By now, Eaton couldn’t help but feel as though they must be close to land. The acrid stench of rotting kelp seeped up from beneath the surrounding foam, tainting the ocean’s salty tang on his parched tongue. His cramped, aching fingers coaxed the tiller as it swept away from his weary body, moving with the heaving sea—a sea whose ceaseless demands had long since taken their toll. Dead ahead, a desolate seascape expanded into the infinite. Its stark emptiness—a continuation of the same barren, endless expanse that had surrounded them for weeks—offered only two things: the possibility of survival, and the probability of death.

Staring beyond the bowsprit, he ignored the perpetual feeling of sailing through some sludgy sea of blood, knowing full well that the unsettling hue rippling before him was merely a reflection of the sky above. Dusk was barreling down on them, and even nearly a year after the impact, the atmosphere remained saturated with a scattering of fine particles of dust and endless ash. What sunlight kissed his brow was filtered through this lingering haze in the stratosphere, turning both skin and sky an eerie, unending burnt sienna that would be beautiful if not for what it represented.

It was then that he made out the mournful call of a Common Murre breaking through the disorienting wall of fog. He feared that the once-comforting braying—alien to his ears after so long at sea—was all in his head like some siren from the myths of old. He cupped an ear to hone in on the source when the faint warble was overpowered by a louder squabble bubbling up from the cabin below.

“Why on earth are we stopping at Cannon Beach when it’s going to be just as desolate as the last place we moored?” Brynn’s voice rang out, shrill and impatient, cutting through the dull drone of the ocean. “The sooner we quit playing games and sail south, the sooner we stop wasting our time!”

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather not sail headfirst into another blockade.”

“That only happened once.”

“Twice,” Cora said flatly. “That happened twice, and we almost died, both times.”

“You know what? Maybe I should just set a heading one night when I’m on watch and kick off the voyage my damn self.”

“A one-woman mutiny? And here I didn’t know you had it in you.” The weariness in Cora’s voice carried up from below deck. “Besides, no one’s time is being wasted here. Cannon Beach is en route, and we’re—”

“Running out of food? Funny how we’re always ‘running out of food,’ even though we’re constantly growing more. You may not like it, but you know as well as I do that we’re nowhere close to running out of options.”

“Seriously, Brynn, how much bull kelp and alfalfa sprouts can one girl eat?”

“My entire body weight if that’s what it takes to make it to Puerto Vallarta.”

“But that’s just it, Brynn. We don’t even know if Graham’s still in Puerto Vallarta, let alone Mexico. For all we know, he could be anywhere by now.”

“That’s because we keep putting it off, finding reasons not to risk the passage.” There was a long pause and Brynn groaned in frustration. “Look, I get it, Cora. You and Dad think sailing south is too dangerous and that we might not even find Graham in Puerto Vallarta after all this time. But what’s the alternative? To keep scavenging along this dead coast and sailing in circles, barely scraping by and never knowing what happened to our step brother? Even if it’s a long shot, we have to try. Because I’d rather take that risk than spend the rest of my life haunted by the fact that we didn’t even attempt to find him when we had the chance.”

Eaton remained silent, letting his daughters debate below while his mind weighed the options above. He longed to reunite with his son, but the rational part of him knew the odds were not in their favor. Not solely because of the distance between them, but because of how they had grown apart. His relationship with Graham hadn’t always been complicated, but he could count on one hand how many times they had spoken in recent years. And their last conversation—if one could call it that—Eaton’s last interaction with Graham, if it could even be called that, was little more than a brief exchange of pleasantries tacked onto the end of a call with his sisters. Now, with the world turned upside down, regret gnawed at Eaton’s insides, forcing him to confront the realization that he might never have the chance to bridge the gap between them.

The sound of Cora’s voice, rising from the cabin below, pulled Eaton from his thoughts. “I want to find him, and Dad does, too,” Cora said. “But you’re conveniently forgetting all the horrific stories we’ve heard about what’s happened to people fleeing south. Marauding gangs of looters patrolling the coasts, boarding ships, and slaughtering everyone on board for their supplies. Is that the kind of nightmare you want to sail headfirst into, all with no guarantee of ever finding Graham?”

“It’s only that bad because we waited so long, which proves the longer we wait, the worse it’s going to get.” Brynn went quiet for a moment. “And it’s not just about finding Graham anymore. It’s only a matter of time before trouble starts venturing further north in search of new targets. So we can either stay here and wait for it to come to us, or we can take a chance and find a place where we can actually start over. Somewhere with resources, a community, a future brighter than this bleak existence. That’s the whole reason Graham went down there in the first place, and that’s what we should be doing too, before it’s too late.”

“Have you forgotten what happened the last time we set out in search of a new beginning? We lost Mom, remember?”

Eaton braced for Brynn’s response, but was met with only a telling silence. The girls’ arguments always pained him, especially when they reopened the still-raw wound of Vivian’s loss. It was a pattern he had grown all too familiar with: Brynn’s unyielding determination to take action, born from a desperate need to find purpose in the chaos, clashing against Cora’s cautious hesitation, rooted in the fear of facing another devastating loss. Their divergent approaches left them trapped in an endless cycle of circular debates, each sister entrenched in her own perspective, unwilling or unable to find common ground. It pained him to see his daughters so divided, their once unbreakable bond strained by the weight of the impossible choices they faced. He found it strange how he longed for the days when their arguments were petty and easily resolved, a far cry from the life-altering decisions they now grappled with daily.

He turned his attention back to the present. Cannon Beach should be just around the bend, yet the infighting served as a painful reminder that their path forward was far from predetermined. Cora considered every possible landing point as another opportunity to scavenge, her perspective solidly grounded in the present state of their world, while Brynn incessantly dreamed of finding Graham and the promise of a fresh start he represented.

Eaton understood Brynn’s frustrations, but with Graham’s whereabouts unknown, the odds of finding him were incredibly slim. The harsh reality of their situation was compounded by the fact that they had been cooped up for far too long, living on top of one another like sardines with no end in sight. The constant close quarters and lack of privacy had taken a toll on their senses and sensibilities, and on him, too. This was not the life he had envisioned for his girls, where each day was a battle not just against the turning tides but against themselves as well.

Eaton’s thoughts of Graham were a constant pendulum swinging between hope and despair. In his heart, he clung to the possibility of reconciliation, of a future where they could move on together, leaving their troubled past behind them. Yet, in his darker moments, he feared that the chance had already come and gone, slipping away and leaving a chasm too vast to ever fully cross. Despite the love Graham clearly had for his stepsisters, he had told Eaton on more than one occasion that he needed time and space to find his own path. How those words had come back to haunt Eaton now, leaving him to wonder how he had failed his firstborn so completely? Was it his struggle to put down the bottle, his addiction to work, the bitter divorce, or some toxic combination of the three that had driven the wedge between them? While Eaton was quick to acknowledge his role in the disintegration of his first marriage, he knew better than anyone that his ex-wife was far from blameless. Yet, it was Eaton who bore the brunt of Graham’s resentment, while the boy remained close to his mother, despite her having moved clear across the country.

Whatever it was, it all stung like salt in an open wound, but the thought of him out there alone, struggling to survive as a young man in this broken world, twisted like a knife in his gut. Dwelling on the past, however, would not change it. He shook his head, trying to dislodge and put away the dark thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him. They had to somehow focus both on the present and on finding Graham and bringing him home. They would find Graham eventually. They had to. He refused to accept any other outcome. For all their sakes, he had to believe there was still a chance to make things right between them.

Leaving Brynn below, Cora joined him topside and panned the horizon, taking a brief moment to cool down and absorb the otherworldly beauty sculpted by the impact. He imagined she was dreaming of the days when the skies were still blue, not shrouded in this perpetual gloom that followed them everywhere they went like a guilty conscience. He thought back to this same time last year, before the skies bled red, the waters ascended, and the remnants of humanity were scattered like seeds on a wild wind. Despite losing everything, he recalled a life less complicated and in that moment, a wave of memories flooded over him and took him by storm. He visualized the world as it was and, even with all its faults, found himself filled with a profound longing for all they had lost.

Shaking the thought free, he found himself facing the sobering reality that if God was still out there, He surely had no desire to be found.

Eaton watched as Cora’s eyes reflected the cold surface of the sea and could tell that she had been crying.

“Everything okay over there?” he called out.

Cora blinked her eyes dry and forced a small smile.

Equipped with angular features, a sharp jawline, and a fair complexion, she had the same chocolate brown eyes as he did, wide set above high cheekbones. Her dark hair had a mind of its own when not pulled back, and when let loose, she was known to fight with it constantly. She wore layers and loose-fitting canvas pants that helped to shed the sea, with edges worn and distressed from wear despite her tendency to keep the pant legs cuffed to her calves to prevent the fabric from catching. And despite the many warnings from him, her feet were bare like those of her sister, though below deck, she stored a favorite pair of vintage boots that came in handy when going ashore.

Eaton had noticed that she carried a resolve of late that had grown stronger over these past few months. A protectiveness, really. Where it came from or how it was formed was neither here nor there, but it was evident in the way she rested her hands on the cabled lifeline that ran the perimeter of the boat and studied the current disappearing into the distant fog.

Recently, he had been instructing the girls in the navigation techniques of old—most of which were now the only methods still applicable to them. From reading the tides and winds to charting a course by the stars, these ancient skills had become their lifeline in a world where modern technology had failed. GPS had long ago become a thing of legend, and even if satellite reception were somehow still accessible, the maps would be unreliable with the drastically altered coastlines. Cora, being the oldest, was already well-versed in these skills, but she listened attentively, knowing that every bit of knowledge could prove crucial in this new world.

Adaptation proved key, it being necessary and in everyone’s best interest to maintain a semblance of normalcy that their education continued. Homeschooling his daughters was something Eaton and his wife had always prioritized, and even now, or perhaps, especially now, he had faith that their education was a ticket to a brighter future, not merely some portal or connection to a world that once was. When they weren’t fighting for survival or navigating the perilous waters, he taught them. From mathematics to history to literature to music—everything he knew, including subjects he wasn’t well versed in, he passed down to them until they were competent enough to pay it forward one day, if the need arose. And though Cora had ventured out on her own for a brief time, the impact had brought her back, and Eaton was determined to ensure that both his daughters were equipped with the knowledge and skills they needed to thrive in this uncertain future.

Watching his girls grow and mature had been one of the greatest joys of fatherhood. Yet seeing them forced to age prematurely in this ravaged world had become a burden to bear, one that he and his second wife had never anticipated when they started their life together. In time, Cora had gravitated toward a perpetual restlessness, always itching for exploration, whereas Brynn found escape in a busy mind, absorbing knowledge like a sea sponge and making herself at home in books. It was a delicate balance between the two, catering to their unique needs while striving to find some common ground. He found the challenge not only gave him purpose but necessitated a structure to follow and offered something to look forward to.

The sound of Brynn’s heavy footfalls emerging from the companionway snapped him out of his reverie. She stretched her arms overhead and took a look around. “Sorry you had to hear us going at it again down there, Dad. I don’t mean to make things any harder than they already are.”

Eaton gave her a weary smile. “I know you don’t, sweetheart. We’re all feeling the strain these days. As long as the two of you remember we’re on the same team, that’s what matters.”

At seventeen, Brynn was still processing and adapting to the demands of what it meant to be a survivor. Eaton expected that she would one day accept the world for what it was worth instead of clinging to the ghost of what it had been, and he knew better than to rush the process.

Where Cora’s features were sharp and intense, Brynn’s beauty was softer, more innocent. She had inherited her mother’s captivating eyes and made them her own. She too had sharp cheekbones and her mom to thank for the lion’s share of her confidence. Her raven-black hair, once braided in neat rows, now hung loose and salt-stiffened, tucked behind her ears to frame a gentle face that had grown equally pallid and distant. She had fuller lips than Cora, and no one knew where they came from, and though it wasn’t a competition, she had straighter teeth, too. Like her sister, Brynn favored comfort over style aboard the boat. Her pants were faded black, and she preferred fitted thermal shirts beneath a weathered fleece jacket to stave off the cold winds. Beneath it all, she wore a silver pendant in the shape of a crescent moon that hung from a leather cord—a gift Eaton had given her on her sixteenth birthday. The faintest trace of a scar graced her jawline, yet despite what she always said, she was self-conscious about it.

“Let me guess,” Brynn said, reaching for something to grab as the boat pitched to the side. “Still haven’t spotted land yet, have we?”

“No, but if we’re where I think we are, Cannon Beach is coming up quickly.” Cora paused to double-check the location of the sun before pointing distantly over the bow. “Or should I say what’s left of it?”

Eaton peered over the lifeline and stared into the dreadful depths below, half-expecting to see the shadows of the once-iconic sea stacks staring back at him. Instead, he caught only his muddled reflection and spat into the water.

“I have this feeling that we should be there already,” Brynn said. “Don’t you?”

A pang of apprehension stirred within Eaton as the Oregon coast loomed somewhere unseen. “I suppose there’s something to be said for trusting your gut, but it never hurts to check the charts.”

Brynn retrieved the binoculars from their mount on the cockpit coaming and raising them to scan the horizon. “But aren’t you the one who’s always said the charts are little more than guides now since the impact reshaped everything?”

The rhythmic slapping of waves battering the hull was the only sound that broke the silence engulfing them all. It was in this silence that they could see it, or feel it perhaps; not the ghosts of old landmarks, but how the world they once knew, with all its certainties and boundaries, existed only in their memories that were now fading with each passing day.

A salted wind bore down over the deck, setting the boat’s sails ablaze in the dying light. Fantine was a stout relic from the seventies, with every inch of her timeworn from her fittings to her faded varnish. The gel coat, once buffed and polished on a schedule with pride, was now growing things. Far below the waterline, tendrils of seaweed and barnacles made themselves at home. Corrosion and a dead starter had rendered the inboard engine inoperable long ago. In a way, the failure had been a blessing by forcing Eaton to fine-tune his sailing chops and make him more adept at sailing than he could have ever imagined.

A howling gust sent Eaton’s mind wandering back to the world before the impact. Back then, homeschooling his daughters had afforded them the freedom to travel and see the world. He thought back to when the girls would finish their studies, then play in the surf while he watched from the comfort of a deck chair. The faint sounds of their laughter still rang in his ears, though that world now felt like some forgotten dream, faded and muted, its memories eroding as time wore on.

Eaton looked at Brynn and Cora and saw how their young faces had been hardened by the challenges they’d faced. They squabbled at times, as is expected of siblings so close in age, and all but guaranteed at the tail end of a long passage. Like a sea storm, they’d have their ups and downs, but despite the occasional rough waters, they had also become each other’s anchor and understood one another in ways Eaton knew he couldn’t comprehend as a man or their father. Cora’s strength complemented Brynn’s resilience, and their mutual support had been a godsend for him on more dark nights than he cared to admit.

If only they knew how many times they had saved him.

His gaze shifted to Cora as she gave up on navigating, her eyes focused on the horizon. Being a father, he couldn’t help but worry; not about finding land, but about what awaited them when they did. The world had evolved like a canvas painted over and over again, and with it, its people changed, too. The flicker of hope that danced in his daughters’ eyes each day was what kept him going, but also what terrified him the most. Every new dawn brought with it not only a fresh set of dangers but a new and uncharted path, and it was his responsibility to guide them through it all. And now, with the added weight of Graham’s unknown fate, the burden felt almost too much to bear. He couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that lurked in the pit of his stomach that the worst was yet to come.

The constant debates about going to Mexico weighed heavily on his mind, and he knew he had to address it once and for all. “About you two debating going to Mexico again,” Eaton said. “I know how much you both want to find your brother, and believe me, I do too, but sailing so far south, through uncharted waters without the means to protect ourselves, would be—”

“Suicide,” Brynn finished for him with a roll of her eyes. “Yeah, Dad, we know. But what choice do we have? We can’t just abandon Graham, even if it feels like we already have.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over him, and in that moment, Eaton became acutely aware of how the past year had changed them all. The bright-eyed, adventurous spirits of his daughters had long given way to a world-weariness no child should ever know.

Pushing back his ragged sleeves, he blew out a deep breath and squinted against the glare on the water. “We can’t go on like this,” he said. “It’s not fair to either of you for Graham to be a continuing source of contention. I don’t want it to drive a wedge between you two, and he wouldn’t want it, either.” He turned to Cora. “So here’s what I propose: we continue to make landfall, scavenging and resupplying all that we can until we’ve stockpiled enough to sustain a lengthy open-water passage.” He shifted his gaze to Brynn “And once we’re properly outfitted, we’ll set sail for Mexico, laying a southeasterly course and standing well off the shoreline to give any coastal troubles a wide berth. We’ll hold that heading until we’re half-way there, then come about and head inshore, making our final approach to Puerto Vallarta as we near the Mexican Riviera.”

Brynn didn’t seem to bother mulling it over, undoubtedly convinced the pros outweigh the cons. Cora, however, looked classically unconvinced.

“An open-sea passage?” Cora said. “With no fallback plans? What if we encounter storms or rough seas out there?”

“Then we adjust course as needed—and it’s not a matter of ‘if,’ but ‘when.’” Eaton gently nudged the tiller, making a minute adjustment to their heading. “But in the event Mother Nature deals us a blow that’s truly impassable, we simply loop back north and reattempt after licking our wounds.”

He could see the gears turning behind Brynn’s furrowed brow. Her determination could be reckless at times, but she remained pragmatic enough to recognize the danger in what she was asking for.

“It’s not perfect,” Eaton admitted. “And as dangerous as land has become, it’s still a lifeline. But an open-sea passage—despite its own set of challenges—gives us our best chance at making it to Mexico in one piece, with the added benefit of hopefully saving us the pain of running into undesirables along the way.”

“I’m in,” Brynn said with a quick nod. “But you already know that.”

Eaton smiled and turned toward Cora, seeing the same conflicted apprehension swimming in her eyes. His daughters were capable, but the prospect of an open-water crossing, even with all the supplies in the world, was enough to instill doubt in even the bravest soul.

Cora hesitated, chewing her lip as she studied the heaving swells, her eyes narrowing slightly as her internal conflict played out across her features. At last, after what felt like an eternity, she looked away and gave a slow, reluctant nod.

The decision was made, but having everyone on the same page did little to dispel Eaton’s lingering doubts and fears. A life of sailing had taught him the open ocean was an untamed realm at the best of times, but without modern navigation, their chances of encountering foul or impassable weather increased tenfold, if not all but guaranteed. And though Fantine was stout, she was already battered by a year at sea, making handling such an arduous passage that much riskier, especially if weighed down with whatever supplies they could scavenge. That thought led him to mentally calculate the daunting journey that lay before them. The distance from Cannon Beach to Puerto Vallarta spanned some 1,500 nautical miles as the crow flies, not accounting for the extra distance a wide offshore route would require. Theoretically, with the prevailing winds and currents, it could be a smooth downwind run, but that would slow them down. Averaging 4 knots under sail, the passage could still consume well over a month—provided they didn’t encounter any foul weather, mechanical failures, contrary currents, or unexpected surprises to push them off course. Most of all though, an extended open-sea crossing would necessitate keeping himself and his daughters strong enough to handle the round-the-clock sailing demands, and although they had proven their resilience time and again, this was a different kind of endurance they weren’t accustomed to facing.

Just as these thoughts weighed heavily on his mind, a sudden cry split the silence. 

“Land hooooo!” Cora shouted into the wind. “Look! There it is!”

“About goddamn time.”

Eaton shot a look at Brynn, but she didn’t catch it. He turned to follow the path of Cora’s outstretched arm, his eyes coming to rest on a silhouette appearing in the fog like a sleeping apparition. The faint outline of the reshaped Oregon coast steadily came into view. The three of them stood in anticipation, each taking in the unrecognizable face of their old home in his or her own way.

Brynn stared at the growing shoreline. “She sure knows how to throw one hell of a welcoming party, doesn’t she?”

Cora smirked and was the first to break away from the sight. “So what’s the plan for right now, O Captain, My Captain?”

“We see what we see,” Eaton said, half shrugging in the way he often did when uncertainty loomed. “Ready to tack?”

“Ready,” both girls said together.

He kept an eye on the boom as it swung overhead and eased the mainsheet to spill wind from the mainsail. The jib followed suit, and seamlessly, they changed course, sailing parallel to the shoreline as he aimed to keep a nautical mile or so between them and land. Just as his eyes started to wander to the horizon, something else caught his attention. There, just barely visible through the thinning fog, grew a distant but steady flicker. It wasn’t the familiar gleam of sunlight on the water, but a golden, timeless allure that stirred something deep within.

“Girls,” he called, pointing towards the faint fire on the beach. Both Cora and Brynn squinted in the direction he indicated. Their eyes widened, the same realization dawning on their faces.

“Think it’s another survivor?”

The wind changed, and their collective breath caught as the throbbing light was snuffed from sight. He gave it a second and waited for it to reappear, but it was gone for good.

“Dad? Do you think that’s another survivor?” Brynn repeated. “Or…something else?”

His gaze hardened as haunting memories flickered in his mind. Since the Impact, a terrifying dread known as the Gulls had emerged—a general moniker given to the ruthless, disorganized scavenger gangs that earned their name by picking the land clean, leaving only devastation and death in their wake. What first began as opportunistic bands swooping in to fight over scraps eventually turned savage, with these chaotic packs descending upon isolated settlements or travelers with brutal force to violently seize whatever resources they could in a frenzied onslaught.

These men and women chose their way, embodying a disturbing cruelty born of desperation and the unrelenting need to survive. Any outsiders were viewed as competition to be eliminated, their meager possessions and supplies stolen by force. Fragmented and nomadic, these groups prowled the migratory trails like predators, their numbers fluctuating with each bloody encounter, loss, or forced recruitment. Among their ranks were wayward souls from all walks of life—men, women, even children—unified by their willingness to cast aside the last traces of their humanity if it meant living another day.

One particular memory gripped Eaton, the haunting scene seared into his memory. Some time ago, he had rowed to shore with Cora, trading tobacco and sprouts for odds and ends with a young family fleeing south. After wishing them well, they left the family on land and retired to their boat to settle in for the night while he took first watch. The girls had fallen asleep below deck, and he had been reading scripture as he was known to do under the pale moonlight when he first heard the screams.

From the bowsprit, he watched helplessly as a group of Gulls descended upon the young family. After striking the father down, they turned on the young mother and child, the boy no older than Brynn at the time. The mother clung desperately to her child, holding on for dear life as they pried him from her arms. In the child’s hand, someone placed cold steel, followed by a simple ultimatum and the false perception of choice.

He could still hear the mother’s screams echoing low over the water as she begged for mercy. Then, a sudden silence fell, and Eaton didn’t need to look back to know where it came from. Deep down, he knew that the boy they had whisked away was no longer a boy.

That night, he quietly pulled the anchor and though he refused to speak about what had happened that day, he thought about it often.

Eaton pushed the chilling thoughts aside as best he could and turned his attention back to the beach. His first thought was that if it were a survivor, he or she wouldn’t be a survivor for long. The second was that they couldn’t afford to pass up any potential leads on supplies. If the person on the beach had access to resources or information that could aid in their voyage, it was a chance they might have to take, despite the risks. However, with night falling fast, they would have to wait until morning to investigate further. Attempting to approach the shore in the dark was never a wise decision, and they needed the light of day to properly assess the situation.

“Only God knows who or what is out there,” Eaton said to his daughters. “And while normally I’d say it’s best we leave it that way, sometimes He places people in our path for a reason. If we’re going to reach Puerto Vallarta and find Graham, we might not have the luxury of choice anymore. We have to trust in His plan, even if it means facing the unknown.”

Cora smiled at her sister, but it was a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.