island hopping post-apocalypse style

nachos, water, a couple jelly life savers

First portion lost. But we’re living in a post-apocalyptic world of sorts. A water world dotted with islands, all within a stone’s throw. My little gang and I see an island out there we think will be useful. But there is a longer stretch of water between, and also many many birds. I comment that this place is “bird heaven.” My female comrade responds, “No, not heaven.” We dive in and start swimming. At some point I realize that while I can get my head up high enough to still breathe, I can’t seem to upright myself in the water. I don’t panic, but I do feel some anxiety. I figure out that instead, I can summersault under the water and come up face-up. I do so, take a pause. The others pause and wait for me-- they know I’m not the best swimmer in the group.

Ac ross this bay, there is a giant, wierd structure. Huge white upright timbers soar into the sky in two rows, supporting giant white panels. A vertical channel is created, leading from one island to another. The local prince has erected this thing so that he can cruise his giant boat back and forth without his guests being bothered by seeing what the world is really like. I wonder why they wouldn’t want the view of this beautiful place. (Really, the place is gorgeous; the islands are all lush paradises.) We pass the prince’s channel and are nearing the island in our sights.

There are gardens and orchards here. An old couple keeps this place. We don’t mean any harm, we’re just after some food and there’s plenty here. I with a group of probably 4 or 5, including the girl, and Delfino. At an apple tree, the old woman (jeans and a denim shirt) catches us and confronts us with a sort of shotgun. But it’s obviiously a home jobby, the barrel is a thin piece of pipe, the tip curled back in. I wonder if this thing shoots anything more than a ping-pong ball or rock salt. I take a run, heading around a low hill that supports a house. She won’t be able to keep up, and certainly won’t have the chance to stop and aim that shabby weapon. I translate down to all fours to gain speed, my hands grabbing into the sod and throwing myself forward. I hear her yelling, and maybe even feel something hit my neck, but only a tiny sting. We’re away from her, and up into the house area. Her old husband is there. He’s far less confrontational, but my crew will have none of it. They want to lock him into a small room. I feel bad about the plan, though I know it will be okay. We shut him in, and can’t decide if we should nail the door shut. I’m opposed. Maybe we can just simulate it? Or should we shove pennies in the door?