Yellowstone: Survival: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller (The Yellowstone Series Book 4)

by Bobby Akart

  They continued to follow the man, but also noticed a crowd was starting to gather around the docks. Ashby leaned in to whisper, “Jake, I don’t like this. Have you noticed something odd about all of this?”

  “Besides the obvious hostility? What else?”

  “Look at the boats docked here. They’re all high-end yachts or speedboats.”

  “Yeah, like ours.”

  “Exactly. But where are their owners? Do you see a hotel anywhere? This looks like a village in an old Clint Eastwood western. Like a ghost town, except the ghosts are missing.”

  Jake glanced around and began to feel wary of their surroundings. “Let’s play it out. Maybe paranoia is getting the better of us.”

  “Jake, if we see trouble, let’s just go. We’ll figure something out. Okay?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Chapter 17

  Escalara Nautica

  Santa Rosalillita, Baja California

  “Should I get started on picking up supplies while you handle the fuel?” asked Ashby as they approached the harbormaster’s office.

  Jake hesitated before he replied, “I don’t like to be separated, but we can’t watch them fuel us up, protect the boat, and make purchases at the same time.”

  He held the door open as he took one more glance around the marina. Ashby leaned into him and whispered, “It’ll be all right. I’ll gather what we need, set it on the checkout counter, and get a price. I’ll come back and get the payment.”

  “Load up, because it’s gonna cost us in gold, and these people won’t be giving us change.”

  Ashby nodded, patted his shoulder, and darted off to the store. Jake stayed behind to negotiate with the locals for diesel fuel. As she approached the three businesses, she scanned the faces, looking for any Americans. There were none.

  Ashby found it hard to believe that the boat owners were on their vessels, hiding away from the activity. Some of the speedboats didn’t have sleeping quarters. It was a mystery she wasn’t in the mood to solve, but also had no intention of becoming a part of.

  As she made her way through the market, filling the basket with nonperishable canned goods and boxed snacks, her eyes continuously surveilled her surroundings. She was proud of her calm demeanor. She was not paranoid, but, rather, considered her heightened state of awareness something akin to managed paranoia.

  With one basket full, she retrieved another one. As she did, an older woman behind the checkout counter spoke to her in English.

  “No U.S. dollars, comprende?”

  Ashby smiled at her and nodded. “Yes, gold only.”

  “Gold, por favor.”

  “Okay. How much for two baskets?” asked Ashby.

  “One ounce each. Two ounces pure gold, no jewelry.”

  Ashby nodded and continued her shopping. She considered purchasing some refrigerated meats and cheeses, but after studying the contents, she became queasy. The meat was old and probably close to spoiled. Despite the recent expiration dates of the packaged foods, she felt comfortable buying them because they were imported from the States.

  Her last stop was the beer aisle. She picked up two six-packs of Corona and two quart bottles of Sol. She thought Jake would get a kick out of the man-sized bottles of beer. After this trip to the marina, he’d probably need one.

  She addressed the woman at the checkout counter. “Two ounces, yes?”

  “Sí.”

  Ashby exited the market and shielded her eyes from the bright sun as it began to set over the horizon. She looked toward the harbormaster’s office and saw a small crowd had gathered around the entrance. She strained to see their yacht and noticed there was no activity other than a few of the kids milling about.

  Puzzled as to why they weren’t getting fueled up, she quickened her pace and headed for the office. She found Jake pacing back and forth near the front door with his hands on his hips. He was clearly frustrated.

  “Jake, what’s going on?”

  He grimaced and shook his head. “I don’t know. For one thing, they speak to me in simple broken English. When they speak to one another, it’s mile-a-minute Spanish. Even if I understood certain words, I couldn’t make out what they’re saying.”

  “Do they not have the diesel?” she asked.

  “Oh, they have it, I think. The problem is the price and the quantity, I guess.” Jake kicked at a rock, sending it tumbling toward the dock and into the harbor.

  “What are they doing? Calling a town meeting or something?”

  Jake smiled. “As a matter of fact, they are calling somebody, but I’ll be darned if I can figure out who.”

  “I’ve got two shopping carts loaded with supplies. The lady wants one ounce of gold each.”

  Jake rolled his eyes and began to laugh. “Do they realize that’s probably worth twenty thousand or more, for a couple of buggies of food?”

  “Yeah, they do, and I suspect the price would go up if they knew how much gold we have. Should I go ahead and pay while we wait?”

  “I guess—” Jake began to answer when the sounds of vehicles roaring in the distance caught their attention. The streets of Santa Rosalillita, which only see rainfall once a year, were kicking dust up into the air.

  “What the—!” exclaimed Ashby as gunshots could be heard in the area of the oncoming vehicles. They rounded a curve and began to enter the parking area near the market.

  “Run!” shouted Jake as he led Ashby by the hand toward the dock.

  Suddenly, two of the burly men who assisted the gas man blocked their way down the ramp to the dock.

  “Get out of the way,” growled Jake as he came face-to-face with the men.

  “No comprende, gringo!” one of the men hissed back as he pushed his rotund belly into Jake’s chest.

  Tires could be heard sliding to a stop on the hard-packed surface of the parking lot. Men’s voices were shouting orders as they exited the cars.

  “Jake, we don’t have time for this.”

  “I know!”

  The man, startled by Jake’s sudden outburst, stepped backwards slightly, which was the opening Jake needed. He pushed the man in the chest with both hands to encourage his backward momentum. The man tripped over the top step of the dock and toppled backward onto the wood planks.

  The other man reached for Jake, but Ashby’s draw was quicker. She was pointing the gun in the man’s face in a flash.

  “Stand back, cabrón!”

  The man was surprised by Ashby’s use of the Spanish obscenity. He held his hands up and stepped aside as Jake, followed by Ashby, ran down the stairs toward their boat.

  Jake was screaming and waving his arms as he dodged the kids and onlookers who’d crowded onto the dock between them and where the yacht was tied off.

  “Pistola! Pistola!” a teenage boy yelled when he caught a glimpse of Ashby’s gun, which she was waving around to frighten people out of their path.

  That was when the first round of bullets flew over their heads and embedded in a sailboat next to them. Jake and Ashby instinctively ducked, but several of the children jumped into the dark, oil-slicked water surrounding the docks.

  Chaos ensued as more gunshots rang out.

  “Here we go again!” shouted Ashby as she ducked below several more bullets whizzing overhead.

  Chapter 18

  Escalara Nautica

  Santa Rosalillita, Baja California

  The locals were diving for cover while others ran in the same direction as Jake and Ashby to avoid the men who were running toward the docks. Ashby immediately felt exposed and in danger. Jake reached for his sidearm, but his adrenaline carried him forward toward the boat rather than turning to fight.

  “¡Ándale, ándale!” The men were running and firing their weapons, which threw their aim way off. Ashby glanced over her shoulder and counted eight pursuers, all of whom appeared to be armed. She took charge.

  “I’ll get the dock lines. You get us started.”

  Jake was twenty feet ahead of her
now and was approaching the point where the dock formed a T. “You’ve got to hurry. They’ll be on us before—”

  “I’ve got this. Go!”

  Jake hustled onto the yacht and scampered up the stairs to the sky bridge. Ashby scrambled around to quickly untie the dock lines and throw them onto the deck. Once the lines were loose, she took up a position behind one of the piers sticking out of the water where the right angle formed at the end of the dock.

  She hid behind the large wooden pole that measured eighteen inches across, giving her some ballistic protection for what she had in mind.

  Ashby took a deep breath and recalled what Jake had taught her. Shoot short bursts. Take cover. Manage your ammo. Repeat.

  She leaned out from behind the pier and took aim. She fired three rounds into the men who were bunched together running toward her. The bullets found their mark, hitting two of their pursuers in the chest and knocking them to the decking.

  The next two attackers tripped over the bodies, sending them sprawling. Ashby quickly fired upon the hapless gunmen. She hit one in the meat of the thigh and the other one in the top of his head.

  This stopped the progress of the remaining four men momentarily as the sound of the big diesel engines came to life.

  Jake shouted to her, “Come on! Now!”

  “Not yet! Ease out, close to the dock!”

  The men were coming again, but this time they were firing their weapons in a continuous barrage of bullets headed toward the boat. Several rounds embedded in the fiberglass and broke out windows in the salon. Others flew over Jake’s head, causing him to duck.

  The shooters were too close for Ashby to reveal herself, but she also needed to catch up with Jake. She was running out of precious seconds to make her move. She took a chance based upon videos of Taliban fighters she’d seen on the news. She always considered their method of fighting as cowardly, as they simply pointed their weapons around a corner or over a wall, firing wildly in the direction of their targets. Nonetheless, she considered it an effective way to slow her pursuers. She stuck her arm around the pole and fired in the direction of her assailants.

  The gunfire stopped, and so did the sounds of their heavy feet pounding against the dock. Ashby stepped out from behind her cover, ready to fire. She surprised the men, who froze momentarily, allowing her to inflict flesh wounds on one of the frontrunners.

  She’d bought all the time she needed to get away. She quickly turned and ran down the dock, turning right toward the yacht as it eased along the pier. She picked up her pace and timed her jump, pushing off the end of the dock and landing on the transom before crashing into the stern.

  Ashby lost control of her gun and fell to her knees in an attempt to retrieve it before it slid between the teak planks. It turned sideways, and the barrel dipped into the water just as Ashby found the grip. As the boat accelerated, she turned her attention to remaining on board.

  The forward momentum of the boat caused her to slip backwards toward the edge of the transom and nearly into the water. Her legs hit the surface with a splash, and Ashby struggled to find a grip on the transom.

  More gunshots were fired in their direction and Jake gave the engines more throttle. Ashby was holding on with one hand, her legs trailing her body, which was now surfing on the water. Using the spaces between the planks as a ladder, she grabbed them with her fingertips until she could reach the cleats affixed to the stern. Then she yelled to Jake, “Hit it!”

  The back of the boat sank into the water from the force of the twin diesel engines, causing the boat to lurch forward. Ashby held on as her entire body was soaked by the water covering the transom. Jake turned out of the harbor with the bow lifted high and the twin diesels roaring at full throttle. Eventually, he reduced his speed, causing the Grand Banks 60 to plane onto the surface. Ashby finally exhaled after her wild ride and crawled through the back half-door onto the aft deck.

  The attackers, angry at being thwarted, fired several bullets toward the boat, pelting the roof of the sky bridge and ricocheting in all directions. Jake gave the engines full power again, easily navigating the boat around the man-made seawall and into the Pacific Ocean.

  Ashby leaned against the stern wall with her arms draped over her knees and the gun hanging loosely in her hand. Her hair was wet and stringy, hanging in front of her face. She made a weak attempt at wiping the long, blond strands behind her ears, but her hair fell back in front of her eyes. She was still breathing heavily when Jake glanced down at her from the sky bridge.

  “How’re you doin’ down there?” he asked, with a smile.

  Ashby managed a laugh and looked up at him. “You know, I’m real tired of getting shot at!”

  Chapter 19

  The Pacific Ocean

  Off the coast of Baja California

  Jake continued to monitor the shoreline near the marina to determine if any boats were chasing after them. He didn’t want a repeat of what had happened with Mike, who’d tracked their progress along the California coast before making his move.

  “I think we’re clear,” Jake said to Ashby, who’d taken a moment to change clothes and take a shower. It was her first one in days. She approached Jake’s side and gave him a hug. He immediately relaxed and enjoyed her touch. “Well, Dr. Donovan, you certainly clean up well.”

  Ashby was wearing a bikini top she’d found in the drawers of the guest stateroom, coupled with a pair of Daisy Dukes, cutoff jean shorts made famous in The Dukes of Hazzard television series.

  “It’s a new look for me. You like?” She playfully turned around to give Jake a long look at her figure.

  “I do, ma’am. Why don’t you come here and—”

  “Not so fast, big guy,” she said as she took a couple of steps backwards. While wagging her index finger at him, she smiled. “You, sir, are smelling a little, shall I say, gamey.”

  Jake lifted his arm and sniffed his pit. He sucked in his cheeks and wrinkled his nose. “I prefer manly, but I can take a hint. Why don’t we take a shower?”

  “Sorry, mister man. I’ve had my shower, and somebody needs to stand watch.”

  Jake pouted and then nodded. “You’re right, rain check?”

  “Maybe,” she replied. She pointed to the chartplotter, which displayed a screen full of grayish static. “Do you have a course set in that thing? What’s wrong with it?”

  “I don’t know. While you were down below, I powered it up to determine a route toward Cabo. I figured it couldn’t be any worse than what we just went through. You know, more population, police presence, and maybe an American consulate annex or something like that.”

  Ashby noticed the ship’s wheel moving ever so slightly as the boat continued forward. “Is it driving itself?”

  “Autopilot, yes. I’m just not using the chartplotter to do it.”

  Ashby moved over to the instrument panel. Jake had set them on a south-southeasterly course. “How about the radar?”

  “Same problem. Listen, we took fire during the melee. There are several things I need to check on, including our DIY plug in the hull. Let me start there, grab a shower, and meet you back up here. It’ll be dark soon, and we need to make a decision about traveling at night.”

  Ashby gave him a peck on the cheek and pointed to the stairs. “Chop-chop. I’ll try to identify where the bullets hit us and what damage it might have caused. I’ve already cleaned up the glass in the salon and checked the lower instruments and controls. No damage there that I could see.”

  Jake flashed a thumbs-up as he bounded down the steps to the engine room. Ashby retrieved her laptop and attempted to access the internet. She wanted a bigger picture of where they were located.

  She began her search, but the MacBook indicated she didn’t have an internet connection. She mumbled in frustration, “The radar, the chartplotter, and now the internet. Gimme a break.”

  She stowed away her computer and looked around the yacht, assessing the possible reasons for the electronics failing. She walked
outside the covered area to the back of the sky lounge. On the port side of the open deck was a padded lounge seat, which covered a storage compartment they hadn’t looked under yet. Exploration would have to wait. Ashby needed internet.

  She climbed on top of the padded cover and stood on her toes to inspect the top of the sky bridge. The problem was immediately revealed.

  Stray bullets had riddled the round Doppler radar antennas. Another round had shattered the central feed horn before embedding in the bowl-shaped, parabolic surface of the HughesNet satellite dish.

  Ashby pounded the roof in disbelief. On the one hand, she was glad their attackers were such poor shots that neither of them was injured. On the other, Did they have to hit our antennas?

  Ashby dropped to the cushion and sat with her legs crossed under her. “Now what?” she asked in disbelief as she looked toward the setting sun. She glanced back toward Baja California, which was completely dark, as there was little population along the coast until they reached Cabo San Lucas. The stars were beginning to show themselves on the eastern horizon, which gave Ashby an idea.

  “Good as new,” Jake proudly announced as he hustled up the stairs to the sky lounge. “Now, about that kiss.”

  “Forget it.” Ashby threw cold water on his proposal. “We’ve lost our radar and internet thanks to those moronic banditos back there.”

  “Internet?” asked Jake.

  “Yeah, look on the roof for yourself before it gets too dark. There are bullet holes in the radar box things, and the HughesNet is destroyed.”

  Jake leapt up on the cushion and then hoisted himself on the fiberglass roof. It sagged somewhat under his weight, but he moved carefully to inspect the electronic devices. He pounded his fist on the roof, just like Ashby, indicating his conclusion was the same. He lowered himself to the cushion and rubbed his hands through his hair.

  “Well, that really sucks,” he grumbled.