guards?

Guarding what?

The escapee looks at him incredulously, as though everyone has guards

and should understand what he has been through.

The workers. Wait, I though you knew. Aren’t

you both runaways too?

The escapee glances at Joey.

I should’a figured. The first thing they did

was kill the kids . . and the sick . . and the

old . . ah, anyone over 50 is considered past

their prime. . . threw em off a cliff to let

them rot.

The escapee hands his empty platter to Finegan, who is looking aghast

at this systematic extermination. Joey has become very quiet. The

escapee continues with his story.

We were told to come to a military base where

some wealthy folks had set up with supplies. It

was like they were gonna share their supplies,

and like the military would protect us.

The escapee lets out a guffaw at the absurdity of his expectations,

compared to what happened afterwards.

Soon as the phone lines went dead and the roads

were ripped up, things changed. . . The

commander was in thick with them rich folks,

always going up to their bunker and all. . .

Next thing you know they were herding us all

into that yard, behind barbed wire. I thought

that was gonna be for criminals, ya know, but

we all got sent in there. . . Then they pulls

out those from 15 to 50 years of age, healthy

men and women not pregnant, and we got sent to

put up new homes for them wealthy folk.

100

I was a plumber, so knew a thing or two about

putting in plumbing. . . When we came back that

first day, everyone else was gone.

The escapee falls silent. Finally sighs and continues.

We learned what happened when the guards

bragged about it. Who shot how many and all.

They liked it, the murders.

The escapee sits up straight, looking Finegan in the eye, as now the

story is getting personal.

They were drawing straws for who was gonna do

me, last night. The long straw gets to do it.

So, ya know, what’d I have to lose? . . I went

over the top and ran like hell.

Finegan asks,

The whole base is like that? Wanting to shoot

civilians, kids?

The escapee realizes he has left out part of his story. He waves his

hands in the air, as though to say “wait, wait, I missed a part”.

Oh no, no. Most ran off to see about their

families. Went AWOL long before the troubles

hit. They saw what was coming. We’d see ‘em

walking by, through the woods, every day,

sometimes in bunches. Those that was left

became the guards, and if they objected to the

plan, then they got put in the work camp too. .

. New rules. . . I think it was the plan all

along.

Finegan asks,

So how many people left in that camp, and how

many guards, you recon?

______________________________

Finegan and the escapee are preparing to take the canoe to shore. The

canoe has been loaded with a couple backpacks and the rifle. Finegan

says,

Joey, you know what to do. I expect I’ll be

back in a day or so, but if five days pass and

you ain’t seeing me, you head off back down the

coast the way we came. Stay to deep water, and

only at night, and keep Barney muzzled. . .

Look up that woman taking care of the old

folks.

101

And hey, they do eat rats, and there’s nothing

wrong with it. . . Them folks in Memphis

weren’t too bad either.

Joey says,

Yes sir.

Finegan and the escapee have pull the canoe up on shore on the rocky

coastline. They both put on a backpack, Finegan carrying the rifle.

They set off through the woods, picking their way carefully, the

escapee in the lead.

______________________________

Finegan and the escapee peer out from the woods at the edge of the

internment camp. The wood frames of the new homes for the wealthy can

be see in the background. There are no lights, but dogs are guarding

the edges of the barbed wire internment camp, staked to the ground. Two

guards are sitting around a fire at one corner of the yard. Finegan

says,

Here’s the plan. I’m setting this dynamite off

under the guardhouse. That takes out most of

‘em. When that happens, those two are going to

be looking in that direction. You shoot good?

The escapee nods his head.

Never missed, hunting.

Finegan continues,

OK. You take this rifle and shoot them dogs

right off. Those guards ain't gonna be looking

your way, they’re gonna be running to the

guardhouse. If they’re looking your way, stop

shooting, so’s they can’t place you. If it

comes to you or them, shoot them guards too,

because that’s what I’m gonna do. Send ‘em to

hell. We sure can’t leave them roving loose on

the landscape, and I ain’t inclined to run a

prison. . . Here’s a wire cutter. When the dogs

are dead and the guards are gone, you open that

yard. Use these if you have to. Let everyone

out.

______________________________

The guard house explodes. Dogs are barking, rifle shots, dogs are

yelping, then more shouting, then more shots. The work camp prisoners

are streaming out of a cut in the barbed wire, running in all

102

directions. Some of the prisoners are looking over their shoulders back

at the melee. They pause, then turn around, seeing they are not being

chased, the dogs are dead, and the guards are all on the ground,

wounded or dead. They call to each other and come back. The prisoners

are now making angry murmuring noises. Finegan points to the rifle in

the escapee’s hand.

You keep that, you folks might need it going up

against them.

Finegan is now pointing to the new housing for the wealthy. He pulls

some more dynamite out of his backpack, handing this to one of the men.

You know how to use this?

Another prisoner says,

I do. Worked in demolition.

Finegan continues his instructions.

They got any supplies, they should be yours,

for back pay, eh? Send them off without

anything. No food. No weapons. That’s better’n

they did to you. They may not have been in

charge of this ‘er camp, but they didn’t rescue

you either.

More and more prisoners are coming back to the group, realizing they

are freed and the war has been won. The escapee is crying again, tears

running down his face, a wordless, sobless weeping. Finegan says his

goodbye, to the escapee, and with a wave to the rest of the prison

population.

I gotta go talk to a boy now.

103

Bear Market

Finegan is continuing to peddle along the rocky shoreline, formerly a

mountainous area such as eastern Kentucky or West Virginia. They are

coming closer to the heavy population centers along the East Coast. The

houseboat is approaching a mountain top resort area. The main buildings

have partially collapsed roofs and a wall here and there collapsed

also. The yards and bushes have not been mowed or trimmed. Sheep can be

seen grazing on the former golf course. The houseboat approaches a

grassy slope of land with a winding road leading down into the water.

Finegan is preparing to moor the houseboat there, Joey getting ready to

sling a grappling hook.

Finegan and Joey approach the former resort. As usual Barney waits for

them on the houseboat, standing guard. The resport appears to be

deserted, but then the sound of muffled voices can be heard from the

basement area. The collapsed roof of the resort is in pieces on the

floor of the lobby, but the floor held so the basement is intact. The

lobby had a lofting ceiling, unstable during the quakes. Finegan and

Joey come down some winding stairs leading from the lobby of the resort

to a basement recreation area.

The basement has huge wooden beams and a stone floor, pool tables and a

bar, stuffed animal heads mounted on the walls, and over-stuffed chairs

in the corners around coffee tables and tables with lamps. A generator

is sitting near the bar, with some lamps moved to the bar with

extension cords, but it has long since run out of gasoline, useless.

A portly man, a former billionaire, is arguing with another portly man,

their hands gesturing in the air. The second man is backing away from

the former billionaire during this conversation. Lounging in one

corner, on some of the over-stuffed chairs, are several young women, a

couple decades younger than the men. The former billionaire says,

. . Need to hire some new men . .

Both men suddenly realize that Finegan and Joey are quietly descending

the stairs and jerk their heads around in that direction. They stare

silently at the newcomers, as though expecting an apology or

explanation. The former billionaire says,

This is a private resort.

Finegan says,

Finegan Fine here, trader. I come to see what

you might need, and what you have in trade.

The two portly men look at each other for a minute, unspoken

communications between them. The former billionaire says,

104

You have food? I’m looking to get the damn

phone connected but the batteries are dead.

His partner motions to the quiet generator and says,

And that thing don’t work.

Finegan says,

Cell phones? You need towers for those, and the

towers are down.

The former billionaire says,

Oh yeah? How would you know?

Finegan says the obvious.

How long you been trying to raise someone? . .

Phones don’t work no more. Short wave is the

only thing and that’s real spotty.

The former billionaire and his buddy don’t look surprised. The former

billionaire reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a checkbook, and

slaps it on the bar.

Yeah, well, I can write you a check. Bring the

food supplies and gas for the generator in

here.

He points to the middle of the floor and proceeds to fill out the

check. Finegan says,

Paper’s no good.

The former billionaire flushes with anger and looks sharply over at

Finegan, his voice rising.

Paper? This is backed. This isn’t paper, this

is solid, negotiable anywhere.

Finegan holds his ground.

No one deals in paper anymore. It’s no good.

You gotta barter goods and services.

The former billionaire throws his pen down on the bar in disgust and

turns his back. Finally he explodes in anger.

We need something to eat! Damit. I don’t care

what it takes, bring some food in here and on

the double.

Finegan is beginning to suspect that this group had been dislodged from

the internment camp, and has headed to the only location nearby where

they expected to get a warm welcome as former members of the resort.

Finegan winks covertly at Joey to clue him in.

Don’t you garden or tend sheep or something?

Most survivors have to do that to survive. What

you been eating?

Finegan is pretending to look around the rec room for evidence of

gardening or hunting or fishing. The former billionaire says,

105

Not that it’s any of your business, but our

help quit. Ran off and left us.

Finegan motions to the several young women lounging in the corner on

over-stuffed chairs, looking blaze. They are well dressed though some

weed seeds are entangled in hair or on clothing, and their panty hose

ripped and shoes muddy. Finegan says,

Doen’t take much to seed and weed a garden.

They break a leg or something?

The former billionaire is twitching slightly.

We don’t garden. The help does that.

The former billionaire is losing his temper again, looking around and

up at the ceiling, calling out to the general area as though expecting

the resort staff to suddenly appear out of thin air.

I’m a paid member. Where the hell is the help!

Joey is trying not to smile and trying to play dumb, almost biting his

lip at times, in on the secret. Finegan says,

So you had a garden but left it? Just because

the help ran off? Didn’t you treat them right?

The former billionaire is now sounding a bit desperate.

I paid them well but they wanted more, had a

better offer. I’ll pay you plenty. You’d be set

for life after this all blows over. I’m worth

billions. . . Billions.

Finegan again holds his ground.

I told you, paper’s no good. That includes

stocks, bonds, cash. So what you gonna do now?

How you gonna live?

The former billionaire is deflated but still trying to act in charge.

You tell me. What’ll it take?

The former billionaire is jerking his chin at the young women lounging

in the corner, indicating they should go over to Finegan. Seeing them

start to rise from their chairs, Finegan rejects the offer.

And I ain’t interested in that either. There’s

plenty of tail being offered, but food is worth

more. You can’t beg, borrow, or steal these

days. Those growing food work too hard for what

they get. . . But there is one thing you can

do.

The former billionaire is fuming again, but glances up through angry

brows at Finegan, too astute at business to pass up a tip. Finegan

says,

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Too late to start a garden but there’s grass

and weeds to eat. Fish or set traps if you know

how. And you know, rats aren’t half bad in the

stew pot.

Joey can’t hold it in any more and break out in a guffaw, then slaps

his hand over his mouth and runs up the stairs. Finegan follows him,

barely suppressing a smile himself.

______________________________

The houseboat is pulling away from the resort shoreline. Up on the

hill, in the former golf course, two young women are running after

sheep, their hands outstretched, trying to corral a lamb. The sheep of

course are way ahead of them, flowing like water up and over the hill.

107

Rust Belt

A factory is on the horizon, partially flooded. Metal cranes and

storage silos are among the metal-framed factory buildings. The windows

are smashed and some buildings tilted sideways, but most of the

structures are intact. The parking lots are underwater, only some

gateposts and the rooftop of a guard hut visible sticking up above the

water. Joey is on the roof of the houseboat, taking measure of the

clearance over the parking lot fence. He says,

A good 4 feet I think.

The main factory building has a slightly sloping flat metal roof, with

the walls coming up over the roof edge for a couple feet as a guardrail

around the edge of the rooftop. The rooftop is covered with greenery,

some kind of rooftop garden, with wines hanging down over the edges of

the roof. There is the sound of a metal door opening on the roof, the

access door to the rooftop from a stairwell.

A bent little man emerges from the stairwell door, letting the creaking

door close slowly by itself. He heads over to a row of what looks like

cabbage, bending over it to weed the row, not noticing the approaching

houseboat. The gardener is bent, a back curved from years of working in

this position and from malnutrition, though he is not that old. He has

black hair and pale skin, a gaunt look, and appears to be small boned.

All is still except for the sound of water splashing against the side

of the houseboat.

Finegan hops up to the houseboat rooftop, standing next to Joey, for a

better look. Finegan calls out a greeting.

Yo, the gardens! Good day to you. Finegan Fine

here, trader. . . How you manage that, on the

rooftop?

The gardener freezes at the sound of a voice so close, and so

unexpected. He straightens up, as much as his bent back will allow, and

looks in Finegan’s direction. Then he puts his handful of weeds plucked

from the row down, and shuffles over to the rooftop edge. The gardener

puts a hand up to shield his eyes against the morning sun, taking a

moment before he responds in a high nasal voice.

What kind’a contraption is that?

Finegan replies,

It’s a houseboat. Floats. I got a water wheel

in the back to push it along. Slow, but steady.

The gardener says,

A trader you say?

108

To which Finegan pitches his line.

What might you need?

______________________________

The houseboat is tied to a post at the corner of the factory rooftop. A

knotted rope ladder is hanging down onto the deck of the houseboat.

Finegan and Joey are being given a tour of the rooftop gardens by the

gardener.

. . We seen the water’s a’rising and dug some

good soil before it was covered. Those of us

ain’t never had no land in our name. Cain’t run

off with the house, but them landlords not

gonna miss some soil from a flooded yard. . .

We use rainwater here.

The gardener is motioning along the rows as they walk.

Tomatoes do well . . greens of many kinds . .

Potatoes if you keep ‘em wet . . can’t get

those carrots to grow unless they’s the stubby

kind . .

They come to the watering system where there are hoses with holes

running down the length of the soil troughs, in the center of each

trough. There is a water tank on the roof which had been used by the

factory, raised above the roof so there is water pressure.

This here’s how we water. Wears me out hauling

the rainwater up there every time, though.

Collects in the drains over there, which’n we

blocked.

The rooftop door opens again and the gardeners’s wife and 10 year old

daughter emerge. The wife has more meat on her bones than her husband,

though it is clear she has lost most of her fat in recent months. Her

long skirt is held up by cloth strips up over her shoulders like

suspenders, sewn onto the waist front and back. The daughter is scrawny

and wears a combination of her parent’s clothing, one of her father’s

shirts and a pair of her mother’s pantaloons, also held up by

suspenders. Her pantaloons are tied at the ankle, they are so

voluminous. They have dressed for company, and have brushed their hair

for the occasion too. The gardener turns toward them and to introduce

them to Finegan.

My wife and darlin daughter.

Finegan has been looking around, appraising the setup.

We might ought fix a pumping system to lift

that rainwater. Can you give me a tour to look

for parts?

109

The gardener says,

They took ‘bout everything. Common.

______________________________

The gardener is walking Finegan through their living quarters on the

floor below the gardens. He is walking just ahead of Finegan, gesturing

to the right and left, turning to walk backwards at times, pointing at

this and that.

We brung just the personals. Dragged a couple

mattress. Plain livin but we’re making do.

They return to the stairwell, as the gardener wants to show Finegan

that the lower floors are inaccessible. Finegan follows the gardener

down to the next landing where the water level is visible.

. . risen to this level, and lately slowed . .

Finegan points to the rust just under the water level.

Salt water . . salt water is corrosive. This

plant was never built for salt water. . .

Finegan turns to face the gardener. He barely gets his words out before

the building starts to collapse.

You had any settling problems?

There is a sound of metal screeching onmetal. The stairwell shutters

and both men lose their footing.

______________________________

A frantic scene ensues, as the gardener and his family are evacuating.

The wife and daughter are tossing bundles of personal items out the

window of their living quarters down to Joey, who is on the roof of the

houseboat. Finegan is on the roof of the factory with the gardener,

trying to harvest his crop. Finegan drops a rope with hook down to

Joey.

Snag me that bundle of plastic bags . . thanks.

The gardener is harvesting potatoes, shaking the soil off when he

wrenches a plant up out of the trough, and plucking potatoes off the

roots. He tosses the filled plastic bag onto a pile to be lowered to

Joey. Finegan is doing the same to carrots, starting to tear the greens

off them. The gardener cries out,

No, no, leave some! I’ll replant ‘em for the

seed. . . Gotta have the seed.

Finegan is hooking potatoe bags on the hook used to lower produce from

the rooftop to Joey. He swings the bag of potatoes out over the

110

houseboat rooftop and holds the rope while Joey catches the swinging

mess. Joey says,

Got it.

The wife and daughter are now climbing out the window of their living

quarters below the factory roof, the daughter dropping down and then

reaching up to help her more portly mother, standing beneath her to

soften her fall. Her mother says,

Child! Out’en the way! I’ll squash you flat.

The wife falls on her butt, but rolls to stand up and brush herself

off.

Finegan and the gardener are now harvesting green cabbage, cutting this

off at the root and discarding the brown and tattered outer leaves. The

gardener cries out again,

Leave that’en. I’ll replant for seed. . . Just

those half dozen will do.

They have a pile of bagged vegetables at the side of the factory roof,

ready to be lowered down. Just then the sound of metal screeching again

cuts through the air, as the factory visibly shutters and lowers again

by a few feet. Only inches remain until the flood waters will pour over

the rooftop guard walls.

Finegan rushes over to the pile of plastic bags packed and tied and

ready to be lowered. He hooks and swings this to Joey as though they

only have seconds to spare. Joey signals Finegan as soon as the hook is

clear.

Got it.

The daughter is now helping Joey, moving the bags to the edge of the

roof and out of his way, and lowering the bags into her mother’s eager

hands during the off moments.

The water starts lapping over one edge of the rooftop guard. The

gardener rushes over to the far side of the factory rooftop, tearing

off his shift. He picks seed shoots from carrot and cabbage plants

being used to grow seed and ties them into his shift, tying the sleeves

together so it is a bundle. He staggers and sloshes back to the

houseboat side through the rising water and tosses this into his

daughter’s hands.

Finegan is hooking the harvested and bagged tomatoes, lowering them

carefully rather than swinging them out.

These’ll smash. Tomatoes.

The wife comes over to the side of the houseboat deck to catch them.

Finegan turns to the gardener.

111

That it?

Just then, the factory settles yet again, accompanied by the sound of

screeching metal and splashing water, putting both Finegan and the

gardener in the water. Finegan and the gardener climb onto the

houseboat and stand, dripping web, looking over the flooded roof.

Along the sides of the factory roof the vines holding summer squash can

be seen bobbing up. The squash on the surface is bloated and yellow,

oversized and almost rotting in appearance. The gardener cries out,

The squash!

He dives into the water and swims along the bobbing vines, plucking the

overripe summer squash and tossing them to Finegan. Several of them

shatter when caught.

Arrrrrr! These are rotten!

The gardener’s wife rushes up to collect the mess in a basin. She says,

This is seed! You gotta rippen it full.

______________________________

The gardener and his family are standing at the end of the gangplank.

Finegan has donated his rusty wagon to the family, and it is piled high

with bags of vegetables and their personal possessions. Other bags and

bundles are piled around their feet. Finegan strides across the

gangplank with the packet of seeds the woman at the old folks home had

given him. He hands this to the gardener.

Joey is right behind him on the gangplank, one of the remaining

pumpkins in his hands. He hands this to the gardener’s daughter.

Finegan says,

I gather pumpkin wants a lot of room, but now

you’ll have the room.

The gardener is thanking Finegan.

Don’t know what I’d a done without y’all

stopping by.

But Finegan says he was part of the problem.

It was no lucky coincidence. Twas my weight

that tripped the balance. But it was gonna go

anyhow. . . Appreciate the potatoes and cabbage

and all.

______________________________

Finegan has the portable camping grill fired up with a small wood fire,

a deep pot on the grill filled with burbling hot water. The lid is off

the pot and he is brushing some chopped vegies off a cutting board into

112

the pot - carrots, an onion, several potatoes, and some cabbage. The

houseboat is drifing offshore from where the gardener’s family had been

dropped ashore. Finegan glances in that direction as he settles back

onto a box, munching on a raw carrot, contemplative and exhausted. The

vegetable bins behind him are stuffed with the new produce.

Barney comes up to sit nearby, his nose in the air, sniffing the

boiling vegie stew. Finegan hands a raw carrot down to Barney, who lays

down to chew on it contentedly.

113

New Leaders

The houseboat is peddling along between the shoreline and an immense

island formed by the rising water. There appears to be water on at

least the three sides of the island that they can see. Joey brings

Finegan a map while he pedals along, confused about their location.

Finegan gets off the bike seat and comes to comb over the map with

Joey, who has spread the map out on top of a box at the rear of the

houseboat. Their heads are together over the map, while Finegan runs

his finger along the Ohio River.

I think we’ve going up the Ohio by mistake.

Hard to tell. All one big watery mess. . . I’m

thinking more and more these days about heading

back. Least I knew what I was looking at.

In the background they hear a drum set being played, then a saxophone

bleating a few shrill notes. Finegan and Joey turn their heads in the

direction of the island. Now they hear a guitar being strummed and

tuned. Finegan and Joey look at each other and smile.

______________________________

Finegan and Joey are going over the rise of a hill, walking along a

dirt road lying between fallow fields. A flea market is laid out in a

pasture, dozens of blankets or tarps spread out on the ground with

wares laid out for inspection. Some hold pots and pans, dish sets with

many of the dishes or glasses chipped or cracked, incomplete tableware

sets, racks of used clothing for both children and adults, hand tools,

bags of apples and onions and nuts, chickens and roosters in cages, a

calf, bicycle parts, a used shoe display, non-battery key-winding

clocks including a large coocoo clock, a hair salon where a hairdresser

is snipping away at someone’s head, and a display of hubcaps which is

getting zero attention.

On one side a band is being formed, with a drum set, sax, guitar, a

violin, harmonica, and pebbles in a tin can. The band members are

trying out various songs, this or that member suggesting a tune and

playing a bar, then another having an opinion. Finally they settle and

start to play “Happy Days are Here Again” in a disjointed manner.

Finegan and Joey are walking slowly down between the blankets laid with

wares until they come to the shoe rack. Joey stops and begins comparing

his shoe up against some boots and tennis shoes for children his age.

Finegan asks,

Your shoes getting tight?

114

Joey looks up at Finegan and nods. The shoeman notes their interest and

comes up.

There’s some nice boots you got on. Quality.

Make you a trade for some these others here.

The boots he is motioning to are not the same quality as the pair Joey

wears. They are scuffed, have less tread, and have clearly seen more

wear and tear. Joey is laying them alongside the boots he has on,

measuring the size in this way. Joey sits on the chair the shoeman

offers his clients and pulls off one of his boots, trying on the larger

boot. He stomps on his foot and looks up at Finegan, smiling.

On the perimeter of the flea market is a barbeque pit, which is

smoking, the coals glowing, but the meat to be cooked is missing. A

horse drawn wagon is approaching this spot, loaded with a large dead

pig and cages holding young piglets. The dead pig has tusks, was a

feral pig, and is covered with coarse hair rather than the soft pink

skin of domestic pigs. It has been gutted and is ready to cook. Two men

riding on the back of the wagon hop off and pick up the ends of the

barbeque spit which has been driven through the dead pig from one end

to the other. They heave the pig into the air and carry it over to the

barbeque pit, placing it on the Y stands at either end of the pit. Now

that the meat has been placed above the fire, they complete the

skinning process, pulling the skin up over the pig’s head and over the

tusks, which are attached to the head bones and resist breaking off.

The wagon master is a young girl about 11 years of age. She is

barefoot, wears bib jeans with a t-shirt underneath, and has her hair

in braids on either side. She secures the reins and hops off the wagon

seat, pulling a board nailed onto a stake from the wagon bed. On the

board, in red paint, are the words “Wild Piglets”. She walks over to a

115

clear area near the barbeque pit, reserved for her display, and hammers

the stake into the ground there, tossing the hammer into her wagon.

One of her two men picks up a covered bucket of barbeque sauce from the

wagon bed and returns to baste the now roasting pig. The other comes to

help the girl unload the piglets in cages. The piglets are young, only

about a foot long, and protesting, squealing. After they offload the

piglet cages, she immediately turns on her heel and comes over to the

shoeman, who says,

Howdy Matilda.

Matilda says,

They ate another pair.

The shoeman smiles and says,

You gotta stop kicking at them beasts.

Matilda walks into the shoe display area, scanning quickly, and leans

over to pick up the pair of boots just added, the ones Joey had been

wearing. She says,

Don’t remember you having these.

Matilda sits on the chair provided by the shoeman for clients and slips

her bare foot into one of the boots, standing to measure the fit when

her weight is pressing down. She smiles and glances up at the shoeman,

who says,

Consider it a donation to the campaign.

Matilda protests.

It’d only set them that can’t donate to

worrying. Favors and all . . You take one a

them squealers. I’ll tell John. . . Not that I

don’t appreciate the thought, Clem.

Joey is trying to get into the conversation as he meets few children

his age. He points at her new boots.

Those were my boots.

Matilda drops her gaze briefly at the set Joey is wearing, quickly

understanding that a trade had occurred, and just as quickly changing

the subject. She asks,

You folks new in the area? Pleased to meet you.

Stay for the barbeque!

Matilda extends her hand first to Joey and then quickly to a surprised

Finegan, who is not expecting this from a girl.

______________________________

Finegan is returning from the houseboat with a hammer and small box of

nails in his hands as he has found a saw he wants and has worked out a

116

trade with the owner. He strides up to the hand tool display area and

extends his offering in front of him.

These.

He places them into the toolman’s hands and points to the saw.

For that.

Joey is wandering after Matilda, fascinated by her confidence and

social skills. Matilda is working the crowd, on occasion offering her

hand for a shake, on occasion placing her hand on someone’s arm, but

never lingering for more than a minute in any location. She comes up to

a woman who looks like she is about to cry, talking to a man getting

red in the face. The woman says,

But you owe me a hen. You promised. We ain’t

had meat ta home for a month.

The man is fuming.

They’re all sitting eggs, I tell you. Cain’t

you wait a couple weeks?

Matilda is looking from one to the other, saying nothing. Finally, she

sees a break in the argument and says to the woman,

How big did you say that old coop you got on

your place is?

The man and woman stare at each other for a moment, suddenly realizing

a solution. Both talking at once almost on top of each other. He says,

You got a coop? I’m outta space and with the

new’uns coming. . . Ya know, chicks take to a

new coop like its home after a day er so. . .

They free range, just let ‘em out in the

morning and call ‘em back at night.

She says,

Big as the house, but the hen’s er all gone now

since Earl passed. He did the chickens en all.

. . We got no feed, used corn during Earl’s

day.

Matilda is walking away, smiling to herself. Finegan is again standing

in amazement that a young girl is apparently in the running in a

campaign, and taken seriously. He says, under his breath,

But she’s a girl!

The toolman looks up, surprised at Finegan’s reaction,

Matilda? She’s the only one gets folks to work

together. You otta see ‘er move a crowd from

somethin plain stupid to summit that’ll work.

My Mary says she’s the jell that makes the

jelly set.

117

He glances over and sees that Finegan is still agape with shock.

Put a bag over your head then so’s you don’t

notice that she’s a girl, and a young’un at

that. . . We got too many a problem to be stuck

in the old ways.

______________________________

The crowd of about 100 people is coming up to the barbeque to be

served. Each has a plate in hand, with some sliced tomatoes and a piece

of homemade bread, ready for a slab of barbecued pig. One of the men

who arrived with Matilda is slicing pork on a board next to the

roasting pig, which is now missing parts of its belly and hindquarters.

A semi-circle of various chairs or overturned boxes has been assembled

at the side of the barbeque, with the wagon Matilda brought stationed

in the center of the semi-circle as a platform.

A man with a clipboard is wandering through the crowd, checking off

names and handing out small paper ballots. The official approaches

Finegan and Joey, who are in line for barbeque. He scans his list, then

looks up at Finegan.

New to the area? Where you staying?

Finegan points over the hill and says,

We’re just passing through. On that houseboat

over yonder.

Joey asks,

Does that mean we can’t get something to eat?

The official smiles and winks at Joey.

I recon you’re future voters, if you decide to

stay, and that there is for everyone. That’s

Matilda’s stand. Them that has plenty, shares.

Helping hand and all.

The official wanders off down the line. Joey looks up at Finegan.

One guess who he’s gonna vote for.

______________________________

A tall, muscular man is standing on the wagon addressing the crowd. He

is wearing suit pants and a vest, with a long sleeved white shirt on

under the vest, rolled up at the sleeves. He is wearing a tie, but this

has been loosened at the neck, his shirt collar open a bit as the day

has gotten warm. He is showing a 5 o’clock shadow. From a distance one

can hear his pitch.

. . build roads . .

118

The crowd seems lukewarm, only a half dozen furiously applauding. The

first candidate nods and takes a slight bow, and then steps off the

wagon.

The second candidate is a stocky woman in a voluminous dress. Her hair

has been piled on top of her head and she is bedecked with costume

jewelry. Rings are stuffed over her plump fingers. She is helped up

onto the wagon by a couple backers who stand under her ample buttocks

as she heaves herself up the step. She straightens up and clears her

throat.

The rule of law must be our first concern.

There are simply no guidelines. I’ve taken the

initiative of drawing up statutes that give

clear guidelines.

A handful of people in the crowd stomp their feet and whistle loudly at

this point, as she unfurls a roll of paper she has brought with her and

proceeds to read off her proposed statues.

Finegan and Joey are sitting side by side in the back of the crowd.

Finegan is still trying to get his head around the idea that a little

girl could be in the competition.

Her father ran a pig farm, and they all escaped

when the troubles hit. Ran off into the swamp.

. . Well they go wild after a time. But she got

‘em back, is breeding ‘em tame again. . . OK,

so she’s got guts, I’ll give her that. . .

Finegan is shaking his head, muttering to himself. Joey says,

I watched her. . . It’s not what she says. It’s

what she gets other people to do. . . I dunno.

. . I dunno, but they’re fretting and fussing.

Then comes Matilda. Then when she leaves

they’re set to go off to do somethin. But I

never hear her tell them what to do. . . She

points to this or that one and asks a question.

That’s it. . . Huh.

Now Matilda is jumping up on the wagon, to thunderous applause.

Clem says I’m the jell in the jello, and my dad

always said I brung his mind to a focus, but to

my way of thinking it ain’t me. It’s you. It’s

you come up with what to do, and it’s you who

do it. But we rounded up the pigs now and I’ve

got more time. If this is what you want me to

do, then I’m happy to help.

119

With that, Matilda hops off the wagon and continues to work the crowd

on the edge of the seating area. Finegan is still dumbfounded.

Huh.

______________________________

Finegan and Joey are walking up over the hill between the flea market

and the houseboat, going home. They are silhouetted against the setting

sun. Sounds of cheering and whooping are in the background. Matilda is

being carried about on the shoulders of her backers, clearly having

won. Finegan and Joey look back over their shoulders at the uproar,

turning around to look back on the flea market for a moment. Finegan is

shaking his head.

I still can’t figure it . .

Joey is still trying to explain what he observed when Finegan was off

trading and he was trailing along behind Matilda. He puts both hands

first on one side and then the other, trying to indicate first

confusion and then resolve.

You should’a seed her. First folks were looking

worried. One lady looked like she was gonna

cry. Some guy red in the face. Then Matilda’d

come up and ask a bunch of questions. Then

everyone’d be smiling and Matilda’d walk away.

Joey looks up at Finegan to see if he’d gotten his point across.

I swear.

Finegan is pondering, but finally says,

. . or it’s the barbeque.

120

Canibals

The tide is coming in, waves slapping against the shore. Finegan and

Joey are pulling in the fishing net and sorting out the catch, putting

flapping fish and snapping crabs into a bucket and sweeping any twigs,

seaweed, or coke cans that got swept up into the net back into the

water. Gradually the incoming tide starts carrying more and more

floating debris. A partially empty soda bottle, tightly capped, comes

by. Splintered boards, a woven sewing basket, a child’s rag doll with a

smiling face, and finally a bloated dead body. The body has been

partially eaten by fish, but the belly, covered by shirt and pants, is

still intact and full of bloat. Finegan says,

I think I just lost my appetite.

______________________________

Finegan is at the rear of the houseboat, peddling to get some distance

from shore. Joey, who is sitting on a box at the rear, is looking back

toward shore. Joey says,

I think we’re clear. . . Was that gross or

what.

Finegan rolls off his bike seat and climbs up onto the houseboat roof

to get some perspective, shielding his eyes with his hand. He looks

back toward shore at first, then turns to look out toward deep water.

Oh Lord. . . Gets worse.

Joey jumps up to join Finegan, to see what he is looking at. They both

stand side-by-side, hands shielding their eyes.

In the distance is a conglomeration of rafts, made from pastel

insulation boards, pink and baby blue. The raft city seems to almost

fill the horizon, spreading from one side to the next, and is floating

closer to them on the incoming tide. Some of the rafts have soggy

cardboard boxes on them, half melted flat by repeated rainstorms. Some

items of clothing are thrown on the insulation boards here and there,

as though someone stripped and didn’t bother to pick up afterwards. An

empty pie tin, partially filled with rainwater, stands on one raft, the

sole item that raft contains.

Except for items of clothing, the rafts seem empty, and devoid of

people. The rafts are looped together by construction netting used to

keep the public from construction sites. This netting holds a half

dozen insulation rafts together in a neat rectangle, with each

rectangle then tied to the others with rope. The raft city was

constructed, in desperation, as flood waters were overtaking an island.

121

One of the rafts has a sign laid flat, which says “Ellis Construction”

in red lettering against a white background. What looks like rusty

reddish/brown paint smears are amid the red lettering and on the pastel

pink of the insulation board raft. An open pocketknife is laid on the

construction sign.

One of the soggy cardboard boxes begins to bump around, and a leg

sticks out. The foot is bare, no shoes, and the pants frayed and

tattered. The box bumps around some more and the cannibal’s head comes

out over the leg and knee, hands to his head, rubbing his eyes. His

hair is long, down to his shoulders. A young man, he is thin and

without a shirt over his tan shoulders and hairless chest. The cannibal

is not making any attempt to get up, as there is no activity that would

be fruitful. He is adrift without oars. He has no expression on his

face, no motive, and no agenda.

Finegan and Joey are standing, silently staring in his direction.

Seems to be someone there.

Finegan turns to return to his bike seat and pedal closer.

______________________________

The houseboat is approaching the side of the raft city where the

construction sign is located. The cannibal has now noticed the

approaching houseboat and is moving from raft to raft. He is springing

with a jump from the edge of one raft into the center of another, then

gaining his balance, and then repeating this process. The rafts sway

back and forth during this process, a bit of water temporarily

splashing over the side used as the jump-off.

The cannibal speaks in a husky voice, as though his throat is dry.

Boy am I glad to see you! Been too far from

shore to swim. We’d seen sharks. Can you give

me a lift?

Finegan has left the pedals, letting the houseboat drift slowing toward

the raft city for a gentle landing. He is also being cautious, wanting

to be sure he wants to pick this man up before making a bridge with the

gangplank. He climbs to the rooftop to engage in a dialog. Joey slips

122

into the pedal seat and back pedals when he sees the gap of water

between the houseboat and raft city closing. Finegan asks,

Where’s the others?

The cannibal looks shocked at first, not the question he expected.

Finally, he finds his voice.

They died. . . We been out here awhile, no land

in sight. . . No food. . . Catch a little

rainwater now and then. . . I’m the last.

Finegan is still highly suspicious.

How did they die?

The cannibal is realizing for the first time that he needs to concoct a

story, as he has been taken by surprise by Finegan’s arrival and the

tide bringing the floating raft city close to shore.

Ah . . dysentery . . got a fever and the shits

and just wasted away.

Finegan is glancing at the bloody construction sign and items of

clothing tossed around on most of the rafts and does not buy this

story.

All except you, eh? You look plenty well fed.

The cannibal is getting shifty eye’d, feeling trapped, and is starting

to worry that he won’t get a lift to shore. He is looking over the

expanse of water and Finegan can see the mental wheels turning. Finegan

looks over his shoulder toward the shore, then back to the cannibal. He

says,

The tide’s turning again now, pulling out.

The cannibal says,

Maybe I better start swimming then.

With one last look at Finegan’s face to look for a change of heart, the

cannibal grabs a corner of one of the insulation rafts and jerks it

toward him, breaking a corner off. Holding onto this like a phalanx, he

dives into the water and starts kicking his feet, paddling to shore

using the insulation piece as floatation. Joey has turned the houseboat

to follow the cannibal, keeping a distance to the side.

After furiously kicking for a few minutes, the cannibal pauses to catch

his breath, gasping furiously. The houseboat is about 50 feet away,

moving in parallel to the swimmer as they head toward shore. The

cannibal has his upper body heaved up onto the insulation board, his

feet dangling in the water. He looks over at Finegan.

Not gonna give me a lift, eh?

Finegan says,

Not until you tell me straight.

The cannibal begins to relay his story.

123

We were losing all land. Had to do somethin.

This was couple months back. We had no clue

about direction. . . Just floated.

The picture he paints if of twenty people of all ages, including a

little girl clutching a rag doll, climbing onto the floating raft city

from the roof of a truck cab parked at a construction site. The rafts

are turning in the swirling water, bringing empty rafts toward the

truck cab, so each person or person with a child or couple can step

onto their own raft. Those waiting to board a raft are standing back on

the bed of the truck, waist deep in water. Cardboard boxes have been

thrown atop some of the floating insulation boards.

The cannibal has now caught his breath. He starts kicking his legs

again in ernest, moving in the direction of shore. Finegan is standing

with his arms folded over his chest now, openly showing his suspicions.

Joey pedals a bit to stay alongside the cannibal. The cannibal once

again stops, out of breath, and glances up at Finegan.

So after a couple weeks some that were thin to

begin with went blank, ya know. . . in a coma.

. . The rest of us were starving, cramps. . .

There was a guy who used to be a butcher. . .

The picture he paints if of the raft city at night, a man slithering

across a raft to slip onto another raft where a thin man is lying on

his back.

One night we heard him go over there, and in

the morning we saw what he was about. That guy

in a coma had his throat slit, blood

everywhere. . . Pieces were missing.

The cannibal is still trying to catch his breath.

He had a knife. Said anyone wants a piece is

welcome, but if they try to take him down he’d

eat them too.

At this the cannibal starts kicking for another few minutes. Finegan

turns his back on the cannibalL to speak quietly to Joey during the

splashing.

We’re not taking him aboard, just so’s you

know.

The cannibal is again out of breath.

Long story short, that butcher fed well while

the rest of us got faint. Next we knew another

and another went into a coma, no food and

little water. It’d get dark, and by dawn, he’d

be on another raft, fresh meat. . . After

124

awhile I saw that I’d be among ‘em, if I didn’t

get something to eat, some blood to drink.

He paints a picture of a decimated raft city, down to a half dozen

people.

I ain’t proud of it, but I ain’t the one slit

anyone’s throat.

Finegan asks,

So why are you here, the butcher gone?

The cannibal turns to splash away again, kicking furiously. He is

trying to maximize his progress, while still hoping to get a lift in

the houseboat. He’s also trying to buy time to concoct his story.

Finegan again uses the opportunity to speak to Joey over his shoulder,

in a quiet voice.

I’ll bet he’s the damn butcher!

Suddenly the splashing stops, the cannibal gasping for breath again.

Then all is silent. Finegan turns to look again to the side of the

houseboat in the direction of the cannibal. He sees the cannibal no

longer clinging to the floating insulation piece, but swimming in long

strokes toward the houseboat, closing the 50-foot gap. Finegan motions

for Joey to turn the houseboat away from the swimmer. He jumps down to

grab a long pole.

The houseboat is now churning away from the swimming cannibal, who is

only a foot or so from grabbing the paddles on the water wheel at the

back. This distance is increased to several feet. The cannibal sees

that he has lost this gamble and treads water now. Finegan says,

The butcher ate and you starved, yet you’re

here and he’s not?

The cannibal defends himself, saying,

We were running out of people to eat! It was

gonna be me, next. He had to sleep sometime.

There was a leg bone from the last carcass. . .

Jumping rafts makes a lot of noise, slapping

the water, so I slipped into the water and went

under him, tipped his raft so he slid. Then I

was up top, and had the leg bone. Every time he

popped his head up, I’d club him again.

Finegan glances toward the floating insulation piece, seeing it still

nearby.

You made good progress toward land. You keep it

up, you’ll make it. We’re not taking you

aboard.

125

The cannibal goes into a backstroke toward his floatation piece,

glowering at Finegan as he does so, clearly enraged. As the distance

between the cannibal and the houseboat increases, Finegan motions to

Joey to get out of the bike seat and let him pedal.

Let’s put some distance between us. I wanna be

waaaaay down the coast. . . Watch my back,

will ya?

Finegan shakes his head, pondering the story as he vigorously pedals

away from the swimming cannibal.

126

Kudzu Canyons

The houseboat is peddling along a coastline where kudzu vines, covering

everything in sight, are cascading into the shoreline. Mist is rising

from the water, so the scene is seen through the mist, a magical view.

The kudzu has covered several trees, which form spires, and has covered

the remains of some houses in an abandoned subdivision, the shape of

the rooftops barely discernable. Finegan and Joey are in awe, drifting

past the sight silently, with Joey on his usual place on the houseboat

roof and Finegan at the pedals.

As they round a curve in the shoreline, they see an even more amazing

sight – the remains of a car recycling junkyard where cars have been

piled high after being crushed. Atop the piles are cars, which are not

yet crushed. Kudzu vines have climbed up almost to the tops of the car

piles, so the roads between the crushed car piles have become kudzu

canyons.

People are living in the cars atop the piles, using the broken down

cars as a type of rainproof shelter. The trunks have been popped from

some of the cars, propped open as bedrooms for children. Some children

are leaning out of one trunk, waving at the houseboat as it drifts

past. Most of the cars have at least one door open, with an adult

sitting inside. The front seats of some cars have been pushed all the

way back to be used for sleeping, and have pillows and blankets tossed

about, an unmade bed. In others, the front seat has been removed but

the back seat is being used as a bed.

127

A Confederate flag is hoisted on a car radio antenna, but there are

other flags indicating independence. These flags look almost like tie-

dye, the paint and lettering faded, and are a variety of colors and

faded lettering. one flag that has “Kudzu Nation” painted in green

lettering. This flag lettering is fresh, not faded.

As the houseboat drifts toward the end of the car recycling plant,

there is a cleared area where a campfire is burning, a large pot hung

over the fire, burbling away. Several picnic benches are placed here

and there on a level spot nearby, with residents of the Kudzu Nation

lounging. Some wear baseball caps, cutoff jeans or pants, and t-shirts

with the sleeves torn off or rolled high. This is redneck country. The

men have beards. Several of the lounging residents wave and tip their

baseball caps toward the houseboat drifting by. Finegan says,

. . Seem friendly enough . .

Finegan pedals toward shore, then backpedals to slow the houseboat,

then comes forward to help Joey moor the boat. Joey is already swinging

one of the grappling hooks. Children and adults are climbing down the

vines, hand over hand and putting their feet against the rusting

crushed cars underneath the vine cover. Some adults are climbing just

below their young children, so if the child falters they can catch the

child, blocking its fall. An old man is climbing down with his cane

slung over his back.

The piles of crushed cars, topped with cars as living quarters, and the

kudzu cascading down the sides of the piles, all now covered with

creeping and hobbling residents, look a bit like an anthill under an

evacuation. Finegan comes across the gangplank, followed by Joey.

128

Finegan extends his hand to the apparently leader, the Kudzu King, who

is approaching with an extended hand and broad grin. Finegan says,

Finegan Fine here, trader.

The Kudzu King says,

Ain’t you the clever one! You got access to all

what’s flooded. Be damned.

The Kudzu King has a tanned face, a beard that has been crudely trimmed

to be only a few inches long, hair that looks just as butchered by

scissors, and is wearing well worn jeans, scuffed brown leather boots,

and an undershirt with a short-sleeved plaid shirt on top. His shirts

look grimy and sweaty, and are torn in several places. The Kudzu King

adjusts his baseball cap, and can hardly stop grinning. He slaps

Finegan on the shoulder, welcoming him, and walks alongside him as they

walk to the campfire. He says,

We’re just setting up breakfast. Yer welcome to

share what we got. You like kudzu?

______________________________

Finegan is seated at a picnic bench, talking to several adults either

seated on the bench or on the ground in front of Finegan. They are all

telling tales. Joey is kicking a ball around on the ground with some

other boys his age in the background. In the foreground a woman is

preparing a picnic table, clearing dishes that have been washed and

dried from the last meal away and handing them to a girl to set them

aside on a rack.

Four men walk up with a kudzu tuber in a sling, one man on each corner

of the sling. An immense 100-pound kudzu tuber conglomeration is in the

middle of the sling, roots sticking out in every direction. The men

heave it onto the empty picnic table, while the woman and girl bring

buckets of water from the shore to slosh over the tuber mass, scrubbing

any dirt away with brushes. A man comes with a machete knife and begins

to hack at the tubers, breaking the mass into potato sized chunks.

Periodically they step back and let the woman and girl collect the

chunks in their hands and walk to the boiling pot, tossing the chunks

in.

The Kudzu King says,

. . Been our salvation. Like taters. And the

leaves too. That’s fer supper. Kind’a plain but

steady. I still miss biscuits ‘n gravy. Dream

on that.

129

A dairy cow is lead past on her way to being milked. The Kudzu King

says,

. . About ate all them cows. . . Ate everything

in sight. But BillyBob took a stand when they

came for his prize bull. Said they’d have ta

take him first. Good thing too. We still got

milk for the kids.

The Kudzu King flashes Finegan a grin.

BillyBob lived like a king on stud fees too,

fer awhile. Had saved the last damn bull.

Them cows pasture in the kudzu patch too.

Finegan asks,

No downside, eh?

The Kudzu King responds.

Um . . A patch of this stuff can be home to

snakes and vermin. Can’t see ‘um. I’ll show you

after breakfast. We’ll go on patrol.

Joey comes up with a plate filled with what looks like mashed potatoes

and a glass of milk for Finegan, while the girl helping with breakfast

brings the same for the Kudzu King. While the Kudzu King is stuffing

his face, Finegan poses another burning curiosity question, waving his

fork in the direction of the crushed car piles.

How’d you come to be living up high. I mean . .

you didn’t drive ‘em up there.

The Kudzu King looks up through his eyebrows and swallows, pausing in

his ravenous eating, waving his fork in that direction too as he

explains.

We saw the waters a’risin. An the kudzu eating

the trees. Them cranes still had some gas in

130

‘em, so we lifted the hulks waitin to be

crushed.

Returning to his mashed potatoes again, he gives a final wave of his

fork and a glance toward the car piles.

We got the air. And the snakes don’t bother us

cause the vermin don’t live there. Nothing to

eat.

The Kudzu King swings his fork toward the woods behind them.

They like the woods. The rats eat the bugs and

the snakes eat the rats and bugs don’t live on

metal.

The Kudzu King shakes his head while he returns to stuffing his mouth.

That’s where we’d be, if’en it twern’t for the

car piles. Hell of a place. I’ll show you right

after breakfast here.

______________________________

The Kudzu King and several other men are ready for patrol. They are

carrying knives, machetes, an ax, a boomerang, and a length of chain –

any weapons they can find. One of the men has a large empty net thrown

over his shoulder. Another carries a couple shovels. And yet another

carries the sling used to bring the kudzu tubers to the breakfast

table. Finegan walks up armed with the houseboat club. She asks,

Are we going to war?

The Kudzu King says,

That about says it.

An outdoor school is being conducted behind the men. The schoolmarm has

a chalkboard to the side and is writing words down, having the children

recite the words and discuss their meaning. Joey is sitting among the

children who range in age from 3 to 15. The schoolmarm has written

“sympathy” on the board. All the children say “sympathy” in unison. He

asks,

Who can tell me what this means?

The schoolmarm nods at one of the older children. The student says,

It means feeling what the other person feels.

The schoolmarm says,

Very good! Sympathy has a similar sound to

another word, which is . .

One of the younger children leaps up with the answer, hand in the air.

Empathy!

The schoolmarm writes the word “empathy” on the board and under this

the word “pathos”.

131

Excellent! They both have the same root –

pathy, sympathy, empathy, or from the Greek

word pathos. Pathos is pity or suffering. See

how we can often figure out what a word means

by knowing a common root?

The patrol is marching off toward the kudzu forest, the sound of

singing insects drowning out the sounds of the classroom. The group of

men on patrol are walking along a well-worn path through the kudzu

forest. On either side are towering kudzu covered trees, which stand

like spires as the branches of the trees have rotted, only the trunk

remaining. They come to the area where the kudzu root and the greenery

the root system supports have been harvested. A large open area of

sandy red clay soil the size of a suburban back yard has holes and

piles of dirt where the digging recently occurred.

The Kudzu King cautiously approaches the side of this open area, ax in

hand. The rest of the group hangs back, but appears to be at the ready.

The Kudzu King grabs a vine where it comes out of the ground and hacks

at it, stepping backward toward the group, dragging the severed vine

with him. A bird flies out of the kudzu patch, startling some of the

men, who are tense. The man with the net spreads the net open while

those with knives slice off the green leaves, collected in the net. The

kudzu vine itself it cast to the side. The Kudzu King steps forward to

hack another vine, but quickly steps back. He says,

Whoa! Snake. Nemind, just a grass snake. Baby.

______________________________

The group now have their shirts removed, are sweaty and covered with

dust as the tubers have been dug up. Some are sitting around the edges

of a hole, catching their breath. The tubers have been heaved up and

onto the sling, also at the side. The Kudzu King is still pulling

vines, a separate operation from digging tubers. The vines are

interconnected so many are pulled down during any tug.

Finegan is standing close to him, ready for some sort of threat, club

in hand. As the Kudzu King leans into tugging he steps back and loses

his footing, falling on his butt. A family of frightened baby rabbits

scurry out from the burrow he has stepped into. One of the men grabs

the club Finegan is holding and clubs away at the baby rabbits which

are zigzagging in all directions, attempting to evade and escape. One

of the babies does not make it and lies dead and bleeding. Finegan is

trying to take this seriously, but has yet to see a threat and is

suppressing a grin.

132

Guess he won’t hurt no one no more.

Finegan puts his hand out to help the Kudzu King up onto his feet.

You could use a break. Let me do that for a

spell.

Finegan picks up the machete and wades into the tangle of vines,

slashing at whatever is preventing the vine they are pulling down from

dropping. In the shadow of the kudzu forest just beyond Finegan’s feet

a copperhead is slithering away. There are salamanders scurrying away

as well, typical food for a copperhead. Finegan steps back.

Whoa!

Several men armed with the ax, machetes, and the club spring forward

but Finegan waves them away. Finegan says,

He’s well gone now. Copperhead. . . Damn.

Finegan returns to slashing vines but is more cautious now, poking the

vines aside before sliding his leg into a space.

______________________________

Finegan is sitting at one of the picnic benches with Joey at his side

and the schoolmarm on the other. He has several old National Geographic

magazines on his lap, one of them open. Joey is watching the

interchange intently, as this pertains to his future.

Guess in all this we forget the young’uns.

They’re growing up with no schooling, cain’t

read nor write most of ‘em. This ‘ere ‘ll perk

their interest, far away places and all. Some

nekked women in there too, just so’s you know.

Lots of big words in there too, with, ah, . .

Greek roots.

The schoolmarm is smiling as she accepts the pile from Finegan. She

asks,

Does Joey have a school?

Finegan says,

Not lately, but he’s goin to from now on.

133

______________________________

Finegan has pedaled the houseboat away from the kudzu shore, into deep

water. They are heading for a small island nearby, a clump of flooded

trees, to moor for the night. Joey is at the rear of the houseboat,

talking to Finegan, as they are clear of flooded objects at the moment.

He has an open book on his lap with a copperhead snake skin being used

as a bookmark. Finegan says,

That school marm, she was thinking past the

troubles. We’re all so caught up in what’s to

eat, what we lost an all. Kids get lost in the

shuffle.

Joey says,

I promise. I’ll read a book every day. Out

loud, even.

Finegan sighs and looks momentarily distressed.

You know that lady did your set of clothes? She

and I, we . . well, what we done could’a made a

baby. Not saying it did, just could’a. . . What

kind a life would a kid have, trying to learn

to talk and all, where none do any talking? . .

I keep thinking, mehbe, mehbe we should go back

there and check, ya know?

Joey nods.

And no copperhead snakes there either.

Both Finegan and Joey laugh and grin at each other. Joey picks up his

book and starts reading “Moby Dick”, chapter one.

134

Homecoming

Finegan is sitting cross-legged atop the roof of his houseboat, a map

spread out on his lap. He is pondering. Joey’s head pops up on one

side. Finegan says,

Seems to me it was about here . .

Finegan waves his hand in the direction of the open water where the

dawn is breaking.

But the land ashore looks different.

Joey climbs up on the rooftop and turns 360° around. He says,

The water rose since we been here last. . . I

think we were a bit more this direction.

Joey is pointing down along the shoreline, to his right as he faces the

shoreline. He says,

Mehbe so. . . I’ll go out to deep water and you

look afar out there. .

Finegan is pointing out into deep water, where they expect to find the

seamstress’s island.

______________________________

Finegan is peddling away, almost out of sight of the shoreline, but

moving parallel to the shoreline. Joey is atop the houseboat roof, hand

shielding his eyes from the Sun, which is rising over the open water,

peering out into deep water for any sighting of the island. Suddenly

Joey is animated, pointing with one arm and calling back over his

shoulder to Finegan.

I see it! I think I do. Ahead and to the right.

______________________________

The houseboat is approaching the island where the seamstress and the

other deaf/mutes lived, working with sheep and wool and gardening at

the Institute for the Deaf. The island looks smaller than when visited

last, over a year ago. The water level has risen. But the buildings,

which were atop the hill, are still above water. No sheep can be seen

grazing on what is now a limited grass area around the remnants of the

main Institute buildings.

The seamstress, carrying a bundle in her arms, can be seen running down

the slope toward the spot where the houseboat will be mooring. There is

a rowboat with oars pulled onto the shoreline there also. Finegan is

walking across the gangplank toward the seamstress, who is standing on

the shore. The seamstress is smiling broadly, very happy, with tears in

135

her eyes. She holds the bundle forward slightly, with both hands. A

four-month-old baby girl is in the bundle, looking up at her mother and

waving her free arm a bit. Finegan is choked up.

Oh my . .

The baby suddenly jerks its head in Finegan’s direction, looking

startled. Finegan smiles and looks at the seamstress.

It can hear! . . Ah, not an it . . a boy or a

girl?

The seamstress is placing the baby girl into Finegan’s arms. She points

to the baby and then to herself, meaning, a girl. Finegan is all

smiles, goggling and cooing to the baby, who is cooing and blowing

bubbles in kind.

A deaf man is walking down the path, carrying a suitcase and a bundle

of cloth diapers. He has a smile on his face also. He begins telling

Finegan the story, in sign language. He puts the suitcase and bundle of

diapers down, and motions in a sweep from the hilltop to land,

indicating that everyone moved to the mainland. He points to the water

then raises his hand slowly, indicating that the water kept rising.

The deaf seamstress, seeing that Finegan is looking over her shoulder

steadily, only now becomes aware that the deaf man has arrived. She

turns to watch his story too. The deaf man points to the seamstress,

then frowns and crosses his arms, shaking his head in the negative,

meaning that she had refused to go. He points to Finegan, then to the

seamstress again, holding his hand over his eyes and scanning the

horizon, indicating that she was waiting for Finegan to return. Finegan

says,

Well, we’re here now, and not leaving until she

comes along.

Joey has come round behind Finegan, a big smile on his face too, and

picks up the suitcase and bundle of diapers, taking them onboard. The

deaf man points to the rowboat nearby, then points to himself, then a

sweeping gesture from the mainland to the seamstress, then opening his

arms to encompass her and himself swooshing back toward the mainland.

He is relaying that he came for her. Finegan smiles affectionately one

last time at his baby girl, then hands her back to her mother, stepping

toward the rowboat.

We’ll take this along.

Finegan points to the deaf man, indicating with a wave of his arm that

he should get onto the houseboat.

______________________________

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As the houseboat approaches a narrow inland bay, the dark, dead trunks

of trees can be seen sticking up here and there at the entrance. Waves

are slapping the pontoons of the houseboat, the wind is starting to

whistle. The sky is darkening. Joey is standing on the roof in his

usual position, his clothes starting to whip now and then in the wind.

He is signaling Finegan, pointing to the water to the side and

motioning with his hand to move in the other direction when he sights a

flooded tree that could snag the houseboat.

The seamstress and the man who vacated the island had been sitting in

the rear, facing Finegan, but now go into the house on the boat. The

seamstress covers the baby’s face with the blanket edge. The baby can

be heard starting to cry due to the wind in its face.

______________________________

The houseboat is now moored well into the inland bay, where the

waterway is so narrow the houseboat barely made it between the flooded

trees. Finegan is tying the houseboat as well as mooring via the

grappling hooks, anticipating a hurricane. The gangplank has been

lowered.

The seamstress and baby are hustling up the hill toward a farmstead in

the shelter of the hills. Joey is carrying her bundle of diapers and

the deaf man from the island is at the lead, carrying the suitcase.

Their clothes can be seen blowing in the wind now and then, but not to

the extreme as out on the open water. Finegan is pulling the gangplank

back onto the houseboat and jumping down into shallow water, wading

ashore, hustling to catch up to the group going up the hill.

______________________________

Twenty or so people are huddled under the shelter of a barn roof, which

has been hoisted up by posts to form a large lean-to. The group

includes children of all ages. The straw that had been in the upper

floor of the barn has spilled out onto the ground, so forms a soft

seating area. Twenty or so sheep are also huddled under the roof, to

one side, a section of fence pulled around them. This fence had been

pulled from a field, is made of posts and wire fencing between the

posts, and has been rolled up to make it portable.

The sheep are lying down, almost on top of one another, and include

spring lambs. Blankets have been thrown on top of the straw in the

seating area for people. The people are likewise very crowded, trying

to stay out what is becoming hurricane force winds and torrential

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rains. The wind can be heard whistling and moaning amid the thunder of

raindrops on the roof.

The seamstress is in the middle of the group, which includes normal

folk as well as the deaf that came from the island. Several women are

crowding around her, admiring the baby and cooing at the baby. There is

a particularly strong gust of wind and the seamstress pulls the blanket

up over the baby’s head, moving her body to shield the infant. Finegan

is to the open edge of the lean-to, trying to pull some planks up to

create a windshield. He finally gives up as the planks keep blowing

down, and comes to join the group huddled further in under the roof.

______________________________

The storm has blown over and sunlight can be seen beyond the shade

inside the homestead barn. Birds are singing again. The seamstress is

sitting alone on a blanket in the middle of the straw, nursing her

baby. The afternoon sunlight is shinning into the barn, so mother and

child are in a beam of sunlight. The sheep have been released to return

to grazing, and no one else is around. It is a madonna and child

moment.

______________________________

Finegan and Joey are being given a tour of a community of survivors,

numbering around 300 folks. This is a rural area, so the makeshift

homes are of various materials and styles. One has stacks of used tires

for walls, with a piece of plywood over the top as a roof. Over the

plywood is a tarp, to keep it all waterproof. The doorway is simply

open, with a cloth tied up at top to be dropped at night for privacy or

for warmth. This is true of a couple window openings on either side,

where the top tires are missing but a cloth can be dropped as a

curtain.

Several homes are bermed into a hillside, a former pasture. The earth

that has been dug out is used to form walls on the open side of the

houses, hobbit style. The walls are braced by various boards taken from

the sides of collapsed barns or farm buildings. Doors and window frames

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from these buildings are in place, packed with dirt all around. The

roofs are sections of tin roofs, likewise scavenged from collapsed

farmhouses. One of the bermed homes has a complete corner taken from a

farmhouse, moved to form this corner.

Yet another house has been formed by parking several cars and vans into

a rectangle, with an open communal area inside these cars. The communal

area is covered by planks taken from a collapsed barn, rough wood with

a piece of straw here and there stuck to the boards. The car doors are

open in good weather along the outside of this commune, closed at night

or during rain. None of the cars have tires, so are sitting on the

ground. The doors of the cars and vans have been removed on the inside

so the complex is like a large dorm area for sleeping.

Yet another house is formed by bales of straw that are secured by wire

wraps, leftover from before the troubles hit. The farm wagon used to

haul the straw bales has been tipped over on its side to form one wall,

with a portion of a farmhouse roof pulled over the center for

protection from the rain.

Yet another house is an old tractor, long out of gas, with all manner

of plastic sheeting thrown over the top and pulled taut and staked and

tied at the edges – one large tent. Boxes and stored items are stuffed

under the tractor body, with sleeping blankets laid out in all

directions like the spokes of a wheel from this center.

The village folk are milling around a central area preparing a communal

supper. A cooking fire has been started and a large pot hung over the

fire. Several women are chopping vegetables and a man is cleaning fish

on a table nearby. The communal dining area has every type of table and

chairs imaginable, collected from the area – kitchen table and chairs,

picnic tables, stools and benches from barns, and tables made from

boards held up by broken concrete blocks. All the tables have been

covered by tablecloths tattered and of all colors but the tableclothes

are clean. In the centers of these tables are dishes and tableware,

also of every kind and color, many chipped. The glasses and pitchers of

water are primarily plastic ware, children’s durable drinking glasses.

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In the distance can be seen an extensive garden area, running up one

slope and over the top of the hill. The sheep can be seen grazing on

yet another hilltop. Free ranging chickens are dashing about,

underfoot. There is lots of chatter going on, friends calling out to

each other to ask about the windstorm that had blown through and how

their homes were affected.

. . How’d you fare?

Another answering,

Nearly tore my roof off but it held.

Finegan and Joey are walking down a row of shops, off to the side of

the sleeping and eating areas. These are primarily just open areas,

covered by tarps and left open at night as any tools or goods are

packed away at night. The shops are mostly closed due to the storm that

passed recently. One shop is a shoe repairman, who is seated on a

contraption that is a chair with a post in front of the chair, atop

this post a wooden foot. Alternative wooden feet, different sizes, are

in a box at his side. He is waiting for customers, his box of tools

beside him including cutting knives, glue, a hammer, and various pieces

of leather.

A communal library is next, a woman putting books back onto shelves

that had been taken from several different collapsed homes. These

shelves are of every size and shape. She is handling the books with

great care, almost in an affectionate manner. She has a couple tables,

one small for children, and several chairs in the library too.

A furniture repair shop is next, and woodworker setting up shop,

continuing to repair a chair he had been working on before the storm.

He has woodworking tools – a plane, hammers, saws, nails, glue, clamps,

and a hand drill. Some wood shavings are on the ground underfoot. He is

sitting on a stool in front of a low sturdy table, the chair to be

repaired atop this table. Finegan approaches the woodworker.

Could you make me a cradle? One that could hang

from a ceiling yea high?

Finegan has his hand over his head, indicating the height of the

houseboat roof.

______________________________

The houseboat is again on the open water, drifting along toward the

sunset, with the shoreline off to the right. Finegan is not at the

pedals, but Joey is sitting cross-legged on the rooftop, reading to

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himself. All four lines from the corner posts are covered with cloth

diapers, drying in the breeze.

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