A year had passed since the epidemic. I couldn't believe how much I had grown up… We all had, those of my generation who suddenly had to take charge of our lives because so many of our parents, siblings, friends and relatives were dead and the whole structure of society we depended upon suddenly cut off by the lack of people in the mix just doing what they always did--their part in a civilized society. Cut off to a point where we all had to change what we were doing just to survive.

       And we survived, perhaps thrived compared to other places. But I have to give credit to where we live, here in a rather temperate climate compared to some other parts of the country. And by the sea, a good source of food for us. But we've had our share of bad weather disrupting our efforts to rebuild and repopulate the area.

       And, speaking of repopulating the area, I couldn't believe I may be the father of three children already when my plan was not to get married until well after I graduated from college. I still don't believe I'm a father, even though I see my sons with Melody almost every day before I rush to do whatever I'm going to be doing all day, and then, I see them again at night. So thankful there are those willing to take care of them while Melody and I work at getting things back together and working again all day without them.

       But the twins are sleeping soundly all through the night now and showing signs of talking, crawling and getting to become a nuisance around the house until they're off to nursery and out of our hair. All the more reason to be more careful in everything I do. It's hard, taking on flying planes and helicopters with only half of the training that most people get.

       The five of us are scheduled to leave south on the NJN helicopter tomorrow, so I have to get my sleep because I will be the principal pilot again with Derek there as copilot if needed.

       Morning came and we were off at 8 am, I headed south along the coast where we had gone with Harlan before to San Diego. All was going well until all of a sudden, a stealth Marine helicopter appeared at our side with me barely able to see a guy in the heavily darkened window hand signaling something to me.

       Our radio suddenly came alive… “You are violating military airspace. If you don't follow us around our airspace to the south, we will have to shoot you down, or preferred, force you down and hold you prisoner!”

       I clicked on the microphone and replied. “Roger that. We will follow you to the south. We are headed for San Diego and beyond.”

       The ultra-sleek helicopter moved in front of me and flew painfully slow for its ability out to sea about 10 nautical miles, and then turned south for about 30 miles, until we were allowed to fly back to the coast just north of San Diego. The last radio admonition was, “When you return, if inland, be sure to stay more than 10 miles from the coast or you will be intercepted again.”

       We all heard as clearly as if from a loudspeaker that the military had returned to Camp Pendleton and had locked it down, for now. Until now, we had only seen highflying planes we assumed were military although we had put out large signs telling anyone who could see them from the sky that we were open for business at LAX for any arrivals, military or not.

       That encounter was a little unnerving and we all sighed a bit when we saw a small settlement of people and buzzed them in San Diego, dropping flyers and business cards. The Naval Air Station looked abandoned but I was afraid to stop there unless it was an emergency to get fuel. Hoped to find fuel so that we could go to the tip of Baja and back picking up fuel again on the way.

       Once again, we were on our way to points south. If we couldn't get fuel at Ensenada, we would have to return to LA. I crossed my fingers but didn't let the rest of them know my concern.

       When the Ensenada airport appeared, it looked clear of any people. We landed where we knew there would be aircraft fuel for our twin turbojets. Within a few minutes we had broken into a fuel storage tank and refilled our helicopter tanks when we heard them coming….

       Pickups were arriving from both sides and we didn't have time to get into the chopper and take off. Derek, Melody and Wondah just raised their weapons high to signal to the approaching pickups that we were armed and ready to defend ourselves. I joined in with a white cloth I was wiping up some spilled aircraft fuel with. Waiving its weighted ingredients above my head to who seemed like the man to signal standing up in the lead pickup coming.

       It was a standoff and I heard someone yelling in English above Spanish voices, “It's okay! We're here to greet you as friends. We want to know if you're going to be able to help us. We need help and you're the first to have come to our aid!”

       We put our guns down, but kept them handy, just in case. A fellow in a straw hat, Hawaiian shirt, and khaki shorts, jumped out of the front of the leading Jeep and ran up to us with his hand out to shake hands… Announcing his name… “Hello, I'm retired commander Alfred Flood of the U.S. Navy…”

       “Are we ever glad to see you. About half of our survivors here are American and the other half natives… Mostly those who worked with us or for us. We were a very close community and still are. Except for the sea and shore there isn't much food here in the desert so we are hurting for basics like flour. We haven't had tortillas for some time and it's starting to affect our population. You wouldn't happen to have any ground corn flour with you, would you?” He questioned with a wondering smile.

       I answered, “I believe we don't, just lunch and some snacks. We have an operating cruise ship out of Los Angeles that can arrive here within a week with suppliers if you like. Please make a list of what you need and I will provide it to the captain when we get back and he can bring the food, medicine and other staples when he comes.”

       “That's amazing! We have some elderly that survived the pandemic and are desperate to help them. We are about out of everything, and, except for our hurricanes last summer are running out of water until this summer's storms come.”

       “The ship can provide you with those things. Hopefully you can give the ship some of your tropical seafood like your abundant squid, octopus, abalone and other delicacies.”

       “We will try. We want to stay healthy and are struggling with our diet.”

       Derek had put down his AR-20 and was using it as a support standing by the end of the barrel. He asked, “What about the cartels? Any trouble?”

       “All last summer. But we were ready for them, knowing they were coming to get what we had left. We set up defenses on all the entries to town and killed a lot of them. They haven't been back since. The ones we shot were starving from the way they looked.”

       “What about further south? Is Cabo San Lucas safe?”

       “Probably, we had only one attack from the south. All of our attackers came from either Tijuana, or overland from the other side of the peninsula–San Felipe. There is no water and fuel that way and no way to fix their vehicles if they break down.”

       They all gathered around and everyone chatted for a while. We promised that the ship would come and bring them whatever they needed if we had it. I told them that we would fly on down to Cabo and then return in a few hours to pick up their list and refuel. They thanked us profusely and we took off hopeful that we would find fuel at the airport at the tip of the Baja Peninsula.

       That flight was the longest we had taken, about 200 miles and we were running low on fuel when we arrived at the airport. There were people there and they were flying!

       They didn't challenge us with our black helicopter with those large gold NJN letters on the side, knowing that we were probably movie people from Hollywood. But the handful of people that came out to greet us there were just as eager to make our acquaintance and see if we had anything that they needed dearly, like toilet paper and other essentials that they were unable to get from the few fishing boats that came by from across the Gulf in Mexico.

       They were afraid to sail their sailboats for fear of pirates or fly there with their planes because of cartels. Some of which they'd also had to fight off who arrived in the middle of the night to harass them looking for money, of all things, when water and food was so dear.

       We told them that the people in Ensenada were making a list of what they needed and we could also send the ship down to Cabo as well on the same trip with the same items. If there were anyone needing medical care, the ship might be able to help them in its infirmary or, they could take the ship back to Los Angeles and our medical center for more care if they needed it, even surgery. They told us they had done some surgeries under terrible conditions in their clinics without even anesthesia, at times.

       After talking with them for about an hour, we took off again and, in another hour and a half, arrived back at Ensenada. Once again, Commander Flood came out to greet us with the others and a long list of what they needed, including quantities.

       I told them that we would try to get everything on the list, but couldn't guarantee and might add some things to the list that they would find useful. I told them that we had been down to Cabo San Lucas and they had similar needs. And then, Flood had a surprise…

       “I know this is imposing, but we've got two of our citizens here who are in dire need of medical help. Would you mind taking them back with you to get to your medical center?”

       “We have another row of seats. What are their conditions?”

       “The first one, 22-year-old Sunny James, has been struggling with a hernia for about 6 months. We don't have any way of operating on it. And 57-year-old Rebecca McKenzie is suffering severe anemia and we tried everything but can't seem to get her blood count high enough. She may die on us any day now.”

       I surveyed the others, and told him, “Okay, we can take them. Are they here?”

       He nodded, and from the vehicles the two ailing people were being helped towards our helicopter. We shook hands again, helped our passengers get in their seats, gave them some snacks and water that they both needed, badly, and took off.

       This time, I flew inland to bypass much of Tijuana and San Diego to get pictures of the 15 to see how the roads were down that way. But it looked like we wouldn't be going that way anytime soon because the 15 passed right by Camp Pendleton where we had been accosted and told to stay well clear of. It would be hard to detour around with a fleet of trucks in those mountains.

       It was late afternoon when we arrived at the helipad at the Port Medical Center and delivered our critical passengers who were both sleeping peacefully from the food we had given them. That evening, I called Captain Jensen.

       “Jens, this is Drake, calling for a favor. Now that I see your first cruise to Santa Catalina has been a success, I'd like to suggest you going further. Today, some of us flew down to Escanaba and Cabo San Lucas. We didn't stop at San Diego because there is a Naval Air Station there and we were intercepted by Marine helicopters when we got close to Camp Pendleton. Those two Baja communities are in need of supplies that we can provide. The only way to provide them would be to have your ship bring them in the quantities needed.”

       “I was thinking the same thing after talking it over with the fisherman who had been traveling up and down the coast. Our people here would certainly like to have a summer cruise in either direction. and before the summer hurricanes start in the Pacific off the coast of Mexico, it would be wise to go there first.”

       “I'm glad we're thinking the same thing. Our hard-working people need a break. And nothing better than to go to that sunny paradise and view orca, whales and dolphin along the way. Maybe, a night observation of the feeding of the squid in the Gulf of California.”

       “We would have to outfit the ship for a longer trip, and perhaps, more passengers.”

       “I will dispatch crews to find the items that the two communities are requesting from known warehouses and stores that weren't looted. It might take a week or so.”

       “I agree. Depending upon what is requested, if you send me the list, I might be able to find some of the items in our warehouses. I will also outfit the infirmary to take on immediate health concerns for those that need it, and to aid in those that we might bring back to go to our medical center. I can see the exchange of bodies. Some of our folks may want to go there and stay. I don't think that immigration laws will apply anymore for some time.”

       “Okay, it's a deal. Thanks for your help. We'll get on it right away.”

       We both hung up and I felt good, being able to help the two expatriate communities south of the border Californians cherished so much. Melody listened the whole time and agreed wholeheartedly while nursing the boys.

       The next morning, after discussion with village leaders, we dispatched crews to secure the items on the list for both communities and take them to the ship for transport south. I briefly checked on Harlan. He was recovering quite well but it would be some time before, with rehab, before he would be up and walking enough to be able to fly planes again.

       I had been thinking about checking the two routes east by jet all the way to the southeast along the 10, maybe Texas, and to the east through Las Vegas, Denver and beyond to the Great Plains for grains and other commodities. But without Harlan, I didn't want to take a chance flying one of those business jets yet.

       As soon as everything was set for the cruise south, I thought I would take the gang again flying the Cessna Citation I was familiar with, to Las Vegas, to start.

Copyright 2024 © Ronald W. Hull

3/27/24