Eleven
ERIC KEPT HIS BINOCULARS trained on the powerboat as it reached the turnoff to the cut that would take it outside the reef. When it entered the open water outside, sure enough, it turned again, heading straight for them at top speed. As the boat rapidly closed the gap, Eric could see a man standing at the bow with a weapon in hand, and there was no longer any doubt of the crew’s intentions. Eric didn’t know what they expected to gain by attacking a small sailboat, but it was likely they expected little or no resistance. They were in for a big surprise though, and Eric was unconcerned as he loaded a round into the M203 launcher and estimated the range.
“Keep it steady, Jonathan. I’m going to send them a message.”
Eric knew Jonathan wouldn’t be able to resist watching no matter what he said. It didn’t really matter if the boat veered off course a bit anyway, because Eric didn’t expect to hit the approaching boat. He fired the round before the boat was within 500 yards, because he didn’t want to give the man in the bow a chance to start shooting and he wanted to ensure the grenade traveled far enough to arm.
Much to his satisfaction, the projectile hit the water about 150 feet ahead of the speeding boat’s bow. Eric knew there was always a chance of a dud when one of these rounds landed in water instead of hitting a hard surface, but this one detonated beautifully upon impact. The explosion wasn’t huge, but the sudden eruption of spray it threw up was impressive enough to cause the driver of the boat to immediately veer off course. Whoever they were in that boat, they now knew that the crew of the much slower sailboat was by no means as defenseless as it appeared.
“That’s awesome, man! They’re lucky that one missed. Are you going to shoot another one?”
Eric had loaded another round into the launcher as soon as the first one was clear, but the boat had changed course to run at an angle off their port stern. Whether because they still intended to carry out their attack or he was simply venting frustration at being fired upon, the man in the bow opened fire at them with his rifle. Eric could hear the reports but there was nothing to indicate any near misses. Flipping the selector switch on the M4 to auto, he returned fire to dissuade the shooter, dumping a half-mag burst as he swept the rounds through the speeding boat from stern to bow at the waterline. This time the driver immediately did a U-turn and sped away to the north as fast as he had approached.
“You nailed them, man! That was totally badass!”
“Well, I guess if the grenade wasn’t enough of a warning, they got the message now.”
“That thing would have totally sunk their boat if it had hit them, wouldn’t it?”
“Maybe, but that’s not what it’s intended for. It’s more of a means to take out targets from behind cover. But there’s no real cover on a boat like that anyway. Even the 5.56 rounds will go through the fiberglass like its not even there.”
“Yeah, those stupid fuckers sure weren’t expecting freakin’ grenades and machine gun fire from a beat-up old sailboat! Dude, you taught them a lesson they’ll never forget!”
“It worked this time, but keep in mind that every situation is different. That’s why we’ve got to keep a sharp watch. This sailboat gets us out here away from most of the threats on land, but it leaves us exposed to anyone in a faster boat. If they had come at us with two or three boats working together instead of just one, it might have turned out a lot differently.”
“That’s why you need to let me have one of those rifles, man. With two of us shooting we’d have double the firepower!”
“It might come to that, but somebody’s got to steer too. You’re doing a good job of it, but I’ll take it for a while if you’re ready to get some sleep. We’ve got to get on our watch schedule, because it’s going to be a whole lot harder to stay awake for a second night in a row if we don’t sleep some today.”
“Gotcha. I guess I am pretty tired. I’ll see if I can crash for a couple hours if I can stand the smell down there, but wake me up if you see another boat.”
“Don’t worry about that. I can assure you I will, and you’d better have your ass on deck pronto when I do!”
“Yes sir! Whatever you say, Captain! I don’t want to get on your bad side!”
“Then get some sleep! I’ll wake you up at 1400 sharp.”
Jonathan was obviously exhausted from staying awake all night and once he went below, he was quickly out. Eric was glad to have some time alone to think, as that had been nearly impossible with Jonathan’s incessant chatter. When the opportunity to take this boat presented itself, Eric had instantly made the decision to invite the kid to join him. He didn’t often second-guess his decisions, and he wasn’t going to now. There were benefits and downsides to bringing him aboard. Right now, having crew to help him steer and keep watch outweighed any negatives. Whatever happened next, Eric figured he would worry about when the time came to do so. He’d always had a knack for making the best of questionable situations, and he didn’t expect that to change now. Acquiring the boat at just the right time had been an extremely fortunate turn of events—at least for his immediate objective. But like everything else, there were trade-offs. The exposure to attacks like the one he’d just fended off was a perfect example that was not unexpected at all. He could choose that risk and get there faster, or spend three times as long sneaking along the coast in the kayak, trying to avoid detection. Either way, there would likely be encounters, any one of which could end his quest. Second-guessing his decision and worrying about the what-ifs wouldn’t change that reality one bit, so Eric didn’t let such thoughts intrude as he enjoyed these hours of solitude. Instead, he found himself reminiscing as he sailed along through these once familiar Florida waters.
Eric had spent a lot of time on and in the water as a teenager growing up in Florida. Diving was his first passion, and with easy access to warm, clear waters and reefs he’d quickly racked up hundreds of hours of bottom time long before he’d left home to join the Navy. The Keys offered the best diving this side of the Gulf Stream, so he’d spent a lot of time down here and had plenty of firsthand knowledge of the area. It seemed far too long since he’d visited that underwater world for the simple purpose of observing or perhaps collecting shells or spearfishing though. Underwater military operations were completely different—usually carried out in cold, dark waters with a single-minded focus on the objective. Even that kind of diving was relatively far in his past now though, as recent years found him working landlocked locations or on board ship with no need to get wet.
As the little Catalina 25 sliced through the clear aquamarine waters into Hawk Channel, Eric found himself staring wistfully through that window to another world thirty feet beneath the keel. Someday, he would return to those adventures of his youth that had so inspired and fulfilled him. When that might be, he had no idea, perhaps in the not too distant future, somewhere over the far horizon where he hoped to be after he found Megan. If she would just give him another chance, he would make up his shortcomings to her now, first by making sure she was safe, and then by showing her things and taking her places she would never see without him. It would be great if Shauna would go too, but Eric had few illusions about that. The best he could hope for was that he could also convince his old man to leave his boatyard and home. That was going to take some doing, but Eric was determined to give it his best shot. Life wasn’t going to get any easier here in south Florida, and Bart Branson had to know that by now.
Whether his father would come with them or not, Eric knew he could count on the old man to help him find and prepare the right boat. They needed something far more substantial and seaworthy than this battered little Catalina, and Florida was the right place to find one regardless of the situation here now. Eric was willing to bet there would be a suitable vessel in Bart’s own boatyard. He had the means to pay for anything within reason, although finding the owners to make the transaction might prove impossible. As he sat there at the helm, he thought back over some of the good boats he’d sailed in the past and fi
gured something around 35 to 40 feet with a rugged full keel would do just nicely. Whatever he chose, it needed to be built to last and simple enough to repair in remote locations from locally available materials. Eric had a few choice landfalls in mind already—none of them the kinds of places where one could find a chandlery or other facilities on the waterfront. He was convinced that the best option for getting through this crisis and what would surely follow was to get someplace as far out of the way as possible. Ideally, that would be a place that was sparsely populated or uninhabited and one that others fleeing the war zones couldn’t easily reach. He wasn’t thinking of the stereotypical tropical island paradise most people with boats might consider. There was still plenty of coastal wilderness in the world if one didn’t mind a harsher climate and the prospect of a dangerous passage to reach it. To live aboard in such places would require a simple, but solid sailing vessel equipped for long-term self-sufficiency off the grid. A hull of steel or aluminum would be best, and though good examples were harder to find than the far more common fiberglass, Eric had reason to believe his father would have a lead on just the right vessel. It might be hurricane-damaged and in need of work before leaving, but the thought of that didn’t bother him at all.
The far bigger question was whether he would find Shauna and her family there at his father’s place, and especially whether or not Megan might be with them. Eric really hoped she was, because if she was still in Colorado it was going to be a major expedition to get to her now and it would seriously delay his plans for getting out of the country ASAP. He remained hopeful despite his doubts however, and was so lost in his thoughts of fixing up the right boat and sailing away that he let Jonathan sleep well past the two-hour interval of his off-watch time. The kid finally woke on his own sometime by late afternoon, stretching and yawning as he climbed out on deck.
“What time is it, man? I was wiped out.”
“Way past your watch! I thought I could count on you, but no, I guess I was wrong.”
“I’m sorry, man! It’s not really my fault. I thought you were gonna wake me up in two hours like you said. It’s not like I had an alarm clock to set or anything!”
Eric laughed. “I’m just giving you shit, Jonathan. It’s no problem. I would have woken you if I needed you. There’s been nothing to report up here, and I’ve enjoyed the quiet time, to be honest.”
“Sorry if I’ve been running my mouth too much. People tell me that I tend to do that, but damn, until you showed up at my camp, I hadn’t spoken to anyone for weeks! Hiding out like that gets lonely as hell sometimes. Don’t get me wrong; I can handle alone time just fine, but lately it’s been a little much.”
“Nah, it’s okay. I don’t mind the conversation or I wouldn’t have brought you with me. But some time to think has been useful. I’ve been doing some planning while you were down there.”
“Cool! I’d like to hear about it, but I’m leaving the decisions up to you, man. This sailing stuff is your world, not mine. Where are we right now anyway?” Jonathan asked, as he pointed to the distant land to the north.
“That’s Key Largo you’re looking at. We’re in the outer edge of Hawk Channel, running just inside the reefs that separate it from the Florida Straits. We’re far enough out to not attract attention from shore, but by staying inside the reefs, we’ve got smoother water. We’ll run this southwesterly course we’re on until we get past all of the Upper Keys. After Marathon, there’s a long bridge with a high span way out in the middle. That’ll be a good place to cross into the Gulf of Mexico when we turn north.”
“I know the one you’re talking about. That’s the Seven Mile Bridge on the Overseas Highway. I’ve been over it going to Key West.”
“Yep, that’s the one. We can cut through there without having to pass close to any of the smaller keys and hopefully avoid any enemy contact.”
“Like those fuckers on that speedboat, right?”
“Yeah, whoever they were. I say ‘enemy’ contact, but hell, I’ve got to keep reminding myself that this is Florida, and anybody we run into will almost certainly be fellow Americans. Sorry, but I’m just used to thinking in terms like that.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with it. Just because they’re Americans doesn’t mean they’re not deranged and dangerous. Like I told you, they could be cartel enforcers or some kind of gang members. There’s no way of knowing who’s in control of these places we’re passing by.”
“No, you’re absolutely right. In this kind of situation it’s hard to know who is the enemy, but from what I’ve seen so far, we need to assume anyone we meet could be a threat. The dynamics of the threat will be changing as time goes on, too. That’s the nature of insurgencies and revolutions. I’ve seen it in most of the places I’ve worked. It’s the main reason jobs like mine even exist. Contractors can be sent in without all the politics and limitations that restrict official military ops. The rules are more bendable, and that’s what makes it possible to get the job done in most cases.”
“So they just send you guys in off the books to kill the bad guys and be done with it. That sounds smart to me. That’s how the cartels do it too, from what I’ve heard.”
“Killing is sometimes necessary, but we’re not exactly hitmen, and not every operation is about a specific target. Sometimes it really is just security and we’re there just in case a threat presents itself. In a case like that, you usually hope it does, because some of those assignments can be boring as hell otherwise.”
“It sounds like a pretty cool job to me. I wish I could do it! I want to learn all about it. I want to hear some war stories, especially stuff like the most dangerous op you’ve ever been on, and what happened. I know they say soldiers don’t like to talk about that stuff, but if you ever do, I’m all ears, man.”
Eric laughed. “The most dangerous op? I don’t know which one that would be, because it probably hasn’t happened yet. It might be the one I’m on right now for all I know! In fact, from what I’m piecing together in the short time since I arrived back in the States, I’m starting to think it will be. That’s why I want to minimize any contact with people here in the Keys and everywhere else along this coast as much as possible. I think we can do that by sticking to my plan, so that’s why we’re way out here. Like I said before, there’s a shorter route to the Gulf through Florida Bay to the north of Key Largo, but we’d be setting ourselves up for an ambush winding through those mangrove channels. Besides that, with no detailed charts it’d be too easy to run aground there. This route keeps us in the clear. Once we are past Marathon and can see the channel under the Seven Mile Bridge, we’ll turn north and cut through there, and once we’re in the Gulf it’ll be a straight shot north to Cape Sable and the Everglades. I guess you’ll have a decision to make soon.”
Twelve
ERIC THOUGHT THAT IF he were in Jonathan’s shoes, intending to remain in Florida, he too might consider an Everglades hideout as a survival strategy. The kid had the fishing skills to pull it off, and he knew how to rough it, although the insect problem in that place would challenge even the toughest outdoorsman on an extended stay. If Jonathan wanted to go for it, Eric wasn’t going to discourage him, and he would drop him off wherever he liked, but if he got off now, he’d be stuck there without a boat, same as before. Eric had already told him that there’d probably be a boat of some kind around his father’s boatyard that he could take. The only issue was whether Jonathan wanted to risk going all the way there to find out, rather than simply bail out in the wilderness while he had the chance.
“Dude, I know the pros and cons either way. It’s a tough call because I know I could probably hide deep in the ’glades and avoid any trouble. But I told you I would help you get over there to your dad’s place, and I meant it. If I can get a fishing boat out of the deal, that’ll be great, but even if I can’t, I’ll probably be better off on the Caloosahatchee River than I was where you found me. The fishing’s good everywhere in Florida, freshwater and salt; I’m not worrie
d about that, so if you’re not sick of the company, I’ll stick with you.”
“Cool. I’m glad to hear it, just as long as you’re aware of the risks. I have no idea what we’re going to run into trying to get up that river from the Gulf, but I will get there, whatever it takes.”
“I don’t doubt that for a minute. I don’t know much about that area, but even if I did, it would all be different since the hurricane, although they probably didn’t get hit as hard that far inland.”
“No, but I’m sure it was hard enough to take out the grid and shut everything down. The whole area down at the mouth of the river that we have to go through to get up there is heavily built-up and crowded, especially Fort Myers. Getting through there might be dicey, depending on the damage level and how many people are still around. There’s no use worrying about it until we’re a lot closer though. Right now, the goal is to get into the Gulf. If this breeze holds we’ll be even with that bridge later tonight, and we should have time to get under it and back into open water before dawn. By tomorrow afternoon, I want to be somewhere off the Everglades coast. If we can find a good hideaway there with no other boats, we’ll drop the hook for the night and get a decent rest before the last leg of the passage.”
“I’m wondering if there won’t be a lot of other boaters already there with the same idea.”
“It’s possible. If so, we’ll give them plenty of distance. I’d imagine the kind of folks that would be there now are the kind that are looking to avoid trouble, rather than cause it, but you never know. Anyway, if you can take it for a couple of hours, I’m going crash right here in the cockpit. You shouldn’t have to mess with the sails, just keep a sharp lookout and hold her on about 210 degrees.”
“No problem, dude. I’ve got it. Get all the sleep you need.”
If he could indeed get what he needed, Eric would sleep for at least eight or nine hours, but that wasn’t going to happen now. Even if they stopped in the Everglades to anchor he didn’t plan to stay that long. Four or five hours would be a true luxury. Eric had trained himself to function on far less, however, and he set the stopwatch alarm on his watch for two hours before stretching out on the leeward cockpit seat with his head on a boat cushion.
Feral Nation Series: Books 1-3: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller Series Boxed Set Page 8