Quiet Tide

Eve woke before the baby. That was a first. Since weaning and starting the antidepressants, she rose each day only when prompted by the cries or whimpering of her daughter.

The room was still. The alarm clock on the dresser glowed 1:42 in bright red. For a moment the only sound was the gentle whir of the ceiling fan overhead and Grace’s soft breathing in her bassinet. She heard a thud from somewhere beyond the walls of her room and only then did she realize James was not in bed beside her. She peeked at her sleeping 4 month old in the basinet next her and settled back in bed, shifting to find a cool spot in the warm sheets.

A moment later the bedroom door swung open and James appeared, silhouetted by the overhead light in the hallway. “Eve.” James’s voice was tight, breathless. “Get up. We have to go.”

She sat up, trying to sweep away the mental fog swept. “Huh. It’s the middle of the night. What’s going on?” Her mouth was both dry and sticky. The words came slowly, each one taking great effort.

He took the room in two broad steps and clicked on the beside lamp. She blinked up at him, trying to adjust to the light and make his words make sense. His eyes looked strange—bright and too wide. “There’s gonna be some sort of attack. Biological, they think. Davidson texted me a heads up. We gotta get out of here. Go offshore.”

Eve swallowed hard. “A what?”

“I’ll explain in the truck. I’m packing our gear. Grab the baby, get some stuff together for each of you.” He disappeared down the hall.

She didn’t move right away. The room was airless, the walls felt too close. She looked back at Grace. So peaceful, curled like a comma in her sleep.

The news hadn’t said anything. There were no sirens. Her phone hadn’t gone off. Surely, even with the new medication, she wouldn’t have slept through the screech of an emergency alert? She reached for it now. Nothing—no signal. Just a spinning wheel on a gray screen. But Davidson, James’ former CO, this is something he would know. Oh, how she hated living in the boonies. Between the critters, the long drive for groceries—or anything else for that matter—and the lack of cell service it was not as idyllic as James had convinced her it would be. She tossed the phone onto the bed as James reappeared in the doorway.

“James—are you sure? I mean, what the . . . exactly—”

“Eve.” His voice was low, steady, he looked her full in the face now. “Please. There’s no time to argue.”

It was the word please that snapped her to attention. James seldom said please. And almost never to her.

She nodded slowly and, rising on legs that didn’t feel quite reliable, she went around the bed to the basinet. Grace hadn’t stirred; one tiny thumb tucked into her cheek. Eve ran a trembling hand over her downy hair.

Eve padded through the house barefoot. Every light was on. She expected to be met by chaos—half-filled bins, lists scribbled in sharpie, James barking out items like orders.

Instead, the kitchen was… empty. The door to the garage stood open, the bed of the truck was filled with crates—formula, wipes, canned goods. Canvas totes wedged amongst them. A large cooler sat waiting, latched and sealed shut with duct-taped.

Everything was ready. James had it all under control.

She turned back to the kitchen, opened her mouth to ask something, then caught sight of the white paper bag on the counter next to her purse. Her name was scrawled across it. She tugged it open. Trazodone. Filled yesterday. She didn’t think she was due for a refill. Or maybe she’d just couldn’t remember.

The baby’s piercing cry drifted down the hall, sharp and insistent, setting her nerves just at the edge. Motherhood hadn’t settled into her bones the way people promised; it rubbed and chafed. It left her doubting every action. The world outside had never felt safe, but lately it was her own judgment she mistrusted most. And James—he filled the silence with certainty, a certainty she no longer knew how to challenge.

She held the bottle in her hand, staring at the military tidiness of the kitchen. The sound of Grace’s wail rose again, raw and unrelenting. The pills rattled in their bottle as she dropped it in her purse, a hollow echo loud in the quiet house.

She closed her eyes, just for a breath, and went to pack their clothes.

Grace always slept well in the truck, hypnotized by the soft hum of the tires. She fussed a few times and Eve struggled to comfort her, partially blocked by a large, locked metal case she had never seen before.

They didn’t speak much. Eve tried to find news on the radio. Nothing but static. She tried some of the news apps on her phone again. No luck. But still… no sirens. No convoys. No panicked coastal residents in cars alongside of them. James kept checking the mirrors. Not speeding, not weaving. Just watching.

They reached the marina just after four. The air hung heavy with diesel and salt. Eve hesitated before stepping out of the truck. Her parents used to take her sailing as a child. She spent most of those days catnapping from the motion sickness meds. Or worse, on the days she didn’t take them, hunched over the rail, trying not to puke. Her parents divorced when she was nine and her dad traded the sailboat for this fishing boat. She hated boats. But this wasn’t about her anymore. She unhooked Grace’s car seat and pulled her, still strapped in, from the back seat.

The marina was quiet, a multi-dimensional gray fog shrouded everything, pooling the illumination from the few utility lights into faded pockets that didn’t quite reach the ground.

The trawler, My Way, was bigger than she remembered. Her father kept it docked here even through the summers in up north near his new wife’s family. She had no idea James had a key.

“I thought you hated dad’s bougie toy,” she said.

James yanked the tarp back from the bed of the truck. “I hate a lot of things. Doesn’t mean they’re not useful.”

James hopped with ease from the dock down into the cockpit of the boat and gestured for Eve to hand him the baby, still in her car seat. Setting them aside, he reached up and helped her into the boat.

“Get her settled inside and I’ll start handing the supplies in to you. I want to be out of here in thirty minutes.”

She looked around in awe. The trawler was much larger than she remembered. It wasn’t new, but it was spotlessly clean, well-stocked and equipped with more gear than he could possibly need. In private, James often mocked her father and the “toys” he loved to bragged about. Really? What did the old man need with all those bells and whistles?

James’ mocking did not go unanswered. Her father openly told her he could not understand what she saw in James, sometimes referring to him as the “disgraced marine.” Eve brushed it off knowing that James had an honorable discharge. Her father had issues with his authority being challenged. The two alpha males did not spend a lot of “quality” family time together. Even her giving birth to his first grandchild didn’t bring him back to Savanah from his retirement retreat up north.

Even without what they brought with them in the truck, the boat was well stocked. For a moment she assumed her meticulous father kept it that way. But once she stepped inside and spotted the huge boxes of diapers and a couple cases of Modelo and she knew better. James had clearly been preparing. Suddenly, she was breathless. A hard knot formed in the pit of her belly.

With militant focus, James transferred the supplies from the truck handing off things in small bundles to her in the boat. After it was all loaded onto the boat he spent a few minutes moving things around, making sure all the heavy items were secure, balancing the load precisely.

The baby woke with the engine’s first rumble. Eve took her from the carrier and cradled her. She watched from the doorway of the cabin as James scrambled to untie the lines from the boat, toss them on the dock and get back to the helm. At the wheel, James adjusted levers and muttered to himself under his breath. The boat stuttered into motion. Eve, surprised, swayed then grounded herself in place.

The fog had begun to lift. The dock lights scattered gold flecks onto the softly rippling water behind them. The dock drifted away. Just a few feet. Then a few more.

As the last lights flickered and faded into the darkness, she tightened her grip on her baby. The low rumble of the motor trembled through her body and she wondered what they were really running from.