Recovering Grandpa

Recovering Grandpa

Adrian Jones worked his way along Fifth Avenue, past the Empire State Building. At 41st street, the water was like crystal and he could see clear down to the steps and the grand entrance to the New York library. Only the peak of the roof was showing above the water.

It was a beautiful sunny day, with a slight breeze blowing from the south, which caused a low swell, washing against the library roof. The New York buildings, rising above the water, were clean and sharp after recent rains. Only the occasional broken window showed the evidence of long years of neglect.

Jones was paddling a kayak and towing a canoe. He was on a mission to fetch fuel and soil from Washington Heights, at the north end of Manhattan Island. The soil he needed to extend his rooftop garden. In the canoe were his tools – a shovel, a sledgehammer, two jerrycans, a small bucket, some rope and a large diamond mounted on an aluminium pole. He used the diamond to cut glass and break into buildings. In the kayak, he carried a 44 magnum. You never knew when you might run into trouble.

He trailed a fishing line behind his kayak. Perhaps he would be lucky on the journey and he also planned to search for oysters on the way. He needed to catch something. He paddled along 42nd street and turned right on Broadway.

After two hours he reached 155th Street where there was a small, wooded island opposite a church. He planned to get his soil and firewood from this island. But first he was seeking gasoline. He paddled down to the Hudson Parkway. The tops of the highway signs just showed above the water. Jones took the exit for 178th street. The cliffs and buildings of Washington Heights loomed above him on the right. Presently he came to a ladderway leading up the cliff. He tied the kayak to the railings and collected his jerrycans and bucket from the canoe. He noted the oysters growing on the steps below water. At the top of the steps, it was just a few hundred yards over to his destination - a gas station.

At the gas station he opened the cover to the tanks and lowered his bucket on a rope. He had been collecting fuel from here for thirty years, but now the tank was getting quite low. He had just filled one jerrycan when he heard steps behind him. He turned and felt for his magnum.

“Drop it” came the command. He obeyed, and turning, saw a pair of tall, bearded men. He recognized them as from the Thompson clan. One was pointing an automatic at him. The Thompson’s were bad news. They hung out at building near the UN on First Avenue. They were the largest group still living in the city. They had a nasty habit of seizing captives and making slaves of them. Jones had had a few run ins with them over the years.

“What do you want?” he said. “We’ve got work for you Jones” replied the one with the rifle, laughing.

Then a shot rang out. A man and a women appeared from beside the gas station building. “Drop the gun,” said the newcomer. The gun was dropped and the two Thompsons ran off. The newcomer fired several shots at them over their heads vas they fled.

“Thank you for that, but who are you?” asked Jones.

“We’ve come down from Rochester by boat,” said the man. “We ran out of fuel and we stopped here to see what we could find. We saw you and were coming to ask your assistance, when those two hoodlums showed up”.

“Thank goodness you were here,” said Jones.

He picked up the gun discarded by the Thompsons and checked the clip. It was empty. “Ammunition is scarce” he said, “but you can never be sure”.

“What on Earth makes you come this dysfunctional wasteland” Jones asked.

In answer, the woman pulled out a heart shaped locket. Inside was a photograph of a young man. “This was my grandfather” she said. “Grandmama had taken the children up to her sister to avoid the virus that was raging through New York. Grandpapa was working at the hospital and stayed behind. When the tsunami struck, she never heard from him again. Now she is getting near the end and she asked us to see if we could find out what happened to him”.

“Well, as you can see, this is a dangerous place,” said Jones. “Where is your boat?” “It’s parked by some steps next to a kayak and a canoe,” said the man. “I hope those are yours”.

“They are” said Jones, “but let’s hurry. We don’t know where those guys have gone”.

They filled the remaining jerrycan and hurried back to the steps. The kayak and canoe were there, but there was no boat. They looked down the river and saw a small cabin cruiser. The two Thompsons were paddling furiously.

“We’ll never catch them,” said Jones. “You two take the canoe. You’ll have to use the spade as a paddle.”

It was slow work paddling back down Broadway. The wind was only slight, but it was against them, and the spade was hard to handle as a paddle.

On the journey his guests told Jones that their names were Leona and Michael O’Brien. They were brother and sister. They said their grandfather had lived at 10 Madison Gardens.

“That’s near my place,” said Jones. “What floor was he on?”

“The eighteenth”.

Jones thought for a moment. “That will still be above water” he said.” Let’s get something to eat then we can head over there”.

By mid afternoon they were at Jones’ building at 230 Fifth Avenue. They entered through a window on the twelfth floor. The water was about three feet deep. Jones navigated the kayak to the stair well, where he had a makeshift landing stage constructed from furniture. There were torches made from sticks and rags. Jones dipped one into the gasoline can and lit it. They climbed the stairwell to the penthouse.

Jones lit up a barbecue and prepared a meal of potatoes, corn, and oysters. “In its day this was a fancy rooftop bar” he said. “I have just about run through all the alcohol, but there is still a very nice Cabernet.”

His guests ate and drank appreciatively. Jones showed them round his garden. Containers were growing corn and vegetables. He had two apple trees and a cherry tree. At one end of the terrace, he was constructing a larger garden with soil rescued from Washington Heights.

From his rooftop, Jones had a magnificent view of the New York skyline. It all looked so peaceful in the sunshine. “Looks are deceptive”, said Jones.

From one end of the roof, they could look down on a large area of open water, which had once been Madison Square. By now the wind had dropped, and the water was clear and calm among the buildings. Jones pointed out the building where their grandfather had lived. He proposed they head over there before dark.

They took the kayak and the canoe, equipped with paddles now, and arrived at an older building which had once been 10 Madison Square. Jones used his diamond tipped pole and his sledgehammer to break out one of the windows on the twelfth floor. They paddled into one of the apartments, and then out into the corridor and the stair well.

They climbed up to the eighteenth floor. Apartment 1803. Jones asked if they had a key. Leona shook her head. “Well, we will have to use force” said Jones, attacking the door with his sledge. After several hard blows the door gave way and they entered.

The air in the room was very musty and it was obvious that no one had been there for a very long time. Jones cut an opening in one of the windows with his diamond.

On a table were old, yellowed copies of the New York Times. The headline on one was “Virus Hits New York Hard.” Another read “Massive Ice Movement in Antarctica” and another “Tsunami Expected 5:30 am Tomorrow”. Underneath it read “President Eric Trump Orders Evacuation of East Coast”. Jones looked at this and laughed. “No way you could evacuate New York in 12 hours” he said. “I was 10 years old. My Dad and I tried to leave but the streets were so jam packed you couldn’t move. We just had to stay and hope for the best”.

There was a cry from the bedroom. Leona said, “I’ve found him”. In the bed was a skeleton. Around the neck was a heart shaped locket, identical to the one Leona had shown Jones earlier. Leona picked it up gingerly and opened it. Inside was a photograph of a beautiful young woman. “That’s Grandmama” she said, “We must take him home for her to bury”.

Jones said “First we will have to recover your boat. We will go tonight.” Michael asked, “How do you know where it is”. Jones responded “Assuming it’s the Thompsons, it will be at their building. I know where they hang out, but it won’t be easy. Let’s go back to my place and get some sleep”.

Jones woke his guests at 3 a.m. A half moon shone in the Eastern sky. The silvery light glistened on the water. Everything was quiet except for the gentle slapping of waves against the buildings.

They set off up Fifth Avenue, turning right at Forty Second street. At Grand Central Station only half the clock and the statue were above water. It seemed to Jones that as they passed, Mercury smiled at their little party. He took it as a good omen.

They approached their quarry from the back, taking care to stay in the shadows and make as little noise as possible. There was no sound from the building and no lights. Also, no boat. Jones wondered if he had been mistaken. Maybe it wasn’t the Thompson clan after all.

They circled the building, staying close to it on the east side where they were highlighted by the moon. Still no boat.

But then Jones noted that on the south side one of the apartments had a double high room. The glass had been removed. It was hard to see in the darkness, but Jones signaled to enter. They paddled silently into the building. In the gloom, they could just make out the cabin cruiser.

“Let’s tow it out a couple of blocks and then we’ll start the engine,” said Jones. “Leona, you get on board with the jerrycans and put fuel in the tank. Michael and I will tow – but we must be absolutely quiet.”

Jones cut the mooring ropes and tied them to the kayak and the canoe. He and Michael started to paddle. It was slow work in the dark, and hard to keep quiet, but eventually they got the boat out of the building and started paddling back to the west. There was slight breeze from the east.

They had travelled just over a block when they heard a shout from the Thompson building. Michael and Jones climbed onto the cabin cruiser. Michael pressed the starter button, but the outboard motor refused to start.

Looking back, they could see kayaks coming out of the building. A shot whistled past them. Suddenly the motor sprang to life, and they were off. Soon there were far away, headed back to Fifth Avenue.

“How can we ever thank you?” said Leona to Jones.

“Well, you saved me,” said Jones.

“Why don’t you come with us,” said Leona.

Jones looked at her smile, and wished he was twenty years younger. “I’ll think about it” he said.