“I’m all right, Casey. Just don’t go up there; you don’t need to see that.”
Casey wondered what could be worse than the three shot-up bodies sprawled on the decks of the catamaran, mere feet from where she waited as he carefully stepped over pools of their blood on the deck and climbed back into the canoe.
“Let’s paddle back to the bank. Your Uncle Larry and I will move these men and clean up the boat. You and Jessica can wait ashore until we’re done.”
“I can help, Dad.”
“I know you could, but Larry and I can do it.”
When they rejoined Larry and Jessica on the bank, Casey heard what her dad whispered to Larry and knew why he didn’t want her to help move the bodies. The fourth person who darted up to the pilothouse from below decks had looked like another man, but was really just a kid; a teenager younger than she and Jessica, who would probably be in school today if not for this accursed blackout. Her dad was having a hard time with the image of what those AK-47 bullets had done to him.
“You couldn’t have known, though,” she heard him tell Uncle Larry. “We had to take them all out. There wasn’t any other way, and besides, he could have destroyed the Casey Nicole backing out of there like that.”
She and Jessica sat huddled side by side, solemnly watching, as the brothers paddled back over to the two boats. There was no reasonable way to move the dead men ashore or bury them. Aside from the difficulty of getting them off the decks, into the canoe and over to the bank, digging four graves in the swampy forest soil that was surely entwined with heavy roots would be exhausting and far too time consuming. They had enough to do just getting the boat cleaned up and ready to move downriver.
They watched as Larry and Artie searched the fishing boat, going through the tackle and gear and coming back aboard the catamaran with several lengths of heavy anchor chain. One by one, they heard the splashes as the dead men were committed to the muddy waters of the Pearl. Then, with buckets and brushes, the two brothers scrubbed the decks of the catamaran of blood before Artie paddled back to the bank alone to get the two of them.
“Are you two okay?” he asked.
“We’re fine, Dad. We know that this had to be done. There was no other way.”
“You’re right. I’m just glad it’s over. A lot could have gone wrong.”
“What about the boat? Did the bigger one smash it more? Are there many bullet holes?”
“It’s not too bad. Uncle Larry said it could have been a lot worse. Don’t forget, though, he built the whole thing, so there’s nothing on it he can’t fix or replace as long as he has the time and materials. Since these guys came back with all the stuff they stole plus other things of use they already had on their boat, Larry says we’re going to be fine. We’ll load on everything we can and get down to the coast first, and then he’ll do the repairs somewhere safer. Larry hates being in these woods where he can’t see the horizon and can’t raise a sail.”
“But with those men dead, I don’t see why we still have to be in a hurry to leave,” Jessica said to Larry when they were all back aboard the Casey Nicole. “We might as well wait and give Grant and Scully time to get here.”
“Yes, those four are no longer a threat, Jessica, but I’m convinced they weren’t the rightful owners of the Miss Lucy anyway. I’m pretty sure they weren’t fishermen, and that they probably stole the boat somewhere on the coast and maybe killed the owners, too, whoever they were. We don’t know who else might come along that might want to do the same. I’m just not taking the risk when we have better options.
“Maybe they will get here anytime now, anyway,” Casey said. “They’ve got to. They’ve had plenty of time.”
“She’s right, Jessica,” Artie said. “Let’s just help Larry do what has to be done to get the boat ready to go. I’ll bet Grant and Scully show up before we even get finished. I’m sure they’ll be here way before dark today.”
But despite her dad’s optimism, Grant and Scully did not show up that day either. All throughout the afternoon the four of them listened for the outboard while they worked at reorganizing the ship’s stores and equipment and moving their stolen goods back from the Miss Lucy. All of them were still on edge from the ambush earlier, and everyone agreed they did not want to spend the night tied to the shot-up fishing boat or anchored over the spot where the bodies had been dumped. They set one of the trawler’s anchors to keep it in place until they could decide what to do with it and then set up Larry’s tandem sea kayak that the men had taken with a towline so Artie and Casey could pull the catamaran back out of the main channel of the river and into the lake where it had been before. Casey was surprised at how easy it was for the two of them to pull the much bigger sailboat with just paddle power, but Larry said it was because the extremely narrow, knife-like hulls of the catamaran presented little resistance to the water. Moving it a short distance in a calm with only the kayak was no problem; but still, the afternoon was fading to twilight by the time all these tasks were done.
“They are certainly overdue now,” Larry said, as he poured himself a shot of rum from one of his stolen bottles of 10 Cane that he had recovered from the other boat. “Something has held them up, that’s for sure. It could be that damned worn-out outboard, but Scully ought to be able to keep it running, unless they hit something in the river and knocked it off the transom of that old, broken-down Johnboat.”
“I’m worried about them,” Casey said.
“I’m not so much worried about their safety,” Larry said. “I’m sure they’re okay. You don’t have to worry about Grant as long as he’s with Scully. I just think something has seriously slowed them down. But as I said before, we can’t hang around here indefinitely, especially after what happened today. Besides, we’re helpless here on a sailboat that can’t sail, and any big boat that obviously has supplies and goods is a target of opportunity for whoever comes up that river next. That ought to be obvious to you all now. We’ve got to move downstream to the Gulf before it’s too late.”
“But I don’t understand how they’re ever going to find us. Everything out here looks the same, and that’s just in the river. When we get to the coast it’ll be ten times harder. We can’t just leave them with no way of knowing where we are!”
“I’m not suggesting leaving them behind and sailing away; not on your life, Jessica! Scully’s my best friend in the whole world. Well, at least he was before my brother here finally decided to come down to the islands and spend some time with me. I wouldn’t leave Scully for anything, or Grant either, considering what he did for you two, but that doesn’t mean we have to sit here at great risk to our lives and the boat, which is our lifeline to get out of this hell we’re stuck in. That fishing boat over there has given me an idea, and it gives us another option besides waiting here.”
“I thought you said it wouldn’t do us any good. You said it wasn’t as good in the ocean as the catamaran and that the catamaran would be faster anyway when there was wind.”
“That’s right, I did say that, and it’s true. We don’t need that boat, but since it’s here, that means we don’t have to wait.”
“I don’t understand,” Artie said.
“Doc, do you remember where we stopped when we first crossed the Gulf from the Florida Keys, before we approached New Orleans? Do you remember that barrier island off the Mississippi coast, the one with the old fort, where we spent the night anchored?”
“Of course. That’s where we helped that young guy who had run aground in his little sailboat, right?”
“Exactly. That’s Ship Island; actually it’s West Ship Island, because there is an East Ship as well. It’s about ten or so miles off the mainland, and if you remember, mostly out of sight from shore because it’s so low. That island is part of a chain of barrier islands along the coast. All of them are uninhabited because they are protected areas, part of a national seashore or something. In normal times they are patrolled by park rangers, but not likely now. There may be a few refugees hanging around
them, like that guy we towed off the sandbar, but it’s a big area and would be relatively safe for a short time, compared to anywhere near the mainland, or especially here.”
“So what are you saying?” Casey wanted to know.
“I’m saying we need to get down this river to open water and then sail out to that island chain, ASAP.”
“But what about Grant and Scully?”
“That’s where the Miss Lucy comes in,” Larry said. “Scully knows exactly where we’re supposed to be, anchored right here in this dead lake off the river channel. When they get here, he’s going to see a fishing trawler anchored here instead. Naturally, he will investigate. All we have to do is leave him and Grant a note aboard it telling them of our intentions, and they can use it to come out to those islands and join us.”
“That’s crazy!” Jessica said. “What if someone takes the note? What if they take the whole boat?”
“There’s a small chance of that, but there are things we can do to make it less likely. First of all, the note doesn’t have to be on a piece of paper. We can paint it on the side of the damn hull for that matter. I can word it in a way that it won’t make sense to anyone else who might see it. And as for the boat, yeah, it’s possible someone could tow it away, but only if they’ve got a damned good boat and motor already, which is less likely.”
“Why couldn’t they just fire up the diesel and drive it away?”
“Because I intend to ‘fix’ the engine so they can’t, Doc. Scully and I have used this trick before, in our business endeavors on the islands. He’ll know exactly what to do to get it running again, but anyone else who finds it won’t stand a chance, unless it’s someone who really knows diesels. But the odds of anybody like that finding it before Scully and Grant do are slim to none.”
Casey thought about what Larry said. She didn’t like the idea of going anywhere without Grant and Scully, but she could see his point. She was also nervous about being in this place, especially now that night had fallen. It wasn’t the sounds of the owls and pitch black of the surrounding forest that bothered her. She was used to that by now after so many nights in this river bottom; but it was kind of spooky being out here at the scene of so much death, thinking about the men and the boy they’d killed just hours earlier, weighted to the muddy bottom by lengths of chain. Casey wanted to put this place behind her. She, too, wanted to see the open horizon of the sea, feel the sun on her face and smell the salt air. But she was worried about Grant and Scully, despite Larry’s confidence in them. She knew he was right that they shouldn’t wait here indefinitely, though. All she could hope for was that the two of them would show up in the morning, and they could all go down the river together.
TWELVE
Larry Drager slept little the night after the ambush of the fishing boat. He was wired from the stress of what they’d had to do, as well as the worry about the decision that had to be made next. Scully and Grant had not arrived during the night as he’d hoped they might, and now as he sat in the stillness of dawn drinking his coffee, he wondered if they might show up that morning. If not, then he was determined to get the catamaran moving downriver to the coast. Although he had already spoken of the need to do this, he knew that when he announced they had to go, Casey and especially Jessica would not be in favor of it, but he had to do what was best for his ship and the safety of his crew. He had to remind himself that the reason he had sailed here in the first place was to find his niece and get her to safety, and now that she was on board the first part of his task was complete. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was sail away and leave Scully behind, but he still had faith that his best friend would get here eventually, and, with the information he planned to leave for him, make it to the rendezvous point along with Grant.
When the others joined him on deck, he pulled out his chart showing the northern Gulf coast and approaches to New Orleans, and pointed to the chain of low-lying barrier islands he wanted to move the boat to.
“This is Cat Island,” he said, pointing to a roughly triangular-shaped island to the west of West Ship Island. “It’s the closest of the group to the mouth of the river where we are now, and is far enough off the coast that it should be relatively safe. There’s a shallow anchorage here on the south side, which would give us quick access to the open Gulf if we need to make a fast escape for some reason.” Larry pointed to a semiprotected area behind a long point of land on the island’s south shore. “It doesn’t show the detail on this chart, but it’s called Smuggler’s Cove. I’ve stopped there before, years ago, on a boat delivery from Fort Lauderdale to Slidell. When Scully and Grant get here and find the Miss Lucy, they will easily be able to easily run out to the island on her and it’ll be easy for them to find us there if we get there before they catch up.”
“What if they don’t show up, even after we get out there? How long will we wait and what will we do?” Casey asked.
“We wait as long as it takes,” Larry said. “If Smuggler’s Cove is not safe, then we anchor somewhere else among the barrier islands. I’m not leaving the area until they come.”
“I would rather go and look for them first. That would be better than going somewhere else even farther away and waiting,” Jessica said.
“I would agree,” Larry said, “if we had a means of going upriver quickly, but we don’t. Our boat and Miss Lucy are both too big to go up the Bogue Chitto to where the cabin is. I could go in the sea kayak and probably make it in two days if my arm weren’t out of commission from this cut, but none of you have enough paddling experience to make that kind of time in a kayak, and besides, it’s too dangerous. The last thing we want to do is split up further. That’s why we’re in this dilemma now.”
“I know, right? That’s why I tried to talk Grant out of it,” Jessica said.
“He was just doing what he thought best at the time,” Artie said, “and I still have hope they’re going to show up this morning. And even if they don’t they’ll probably show up in time to catch up with us before we get to the coast.”
“That’s right,” Larry said. “It’s going to take some doing to get this boat down the river without an engine, and we won’t be traveling fast.”
“Seeing how easily we towed it over here to anchor with the kayak, won’t that work for pulling it downstream?”
“It will, but it’s going to be hard work. I just wish I could do my share of it, but with this arm, I can’t. You three are going to have to take turns, two of you in the kayak at a time. We’ll just have to stop and rest when you get tired. That’s all I know to do. The only other option is poling it from the deck, but there are going to be places too deep to reach the bottom, and that would be a lot slower than towing with the kayak. We need to stay in the deepest part of the river anyway to avoid running aground.”
While they were waiting, half-expecting that Grant and Scully would show up any minute, Larry insisted they go ahead with preparations to leave. With Artie paddling, they went back to the Miss Lucy and climbed aboard. Larry had already mentioned that he planned to “fix” the inboard engine on the old boat so that anyone else who might come along and find it before Grant and Scully did would not be able to get it running and, he hoped, would leave it alone. Now he was going to show Artie what he meant. He led the way below decks to the engine room, where an ancient and rusty Perkins diesel was bolted to the heavy floor timbers.
“I’m surprised that thing will run at all,” Artie said, as Larry shined a flashlight over it.
“Diesel engines are dead simple, Doc. That’s why an old diesel like this would be completely unaffected by the electromagnetic pulse. All it needs is clean fuel and air to run. It’s independent of any electrical circuits other than the starter and starting battery, and those wouldn’t be affected either, nor would the alternator that keeps the starting battery charged once it’s running.”
“So, how will you disable it, then?”
“Basically, by interrupting the fuel supply, but in a way that’s
not obvious. For one part, I’ll introduce air into the side of the system between the fuel tanks and the fuel pump. It won’t run that way until someone who knows what they’re doing bleeds the fuel lines to get all the air out. But in case that’s not enough, I’m also going to adjust the fuel shutoff valve on the high-pressure side of the injectors.”
“If you say so. None of this makes sense to me.”
“You know that knob you finally found up in the pilothouse, the one you pulled to shut down the engine?”
“Yeah, I finally figured it out after trying everything else.”
“Right. That knob is nothing but a lever connected to a long cable that runs down here.” Larry pointed to a small moving part connected to a stiff wire cable that looked like the throttle cable of a lawn mower. “When you pull it, it moves this little lever, which closes the valve and cuts the fuel supply. All I’m going to do is adjust the cable a bit so that the valve is always closed, even though it won’t be apparent. Anyone up there looking at the shut-off knob won’t be able to tell that it’s activated.”
“That’s pretty slick. And you think Scully will be able to figure it out?”
“Of course. He’s been working on boats at least as long as I have. And, I’ll let him know in our message that I’ve ‘locked her up.’ He’ll understand.”
“I get the impression this is not the first time you’ve done this. I won’t even ask why.”
Larry just smiled as he went to work with the wrenches and screwdrivers he had brought from his tool kit on the Casey Nicole. It only took a few minutes before they were back on deck, the engine room hatch closed behind them after Larry checked to make sure that the trawler’s tool box also contained everything Scully would need to fix the problems. Standing behind the main pilothouse bulkhead, Larry took two more items out his tool bag: a small paintbrush and a one-pint can of the black enamel he had used to paint the name Casey Nicole onto the primer-gray hulls of the catamaran before they’d set sail from the islands. The paint would stand out against the white surface of the bulkhead, and Larry made his letters big enough to be visible from a distance, even to someone just passing by the anchored boat without coming aboard.
Refuge: After the Collapse Page 13