Alex removed his backpack and grabbed the fence with both hands, gauging its steadiness.
“I don’t think there’s any point,” Kate said.
She didn’t want to waste any more time getting back to their house. The car had been parked along the seawall, several feet from the edge, along with the rest of the cars that were either missing or sitting ass-up in the water. The cars in the lot had all been shifted at least twenty feet by the water, which would put their SUV in the oily soup mixture that now constituted Portland Harbor. She didn’t even see its tailgate, so there was no reason for Alex to climb the fence and confirm the obvious.
Just their luck, too. Finding a spot for their SUV in the less cramped, outer edge of the parking lot on a clear Sunday morning had been a stroke of fortune yesterday. Now they faced a wonderful five-mile walk with overstuffed backpacks in the stifling heat that would only get worse as the day progressed. Alex either didn’t hear her or was purposefully ignoring her. Neither possibility pleased her.
He’d already put them more than an hour behind schedule by confronting the Coast Guard station’s commanding officer about the lost pistol and the fact that they were treated like terrorists while approaching the station in a “sailboat.” It didn’t matter anymore, but he couldn’t let it go.
Under normal circumstances, she appreciated his proactive approach to sticking up for the family, but this was far from an ordinary dilemma. They could have walked right from the pier to the front gate in five minutes, but he kept pushing, and they were detained while their credentials were verified. It was pure harassment, infuriating and unnecessary, but Alex should have known better than to push their buttons.
Now it was hotter outside, and her last vestige of patience was about to be completely erased by Alex’s Spiderman routine. The quicker they got home, the sooner they could figure out how to get Ryan out of Boston. They needed to stay focused on that goal. Climbing a fence to confirm the obvious wasn’t on her list of shit to do right now.
“The car’s gone. We’re heading out,” she stated, signaling for Ethan and Emily to follow.
She took several steps down the road before hearing Alex’s footfalls approach from behind.
“Take it easy, Kate. We’re on the same page here. I just thought we might be able to salvage something from the car if it was sticking up from the water like some of the others,” said Alex.
She softened the look on her face and turned her head. “We can’t carry any more crap. It’s hot, it’s humid, and I want to get home so we can come up with a plan to get Ryan. We have everything we need at home.”
“If our house is still there. These packs might be it. We have to think worst-case scenario,” he said.
“Every house is still standing. Even the clubhouse on the edge of the water. I’m sure our house is intact,” said Kate, picking up the pace.
“You’re going too fast for the kids. A regular walking pace would be best, especially with the heat. These packs will feel twice as heavy by the time we reach Highland Avenue.”
Kate sensed that he didn’t want to fight, so she accepted his suggestion and slowed the pace. He could have argued the physics of how the tsunami might have reached their house with more force, or continued on the all-or-nothing survivor mentality track, but he had opted for more constructive counsel. After more than twenty years of marriage, subtle shifts in tone and commentary often carried more meaning and significance than an obvious, outward expression. In this case, she interpreted it as a temporary concession. She’d take it. They needed to work together from this point forward.
“Yep. I can feel this damn thing digging into my shoulder already. They’re not exactly the most comfortable packs. How long do you think it will take us to get home?” she asked, slowing down to fall into step beside him.
“Five miles? I’d say two to three hours, depending on the burden of these packs and the temperature. That’s assuming we can follow the usual roads, which is a fair assumption. Even if the water made it that far inland, we shouldn’t be looking at anything more than an occasional downed tree or power line—maybe some debris. We should be home before the day gets ridiculously hot.”
“Sounds like fun. This isn’t exactly the weight-loss plan I had in mind, but I’ll take what I can get,” Kate said, adjusting the pack on her shoulders.
Kate wished she had taken the time to pick out a more suitable backpack. Alex had given her the opportunity to look through options, but she had deferred the decision to his judgment. Working through the different choices presented by Alex could occupy most of her waking hours if she allowed it—and it never ended. Out of necessity, she gradually took on more of an observational role and let him run the show. Once Alex formed an idea, he could be relentless and impatient about getting it done. She had decided to go back to work at her accounting firm, and the last thing she needed at the end of each day was another deadline. Less than a quarter of a mile into their trek, she regretted not taking a little more interest in the backpack he had chosen.
He had selected the same design for everyone, opting for an OD green, military-style, three-day assault pack. From a purely practical standpoint, the assault pack met their requirements on every level. The “three-day” designation referred to sustained combat operations, where a soldier would carry large quantities of additional ammunition, radio batteries, and other squad-or platoon-based items, in addition to food and water, taking up most of their “personal” space. Alex had chosen the assault pack for its large cargo-carrying capacity and unique interior arrangement.
Internally, the pack contained over a dozen zippered or snapped compartments, making it easy to organize and access the different categories of gear required for an effective bug-out bag. They had bought two backpacks for each member of the family. One for the house and one for travel.
For the boat, Alex staged each backpack with an imbedded three-liter CamelBak hydration bladder, three stainless-steel one-liter bottles, three full MREs (Meals Ready to Eat), a folding knife, one LED flashlight and a basic first aid kit. Everyone was required to add two full changes of clothing and a pair of running shoes, in a sealed three-gallon Ziploc bag, to the bottom of their pack. The rest of the space belonged to the owner, which left more than enough room to pack clothing, toiletries and other essentials for a week-long trip, if you didn’t mind wearing the same items for a couple of days in a row. Kate always brought another bag for trips over three days on the sailboat.
Alex always loaded his own pack with additional survival gear. Fire-starting equipment, signaling gear, a pair of handheld radios, an enhanced first aid kit, water purification tablets and a number of items she had already forgotten. His pack always looked like it was about to burst apart at the seams and had to weigh at least fifteen pounds heavier than the other packs. He purposely loaded his own pack with more of the group items, acknowledging the fact that he was asking enough of them to carry basic survival supplies on every local vacation.
Not many families travelled like the Fletchers. Whenever they journeyed by car as a family, four of these backpacks, filled with the required basics, would be stuffed into the vehicle next to their regular suitcases and luggage. Alex didn’t expect the family to walk into a hotel or ski lodge with matching, military-style backpacks, but they had the option of retrieving them for a rapid departure in the unlikely event of a disaster. He had become obsessed with the idea of “bugging out” of every possible situation—an obsession that had paid off handsomely this morning.