She was right. The dried food should be saved for when we had no other choices. Canned food needed to be eaten when the can was opened—although, since our refrigerator was working, that might not be true. Still, just once, we ate like kings.
Bottles of propane gas for the stove, heater, and fridge needed to be added to the growing list. I looked at the GPS for a small harbor or bay with only a few houses, thinking that might be a good place to pull in and try raiding an empty house. Then, I rejected the idea. Too much chance of a prepper, outcast, or survivor who would want those things for himself or herself. Better to wait as long as possible, meaning until more people killed each other while we hid.
Still, amongst the hundreds of other things we had to consider and find ways to obtain, we needed a plan. One where we could go ashore in relative safety and search for the things we needed. A glance at the roof of the cabin gave me the answer.
We could sail slowly along the coast and find houses isolated from others. The anchor would keep the Truant from drifting away long enough for us to make quick trips to the mainland. The kayaks would quickly get us there where one of us could search while the other stood watch.
That idea got rejected because there was nobody to protect our home: Our sailboat. One of us had to stay on board.
The kayaks wouldn’t hold much if we gathered things like canned goods and weapons. We needed to find a small rowboat we could tow behind the sailboat, and small enough to tow behind the kayaks. The smile inside must have revealed itself on my lips.
Sue said, “What?”
“I have part of our problems solved.”
“You said, you are a planner and were certainly telling the truth. So far, every problem we’ve had has been solved by you.”
“That’s not true. You contribute at least as much as me.”
“Explain.” She clipped the word as if she didn’t believe me. Her expression had turned stern.
She was actually interested in my answer. “Easy. In contrast, I tend to plan too much, too detailed before beginning a task and I know it. When action is required, or when things don’t go as planned, I’m poor at changing my direction. When I do, it’s often without thought or consequences and then it turns out wrong. You point out those things before they happen.”
“That’s not much.” She hung her chin to her chest and appeared totally defeated. “My only job is to correct you?”
“No, you don’t understand. This is how I see things with us. Where I’m strong, you are not. Where I’m weak, you are strong. I could give you a dozen instances to prove it. We are better together.”
She took my empty plate leaned far over the side and rinsed it in the seawater, then did the same for hers. Finished, she settled down and faced me. “You worry too much.”
“True.” I went inside and turned on the radar long enough to find the boats were still lined up and none were near us or coming this way. I turned it off again, not knowing how much power the unit consumed. The conversation sat heavily on my mind. I’d expressed my feelings but there still seemed things left unsaid.
Putting the conversation in the back of my mind, for now, a panel above the built-in desk drew my attention. Behind the cover, the myriad of dials, gauges, and switches confused me. I saw nothing that related directly to the solar panels. What I did know was that, especially in winter, there is day after day of heavy cloud cover in the northwest. Where there is no sun, there is no charge for the system. Learning about the solar cell charging system needed to be a higher priority than it was. We needed the GPS, radar, and pumps to expel water from the bilges, and to unfurl the jib. There was no telling what else was eating up our limited supply of electricity. I wondered if turning on the radar used enough power from the batteries that it would take a full day to recharge them to full.
There should be a simple formula for how much power is used and how long it takes to replenish it. I searched for that formula or a book that explained it in simple terms.
The point was that I didn’t know the answer and needed to, along with many other things.
It was what we didn’t know that would probably kill us someday, some silly little thing like not having a charged battery, lack of fuel or propane, a leak in the hull when the pumps failed, or expired food. My goal was to put that day off as long as possible.
It was a depressing thought.
Finally, I found a brochure for the solar cell storage system stapled to a thin manual that constantly suggested the reader use the Internet web site for up to date information and clear, easy to follow instructions. It would have been nice if we could do that.
In simple language, it explained we had three hundred watts of flexible panels mounted on our roof. That assured me that the system produced more electricity than we would need—if the sun came out. The brochure said two twelve-volt batteries would be more than enough to supply our needs for two or three days if we didn’t waste electricity. It also said the system accommodated four batteries, at an additional cost, of course.
I found the controller unit. The digital display on the face told me we had it charging at 13.6 volts, which was optimal. Below the charger was a square seat mounted on the floor. I moved the cushion and found a thumbhole for a removable panel. Below that were four large batteries bigger than those in a car.
If two supplied the typical boat user enough power for a couple of days of frugal use, we had double that. Enough for at least four days after a full charge, longer if we took it easy on things that use electricity. And I was right about the engine producing more electricity. Running the engine charged the batteries ten times as fast as the solar panels.
My mind went back to Asian music, now that we had all the power we needed—and understood that what we used would be replaced the following day. The Internet was down, and the radio should supply us with news if we could find a station that broadcasts in English. We needed to find a waveband that had American stations.
Turning it on, I watched the voltage meter to see if there was any change. There was not. I rotated the old-fashioned dial slowly. For much of the cycle, there was nothing. When there was, it had static, faded in and out, and was always Asian music or talk.
I switched to the FM band and found nothing. Not even static. Then SW, which I assumed was short-wave. Snippets of English crackled from the speaker, not enough to make out much, and what I did seemed to have accents. After an hour, I snapped it off and noticed a marine radio, and another similar unit was stacked on the shelf above, microphones in the holders, coiled cords drooping. A dial on one indicated forty stations.
I turned it on and was instantly greeted with squeals and howls. I changed stations slowly and waited a short time at each station to listen. On one channel we heard a man talking. He seemed to be instructing or ordering someone in a gruff tone. He spoke in English, his voice clipped and harsh, but I didn’t understand the direction he gave. A new voice, one much louder and clearer replied, “We’re in position.”
“What are you waiting for?” The reply was sneering with contempt. “Go get them.”
Sue called out, “Something’s going on, better come up here.”
I ran up the ladder and looked where she pointed. The small city on the shore crackled with gunfire. An explosion sounded and a plume of gray smoke rose into the air. More gunfire, not just ten or twenty shots, but hundreds, from many different weapons.
We stood transfixed. Another explosion, then another. More smoke. More gunfire.
Sue hissed, “They’re killing each other. It’s a war. The people still alive are trying to kill everyone else. What are they thinking? Has the whole world gone crazy?”
I turned on the radar and found we were still alone. That last radio message bothered me, and my mind returned to it time and again. Could we be what they were supposed to go get? It was late in the day. My plan of waiting until three in the morning didn’t seem as good as it had a while ago. The gunfire continued, sporadic at best, broken often by either silence or bursts of shots. I estimated several hundred rounds had been fired by an unknown number of weapons.