As it comes into better view, I see what it is. And I relax.
It is a ghost ship. Its entire hull is hollowed out, and I can see right through it. It is incredible: a huge, empty, rusted shell, floating down the river. It creaks and groans as it bounces in the river, sandwiched between large chunks of ice, leaning. It drifts our way and Logan turns us away, to keep us a good distance from it.
We float right past it and I look up, amazed by its size, as it blocks the sun. It is eerie. It is like looking at an old pirate ship. I wonder who piloted it, wonder how many months it’s been floating down this river. It is other- worldly, this strange relic, this vestige of a world that once was. It makes me wonder if there is anything left in the world anymore.
None of us say anything as it passes. I relax my guard, realizing there is no danger.
But I hear a noise and I look down, as our boat starts to slow. At first I wonder if we ran out of gas. But that’s not what it is. We suddenly stop moving, our boat groaning. We are stuck.
I look down, trying to figure out what happened.
“ Did we hit a rock?” I ask. “Aren’t we too far from shore?”
Logan shakes his head, looking down grimly.
“ Ice,” he answers.
I lean over the boat, and see it. There, all around us, are huge chunks of ice, boxing us in. So much of it has gathered around us that we can no longer move. I can’t believe it.
“ Now what?” Ben asks, also leaning over.
“ We need to break out,” Logan says.
“ We need some kind of tool,” Logan says. “Like a saw. Or a hammer.”
I remember the hammer I salvaged from my dad’s house, and rummage through my sack and pull it out. I lean over the edge and hammer at the ice.
But it hardly does a thing. The ice is too thick, and my hammer is too small.
I lean back, exhausted.
“ Nice try,” Logan says.
I look all around the river, and realize we are sitting ducks out here. This is bad. It could take hours for the ice to thaw. And the current is now bringing us back downriver.
Logan, Ben and I all exchange a nervous glance; clearly, none of us have any ideas.
“ What about the anchor?” Bree asks.
We all turn and look at her. She stands there, pointing. I follow her finger to the back of the boat, to the small anchor on an iron chain. Bree’s right. It’s a brilliant idea.
Logan hurries over and hoists it. I am impressed by his strength: it must weigh thirty pounds, solid iron.
“ Stand back,” he says.
He leans over the edge, winds up the chain and anchor, and brings it down hard on the ice. It hits with a cracking noise, and I watch as the ice cracks and splits in several parts. Logan does it again and again, and soon, the huge chunks of ice break free.
He drops the anchor and turns to Bree with a smile: “Smart thinking,” he says.
I come over and put my arm around her, and she smiles proudly.
“ Don’t know what us grownups would do without you,” I say.
Logan guns it and we break through the remaining ice, back into open water. We are moving, but more slowly than before, Logan doing his best to avoid the floating chunks. I stand beside him, watching the horizon.
“ See that up there?” he asks, pointing.
I squint, and in the distance I see, on the shore, the remains of what looks like a gas station. It is a small, crumbling dock, with the remnants of rusted gas pumps. It looks like it once fueled boats. It sits on the periphery of a sprawling town, dilapidated, like all the towns we passed.
“ I say we give it a shot,” he says. “Probably empty, but we need to try. We’re running on fumes.”
“ Could be risky, getting that close to shore again,” I say.
“ We have no choice,” Logan says. “It won’t be long until the river freezes over for good. And if the pumps are empty, we can scavenge that town.”
Ben and Bree are standing beside us, looking too.
“ Any objections?” Logan asks.
We are all silent. It’s probably a waste of time, but he’s right: it’s not like we have a choice.
Logan turns us towards the dock. We pull up to it, my heart beating in anticipation, and I silently wish and pray that there is gas left in these pumps. All we need is some gas, in just one pump. Just a few gallons. Something. Anything.
Come on.
Logan pulls up expertly beside the dock, aligning the nozzle. He jumps out, our boat rocking, as he lands on the dock two feet away.
He lifts the rusted nozzle, inserts it into the boat, and pulls the lever. My heart stops as I hear a swooshing noise. Then silence.
Logan tries again and again. He leans back and bangs the pump. But nothing happens. It is empty.
We all look away, grimacing. We know what that means.
“ What now?” Ben asks.
“ We have no choice,” Logan says. “We’ve got to see if we can find some gas. We’ve got to check this town out. A canister, anything. Maybe even siphon it off an old car, if we can find any. The boat’s useless to us now.”
He’s right. I know he’s right, but I hate to admit it. I don’t want to leave the safety of the boat, don’t want to go back on shore. But I know that it’s useless without gas.
“ Let’s do it,” I say.
I jump off the boat, the dock bobbing as I do, then turn for Bree and pull her up. Ben lingers, reluctant to leave the boat, then finally jumps off and joins us. Logan reaches down and drops the anchor.
“ What about the boat?” Ben asks.
Logan shakes his head.
“ Can’t take it with us,” he says. “One of us could stand guard, but that’d be a waste of time. Don’t worry about it,” he says. “It’s useless without gas. It’s not going anywhere.”
As we all follow Logan towards town, I check back over my shoulder, and look one more time at the boat. I don’t know why, but I have a sinking feeling that I’ll never see it again.
E L E V E N
We walk down the snow-lined rubble, right down the center of Main Street, and I look at the apocalyptic town spread out before us. It is the largest town I’ve seen in years, stretching for dozens of blocks, as far as I can see. On either side of us are crumbling, burnt out buildings. The devastation is tremendous. It reminds me of some of those photos I saw of cities bombed out after World War II.
The snow, while melting, is still up to our shins, and various objects stick out, like neglected toys. I see the hull of a burned out car, its wheels covered in snow, its top rusted right through. Beyond it, I see a broken wheelbarrow.
We are all tense, on guard, as we continue deeper into this town that once was. I hope and pray we can find fuel. All we need is one house, one store, one room-just one thing left uncovered. Who knows? Maybe we can even find more than fuel? Maybe food, weapons, ammo.
We come to the first store that looks like it might hold anything, and I stick my head through the open frame where there was once a window. I look inside, and see nothing but ruin.
I am about to move on, but Bree suddenly enters. She must spot something, because she steps across the threshold and into the store, and kneels down and reaches into the rubble. She pulls up something, gleaming in the light. I’m amazed she spotted it. She holds it out before us, and we all examine it. It’s an old, rusted tin. It looks like it was once a candy tin. She opens it, and I’m amazed: inside are several red sucking candies.
We each reach in and grab one. I pop one in my mouth and am overwhelmed by the sweet, sugary taste,
