Horizons Beyond the Darkness

by Scott B. Williams

“Well, it looks like the weather is pretty settled with nothing likely to blow up in the next day or two. We don’t have anywhere we have to be. If you’d like the help, the offer is good even if it means waiting until high tide tomorrow. We can drop the hook and stand by. I’m willing to bet that our twin 420-horse Yanmars will do the job. It’s your call though, Captain.”

  “I have no doubt of that,” Larry said. “And we’d be much obliged if you’re sure it’s not too much trouble. That’s a Krogen Express 52, isn’t it? Where did you come from? I didn’t even see you on the horizon until you were a mile away. Of course, I was preoccupied though.”

  “It is indeed. You must know your boats.”

  “Delivery skipper for most of the last 15 years,” Larry said.

  “Ah, that explains it. To answer your other question though, we just came across from the south end of Acklins Island. We’ve been hanging around Crooked and Acklins for a few weeks now after coming south from Long Island and the Exumas. We were in Georgetown when the solar flare hit, but it was much too crowded for comfort there when things started getting scarce. We were well stocked before all this happened though, and thankfully I had topped off the fuel tanks. We’re good for at least six more months and a bit more as long as the fishing is good. Getting more fuel is the biggest issue. We’re trying to make it last, but it’s hard just sitting in one place for weeks. That’s why we came here.”

  Larry knew a boat like the Krogen probably carried enough diesel for at least a thousand miles of cruising. They could move around for a while among the islands with that kind of range, but long voyages to other regions weren’t an option without sails or dependable sources to refuel. The man was surprised to hear that he and Artie and Scully had already sailed from the Virgin Islands to New Orleans and then back to the Bahamas in the time since the blackout. He wasn’t surprised at all when Larry told him how bad things were on the mainland though.

  “I’ve heard the same from lots of folks that crossed over from Florida since it happened. That’s one place I wouldn’t want to be right now.”

  “We won’t be going back there. That’s for sure,” Larry agreed.

  Seven

  MINDY HEARD THE SOUND of an outboard starting up in the direction of the beach about twenty minutes after she ran into the woods. She had no idea how much distance she’d covered as the going seemed really slow as she wormed her way through the thick vegetation. The motor sounded surprisingly far though, giving her some hope that she was momentarily safe. Did it mean that the three men had given up and left? Or had one of them gone back in the boat to get more help to search for her? Mindy had no idea, but she hadn’t heard anymore gunshots or shouts since her escape, so she began to relax a little, taking more time and care as she slowed down to avoid getting torn up by the briars.

  By the time the day began to heat up a couple hours later, she felt sure that the men had left, at least for now. Whether they would be back or not, she had no idea. She wondered if they took Intrepida with them and figured they probably did. It wouldn’t make sense for them to leave it there where she could return to it and sail away, unless they did it deliberately to lure her back to the beach. Mindy wasn’t going to risk going back to see, and besides, she wasn’t even sure she could find her way back if she wanted to. Everything looked the same in this tropical scrub forest, and she didn’t know for sure if she’d been traveling in a straight line or going in circles, as she’d heard people often do when lost in the woods.

  She found a spot to stop and rest where she could sit with her back against a tree. The mosquitoes weren’t swarming quite as bad now that it was getting really hot, but large biting flies were still pestering her, making it hard to think as she tried to get her bearings. The reality of what had happened to Thomas hit her harder than ever now that she’d stopped. It was simply unbelievable that he was dead. Mindy had been with Thomas for nearly six years. She couldn’t imagine her life without him, regardless of whether things in the world ever returned to normal or not. Their dreams of getting a bigger boat and living the cruising life were all shattered now, taken from her by a single bullet fired by an evil man. Mindy wasn’t sure now why she’d even bothered to run. She wondered if maybe it would have been easier if she’d just died there too. Even if she found a way off this island, she had no idea where she would go or what she would do alone and with no boat to live on. She knew no one in these islands other than Scully, at least until the brief meeting with his friends on the catamaran the evening before. Those friends would probably help her if they knew what had happened here, but there was no way they could know. They were some 70 miles away in the Jumentos and were expecting Thomas and Mindy to sail there today. She doubted they would come back here when they didn’t show up, because they had plenty of problems of their own to worry about there, mainly Scully’s gunshot wound and that big grounded sailboat they had to somehow get unstuck. And Mindy knew plenty of other things could happen there in the meantime too.

  She didn’t feel like going on, but she knew Thomas wouldn’t want her to just give up and die either. If she was going to survive here, she knew she had to find fresh water and she had to find a place to hide somewhere other than in these insect-infested thickets. She thought again about the higher ground on the island and wondered if it might be possible to get to the other side of it or find a place clear of the choking vegetation that closed in around her. She thought too that maybe if she got to an area of open rock outcrops that she might find pools of rainwater like the man they’d picked up off the little islet said he did. She knew there was water in the green coconuts she’d seen in the grove back by the beach, but she didn’t have the means to open one even if she dared going back there. Scully had made it look easy with his machete, but without a tool like that, she wasn’t’ sure if it was possible. The water inside was delicious and would keep her alive though, so she wouldn’t dismiss the possibility of figuring out a way to open one if she saw more palm trees on a different part of the island.

  With these thoughts on her mind, Mindy pushed on, slapping at the flies and picking her way around the worst of the thickets. After several more stops to rest along the way she knew it was getting late in the afternoon by the angle of the sun. It was about that time that she suddenly came to an opening in the forest and found herself standing on what looked like a long-abandoned cobblestone road. Why it was here on this remote island, Mindy had no idea, but she assumed it was from sometime long ago when people must have lived there. It appeared to be much narrower than anything that could be called a real road today, and she wondered if it dated back to the colonial times she’d read about when many of the now-uninhabited Bahamian islands were farms and plantations. The road was running at about a 45-degree angle to her direction of travel, so Mindy turned onto it, knowing it would be much easier walking it than forcing her way through the woods.

  She had only gone a few hundred yards when she was quite shocked to see the ruins of what could only be described as a castle. With walls that appeared to be made of adobe or concrete, it had great arched windows and doorways and fortress-like ramparts on the upper level overlooking the grounds. Mindy stopped in her tracks and stared at it; a bit afraid to approach for fear someone might be using the huge building as a refuge even now. It was hard to tell how old the structure was, but she guessed maybe a hundred years or so from the architecture and its crumbling state of neglect. There was a creepiness about the place that made her hesitant, but then Mindy remembered reading that the settlers that lived on these islands had to build large cisterns to catch rainwater, as there was no surface water on most of them. She figured there had to be at least one cistern on the grounds of such an elaborate manor, and after standing there a while and not hearing any sound to indicate anyone was around, she decided it was worth the risk to investigate.

  The walls were covered in thick vines and shrubs and trees had pushed up through the cracks between the paving stones of what once had been an inner courtyard. Most
of the paint and stucco that had covered the walls had long since peeled away, and the wood trim of the windows and doors was weathered and splintered, the glass that had filled the frames long since shattered. Mindy worked her way around the outside perimeter, knowing that if there was a cistern that’s where it would be. When she reached the back she found it—a circular brick pit some five feet in diameter—filled with black water so dark she had no idea how deep it might be. There was no telling how long the water had been there or what might be in it, but she could see dead bugs floating on the surface and it smelled stagnant and somewhat repulsive. Still, she was desperately thirsty after bushwhacking all day in the heat, and she had to drink. The problem though, was that the vertical walls of the cistern offered no possibility of climbing down and the water was out of reach some five or six feet below the rim. What she needed was a bucket with a rope, but there wasn’t one in sight. She searched the grounds outside and finding nothing, worked up the courage to go inside the mansion.

  The sun was still high enough that there was light filtering in through the door and window openings, as well as through a large hole in part of the roof. Mindy was surprised to see that there were still a few pieces of ornate furniture inside, most of it made of heavy hardwood that was as weathered and gray as the broken down doors. She saw what appeared to be animal droppings in the corners and against the walls, and figured the ruins must be crawling with rats. She and Thomas had seen several big ones in the palm grove the afternoon before, when they were gathering wood to build their fire.

  There were glass jars and rusty cans in some of the kitchen cabinets, their contents solidified and blackened with time and completely unidentifiable now. There were iron skillets on a shelf over a rusted-out wood stove, but nothing she found in the kitchen looked useful for dipping water out of the cistern. It was not until she made her way down the hall to a broken down washstand that she found something she could use. It was a metal pitcher with a handle on it, and it looked to her like it would hold three or four quarts. Mindy could lower it down by the handle if only she could find a piece of rope or cord. But though she searched every room, there was nothing of the kind. She considered trying a piece of vine when she went back outside, but the risk of it breaking was too great. She didn’t want to lose the pitcher, as she had not seen anything else that would work. Taking it back to the cistern, she looked over the side again to judge the distance. An idea hit her, and a minute later, Mindy had her pitcher full of water, having lowered it below the surface by removing her shirt and tying it to the handle. The cotton tank top added just enough length that she could reach the water by leaning over the side as far as she dared and holding it at arm’s length. She raised the pitcher to her lips and tried not to think about what might be in the water. She had to drink or she would soon be dehydrated. The water was warm and tasted as bad as it looked, but it was better than no water, and she desperately needed it. She knew she would need food too, but eating was the last thing on her mind right now and she doubted she’d have an appetite before tomorrow. What worried her more was the realization that it would be getting dark soon and she had to find a place to spend the coming night.

  Before leaving the cistern, she dipped the pitcher again so she could take water with her and then she put her shirt back on. The mosquitos and sand fleas were already out as the sun had set while she was getting water. She had to find a place to wait out the darkness, as she doubted she would sleep at all. The horrible events of the morning would be impossible to push from her mind. She knew one or more of the men who’d attacked them might be on her trail even now, and she was certain they knew about these ruins on the island if they were from around these parts. She would be trapped if she tried to hide inside the castle and they came during the night, but aside from that, she was uncomfortable with the idea of staying there anyway. She’d already seen that it was inhabited by rats, and she wondered what else might be lurking to come out after dark.

  She doubted that anyplace on the island would offer an escape from the biting insects, but from the grounds of the mansion, she could see a path that led to higher ground. The vegetation was slightly more open on the hillside that led to the island’s crest, covered mostly with low-growing bushes and cacti. In the dark she wouldn’t be visible there from afar, and she hoped that on higher ground there would be more breeze to keep the pests at bay. She found a spot to stop part way up the slope among a jumble of large boulders that would keep her well hidden. Standing on the top of the largest one, she could see back across the island to the dark horizon beyond the beach from which she’d fled. If there were any boats out there in the night, they were unlit, and Mindy felt sure that no one out there could see any details on the dark hillside at night. She stood staring out into the void for several long minutes and then found a place to sit with her back against a smooth slab of stone. Drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms tightly around them, Mindy sat there and sobbed until she had no tears left to cry.

  Eight

  ARTIE JOINED HIS BROTHER at the bow of the Sarah J. as he stood there watching the man in the dinghy motor back over to his yacht. He was breathing easier now; the adrenaline rush triggered by the prospect of yet another gun battle beginning to subside. All of them were immensely relieved, though still not sure if everything the man told them was the truth.

  “He said it was just him and his wife, along with their oldest son on board. He said he and his wife had been spending every winter in the Bahamas since he retired, and the son just happened to be visiting on vacation and got stuck when the solar flare happened. Sound familiar, Doc?” Larry smirked.

  “Very! You think his story’s legit though?”

  “It sounds reasonable to me. He didn’t strike me as the pirate type, and there’s always been lots of retired, well to do couples wintering over down here. It’s what they do. They hang out in Georgetown until it starts getting hot and the hurricanes threaten, and then they cross the Stream back to Florida and motor up the ditch to Annapolis or maybe even Long Island Sound or New England. Nothing unusual about it.”

  “So they saw the Casey Nicole and thought it was a different Wharram cat? Isn’t it odd that folks on a fancy yacht like that would hang out with Wharram sailors?”

  “What are you saying, Artie? A Tiki 38 is a nice boat if it’s well built.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. I just thought the motor yacht folks stuck to their own kind and the sailors did the same. You said as much yourself more than once.”

  “For the most part, yeah. But Georgetown’s kind of a melting pot for cruisers of all types from all over the world. Who knows? They must have had something in common and became friends. Stranger things have happened.”

  “What does a boat like that cost anyway?”

  “More than I can afford, but no sweat for a doctor like you… I don’t know for sure… eight hundred grand to a million? Maybe a million point two if he bought it new. A lot depends on how it’s equipped. It’s a nice way to cruise until the grid goes down, but without more fuel it won’t be going far.”

  “Well, I’m glad they had enough to get here. If they are willing to use some of the fuel they’ve got left to pull us off, they must be good folks.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” Larry agreed. “I’m surprised they didn’t just turn around and get the hell out of here when they saw our guns. It took some nerve for him to come over here alone.”

  “Maybe it was because he saw the girls; figured we weren’t just a bunch of pirates.”

  “Maybe. And he probably hasn’t had the kind of run-ins with the bad sort that we have. I’m anxious to hear more about what they’ve seen and heard here, especially down at Acklins and Crooked Islands. They’re going to get their anchor down, and after while he said I was welcome to come aboard and chat. You ought to come with me. It might be interesting to hear his take on things in the Bahamas.”

  “Sure, I’d love to.”

  “Good. First I’m going to
get Grant to help me paddle out there and pick up our anchors. I hate we went to all that trouble to ditch them like that, but at the moment it didn’t look like we had much time.”

  Artie agreed that it was better safe than sorry. This encounter was certainly the exception when he thought back on all they’d been through. Maybe it was because they were way down in the Jumentos now, far from most of the craziness of civilization. It would be interesting to get the motor yacht crew’s perspective on all that. Having help to pull the Sarah J. off the sandbar at the next tide was a nice bonus too. The heavy sailboat hadn’t budged under the load of their winch or its own windlass, even with Larry’s creative technique for reducing its effective draft, and Artie doubted it would be any different on the next high tide.

  It took a good hour’s work in the kayak for Grant and Larry to collect the anchors and their rodes. When they were done everybody but Scully gathered on the deck of the catamaran for a meal, and then Artie and Larry set off in the kayak to paddle over to the big trawler. The whole crew would have gone if they’d had a way to get over there, but Larry said there’d be plenty of time for all of them to meet the folks on the yacht tomorrow. Artie offered to let Casey or someone else go in his place, but they all declined and insisted he go with his brother. The two of them paddled the short distance and approached the anchored yacht from the stern, seeing the name painted there for the first time.

  “Pocket Change,” Larry laughed.

  “Maybe for him it was.”

  “He didn’t say what he did before he retired, but I’m sure we’ll hear about it soon.”

  Larry brought the kayak alongside the inflatable dinghy that was tethered to the yacht’s swim platform on the stern and tied off beside it. The man from the dinghy was waiting for them at the top of the steps leading into the cockpit.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself or get your name when we talked earlier. I’m Charles Wilson, and this is my wife, Holly, and my son, Brian.”