“I haven’t seen any boats, but I think that’s the bridge we’re looking for,” Jonathan said, as he pointed to the northwest and handed Eric his binoculars.
Backlit by the last glow of light on the horizon, Eric spotted the elevated overpass that was without a doubt the span over Moser Channel, the pass they would take through the Seven Mile Bridge.
“Good job, Jonathan. We can change course now and run straight for it. We ought to be closing in on it in another hour and a half, so that’s about perfect. It’ll be good and dark by then.”
After telling Jonathan the new heading and trimming the sails to a broad reach on the other tack, Eric leaned against the main cabin bulkhead and carefully studied the darkening horizon ahead, looking for vessel movement and lights of any kind on the water or the bridge span. But the whole scene was eerily deserted. There were no major ports here between Miami and Key West, so he hadn’t expected to see Navy presence, but in normal times there would be plenty of pleasure craft plying Hawk Channel and coming in and out of nearby Boot Key Harbor at Marathon. It made sense that there would be little boat traffic after dark, but he hadn’t spotted a sail all day. It wasn’t likely that the hurricane was the reason, because this area was spared the worst of it by being on the weaker, western side of the storm’s eye. Of course, residents here wouldn’t have known for sure where it was going to strike, but many of the boat owners may have already gotten out long before due to the violence and subsequent economic meltdown. The Keys were close enough to Cuba, the Bahamas and the Yucatan that anyone with a sufficiently seaworthy boat had several options. But just because there wasn’t visible boat traffic on the move didn’t mean there weren’t plenty of folks holed up in the many hidden harbors and anchorages spread throughout the scattered islands of the Keys. And there was always the possibility of encountering another fast powerboat like the one off Biscayne Bay. The grenade launcher had proven its worth that time and Eric was glad he’d brought it because getting caught in open water in a five-knot sailboat was a situation that could only be remedied by superior firepower. If it happened again, they might not be so lucky, so slipping through the Keys unnoticed in the dark was certainly preferable to the alternative.
“This kind of gives me the creeps,” Jonathan said, as they closed in on the dark overpass looming above them, Eric at the helm and keeping the boat in the center of the marked channel.
“It won’t take but a few minutes. Just help me keep a lookout and we should be fine.”
Both of the M4’s were close at hand in the cockpit. Before they were close enough for the sound of rifle shots to carry to shore, Eric had given Jonathan a quick checkout on the weapon. The kid might have exaggerated his experience some, but he hadn’t been lying when he said he knew how to shoot. After he demonstrated that he understood the weapon’s controls, Eric had allowed him to fire a few rounds on semi-automatic to get the feel of it. And he’d also tried out the .357 Magnum he’d given him. He hoped it wouldn’t be necessary for Jonathan to use a weapon, but there was no point in having him aboard if he couldn’t help out in a firefight. In a situation like this, there was simply no room for non-combatants, aboard a boat or anywhere else. They sailed under the tall bridge span without incident though, and with several hours of darkness to spare, were well away from the main chain of the Keys by daybreak.
“We’re doing better than I expected,” Eric said, when Jonathan woke from his two-hour off-watch nap in the cockpit.
“The wind is still holding, huh? I never would have figured we could go this far without running the motor some.”
“Oh, I knew we could. There’s almost always enough of a breeze in these latitudes. I know you said you always see sailboats motoring, and you’re right, I do too, but that’s more laziness or lack of skill than lack of wind. How do you think they did it before motors were invented?”
“I figured they got stuck a lot, sitting around drifting and hoping it would blow again.”
“Sometimes, but not as often as you might think. Here, take the tiller a minute. I’m going to stand up on the cabin top and have a better look around now that it’s light enough to see.”
Eric made his way forward and stepped up onto the coach roof, leaning back against the base of the mast to steady himself as he studied the horizon with his binoculars. At first, he didn’t see anything at all, but a second sweep through 360 degrees caused him to stop and focus on a point just off the starboard bow. It was barely visible even with seven-power magnification, but he could now see that it was definitely the silhouette of a sail. He didn’t want to lose it until he could determine the vessel’s heading, so he stayed locked in on it while he gave instructions to Jonathan.
“Fall off about five degrees to port so I can get a better view, Jonathan. We’ve got company up there almost dead ahead.”
“Five degrees to port?”
“That’ll be to your left. Just a slight angle, not much!”
“Okay, gotcha dude. Do you want me to load the grenade launcher?”
“Hell no! Don’t touch it! That boat is miles away and it’s just a sailboat. They may not be a threat at all. As soon as I determine their heading, I’m going to try and raise them on the VHF.”
Because of the distance and slow speed of both Gypsy and the other sailing vessel, it was several more minutes before Eric was certain that the boat was southbound. It was coming their way, but not directly. His best guess was that the skipper was steering for Islamorada, rather than the pass at the Seven Mile Bridge. Eric watched it through the binoculars until he was sure they were close enough that the crew of the other boat would have spotted them. Then he joined Jonathan in the cockpit and turned the transmitter on his handheld VHF to the low power setting.
“I’m going to call them when we’re within a mile of closing. I don’t want to transmit on high power because I don’t want anyone else to hear us talking.”
“Sounds like good thinking to me, dude. I just hope whoever’s on that boat isn’t gonna try something stupid.”
“I doubt it. A sailboat is not the best choice if you’re planning to attack other vessels.”
“Unless maybe the other vessels are sailboats too.”
“Well if they’re up to something, they’re not going to like what they find here, so I’m not worried. Since they’re obviously coming from somewhere north of here on the west coast, I think this might be a good opportunity to get some useful intel.”
Eric studied the distant boat again through the binoculars before he keyed the transmitter to make the call. It was close enough now that he could tell it was a real cruising boat, probably around forty feet long. It was equipped with a dodger and bimini, and he could see rows of jerry cans for fuel and water lashed to the lifelines.
“Southbound sailing vessel in Florida Bay, this is the sailing vessel, Gypsy, passing off your starboard bow, over…”
When his call went unanswered, Eric repeated it word for word. This time the response came back immediately.
“Sailing vessel Gypsy, this is the Celestial Wind out of Bay St. Louis, where’s your home port?”
Bay St. Louis! Eric was excited to hear this. If this boat had come all the way from Bay St. Louis, then they would know the status of things on the northern Gulf Coast, probably including Louisiana, where his brother lived. In the conversation that ensued he learned that they certainly did know, having weathered the storm in a protected bayou on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain. Like Hurricane Katrina in 2005, this storm had re-strengthened in the Gulf and had made landfall with a devastating storm surge. Unlike Katrina though, it had come ashore well to the west of New Orleans, which meant Keith’s AO must have been hit hard by the sustained winds as it tracked north over land. Eric didn’t have to ask to know that the power grid would have been taken down across that entire region, certainly as far inland as Baton Rouge and probably much farther. Keith would have his hands full of trouble, but Eric was confident that he could handle it as well as anybody
.
He hadn’t known exactly what to say when the captain of the other vessel asked about his home port, so he just said North Palm Beach, since he had been there recently. The other man said that he had his family on board, including his in-laws, and that they were trying to get to the Keys and eventually the Bahamas. What he told Eric about the pass at Fort Myers and the entrance to the Caloosahatchee River wasn’t exactly encouraging:
“We tried to get in there, because my first choice for going to the islands was to cut across using the Okeechobee Waterway. We weren’t sure if the locks were still open or not, but figured it would be worth a try. But somebody has moored a line of barges all the way across the entrance to the channel at the mouth of the river. We couldn’t tell if it was the local authorities or just the people still living there, but whoever it was, it was clear to us they don’t want any boat traffic entering that river. We were afraid to get any closer, so we never found out what it was all about. We kept going down the coast instead, and that’s why we’re here now.”
Eric thanked the man for the useful information and advised him to alter course and steer for Moser Channel, where he and Jonathan had come through. He told him of the speedboat attack and warned him not to risk the narrow channels north of Key Largo. Like many sailors with little offshore experience, Eric could tell this captain wanted to play it safe by sticking to protected waters and avoiding long crossings. That wasn’t going to work now, as the real dangers were on land, rather than at sea. Hopefully, he would listen and keep his family safe, but other than pass on that advice, there was little Eric could do for him.
“So that sucks!” Jonathan said. “How are we going to get to your dad’s boatyard if the channel is blocked? You think they’ll let us through?”
“Who knows? But I don’t plan on asking permission. Chances are, the answer would be no if they went to the trouble to barricade the channel in the first place.”
“What are you gonna do then? There might be too many of them to fight, even with all the shit you’ve got.”
Eric had to laugh at Jonathan once again. “Of course I’m not going to try and fight my way through. There’s no telling who’s in charge of that blockade. It could be gangs, law enforcement, or even military. There’s a time to fight, but you choose your fights wisely if you want to win, and that situation doesn’t sound like one that would be wise to challenge. We’ll have to figure out a way to sneak around it, instead.”
“Sneak around it? The dude just said the whole river is blocked. How can we sail around that?”
“Oh we won’t be sailing. We’ll have to ditch Gypsy when we get close. But that’s okay. That’s why I came in the kayak in the first place.”
“Awesome! So we’re gonna go in there like a couple of badass SEALs in the middle of the night right? Just like when you came ashore at my camp?”
“Something like that, yeah,” Eric grinned.
Thirteen
ERIC COULDN’T HELP BUT be amused by Jonathan’s enthusiasm. The kid was naive in many ways, but eager to learn and unafraid. Eric could tell he had potential, and he’d seen combat make men out of kids with far less. He had been only nineteen himself when he had entered BUD/S, and in recent years he’d been involved with training even younger combatants in several regions where military-aged males were a scarce commodity. He certainly didn’t come here to the U.S. looking to get involved in the fighting, and the last thing he thought he’d be doing was taking a local that was a stranger under his wing, but it had somehow happened anyway, and here they were. Eric worked alone when he had to, but being part of a team was what he preferred, and for now he was glad for the company.
Jonathan had already proven himself useful, so Eric figured he might as well do what he could to make him more so. An extra set of eyes and ears couldn’t hurt, not only out here aboard Gypsy on open water, but later on the upcoming trip up the river. Eric had come here to Florida expecting to reach his father’s place by kayak anyway, so ditching this old sailboat that fell into his lap wouldn’t bother him a bit. It was adequate for getting the two of them around to the Gulf Coast, but that was about the extent of its usefulness to him, especially now with the news they’d just gotten.
The prospect of a physical barricade on the waterway had occurred to him when he was considering crossing to the Caloosahatchee by way of Lake Okeechobee, but he hadn’t expected there to be one at the river’s mouth at Fort Myers. For whatever reason, someone must have gone to quite a bit of trouble to organize and man such a blockade, and he doubted passage would be granted for the asking. Eric wasn’t discouraged, because he was confident he and Jonathan could get around it in the kayak. Doing so might involve portaging overland though, so that was another reason he didn’t mind the trouble of bringing Jonathan along. Two people could carry the loaded kayak a short distance, saving the frustration of having to completely unload it and make multiple trips shuttling gear. Leaving the river later might prove more problematic, and Jonathan had already thought of that and brought it up.
“That’s something to worry about when the time comes. Sure, I’ll scope out the situation as well as I can on the way in so I’ll know what I’m up against, but the important thing is getting in. That’s the mission right now—to get to my father’s place and find out if Megan and her mom are there.”
“Yeah, I guess. But what are you gonna do if she doesn’t want to go with you? You already said your old man isn’t gonna want to leave.”
“I’ll talk her into it, and him too, probably. I don’t see the appeal of staying here, but what do I know?”
“A lot of people I know didn’t believe things would get as bad as they did. Before the storm, I mean. Maybe they think everything’s gonna settle down and it’ll be back like it was before.”
“If they do, they’re delusional. Sure, that would be nice, but I’ve already seen how this plays out in several other countries where it’s happened. Yeah, things can settle down eventually, but not likely before they get even worse first. Whatever started this to begin with has got to be resolved somehow. One side or the other has got to get their way, to some extent, which means the opposition will have to give in to that same extent.”
“From what I could tell, a lot of things started it. It seemed to me like people all over the country couldn’t get along with each other anymore. They were divided about everything. Every time you turned on the news, back when there still was news, there were protests and riots everywhere, with people calling each other names and threatening to kill anyone that disagreed with them. I’m not very old, but I don’t remember it being like that before, do you?”
“No, not at the level it’s been for the last few years, but it’s been brewing beneath the surface for a long time. I guess it’s finally come to a head. People are easily led by the media feeding them lies to get them all riled up. Once they get to the breaking point, all it takes are the right triggers by the agitators to set off the downhill spiral into anarchy, which seems to be what has already happened. This has been building up under the surface since way before you were old enough to understand it; and probably even before I was. It’s just the way things are when a nation finally gets to the breaking point with so many different special interests and too damned many people. Every great empire in the history of the world has fallen. Why should the U.S. be any different?”
“People think it’s different. Or at least they used to. Lately it seems like a lot more people hate their own country than not.”
“Yeah, well the ones that hate it do so because they’ve been taught to or because the media has been convincing them it’s the right thing to do. My father used to always say it would come to this one day, but I didn’t believe it would happen in his lifetime. I thought it would be a little farther out in the future.”
“The problem is that without anything working, it’s hard to know what’s going on, or who is fighting who.”
“Yep. That’s pretty typical in these situations. That’s
why it’s best to get the hell out, because you don’t know who your enemy is. It’s not like a conventional war against a common enemy or even a regular civil war. It’s more what I’d describe as ‘evolving chaos’, so who knows when it will get better, if ever?”
“Well, I don’t know how I’d get out. I guess I’ll just find a place to hole up where the fishing’s good like I did before and try to wait it out.”
Eric didn’t say anything, but he knew such a plan probably wasn’t sustainable long-term. He would do his best to see that Jonathan got a boat of some kind, after they reached his father’s boatyard, but beyond that, he couldn’t really help him. While the kid seemed upbeat and optimistic now, Eric knew being alone with no family or friends would get to him eventually. Or worse, his luck would run out when it came to evading those who were desperate and willing to kill for what they needed.
They made landfall off Cape Sable by mid-afternoon, and Eric steered a roughly parallel course to the shore until sundown, which found them near the north end of the cape, where mile after mile of deserted beaches ended and the mangroves began. Although he could have pushed on, Eric knew it would be wise to drop the anchor for a few hours and get some solid rest. The going was about to get a lot harder once they reached the Fort Myers area, and this would be the last chance to stop before they disembarked from Gypsy and took to the kayak.
Jonathan was all too happy to stop as well, not because he was tired, but because he was dying to do some fishing here in the Everglades. Eric figured it was a good opportunity to acquaint him with the kayak and give him a few pointers on nighttime ops, so once the anchor was down the two of them offloaded the Klepper. They crossed the short distance to shore and then paddled into the mouth of a wide tidal creek winding through the mangroves to empty into the Gulf.
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