Feral Nation Series: Books 1-3: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller Series Boxed Set

by Scott B. Williams

  Eric studied the breaking waves they were facing through the monocular, judging their size. The wind was around fifteen knots this evening—nothing out of the ordinary—and he guessed the seas were running about four to six feet. He had little doubt that the Catalina could handle it, but she would take a pounding for a few minutes until they reached clear water beyond the breakers. He cleated off the main so it would be close-hauled as soon as they fell off the wind and then took the helm from Jonathan when they reached the worst of it. The jib was flogging, its slack sheets beating against the hull of the kayak and adding to the noise of the crashing waves, the darkness amplifying the effect and adding to the confusion. Eric could tell Jonathan was concerned, uncertain of what was about to happen.

  “Nothing to it, man! The main thing is to take the waves at a bit of an angle to minimize the pounding, but not so much that she gets turned sideways.”

  “It’s good thing we’ve got a motor dude! That’s what I’ve never understood about sailboats; all of them have motors and most of the time you see them going places they’re not even using the sails.”

  “We’ll be using ours all right, just as soon as we get to open water. That five-gallon gas tank is almost full, but we need to save it for the Caloosahatchee River. You’ll see the advantages of sailing by the time we get there.”

  “Maybe, but if we had my boat and enough gas we’d be getting there a whole lot faster.”

  Eric knew they were lucky the sailboat had any gas aboard at all, not to mention a reliable outboard and rigging and sails that were intact and functional. The hurricane damage it had suffered was mostly cosmetic; nothing that would matter for their voyage. The trashed interior was the result of two thieving slobs living in it with no regard to how it looked or smelled. Cleaning up down there was going to be a priority as soon as they were well offshore, because even if everything went as smoothly as possible, they were going to be aboard a few days, and they had to have a place out of the weather to sleep and prepare food.

  Eric steered through a set of three consecutive waves, the bow crashing down into the trough behind each one with a shower of spray that soaked him and Jonathan in the cockpit. But the little boat rose out of the foam just like she was supposed to each time, shaking the water off her decks like a fighter shrugging off a punch, and never causing Eric a moment of concern. The channel widened as he drove her seaward, and falling off to the starboard tack, he was able to get some drive from the sails at last. Then she was close-hauled and reaching as close to the wind as possible, on an east-northeast heading that carried them past the last of the channel markers.

  “See there, nothing to it, Jonathan! We’ll stay on this tack just long enough to get clear of the coast, then come about and start heading south!”

  “Are you planning on sailing all night?”

  “You bet, and all day too! I want to get past Fort Lauderdale and Miami as quickly as possible, and I want to be as far out as we can be without bucking the Gulf Stream when we do it. So, we’re going to need to set up watches; let’s go with two-hour rotations since there are just two of us. It takes a day or so to get used to sleeping like that, but two hours is enough time to rest while off and not too long to keep sharp on duty. We’ll sort it out and get started tomorrow though, because I know I won’t sleep much tonight, and we’ll need daylight to properly clean up that mess down below anyway.”

  “Those guys were some kind of nasty!” Jonathan said. “I might have been living in the woods all this time, but damn, at least I kept myself and my camp clean.”

  “I don’t imagine they suddenly got that way because of this situation. I’m betting they were dirtbags before, too.”

  “You reckon they killed whoever owned this boat?”

  “I doubt it, because whoever owned it probably wasn’t aboard. It was just somebody’s weekend toy and they probably found it washed up somewhere in the mangroves after the storm.”

  “I guess killing them and taking it makes us as bad or worse, doesn’t it?”

  “No. It wasn’t theirs to begin with, although if they found it like that and the owners weren’t around to claim it, then legally it might be considered salvage. None of that matters though, because the bottom line is that they were going to steal my kayak and they went for their guns. And don’t forget, you tried to steal it from me too! The only reason I didn’t shoot you the same way is because all you had was that dull machete and I knew you weren’t going to use it.”

  “Yeah, that and the fact that you didn’t have that rifle within reach. I guess I’d be a goner if you’d had it in hand. Man, was I ever stupid!”

  “We learn from stupid mistakes if they don’t kill us. I know I have. You’ll have to learn those lessons a lot faster though, if you want to survive what we’re dealing with now. There won’t be time to second-guess yourself. It took me a while to figure it out and most people are probably the same. But now I do what has to be done, and when it’s done, I forget about it. There’s no room for thoughts of those dead men in my head anymore, other than cleaning up that shit they left in the cabin. You need to look at it the same way. Focus on what’s got to be done now. No past. No future.”

  Even as he said it, Eric knew that was easier said than done. He was here in this situation now because of mistakes he’d made in the past, and he was hopeful of a future where he’d have a chance to make them right. Living in the moment was easier on the razor’s edge of life and death, which was the thing that kept drawing him back, time after time, to combat. It was the down time in between the action that allowed thoughts of past regrets and future worries to creep inside, and now that they were beyond the breakers and sailing into the open Atlantic, Eric knew there would be long, tedious hours of nothing to do but think. At least until the next threat presented itself, which it always did, and most certainly would again.

  Ten

  ERIC GOT THE CATALINA into her groove sailing south on a beam reach once they were approximately three miles off the coast—far enough to be hard to spot from land in the dark, but not far enough to encounter the northbound current of the Gulf Stream. Along this part of Florida’s east coast, there was little to worry about hitting, even that close to shore. Like everything else on board that required power, the electronic depth gauge wasn’t working, but Eric knew the waters out here were at least a couple hundred feet deep, and there were no reefs or obstructions. Because of this, he and Jonathan could focus all of their attention on the task of looking out for other unlit vessels, which was the real danger, whether from accidental collision or deliberate attack.

  “This night vision stuff is badass!” Jonathan said, as he scanned the waters around them through 360 degrees.

  “It’s useful, but it’s not foolproof. You’ve still got to use all your senses.”

  “Why don’t you have one on your rifle? I thought you Special Forces guys all used those.”

  “It depends on the mission. It would just be in the way in the daytime, but that one can be mounted as an auxiliary to one of the M4s if I need it.”

  “One of them? You mean you’ve got more of those rifles? Are they full-auto too? Are you gonna let me use one? I can cover for you dude, I really can! I’m a pretty good shot even if I don’t have military training.”

  Eric laughed. “There’s one more, and you might get your chance; we’ll see. Full-auto is not all that special though. It’s not like in the movies where they just spray bullets and cut down all the bad guys. The regular M4s like this one have a three-round burst mode anyway, so it’s not like they’ll just dump the mag with one squeeze of the trigger. The other one I’ve got packed away is the M4A1 model that will though. It’s useful for some things, but most of the time semi-auto mode gets the job done just fine, as you saw back there. Considering the situation we’re in now, the last thing you want to do is waste ammo for no good reason.”

  “I hear you, but considering how heavy those bags of yours are, I figure you’ve got plenty.”

&nbs
p; “Plenty is relative. It goes fast in a hot firefight.”

  It was true that he was packing a heavy combat load, but what Eric hadn’t told Jonathan was that all that weight wasn’t just weapons and ammo. He was carrying something else that he knew might come in equally handy—something which could likely be used to purchase more of whatever he might need here if he could find the right people with whom to do business. When it came time to leave his lucrative employment as a security operator, Eric had accrued substantial earnings and bonuses, and he had negotiated for most of the balance to be paid in Krugerrand and other gold coins that would be more useful in the current economy than funds in some bank. The gold was heavy, but still compact and easy to carry and hide. Of course there was the risk of loss or theft, but to Eric, the risk was worth it. Once he found Shauna and Megan, there would be things they all needed, and implementing his plan to get them somewhere safer would require plenty of buying power. Eric trusted Jonathan well enough to let him have the revolver, and well enough to go to sleep with him on watch, but few were the men he had ever known that he would trust with the temptation of so much gold close at hand. Gold, like certain women and certain illegal substances, had a frightening power to make men do things they wouldn’t otherwise consider. Jonathan might see some of the gold later, but there was no need for him to know about it now.

  As they reached along in the dark, Eric taught him the fundamentals of sail trim and the feel of the helm. Jonathan was a quick enough learner, but steering a sailboat for the first time on a dark night at sea was disorienting for anyone. He overcompensated when the vessel rolled with the waves and inevitably luffed the sails more than once, but soon understood it well enough that Eric could leave him to it and attend to other matters. With his phone powered up again, Eric studied the satellite imagery he’d downloaded. He didn’t have as much detail as he would have liked for their entire route, but combined with his memory of the region, it would be enough. Getting lost wasn’t the problem, because following the coast as they were doing now was simple enough, even at night. Estimating progress made good and working out just when they would arrive at a given area was going to be a little more difficult though without the aid of GPS.

  Eric could certainly navigate using a compass and dead reckoning, but he’d come to rely on the pinpoint accuracy of satellite fixes, especially when operating in unfamiliar territory at night. There were far fewer lights visible along this coast now than there would have normally been, and even though some of the lighted aids to navigation were still working, Eric couldn’t identify them without detailed nautical charts. The best he could do was to keep an eye out for tall buildings, towers and other manmade structures they could see in order to guess which of the main urban areas they were passing. Eric would have preferred to slip by Miami-Fort Lauderdale in the dark, but at an average speed of only five knots, that wasn’t going to happen. As the sky began to lighten with the gray of dawn, he edged the boat farther offshore to gain some distance from the dangers he was certain would be lurking there. The radio was on, the receiver scanning the full range of VHF marine frequencies, but it was as quiet here as it had been everywhere else on this coast.

  Putting away the night vision monocular in exchange for his marine binoculars, Eric studied a line of commercial ships that were moored off the coast north of Fort Lauderdale, most of them approximately a mile offshore. He doubted they were waiting for port clearance as they would be in normal times, but for whatever reason they were sitting there stationary, and whether abandoned or still crewed he couldn’t tell. A couple miles farther south, at the entrance channel to Port Everglades, Eric spotted a U.S. Navy destroyer. He wasn’t surprised to see it guarding this once-busy port, and he had to assume there would be one near Miami as well.

  “Do you think they’ll come after us? Or just blow us out of the water when we go by?” Jonathan asked, when Eric handed him the binoculars so he could have a look.

  “Not likely either. We’ll pass by nearly three miles away from them. You can bet they would respond if we tried to approach much closer though.”

  “What do you think they’re doing, just watching for terrorists or something?”

  “Yep, standing by, ready for anything, I’m sure. I imagine resources are spread pretty thin by now, and only a few select ports and bases are under guard. It’s logical they would still have assets here, as wide open to the world as this part of the coast is. They’re watching us all right, but as long as we hold our course and stay clear, I think they’ll leave us alone.”

  When they passed Government Cut at Miami, some 20 miles farther south, Eric saw that he’d been right when he assumed there’d be another Navy vessel posted off that major port as well. This one also was a destroyer, and like the one off Fort Lauderdale, it was anchored just outside the entrance to the ship channel. Jonathan was nervous as they passed it, but once again, the unseen crew aboard the menacing-looking ship was indifferent to the movement of a dinky little Catalina 25.

  Eric and Jonathan had taken turns between the helm and keeping a sharp lookout with the binoculars as they passed these large urban areas of the coast. Once they were beyond the ship off Government Cut, it was time to begin the disgusting task of cleaning up down below. They’d both avoided even setting foot in the cabin throughout the night, but could put it off no longer.

  “The holding tank is completely full and there’s no overboard discharge, so there’s no way to empty it,” Eric said, after holding his breath and venturing into the head compartment. Jonathan knew little about boats larger than the outboard skiff that he’d owned before it got stolen, so Eric gave him the low-down on marine toilets.

  “Like a lot of weekend boats, the head on this one was set up for dockside pump-out only, because of the legal issues of pumping overboard. It could be emptied with a portable bilge pump, but there doesn’t seem to be one of those on board, unfortunately.”

  “So we’ve got to live with the smell, huh?”

  “Yep, and with no way to empty the tank, the head is out of commission, so all business will have to be conducted over the side because there’s not even a bucket on board. Still, I’m not going to complain. We’re making good time and she’s sailing just fine.”

  “Yeah, this isn’t so bad. I thought it would be boring as shit going this slow, but I guess you’re right; it beats paddling.”

  To Eric, the main advantage over the kayak aside from a little more speed was that the sailboat allowed them to stay far enough off the coast to avoid contact with people ashore. So far that had gone even better than he’d hoped, but it was inevitable that a confrontation would occur, and it did not long after the buildings of Miami dropped out of sight behind them to the north. Eric had set their course to stay just outside of the reefs and small keys that separated the Atlantic from Biscayne Bay, hoping to avoid any boat traffic that might be using the marked channel that ran up the middle of the bay, but that was not to be. Even though they were outside the reefs, they were still clearly visible from anyone using the channel. When a fast center-console powerboat appeared on the horizon to the southeast and suddenly changed course upon spotting them, Eric suspected there was going to be trouble. The boat was now heading for the closest cut through the reef that would take it out to open water where it could intercept them. Studying it through his binoculars, he was relieved at least that it didn’t resemble the vessel in the canal behind Shauna’s house.

  “Keep it steady and just hold your course,” he told Jonathan.

  “Can you tell if they’re cops or not?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but I don’t think so.” Eric was looking for things like extra antennas, mounted blue lights or special markings, but the boat was nondescript, its finish the glossy white Gelcoat typical of nearly every other vessel of its type. He had been approached by official vessels in many places and situations over the years, including Homeland Security and Coast Guard patrols in these same Florida waters. Usually, the blue lights would already b
e flashing at this point if they were making an official stop. Or there would be a call on the radio, which there hadn’t been. The lack of any such warning told him it would be wise to prepare for different intentions. To reach them here outside of the reefs, the boat was going to have to continue the other way, traveling for almost a half mile to the north before turning east through a channel entrance that Eric and Jonathan had already passed. That would give him a little more time to assess and get ready, but avoiding the faster boat all together wasn’t an option.

  “What do you think man?”

  “I think this could be trouble, so I’m going to be ready in case I’m right. And if I’m not, then no big deal.”

  Eric dropped below into the cabin and opened his largest dry bag, digging through it to retrieve the fully automatic M4A1 that had the grenade launcher already attached. Then he draped a bandolier of high-explosive rounds for it over his shoulder and grabbed a handful of loaded 30-round mags before coming back on deck.

  “Whoa, dude! Is that the other rifle you were talking about? Is that a freakin’ grenade launcher on that thing?”

  “Yes, it is. Just focus on the helm, man. You’re heading up too much and luffing the jib.”

  “Sorry, I just wanted to see. How far can that thing shoot? Can you hit them from here with it?”

  Eric laughed. “Not a chance. It’s a grenade launcher, not a guided missile! Even when they get in range it would be hard to hit a moving target, but I imagine a 203 exploding off their bow might change their plans.”

  Before he took that measure, Eric wanted to give the crew of the boat the benefit of the doubt. He reached for the handheld radio, switching it to Channel 16 and called them repeatedly, asking their intentions and warning them to stand off. Each attempt was answered with only silence though, so Eric put the radio aside, as it was apparent there would be no negotiation.