“You’d have to get inland from the mangroves though to find a fresh water supply, right?” Eric knew a bit about the Everglades. He had done some canoeing there with one of his buddies back before he joined the Navy, when he was a bit younger than Jonathan. He remembered that there was no fresh water to be had along the route they’d paddled, just mile after mile of mangrove forest submerged in brackish water.
“Yeah, up the rivers is where you find the best hideouts anyway, way up in the sawgrass marsh on the little hardwood hammocks that are scattered all over. We used to go up one called the Turner River. It was like a jungle up there and the fishing was incredible! But who knows? A bunch of other people may have the same idea and it could be crowded now. I’m just daydreaming anyway, because I don’t have a way to get over there or a boat to get back to the good spots anyway.”
Eric could understand Jonathan’s dilemma, but he didn’t have a suggestion for him. Trying to cross the Florida peninsula on the roads wouldn’t be a good idea at all, and even if he had a boat that could make the trip, it was a long haul to the Everglades, either rounding the southern tip of the state through the Keys or going north to the Indian River to cross by way of Lake Okeechobee. Eric had been thinking of these options already, because he knew that he was going to eventually have to use one or the other of them to get to his father’s place. Bart Branson owned a boatyard on the Caloosahatchee River between the lake and the Gulf Coast, and either route to get there had its drawbacks. How and when Eric would do it depended entirely on what he found when he reached Shauna’s house, but he wasn’t planning to leave Florida without his father. The real problem though was going to be talking Bart Branson into leaving. The old man was stubborn and set in his ways, and like Eric’s brother, Keith, he loved where he lived and the work he did. Things would have to be at least as bad as Eric guessed that they were to get him to even consider giving it up.
“I’ll probably hang out here another week or two unless the fishing dries up,” Jonathan went on, snapping Eric out of his thoughts of his father again. “I guess I can do like you, and travel at night if I decide to move on. I can go north up towards Hobe Sound.”
“If I remember right, there are quite a few parks and natural areas along the ICW between here and there.”
“Yeah, and since I’ll be going on foot, it should be better than going south, at least if I can get past Tequesta and all the other developed areas. I’ll just have to play it by ear and see. Right now though, I guess I’ll just hang tight here while I can.”
When it was dark again, Jonathan showed Eric where he had been getting his fresh water. Just across the road from his wooded hideout, there was an office building with a large ornamental fountain barely visible among the landscaping of palms and shrubbery. The fountain was no longer running, of course, but the deep circular pool around it was full, and the water was relatively clean. Jonathan hadn’t been treating it, because he didn’t have the means to do so, but he had not gotten sick so far. Drinking surface water was always a risk, but Eric figured it was probably as good or better than the water other survivors in the area had access to. Eric had brought his own supply of drinking water in several 10-liter bladder tanks distributed in the bilges of the kayak. He had an iodine purification system to treat more when he needed it, but none to offer Jonathan, so he didn’t mention it. All things considered, the kid was surviving just fine on his own before Eric came along and would likely continue to do so.
“It looks like the rain is going to hold out for you, dude,” Jonathan said, as he helped Eric carry his bags back to the kayak. “You should be able to get there without being seen. At least I hope so. After what I know about you now, I’d kind of feel sorry for any dumbass like me that tries to give you trouble.”
Eric laughed and shook Jonathan’s hand. “Thanks man. I’m glad I stopped here after all and I’m glad you got the drop on me. You might have saved my life without even knowing it, because I won’t make that mistake again, you can bet on that!”
“I hope you find your daughter, dude. I really do.”
“Me too, Jonathan. Good luck with the fishing. Keep staying out of sight and I think you’ll be fine.”
With that, Eric slid back into the cockpit of his kayak and used the paddle to push it stern first back out of the narrow channel as Jonathan stood there watching. It was an interesting encounter that could have turned out far different than it had. As it was, Eric was really glad he’d restrained himself in the face of Jonathan’s threat. It would have been a shame if he’d seriously maimed or even killed him, because it was now obvious that he wasn’t surviving by taking advantage of others despite the temptation of Eric’s sea kayak. The whole thing could have turned out far worse for either of them, but if nothing else, it served to remind Eric that he was going to have to be on top of his game every minute he was here. He had no way of knowing how many there might be, but it made sense that there would be other refugees living in the mangroves and many of them might prove far more dangerous than Jonathan.
As he paddled back into the ICW and turned south, Eric was determined to keep his distance from the banks on either side whether or not the shoreline was developed. The rain made him more comfortable with this option, as it was heavy enough to screen him from view of anyone who might happen to be near the waterway at this time of night. He paddled as quietly as possible, dipping the blades on each stroke so that they barely made a sound. Silence was another advantage of the Greenland style paddle. With proper technique, the long, narrow blades made little disturbance upon entry into the water. The design was perfect, developed by ancient hunters who depended on stealth to approach their wary prey from the water. The paddle was also efficient for long distance travel, as the blades got just enough bite with each stroke for easy propulsion without causing undue strain on the joints of the paddler’s wrists and elbows. As he used it to cruise south at an average speed of three and a half knots, Eric couldn’t help thinking about how well his sudden thrust with it had worked to disarm Jonathan. A slight change in angle, targeting the throat, would have easily killed him. The time he’d spent working with the paddle practicing his staff forms had certainly paid off, and Eric made a mental note to keep it up whenever he had the chance.
He had passed under another bridge a short distance south of Jonathan’s camp, and now after traveling another hour and a half, he was approaching a second one. Seeing it told him that he was close. Once he was south of that overpass, the entrance to Shauna’s neighborhood was just a little over a mile and half to the south. He stayed to the middle of the channel and slipped under the bridge as quickly as possible. On the south side he passed the entrance to another marina that appeared abandoned since the hurricane. From what he could see in the dark through the rain, many of the vessels docked there had broken their mooring lines, smashing into each other and against the pilings. A sailboat mast leaning at a sharp angle was entangled in the rigging of a neighboring boat, and a large motor yacht was lying on its side at the edge of the entrance channel. The damage here seemed worse than it was just a few mile north at Jupiter Inlet, but Eric knew that the microbursts of winds associated with hurricanes could do strange things like that. And since the eye of the storm had made landfall somewhere to the south, he knew too that the damage would only get worse farther on in that direction.
The final stretch of the ICW between the marina and his turn-off took him past blacked-out waterfront homes along both banks, all of them obviously damaged and probably abandoned. Seeing all this destruction deflated what little hope he had left of finding Megan and Shauna at home here. Surely they had gotten out before things got so bad, but he had to go there anyway to be certain. He checked his watch again when he reached the canal entrance that he’d memorized. He had nearly five hours of darkness remaining, but he doubted now that he would have to wait until dawn to get his answers, because it was unlikely anyone was there at all, much less asleep.
Six
ERIC ENTERED
THE MAIN canal, paddling west a hundred yards before coming to the intersection of a north-south canal that appeared just as it had on his satellite images. He turned right, heading north for a short distance to the next turn-off, and then paddled down a smaller canal leading farther west. The storm-battered houses here had been expensive and luxurious, but packed into every available space that would afford their owners access to the waterfront. Each had its own dock, most badly damaged by the storm surge, and the only boats still here were the few that were small enough to be hoisted clear of the water on mechanical lifts. Presumably, any larger vessels that had been moored in the canal were either moved before the storm by their owners or stolen by the looters that came afterwards.
Meticulously landscaped lawns with their plantings of exotic tropical plants and palms were now knee-high in weeds. Many of the tallest palms had been uprooted or stripped of their fronds and fruit by hurricane-force winds that turned hanging clusters of green coconuts into deadly projectiles. Despite that damage, most of the vegetation was thriving in the aftermath and seeing the rampant growth reminded Eric of similar scenes in the tropics where the jungle quickly swallowed the abandoned endeavors of man. Nature would take over again here too, and with no one around to beat it back, it wouldn’t take long.
The rain had let up to a soft drizzle now, so Eric was doubly cautious to keep his paddle strokes quiet and to stop and drift often, listening for signs of life. The house he was looking for was the last one on the north bank of this smaller canal, in what was essentially a cul-de-sac from this waterborne approach. As he paddled past the last of the neighboring houses, he could see the hurricane shutters still in place on most of the windows, but he also saw that some had apparently been broken into, as evidenced by doors standing wide open or broken completely off their hinges.
When he reached the dock that he knew was Daniel Hartfield’s, Eric couldn’t see the back door because a high stucco privacy wall around the swimming pool blocked his view from where he sat so low on the water. He had been expecting this because he knew the pool was there from the satellite imagery. The 18-foot center-console runabout that Shauna had mentioned they owned was missing, but Eric hadn’t really expected it to be there considering all the other empty docks he’d already passed. He swept his night vision monocular across what he could see of the yard and the house, but there was no sign that it was occupied. The house situated directly across the canal appeared to be abandoned too, its sliding glass back door shattered either by the storm or the looters.
Eric quietly placed his paddle on the dock beside him and reached for his M4, slipping the sling over his head before pulling himself up to a crouch to step out of the kayak. Once he was on the dock, he leaned over and shoved the kayak beneath it with the paddle inside, tying it off to a piling under there so it would stay put and out of sight. Keeping low and moving quickly, Eric crossed to the wall in back of the pool and crouched in the shadows of a line of oleander bushes planted alongside it. From there, he crept along the wall to the iron gate at the side entrance, where he had a view of the pool and the entrance to the screen room attached to the back of the house.
When he was sure there was no one around, getting inside the pool area was easy enough. Eric grabbed the top of the seven-foot wall and pulled himself up with both arms until he could plant a foot next to one hand, and then it was a simple matter to vault to the ground within. The metal-framed entrance door to the screen room was unlocked, so Eric opened it quietly and stepped inside. Holding the slung carbine at the ready with his right hand on the trigger and the muzzle pointing at the entrance, he tested the back door handle with his left hand, finding it unlocked as well.
Eric already knew that Shauna and her family weren’t here, with the rest of the neighborhood apparently deserted and the back door unlocked like that. He quickly cleared the house one room at a time to make sure no one else had taken up residence in there after finding the front door open, the casing on the lock side busted apart. Once he was sure he was alone, Eric had a closer look around each room with a small LED headlamp he turned to its dimmest setting. The house had clearly been ransacked. Every drawer in the kitchen had been pulled out and thrown on the floor, along with all the cookware and dishes in the cabinets. Anything edible had been taken, but the floors were smeared with the dried contents of broken jars looters had probably dropped in their haste and frozen foods that had thawed out and spoiled shortly after the power went out.
A side door from the kitchen opened into the enclosed garage, and Eric discovered that both bays were still occupied. The silver Audi A7 sedan that was probably Daniel’s and the black BMW Z4 roadster that he knew was Shauna’s were both sitting low on the cement floor, their tires slashed and their windshields shattered. As far as he knew, Megan still didn’t own a car because she didn’t want one, despite the fact that Daniel could have bought her any model she chose. So seeing the two cars here didn’t tell him whether his daughter had come home for the summer, but it did tell him Shauna and whoever was here with her must have left by some other means when they got out. It also told him that the break-in likely occurred since then, after the storm when cars were pretty much useless because of the lack of gas and the dangers of the road. The looters, having no use for luxury cars, had simply destroyed them for the hell of it.
Though he looked carefully in every room, Eric found no evidence of blood or any other indicators of a violent attack here, so he felt confident no one had been home when the house was ransacked. Finding the cars still there but the boat missing made him wonder if perhaps they’d used it as a means of escape. Anything was possible, but though he searched for clues he couldn’t find anything conclusive. There was so much stuff scattered all over the floors throughout the house that it was impossible to tell if Shauna and her family had packed enough essential possessions to leave. Eric figured that they had though, and that they had probably been forced to leave most of their stuff behind to travel light. He hoped it meant that they had gone to his father’s place on the Caloosahatchee. Shauna would know that was a good idea because they had sought shelter there years before during another hurricane when they lived in Boca Raton. Eric knew that his father would welcome them there, even Shauna’s new husband. All of this was speculation though until he had more to go on, so Eric continued looking.
The one room he spent the most time in was the bedroom that was obviously Megan’s, judging by the girl’s clothing on the floor and the posters hanging on the walls. Most of what he saw in there seemed to be relics and mementos of a teenager’s years long before she was old enough to move off to college. It didn’t appear that she’d occupied the room recently but Eric was looking for evidence that she’d been back for the summer break before Shauna and Daniel evacuated. His first thought was to look for things she would have brought with her from the university, like textbooks or notebooks—anything to let him know she’d been here, but he found nothing of the kind. The looters had scattered her books, old stuffed animals and other keepsakes all over the floor as they emptied the closets and dresser drawers looking for anything of value. Nothing he saw among the mess looked like the things a nineteen-year-old would have use for. The only furniture in the room that wasn’t flipped over or broken was the bed, although the covers and pillows had been torn off and tossed aside.
Shining the beam of his light on one of the pillows on the floor next to the bed, something sticking out from beneath it caught Eric’s eye. It was a spiral-bound notebook; most of the pages filled with writing that he knew was Megan’s hand. He sat on the edge of the bed and flipped through it in the low beam of his headlamp to see if there was anything written recently. There were pages of to-do lists and notes to herself, but the most recent entries appeared to be Christmas shopping lists from the last winter break, when Megan was home for the holidays. He saw nothing in the notebook to indicate she’d written in it before she left again for the spring semester, so disappointed, he put it back on the bed and stood to leave.
He knew the lack of hard evidence didn’t prove she hadn’t been here this summer; it was just that there was nothing to prove she had. Had he picked up the pillow completely and looked beneath it, he would have seen another page torn from the notebook that would have told him what he wanted to know. But Eric didn’t look there, because something else in the beam of the headlamp caught his eye first.
Bending to pick it up from where he spotted it among the shoes and crumpled T-shirts on the floor, Eric smiled as he felt the smooth curves of the polished black coral carving. It was the likeness of a dolphin, a small work of art he’d bought for her in the Philippines when he’d worked there nearly ten years prior. He unfastened the clasp in the silver rope chain and put it around his neck, tucking the amulet inside his shirt, out of the way. Maybe it didn’t mean anything to her now, but she’d worn it all the time when he first gave it to her, and having it around his own neck reminded him of those days when they were so close. After one last look around, he shut the door to Megan’s room behind him. He could leave now knowing there was nothing else he needed to look for here, and with only three more hours until daylight returned, it was time to get moving.
It was disappointing to leave without knowing for sure if Megan had made it home from Colorado or not. Since finding her was his primary objective, there was little he could do now other than make his way to his father’s place first to see if Shauna and the others were there. In the best-case scenario, they would be and Megan would be there with them. If she wasn’t, then Shauna could tell him what she knew. If he couldn’t find Shauna, things would be even more complicated. On the one hand, if Megan hadn’t returned to Florida at all, then she wouldn’t be dealing with all the dangers here in the aftermath of the hurricane. She might be perfectly safe on the campus of the university, or maybe staying with friends somewhere nearby. There were many possibilities, but he wasn’t going to find the answers here.
Infiltration Page 4