by Larry Dodson
The pursuing boat was much larger and faster than Sparrow. After an hour of zigzagging it became apparent they couldn't out run the persistent yacht. Brandon had ignored multiple hails from the larger boat on the radio during the chase, but now as the boat closed to within two hundred feet found it in his best interest to make contact. If for no other reason than being forewarned of the pursuer’s intentions. Radio silence would have to be broken.
"Sparrow hailing large sailboat off my stern. Over."
"Sparrow, this is Wanderlust. Where are you headed? Over"
It was obvious they were interested in Sparrow’s original heading prior to Brandon’s ill-fated attempt at evasion. He knew disclosure of their true destination could have an adverse effect on the group. One George was enough. It was impossible to know if the Wanderlust carried enough food to support themselves over the course of several months.
"Nowhere in particular. We're just trying to avoid the mainland...Over."
"Yeah, that's are plan too. What’s your home port? We're from Miami.”
Brandon felt more comfortable sensing the Wanderlust bore them no immediate harm. If Brandon and Judy had truly struck out on their own the larger boat would have been viewed as a welcome companion.
"Saint Petersburg area."
"Wow, long way. You didn't have any trouble getting this far south?”
"Besides the storm, we came across a couple of boats. One was set on fire, the other brutally attacked."
"Any survivors?"
"None that we could see."
"Sounds like what we left behind in Miami."
A few seconds later the stranger’s voice came back over the radio.
"Well Sparrow, you’re welcome to keep us company if you'd like. Think it over and let us know."
Brandon and Judy spent the next hour agonizing over the pros and cons of Wanderlust's gracious offer. There was no guarantee the rest of their group would meet up at the island. But, selling out for pleasant safe company bobbing around in an unsafe Atlantic would only last for so long. Besides, how would they fair if suddenly attacked. Images of the "Sanity" tipped the scale. At least with the group they could probably count on George going out in a blaze of glory defending the pact.
The decision to reject Wanderlust's offer was made. The couple carefully scripted a reply that would cordially thank the proposal, but ultimately decline the offer without jeopardizing their real agenda.
"Wanderlust, we want to thank you for the offer. Sparrow is in relatively good shape. You can cover a lot of ground faster without us tagging along. There's probably a lot of destitute families floating around that could really use your support.”
"Are you sure you can make it out here on your own?”
"We're positive."
"Well, take care and keep your eyes open.”
Parting ways Brandon once again resumed his original course as the Wanderlust slowly disappeared over the horizon.
As darkness fell upon a moonless night they once again enjoyed the freedom of the dark. The odds of being detected would be practically nonexistent over the next eleven hours. Occasionally they would notice dim lit objects at great distances, probably freighters or cruise ships stranded and confused as to where to go next. The rest of the evening was only interrupted by watch changes.
The morning seascape reflected the drab gray colors of an approaching late summer squall. Unlike the storm they had just experienced a squall packed all bad parts into a fifteen minute show. Deadly lightning, torrential downpours and fifty mile an hour winds where a given. There was no dodging this giant.
Scrambling to secure everything below deck, they then braced themselves in the cockpit. Luckily this short battle was going to take place in daylight. As the front steadily approached, the light steady breeze suddenly gave way to an avalanche of strong wind. Sparrow violently heeled over putting her leeward rail into the now dark gray sea. The roar of the howling wind gave voice to the pandemonium, only overshadowed by the unnerving sound of echoing thunder.
Squalls were practically a daily event during the summer in Palmetto. Sparrow safely tied in her slip had nothing to fear. Brandon and Judy actually enjoyed the wild display that never lasted more than five to ten minutes. The passing of a squall gave the rain soaked marina the luxury of transforming a hot humid late afternoon temperature into a cool evening breeze. But, they weren't safely tied in the slip. Now they were faced with two choices, drop sail and use the motor to steer into the wind or, use a tactic known as heaving-to. The maneuver required completing a tack, but not allowing the jib sails to reposition on the opposite side of the bow. If properly executed the "heaving-to" maneuver would stall Sparrow's forward movement while at the same time allowing her to maintain a reasonable bow into the wind stance.
The tactic worked and Sparrow rode out the wild weather no worse for wear. As the wind gradually returned to a more benign state, the last remnant of the squall came in the form of diminishing rain.
Chapter 11
Paradise?
Brandon and Judy had left Florida well prepared for survival in a world that no longer provided basic human needs. Soon the farms and dairies that once fed a hungry nation would vanish. The trucks that practically delivered food to your door would no longer travel the nation’s freeways. Canned and manufactured foods would rapidly be a thing of the past. The only nourishment available would be what you possessed, and you damn well wouldn't trade it for a few worthless pieces of gold or silver. Barter, which worked in the age of abundance would soon take on the form of acquisition by brute force.
Refugees seeking safety from the land of the lost would not be welcomed with open arms. Countries that once catered to American tourist dollars would shortly suffer the same fate. How they would be received by the sparse population on the tiny islands remained to be seen. There were just too many unknowns this early in the game.
During the twilight hours just before dawn, the unmistakable shape a small island matched the GPS coordinates they had been given. The small island heralded the completion of their escape.
Richard and Mark's decision to relocate to a small island in the Exuma’s out island chain was perfect. The sparsely populated smaller islands would make their presents indistinguishable from the hundreds of boats who visited the islands annually on vacation. Many of the larger islands hosted plantations dating to the Revolutionary War. If there was a “fly in the ointment” it was a lack of freshwater. Luckily for the group, each boat carried a water maker of one form or another capable of rendering freshwater from the sea.
The island they chose contained numerous outcroppings of trees, mangroves and other bush type plants. The snow-white powdery sand along the beach stood in sharp contrast against the aqua marine warm Bahamian water. The trees, a mix of palm and other varieties local to the area, would furnish relief from the blazing sun as well as mask their homesteading activities from the locals. The islands were remote enough that word of America’s plight would probably take weeks to spread from island to island.
The final task amounted to locating the rest of the group. The anticipation of getting off Sparrow and standing on solid ground would be a welcome relief.
As they sailed into the small cove, Judy couldn't help but comment, "Wow, the island is beautiful. If you have to sit out the end of the world this place has my vote."
Brandon shook his head in agreement.
Radio silence no longer mattered this far from home. Brandon picked up the VHF mic and announced over the radio, "This is Sparrow. Anyone copy?"
Brandon repeated the call three times before receiving a reply.
"Sparrow, glad to see you made it.”
The voice was unmistakably George's.
"Anyone else make it?”
"Yeah, they’re all here. I can see you from where I am. Look to your ten o’clock."
Judy quickly checked out the area to her left with binoculars. "I can just see the tops of the masts behind that clump of trees." She pointed t
he position out.
"Great George, Judy sees the boats. We'll see you in a few minutes.”
Sparrow quietly motored over to where the other boats were anchored. They found a spot that would keep Sparrow a safe distance from the other boats while allowing plenty of room to swing with the changing wind and tides. Judy monitoring the depth sounder readings from the cockpit let Brandon know when to drop the anchor. They felt comfortable anchoring in ten feet of water. Brandon let out seventy feet of the anchor rode as Judy put the motor into reverse. The maneuver allowed the anchor to securely set itself deep into the sandy bottom.
The last order of business was tying off loose items on deck and putting on Sparrow’s sail covers on. Judy pulled the dinghy alongside Sparrow’s port side. With Sparrow’s low freeboard stepping into the dinghy was an easy transition. A few pulls on the starter rope and the small outboard engine powered the dinghy forward for the short trip to the shore.
As they approached the beach Brandon happened to notice Jordan sitting in the shade of a palm tree with rifle close at hand. It was obvious he was the designated guardian of the unmanned fleet. What happened next would completely sour the reunion. The T-shirt Jordan was wearing bore the name “Sanity” in bold letters across his chest.
"Judy, look at the T-shirt Jordan's wearing!"
"Oh my god! What are we getting ourselves into?"
"Seems like your instincts were right all along. Let's just keep it under wraps until we can talk to the rest of the guys privately. Now we know what George and his crew are capable of.”
Though Brandon never saw the dead bodies of the people on board, fate had managed to point a finger at George and his crew as the deadly assassins involved in the brutal slaughter of Sanity’s crew. Visions of the blood splattered interior of the boat were deeply embedded in Brandon’s mind.
Upon reaching the beach they drug the small dinghy far enough away from the light surf to prevent it from slipping back into the sea at high tide. They walked toward George standing near the tree line waving his arms up and down. Brandon found it puzzling why others in their group weren't there to greet them on their arrival.
"Welcome to my little island. I think this place is going to work out. I've found an old house we’re turning into a sort of defensible compound."
That explained the absence of the rest of the group.
"I'll have Mike show you where we're hiding the dinghies a little later but for now just leave yours here. You'll need it to bring supplies back a little later on. Jordan’s keeping an eye on the boats.”
Brandon and Judy wished they would have arrived a little sooner. Brandon found the “My little island” an odd choice of words.
"Follow me, it's a short way up the trail."
"How'd you find it?"
“The boys and I did a little scouting as soon as we hit the beach."
"And the house was empty?"
"Not at first. We sort of persuaded the old codgers that were living there to leave."
"How'd you do that?”
George tapped the side of his rifle and smiled. "They might have been old, but they weren't stupid.”
Was this a part of their new reality? Had they transformed into the kind of people they were fleeing from? Were they somehow unwilling co-participants in the brutalizing of boaters and terrorizing the locals? Brandon and Judy didn't say a word as they trailed behind George. Their thoughts were bursting with questions to ask when they reached camp or as George called it "compound.”
As the trail made a final bend, a small deteriorated house came into view. Years of neglect had taken its toll. Even in its glory days it wouldn't have had much to offer beyond basic shelter from the elements. A short distance from the house sat a shed probably used at one time to house the small tractor now rusting away near the back of the house.
"Well, this is it. Everyone has to pull their own weight around here. Hang tight a few minutes while I figure out a schedule for the two of you. I wasn't sure you would make it with the storm and all.”
George turned and entered the house. The front door and walls of the house stripped of paint bore witness to the ravages of untold storms and hurricanes over the years. A deep sway had formed in the rotting rafters of the roof. The sagging roofline was reminiscent of old barns as they seemed to slowly implode by decay back into the soil of their creation.
Mark and LuAnn sat resting in the shade some distance off. They half-heartedly gave a wave to Brandon and Judy as they awaited George’s return.
Mike sat on the porch, rifle in hand, keeping close watch over the site. Brandon thought it curious he would choose that spot to protect the compound. He seemed more interested in the activities of the group than keeping watch for strangers.
The familiar sound of Richard’s voice speaking to Amanda broke the silence as they entered the camp. Richard was pushing a rusty old wheelbarrow filled with dried tree branches. They hadn’t noticed Brandon and Judy standing near the front porch as they approached.
“Richard, glad to see you made it.”
“Hey, how long have you two been here?”
Richard sat the wheelbarrow down on its legs. He walked over and gave Judy a hug as he simultaneously extended his arm to shake hands with Brandon.
“Just a few minutes ago and you guys?”
“We got here yesterday.”
“Judy and I have a few interesting things to tell you about the trip.”
Mike suddenly developed an interest in their conversation as he turned to hear them better.
“You might want to wait until you’ve settled in. I have a few things to tell you as well.”
Brandon realized Richard did not want to discuss what was going on in front of Mike.
George exited the front door. "There will be plenty of time for chit chat later. Right now I need everyone working. Chop, chop, Richard.”
George's tone clearly sent a message. It wasn’t a request. It was an order. George approached them carrying a small notebook.
"This is what I want you guys to do. Judy's going to help LuAnn cook, wash clothes and whatever else women are good at. You’re going to use your dinghy to ferry supplies from the boats.”
Brandon felt uneasy about boarding and unloading Mark and Richard’s boats.
“Why do we have to live on the island? Why not just stay on our boats?”
“It’s too hard to protect all of you on the water. My job is to keep our supplies out of the wrong hands.”
“And the others thought that was cool?”
George smiled but didn’t answer the question. “As to the sleeping arrangements Mike, Jordan and I sleep in the house. You guys sleep in the tractor shack.”
“Sleep on what?”
“I had Mark and Richard bring over their quarter berth cushions yesterday. The first thing you will do today is get yours and bring them to the shed. If they are good enough for the boats they are good enough for the shed.”
“What about taking a crap?”
Brandon’s relentless stream of questions were starting to irritate George.
“That’s enough questions. I’m sure you guys will figure something out. Right now I want you to start bringing back the food on Mark’s boat.”
“Where do I put the food when I come back?”
“The house. It’s my job to protect the food.”
Brandon thought how convenient for George, Mike and Jordan. “Do I get any help?”
“No, the others have their own work assignments. Like I said everyone pulls their own weight around here. Make sure you bring back a couple of blankets and some warm clothes. It gets kind of cold in the shed at night.”
Chapter 12
Living Hell
Brandon spent the rest of the afternoon using the dinghy to ferry supplies back to camp. LuAnn, like Judy, had managed to stash food in every available nook and cranny she could find. The dinghy only held a small shopping carts worth of food forcing Brandon to make half a dozen round trips from Mark’
s boat to the house. It was tiring work. The relentless squeak, squeak, squeak of the wheelbarrows dry axle only served to heighten the tension. As he rolled the last load of food to the back door of the house Judy informed him they would be eating soon.
During the day Brandon had noticed Richard transforming an interior door from the house into a picnic type table. The table sat surrounded by two bench seats on each side fashioned from planks sitting on top of rusty five gallon buckets. It was obvious eating from now on would be an outside affair.
The women did their best to hide the crudeness of the “dining room table” by utilizing a blue tarp from one of the boats as a tablecloth cover. Dishes adorned with nautical flags, knives, forks and glasses also recently transferred to the island, created a festive look. The scene resembled a family picnic in a park.
Amanda exited the rear door banging a large pot with a ladle.
“Dinner time. Dinner everyone!”
Brandon was looking forward to finally having the opportunity to sit down and talk to Richard and Mark.
The men gathered at one end of the table as Judy brought out a large pot half full of stew. Any illusions of a family picnic went out the door as Judy served two small scoops of stew on each plate. LuAnn followed Judy filling their glasses with water.
Brandon lost control.
“That’s all we get? I worked my ass off all day and that’s it! Two small scoops of stew? You got to be kidding!”
Judy spoke for the kitchen crew.
“That’s all we’re entitled to eat according to George. He made me leave half the pot for them in the kitchen. He thinks guard duty entitles them to more food.”
“That brings up my first question. Who put George in charge?”