The Pulse

by Scott B. Williams

  “You oughta at least wait for daylight to sew it up,” Larry grunted. “You might be able to do a better job if you can see what you’re doing, Doc.”

  “It’ll be less painful if we do it all in one go, little brother. We have enough of these battery-powered lanterns so I can see all I need to. Let’s get this arm bandaged up and make sure the bleeding has stopped, then we’ll get you up in your bunk. You can have a couple of shots of rum to ease the pain, and I’ll make it as quick as possible. It’s all gonna hurt right now, but if we get this over with now you can focus on healing after that.”

  When Artie was finished, Larry was tucked into his sleeping bag in his bunk, his arm no longer bleeding and a row of fresh stitches closing the gash across his forehead and face. Dawn was breaking and the wind was calm, making the stuffy confines of the cabin stifling with all three of them down below. Artie told Larry they were going back up on deck, and that he would be checking on him every few minutes. He had been so focused on tending to his brother’s wounds that he temporarily forgot about the last of the attackers, the one fleeing in the rowboat that Scully had fired at with the shotgun. Looking around from the cockpit, Artie saw that the sea was calm and empty, with no trace of the rowboat or any other vessel. He looked at Scully and asked him what had happened after he fired.

  “I t’ink I wounded ’im, mon, but he still pullin’ de oars and don’ fall out de boat. T’ink by de time I shot he too far away from de buckshot in dat Mossberg. Too bad I got no AK, or I kill him dead.”

  “I don’t think he’ll be back, then, whether you wounded him or not. With two of his friends dead and no weapon but a machete, he would be stupid to try something else. I just can’t believe this happened though. Those guys were trying to kill us.”

  “Want de boat, mon. Dem got not’ing to eat, no way to go someplace bettah. T’ree million people livin’ on dat Puerto Rico, dem got no hope wid no ship an’ no plane comin’. Dat be a dangerous place to be, mon. Lot a people from dat island happy to steal a boat like de Casey Nicole, loaded as she is wid food an’ watah an’ havin’ sails to go wid de wind.”

  “Larry thought we’d be safe anchored off this little outlying island, but I guess he was wrong. I just wish we could get him to a doctor. He needs several days to recover from those wounds, and in a clean environment. He’s gonna need physical therapy too, and still may not get full use of his arm back. That machete cut a major nerve.”

  “De Copt’n gonna be okay, mon. Rest on de boat while she sail. De Copt’n, he strong from livin’ on de sea an’ workin’ de boats. Not to worry, mon. We let him sleep an’ we do de work.”

  “So you think we can continue on without his help?You know I don’t know what I’m doing. I have no idea how to navigate, or set the sails, or anything.”

  “Navigation no problem, Doc. I an’ I sailin’ dis route wid de Copt’n many times. Deliver boats to Miami, Fort Lauderdale, Palm Beach…. Lots of time we sailin’ dis route. De islands, dem like steppin’ stones across de sea, mon. Hop to one, den cross to de next, all de way to Bobbylon. First Puerto Rico, den Dominican Republic, den Caicos, Exumas, Bimini…dem islands reachin’ all de way to Florida.”

  “But Larry said we wouldn’t be stopping until we got to Florida. I thought we were going directly there instead of all those islands in the chain. And besides, we might get attacked again if we stop somewhere.”

  “Not stoppin’, mon. Just pass ’em by. Dat way we be knowin’ de way. Wid de GPS dead we gotta sail de old way. Larry, he can use de sextant an’ get he position wid de stars, but I an’ I cannot cipher dat black magic. But wid de compass, de sun in de day and de North Star in de night, and passin’ close by some of de islands along de way, findin’ de way to Florida, no problem.”

  “I guess he can help us if we do have a problem. He’ll probably feel like coming up on deck when the initial shock wears off and we know there’s no chance of the bleeding starting again. So which way do we go when we leave here? We’re obviously not going to stop in Puerto Rico,” Artie said, looking at the mountainous island to the west.

  “No, we be sailin’ past de island on de north side. Got to stay maybe 10 mile off de coast, safe from the reef and safe from any mon in small boat tryin’ to cut us off an’ intercept. Puerto Rico ’bout a hundred mile long. Den we hop across de Mona Passage another hundred mile, den follow de coast of Dominican Republic same way. Dem got big mountains on dat island, and can see it maybe twenty mile from de ocean. No mon there he gonna catch de Casey Nicole, if de wind she hold and we stayin’ out dat far. An’ den we turnin’ north an’ pass through de Caicos an’ de Bahamas. Lot of little island in dem chain wid no mon livin’ on dem. Find good fishin’ an’ good divin’ for de lobstah if we stop for de break.”

  “I don’t care about taking a break, Scully. I just want to get to New Orleans as fast as possible and make sure Casey’s okay.”

  “Dat I understand, mon. Fo’ dat, we gonna need de Copt’n. I an’ I not knowin’ dat city or de way ’round anywhere in Bobbylon but dat east coast of Florida.”

  “Well, I know enough to know that we’ve got to somehow sail around Florida to get to the Gulf of Mexico, I guess around the Florida Keys. And then we either follow the coast or cut straight across the Gulf to New Orleans. Larry will know which is best. After that, I don’t know how close we can get with the boat. I know people sail in Lake Pontchartrain, and there are marinas on the lakeshore, but I’ve never paid much attention to the water there. I’m always either driving or flying when I visit Casey.”

  “De boat is de best way, mon. Jah nevah intend no mon to fly in de air like a fockin’ bird, and de car, dem always crashin’ on de road an’ killin’ de driver an’ de passenger too—an’ sometime killin’ some child walkin’ in de street. I an’ I t’ink dis de will of Jah to put a stop to dis madness an’ t’ink it’s why he send a mighty flash from heaven to put out de lights.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that, Scully, but I do know that this has put a lot of people in a bind, and in real danger. Look what has happened already. I never dreamed I would sail through the wreckage of a plane crash, or that we would be attacked in the night by pirates with machetes. I certainly never dreamed I would be shooting at someone in the middle of the night when I went to bed, or that you would have to kill two men right here on the deck of this boat. And look at Larry…. I sure hate to think about what could happen next, and I’m worried to death about my daughter.”

  “Jah he protect de righteous mon, Doc. Dem evildoers comin’ to justice now or later, and dem two pirate not de first I kill,” Scully said. “Lots of bad mon in de streets of Kingston when I growin’ up. A young mon got to fight to survive in dat place, but I leavin’ to find a bettah life in peace on de sea. Now I t’ink mehbe de peace it hard to find. I t’ink anyplace we goin’, an’ especially dat New Orleans, gonna be a dangerous place, mon.”

  “All I want to do is get Casey out of there, and as soon as possible. I don’t know what we’ll do after that, but this won’t last forever, Scully. Whatever caused the lights to go out is probably over, and the grid will be rebuilt. Cars and planes and everything else will be fixed, but I know it might take some time—maybe even a lot of time—but it will be fixed, Jah or no Jah.”

  An hour after dawn the tropical sun was already beating down on the decks and Artie was anxious to get underway. The trade wind had died down significantly overnight, but there was still a five-knot breeze out of the southeast, and Scully said that was all they would need to leave Isleta Palominito and sail for the open Atlantic north of Puerto Rico. Using a bucket to dip up seawater, Scully rinsed the forward decks where the blood of one of the slain assailants had stained the teak slats. Before he began his task of hauling in the anchor, Artie went below to make sure Larry was reasonably comfortable. He was relieved that his brother’s bleeding had stopped, and thankful that he was trained in what to do and that Larry’s medical kit contained what he needed to do it. A wound like his was certa
inly life-threatening. Things could have turned out much worse. A cloud of dark thoughts swept over him as he thought of all the people who would not be getting proper medical attention for all manner of ailments and accidents in the aftermath of this shutdown. Hospitals like the one where he worked would be flooded with people trying to get help, if they could even get to one, and then most, if not all, of them would be turned away. Some hospitals might have functioning generators that could provide basics such as lighting, but with so much dependence on electronic equipment for diagnostics, treatment, and life support, their ability to respond to the situation would be overwhelmed. If only he knew Casey was okay, he knew he wouldn’t hesitate to jump right in and do his part as he had sworn to do, and he was sure there would be opportunities later, but for now, sailing to New Orleans had to be the only goal.

  Artie knew he had a lot to learn about sailing and navigating, and now it was no longer merely a recreational pursuit. He was determined to absorb everything he could from Scully. Seeing how quickly last night’s attack had rendered his brother incapacitated and could as well have left him dead, Artie realized he had to take responsibility for finding their way and operating the boat on his own, as something could certainly happen to Scully too. From that morning on, he resolved to master the skills of seamanship, and when he came back on deck, he became an eager apprentice, giving Scully his full attention and following his directions just as he would defer to a senior physician explaining a complicated new surgical procedure.

  “Dis boat she don’ point so high in de wind and she don’t tack like dem racin’ yacht, but she gonna fly off de wind, mon. Get out on de Atlantic side away from de island few miles, an’ de wind gonna pick up. I t’ink we makin’ 200, mehbe 220 miles a day like dat.”

  Once he helped Scully get the sails trimmed to his satisfaction and all the loose ends of the sheets and halyards coiled neatly, Artie ducked into the navigation station in the starboard hull and brought out his brother’s chartbooks for the Greater Antilles and Bahamas. He wanted to study the route while the winds were light, the sun was shining and the Casey Nicole was skimming along the surface of nearly smooth seas almost as steadily as she had rested at anchor. Feeling her sails harness the wind like a great winged bird gliding in the breeze; Artie again marveled at the tremendous amount of work and ingenuity that went into building her. He knew then, if he hadn’t known before, that Larry could have done anything in life he set his mind to, and the skills he had learned in this sea vagabond’s life were as complex and intricate as those required for his own career path. And one thing was certain: such skills and knowledge would be invaluable in the days ahead.

  Isleta Palominito faded in their wake as they sailed past the northwestern point of Puerto Rico and the condos and hotels of Fajardo that crowded the beaches and reflected the morning sun from their glass and white stucco facades. Scully was careful to keep their course well offshore here, far enough that they could see no details on the coastline and, presumably, would only be seen as a distant white sail from eyes ashore looking seaward. Scully pointed out on the chart where the reefs and other hazards to mariners were indicated, and explained how to triangulate their approximate position from landmarks ashore by using Larry’s binoculars with the built-in compass to take bearings. While it wasn’t quite as easy as looking at the moving blip that had indicated Ibis’s position on the electronic chartplotter before the pulse, Artie found that triangulation worked well and would make it possible to measure their progress as long as they were in sight of land. For the hops between islands, they would depend on the dead reckoning method Larry had explained to him during the last leg of their trip into St. Thomas without instruments. Keeping an accurate log was the main thing—that and keeping up with the time and knowing how to judge the boat’s speed through the water—something that Scully assured Artie he was very good at.

  That speed increased just as Scully had said it would after ten a.m., when the trade winds freshened to the steady force five that Larry had said could be counted on in these latitudes at this time of year from late morning until well after dark. By now they had rounded the northeast corner of the island and were running before the wind to the west, staying well north of the coastline. Artie was alarmed to hear disconcerting creaks and groans from the mast foot and the connection points of the beams and the hulls as the rig was stressed and the boat surged forward, doubling her cruising speed to more than 12 knots.

  “No problem, Doc! Dis boat she happy to get de wind, and not’ing gonna break in dese conditions. She can take a blow lot stronger widout to worry.”

  “I just wondered if maybe we should reduce sail a bit, that’s all.”

  “You want to go to Bobbylon or sit out on de watah an’ watch de fish? Not to worry ’bout de sail. She runnin’ off de wind, an’ de seas dem not too big. If de Copt’n be on deck right now he put up de spinnaker too!”

  “He always was a daredevil. Yeah, I want to get there as fast as possible, but let’s not break something trying.”

  “Everyt’ing on dis boat built strong, mon. I an’ I see to dat myself. You brotha, he pick a good design to build, an’ she goin’ take us to New Orlean an’ den anywhere we want to go. Not to worry ’bout de boat no more, Doc. Jus’ enjoy de sailin’ and de freedom to ride de wind across de sea.”

  Artie did feel the sense of freedom that held so much attraction for Larry and Scully, but more importantly, at the speed they were now making, he felt a sense of progress. That progress was easily measured without the need to take bearings, by simply watching as the city of San Juan and the rest of the rugged north coast of Puerto Rico slipped past them to the south over the course of the day as the wind bore them west. By late afternoon, the entire island was astern, and well before sunset it had dropped below the horizon in their wake. For the first time since he’d arrived in St. Thomas with Larry, Artie was once again at sea beyond the sight of land. Full darkness fell and the visible horizon closed in to the limits of what could be discerned by starlight. No lights from anything man-made could be seen, though that didn’t mean there were no other vessels sailing in the vicinity. Though they had Larry’s backup LED navigation lights to use if necessary, Scully said it would be best to save the batteries and instead keep a sharp watch, on rotating shifts. With any ship or other vessel they might encounter likely to be unlit as well, sounds would be as important as visual cues to alert them to dangers close enough to worry about.

  Larry remained in his bunk through that entire first day and night, in a lot of pain but still wanting regular progress updates whenever Artie or Scully went below to check on him or get something out of the galley. During Scully’s watch, from eight p.m. to midnight, Artie changed the bandage on Larry’s forearm and sat with him, discussing routes and options for the trip.

  “We still have no way of knowing how bad it is up there, or even knowing for sure if the grid is down on the mainland. If it is, we don’t know how much else may have changed. I’m worried about even being able to enter U.S. waters.”

  “I thought it wouldn’t be an issue since we’re sailing directly from U.S. territorial waters in Puerto Rico to the mainland. As long as we don’t clear in to the Bahamas or anywhere else, we shouldn’t have a problem, right?”

  “In normal times, no, but how will they know where we’re coming in from? If there are Navy ships patrolling or blockading the coastlines, they may have orders to intercept any vessel sailing in from international waters.”

  “But why would they do that? If this surge or pulse or whatever it was came from the sun, they couldn’t blame some other country for an EMP attack, like Pete was speculating about.”

  “No, but you know it’s still going to be an urgent matter of national security up there. You’ve been living there since 9-11; I haven’t. You know how things got right after that, and then again after every minor incident. I know this is going to cause all kinds of security issues, but I have no idea how this may or may not have affected the militar
y’s capabilities. I know that in normal times, it had gotten to where nothing could get in from the islands undetected, even from way back in the ’80s when Reagan cracked down on the cocaine and grass smugglers running goods over from Bimini.”

  “But so much of their surveillance relies on high-tech electronics. I don’t see how they can seal off the coast like they did after 9-11. And even if they do, we’re both American citizens. They would have to let us in, wouldn’t they?”

  “One would think so, but Scully doesn’t have a U.S. passport. He’s from Jamaica, but now his official citizenship is in Grenada. That could be a problem, but as you can see, we need him more than ever now. I’m gonna be pretty useless for a while with this bum arm.”

  “All I know is that I’m getting in, one way or the other. I’m going to find Casey in New Orleans and get her out of there, but I don’t know what we can do after that.”

  “I don’t know either, Doc. I’m just glad we’ve got the boat. I think we ought to sail somewhere pretty remote and lay low for a while after we leave there. Anywhere near New Orleans is not gonna be the place to be, Florida either, or just about anywhere in the Gulf, except maybe a few stretches of the Mexican coast on the north side of the Yucatán. Wherever we go, it needs to be some place with good, protected anchorage for the boat, a fresh water supply, and good fishing and foraging. I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna have to be self-sufficient for a while. I just can’t even contemplate what a mess it’s going to be up there in the bigger cities if this goes on for a few months.”

  “But don’t you think everyone is going to have the same idea about getting out of the cities? It looks like there would be a mass exodus from just about all of them. I mean, everybody knows that food comes from the country, even city people. Won’t they head out any way they can and try to get to farms hoping to find something to eat? I guess that’s what I would do, if I were in that situation with no other choice.”