“Good thinking,” he said in a tentative voice. “Let’s give the ship a wide berth and go around her.” He rolled the wheel to the left, lining up the two pontoons with the tree-stripped eastern bank of the river.
Butch never looked relaxed while they were on the water, but he did lean back on the vinyl seat across from Ezra. He kept his rifle on his lap, suggesting they weren’t out of danger, yet.
Ezra was vigilant for the next minute or two, and they’d almost gotten even with the drifting tugboat when he spotted colors among the muted browns of the water and shore. A pair of speedboats drifted behind a half-sunken barge along the shore a quarter of a mile ahead, but they couldn’t quite hide completely. “There!” he blurted to Butch. “It has to be a setup.”
He pulled the throttle to halt their forward progress; the pontoon boat stopped immediately, largely due to the strong currents they’d been fighting. Ezra expertly let the boat drift sideways until it was facing downriver again. The whole maneuver took a precious few seconds, but the two speedboats used that time to power their own engines and emerge fully from their hiding spots.
“Aw, hell,” Ezra drawled.
“We’re armed, boss. We got this.” Butch flicked the safety of his Bushmaster.
On the best of days, he might see one police boat patrolling on Kentucky Lake. Back then, Ezra never worried about anyone messing with him out on the water, besides maybe the occasional drunk guy asking if he could share any booze. Now, on the desolate river, it wasn’t even in the realm of possibility to imagine water patrol coming to his rescue, even if he’d had a way to summon them.
Grace was the one who always begged him to get a cell phone.
Ezra didn’t like how it was playing out. “Screw this. I’m going back to Cape Girardeau. We’ll find another way to travel west.”
“Works for me. These guys aren’t messing around. Look!” Butch pointed across the river. A pontoon boat had appeared from over there, and it headed for Ezra’s location, like the others.
“Hang on,” he commanded before shoving the throttle forward. The 350-horsepower motor growled, forcing him against the back of his captain’s chair. Already facing downriver, they got up to speed in seconds.
His worry only intensified, however, as he drew a mental picture of the trap around them. There was twenty miles to reach population down in Cape. The two speedboats would have no problem catching his slower pontoon boat over that distance, no matter how big his engine or how fast the current. Grand Tower, or at least the people huddling on the hilly riverbank near the ruins of the town, was a few miles upstream. Help was close, though he’d have to risk going through the blockade to reach them.
“There’s another one,” Butch said dryly, pointing downriver.
“Of freaking course,” Ezra complained, when he saw the color.
It was the red speedboat they’d been trying to avoid all day. Its glossy red paint shone in the hazy sunlight, even from a mile away. The pilot came up the middle of the river, veering in their direction, moving to close the trap around them.
The only option left open was the one he’d originally thought about trying. The oxbow bend entrance was due east, presenting a narrow inlet of water attached to the main river. Inside, as he’d seen the last few times they’d passed it, islands of debris and sunken barges clogged the passage.
“Well, Butch, you were right: this is definitely where they wanted us to go.”
Out of options, he steered the boat through the opening.
Denver, CO
After listening to Dorothy talk about Mr. Stricker’s apparent crush on her and filing away the discussion for later analysis about whether she was telling the truth, he made his way to another tent to talk in private with Howard. Unlike the circuitous route taken by the young woman, Howard got right to the point.
“Sir, we have assets on the ground for the pieces in Colorado and Wyoming, and we have a field agent sitting near the one in western Nebraska. However, the Chinese mining exploration firm PWI has co-opted the road construction crews from Utah and have a solid jump on us at the piece south of Yellowstone.” He caught himself. “What I mean is, we both have resources there.”
Petteri went over to Howard’s desk. The man was in his early sixties and had once been a major in the US Army, which explained his fondness for paper instead of computers. His desk was filled with ten layers of poster-sized maps of the surrounding states. A big one showing the area around Yellowstone was on the top.
Howard finessed his white mustache, then pointed. “This area I’ve circled is where fire has burned through Yellowstone National Park. When our asteroid flew above the park, the kinetic energy sparked fires in a line.” His finger traced a line from the lake in the middle of the park toward the center of the state. “The piece landed here, near the town of Big Piney.”
Petteri had been paying attention. “That’s why the Chinese company could get their construction crews there so fast. They came up the highway from Utah and got in beneath the forest fires to the north.”
“Correct.”
“So, what resources do we have there? I’ve got mines all over the state.”
Howard nodded, ticking off TKM mines and plants as he tapped on the paper. “These are all yours, sir. The power-generating operation in Kemmerer is only an hour away. I dispatched a team out of there as soon as possible, but by the time we got to Big Piney, PWI had already blocked off the rock.”
Petteri cursed under his breath, but struggled to keep emotion out of it. If he was going to outmaneuver the amateurs at PWI, he needed to outthink them. No one was on top of the disaster more than he. “Keep me apprised of the situation up there. Tell me, do you still have contact with your strike team, your man Misha?”
“Yes, sir. After cleaning up our problem in Montana, I’ve had them on standby. They have a plane and a helicopter at their disposal. We can move them anywhere…”
“Very good. Get him en route to Big Piney, immediately.” He strode toward the flap. “Everything seems to be in good order, except that one. Let’s fix it.”
“I will,” Howard replied.
He left the tent and walked out to the dig site.
“What the hell?” he blurted.
The ugly teal of a PWI truck sat between him and his rock. Two men in PWI uniforms hefted yellow survey equipment out of the truck bed.
Petteri didn’t see any of his people going over to the intruders, so he did it himself. “Excuse me! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
One of the men waved like it was any old day on the job. “We’re here to help you clean up this mess.”
He turned and went back into the tent. “Howard!”
CHAPTER 9
Billings, MT
Time became funny as Grace stepped out the door. She was aware of the wall of stone towering above her, and how the road cut diagonally up the side. She knew the police roadblock was checking vehicles before they went up the hill toward the airport. And finally, she appreciated how easy it would be to put an end to the shoot-out by blasting the bad guy in the back.
She stood behind her open door, perfectly mirroring the man two cars ahead as he stood outside his SUV. Her truck sat high off the ground, forcing her to stand on tiptoes to aim Misha’s handgun through the window frame. It seemed like minutes went by before she toggled off the safety. The guy was still there…
Nice and easy.
Grace pulled the trigger in a smooth motion, like Dad had taught her. The explosive concussion caught her by surprise, but so did the ping of metal on the frame of the bad guy’s door.
She’d missed.
The guy had barely begun to turn around when she squeezed off a second shot.
“Damn!” she yelled, knowing no one would hear her.
The man fell in a heap as that bullet landed where she’d aimed.
The police at the cars ahead continued to fire, tagging the man as he fell below the protection of his door. At the same time, glas
s exploded on the black pickup truck parked in front of hers. The back window blew out as a gunman unleashed a dozen shots in her direction.
“Down!” she yelled to Asher and the others, though they were already hugging the floor inside the Suburban. She dipped behind her door, keeping the metal frame in front of her as a shield.
The Suburban’s windshield suffered multiple impacts, as did the frame and front of her door. She retreated along the side of the truck, staying low, knowing the shooter might get lucky and hit one of her legs.
Her ears were on fire from the ring of the gunshots, but she clearly heard another weapon sound off from inside her truck. She peeked in through the rear cargo area to see Logan sprawled flat on the carpeted interior, as ordered. Strangely, Asher held his pistol above the dashboard, and returned fire toward the people who’d been shooting at her.
Grace made her way to the back corner of the passenger side and leaned around to search for targets. Muzzle flashes popped in the interior of the truck ahead of her, plus there was still someone in the SUV with the original shooter. The police never let up their return fire, endlessly peppering both vehicles.
She couldn’t give up on what she’d started, so she leaned halfway around the corner, aimed for the dark interior of the pickup truck, and let go of three quick shots. Unwilling to draw any return fire, she ducked back behind the steel frame of her Chevy before reevaluating.
It sounded like a scene out of a war movie. The police shooters created a rapid-fire barrage which could easily be mistaken for a machine gun. Asher poked above the dashboard a couple of times, lobbing random shots at the truck parked ahead of them. Felicia and Logan stayed out of sight, much to her relief.
The bad guys seemed to fade away, but not all of them were out of the fight. She watched as one of the men in the black pickup climbed out through his rear window, rolled down the bed of the truck, then made a break directly for Grace’s position. He carried a black rifle and would soon pass the huge gap where the door of her truck used to be.
I have to stop him.
She wished the police would have shot the guy, but a tiny voice reminded her it would put everyone in her truck in the crossfire. Pressure built inside her chest as she knew what would be required. Grace barely peeked out from behind the bumper, aimed her pistol, fought the jitters in her arms, then squeezed off three or four rounds. On the last trigger pull, nothing happened; she’d run out of ammo.
But it was enough. The man had taken a few of her shots in the chest and fell to the ground, losing his rifle. For the next few seconds, she watched the man for signs of movement, wondering what she’d do if he got up. Her hand went to the taser still on her utility belt, though she had no idea how it worked.
After what seemed like a long time, she realized no one was shooting. The gunfight continued to echo inside her ears, making it difficult to hear the shouts of the police.
“Put your guns down!” they yelled.
“We have you covered,” another one said.
After a long pause, they added. “You! Ranger! Can you hear us?”
She snapped to attention, realizing who they were after. “I hear you,” she replied. “I won’t shoot.” Quieter, she spoke inside the broken rear window. “Ash, put your pistol down, okay?”
“Will do,” he replied.
She remained where she was long enough to begin to worry it was all a trap. If she lowered her guard, maybe the bad guys would pop out and shoot her. To test the theory, she glanced around the corner of the truck again. The police had left the safety of their blockade and approached the two vehicles ahead of hers, guns aimed at the bad guys.
“Both clear!” someone shouted a short time later.
The atmosphere around her instantly changed, like a bad storm had come and gone, leaving only a fresh smell and a clean landscape. An officer walked alongside her truck with a rifle held with both hands. After kicking away the dead man’s gun and checking if the guy was alive, he continued back to her. “You all right, Ranger?”
The man wore the same black Billings police uniform as Officer McCracken. He held out a hand to help her up, since she remained in a crouch where she’d taken cover.
“I’m good. We’re all good, I think.” Grace stood up, glancing inside the NPS truck to make sure her people were as healthy as she claimed. No one was screaming they’d been shot.
“I’m deaf!” Asher shouted from inside.
She shared a nervous smile with the officer. He motioned to her truck, laughing. “It looks like you’ve been in gunfights before. What are you, some kind of bounty hunter?”
She rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t be further from the truth. We’ve just been through a lot of different crap over the past few days. I had no idea things were this bad in town or I would have skipped the place altogether.”
He acknowledged her. “No one knew how fast Billings was going to collapse into anarchy. All those extras from the rodeo really put a lot of stress on the locals. Once the power went out and those out-of-towners got hungry, all bets were off. That’s why all these people are heading for the airport.”
More cars were now at the checkpoint, meaning they’d arrived during the gunfight. It impressed her how desperate people were willing to ignore bullets to get where they wanted to go. However, it made her want to get out of there as fast as possible.
“I’m here for a reason, actually. We’re taking this woman, who works for the Bureau of Land Management, to a plane up there.” She pointed toward the top of the wall of rock behind the roadblock. “Can we pass by?”
The police officer took a step back and waved to his colleagues, without asking any additional questions. “These rangers are going through!”
“Thanks,” she replied.
“No, thank you for shooting that armed citizen. We aren’t even sure why he was firing at us, other than we seem to have been marked for death by the outlaws in our community.”
She thought back to the firefighters and burned-out police car. “We’ve seen a lot of the same as we came through the city.”
The officer became serious and spoke quietly to her alone. “You might consider boarding a plane and getting out of dodge with your fare. I don’t think life is going to get any better here. Not for a long time, anyway.”
She turned to go back to the driver’s seat. “Thanks for the suggestion. I’ll think about it.”
Near Grand Tower, IL
Ezra had seen oxbow bends in other rivers, but none quite like the one he’d entered out of desperation. When the floodwaters came through, all sorts of debris settled into the deeper waters of the five-mile long, horseshoe-shaped lake. Ellsworth explained earlier how the flooding opened it all up, allowing him to drive inside.
“Can you get through?” Butch asked, alarmed at their situation.
Ahead, the side channel could have belonged to a lazy child who’d left all his floaty toys in the bathtub as it drained. Numerous barges had broken away from their towboats and were captured inside the bend. Some floated free, but many others were tipped over, leaving angular corners sticking out of the water. Empty fifty-five-gallon drums drifted between the barges, as did endless flows of trash, driftwood, and old tires.
He barely slowed as he weaved around the first few sunken barges, though he had to let off the gas and drift through a dense field of trash, so he didn’t sheer off his propeller blade. Much like when they’d been trying to avoid the colliding rivers, losing a blade here would probably result in their deaths. He had to play it safe.
Once they’d passed through the worst of the jam, he lowered the motor again and kicked Susan’s Grace in the guts.
“Sorry, babe,” he said aloud, hating the need to treat his beloved boat in such a way.
“It’s fine, babe,” Butch replied, barely containing a laugh.
“Keep it up, mister, and I’ll push you off the boat myself.” He laughed at the exaggerated threat. Butch couldn’t swim, so it carried more weight than it might have o
therwise, though he was only joking. They both needed the laugh.
The red speedboat came into the oxbow bend entrance about thirty seconds after Susan’s Grace. They had to travel through the thick layer of debris, too, but got the benefit of going second. His boat’s pontoons worked as crude shovels, partially clearing a route, allowing the pirates, as he now thought of them, to work on closing the distance.
He had to snake his way around a two-hundred-foot barge which had come to rest sideways in the channel, but when he shot across its bow, the upstream side had trapped an incredible number of plastic bottles, full trash bags, and other garbage.
“Damn, I think the city dump washed into the river,” he said dryly.
The stench hit them both like wet slaps in the face.
“Good God!” Butch complained.
“Yep, some city upstream is missing its landfill,” Ezra added. He needed to divert farther toward shore in order to get around the stinky debris. The flooding hadn’t totally gone down, however, and the scouring current had cut into some of the surrounding fields. It was difficult to see where the deeper part of the oxbow bend remained. He had to guess, based on a line of stripped trees sticking out of the water, but he didn’t know if he was looking at full grown trees, or only the tops of huge trees. The depth finder was useless unless he drove over there to take a reading.
He decided to assume the trees were the limit he could safely travel, so he veered off at the last possible second, shooting around the edge of the trash flow.
The red speedboat roared around the front of the barge a short time later. They were perhaps two hundred yards behind them.
“Butch, I’m afraid you’ll have to be ready with your rifle. I can’t shoot and drive at the same time.” He hunched over, as if bullets were about to nail him in the back.
The big man was already crouched in front of his seat, but he spent considerable effort holding the chair with one arm, so he wasn’t tossed into the water. An unlikely event, unless Ezra made a serious driving mistake.
Impact (Book 3): Adrift Page 7