Chapter 11
Sailing Vessel Intrepid
East of Atlantic City, New Jersey
Reese braced his feet on Intrepid's deck as the sailboat raced south along the coast of New Jersey. To starboard, Reese could barely see the smudge of gray that represented Atlantic City. A pall of smoke hung in the air along the coast for miles both north and south, a grim testament to the death of one of New Jersey’s gems.
To port, Byron kept Tiberia on pace with Intrepid, about 20 yards out. The ocean was calm; the breeze was stiff, and the sky was clear. On the extreme southern horizon, a row of white puffy clouds had appeared sometime after noon, but the storm that Reese feared was on its way toward the Carolinas was still much too far away to see.
It had only been a day since they’d left New York, and if the world hadn't ended and fallen around his ears, he would've been tempted to laugh as the wind pulled at his hair and clothes. The freedom of being on the ocean and behind the wheel of a boat given its reins to run free before the wind was exhilarating.
"You don't have to look so dadgum happy about this," Jo complained from the starboard seat next to Reese in the cockpit. Her bandaged leg lay stretched out before her, pointed aft on the bench. Every time Intrepid’s hull sliced through a wave, a shockwave rippled through the boat that made her flinch and grit her teeth. "Bad enough you and Byron are driving these here boats like your hair’s on fire. Can't tell if I want to pass out from the pain in my leg or throw up from seasickness."
Reese laughed and looked down at her. "What's the matter? I thought you'd gotten your sea legs?"
"Ain't no salty dog yet," she muttered.
They listened to the wind whistle in the rigging for the next few minutes. Eventually, Reese’s mood grew somber. He looked down at Jo. "You ever wonder what it's like? I mean away from the coast where all the damage is?"
"You mean, do I wonder what it's like to still have power? Still have a house, still have places to go, and people to see?"
Reese sighed as he adjusted Intrepid’s course with the massive wooden steering wheel. His hand brushed over the spot where a stray National Guard bullet had taken a chunk of wood out. "I mean, without all…I don't know, everything falling apart. I just—it’s kinda hard to remember a place where people weren't shooting at us, where things weren't so serious all the time. I just wonder if that's still the case somewhere out there, you know?" He looked out to sea and stared at the endless expanse of blue waves and small whitecaps. "There's got to be somewhere out there where things are still…normal."
"Well, if what your friend in the Coast Guard told us is true," Jo began. "I don't think there's too many places left that are normal. Between the war in the Middle East—I still ain’t wrapped my mind around people lobbin’ nuclear weapons at each other—and everybody squabbling over how to react to what happened to us…” She laid back against the bench and sighed. "I just don't know."
"Well, there's gotta be some place out there that’s still safe, still secure. I can't believe that the entire world—especially our country—has been reduced to ashes and dust, death and starvation." As Reese spoke, he watched Tiberia fall slightly behind.
Again.
Reese snatched the radio from the steering column. "What's going on over there?" He grinned. "Can't keep up, old man?"
After a moment, Byron replied, "It's like I said…those bullet holes in the hull…they’re givin’ us some trouble. We got some water in the bilge…”
Reese grinned. "There's always water in the bilge.”
"Well, we got more water than the pumps can handle!”
Reese frowned. They’d been making excellent time since leaving New York after the dawn firefight.
“I was afraid of this…” Reese muttered. He clicked the transmit button on the radio.
"We should slow down,” Byron replied.
Reese’s reply was instant. "We’re so close—if we keep going, we can make it to the Chesapeake by tomorrow morning.” Reese watched the shore on the distant western horizon slip by. They were getting close—real close—to the time when the boats would part ways and he and Jo would fly south to Charleston.
“We’re making really good time, and I'm not going to argue with wanting to get home that much faster…but if we don't slow down and take care of things now…I don’t want to lose Tiberia.”
"He's right, you know,” Jo interjected. "Push too hard, we’re all liable to get hurt."
Reese sighed into the mic. "You're right—how do you want to do this? Should we head in toward the shore, or do you think you can just reduce speed and limp on until we can find a safe anchorage?”
After a long moment, in which Reese envisioned Byron having a quick conversation with Libby and Tony, the old man came back on the radio. "We’re getting close to Cape May. That's gonna be the most populous area around. I think our best bet is to reduce sail and see if that doesn't help with the water. Tony's barely able to manage it now, but we’re going to have to start bailing soon.”
Reese thought for a moment. "Then why don't we try crossing Delaware Bay? If I remember correctly…that stretch of the Delmarva Peninsula isn't too populated. There's probably not much left at all now."
"Sounds like a plan for now," Byron replied. "I'm gonna let Libby guide us and I'll study the charts. Get back with you in a couple minutes."
"Copy that, Intrepid out," Reese added. He hung up the mic and looked at Jo. "Well, I guess that settles the ‘what next’ question.”
Reese leaned back and grabbed the winch that would lower the jib. With a zip-hiss, the lines slid out of his hand, and the frontmost sail lost the wind. The thin strip of Kevlar snapped in the breeze, then lowered, and Intrepid slowed noticeably, now powered only by the wind captured in the mainsail. Reese looked to port and smiled. Tiberia—relative to Intrepid—sped up and matched course and speed. Despite the fact that Tiberia had every sail possible up and full of wind, she was definitely slower.
Reese adjusted the wooden wheel and pulled Intrepid closer, to less than a dozen yards. He searched the starboard hull of Byron's boat and noticed several large bullet holes that consistently plunged under the water line with every passing wave. The only recourse was to figure out a way to plug the holes, or slow down so that the waves didn't slap so high on the hull.
He stepped away from the wheel and leaned over Intrepid’s starboard side and noticed a similar pattern of bullet holes down his boat’s flank. They were just a bit higher than the ones on Tiberia, however, so not as much water had entered Intrepid’s hull.
Reese glanced at Jo. “You think you're up for holding her steady for a minute?"
She grunted and shifted her position, forced to swing her ungainly, stiffened leg around to the other side. She sat back and grimaced, closed her eyes briefly, then shook herself and nodded. "Okay, I'm ready." She reached out and grabbed one of the handles that stuck out from the wheel.
Satisfied Jo had control over the boat, Reese went below and found a flashlight. He clicked it on and looked for more holes. Daylight shined through four holes right into the main cabin, but the other bullets had not penetrated all the way through, which meant somewhere between the inner wall of the cabin in the outer hull of the boat, water could be collecting. Reese sat at the chart table and sighed. Byron had been right—the only way to repair the boats would be to find a dry dock, or some way to get that part of the hull up out of the water for several hours.
Reese stared down at the nautical charts spread across the little galley table. As far as he could tell, they were only a few miles away from Cape May, New Jersey—which extended out like a stubby tail from the southern end of the state. Once they rounded the headlands, it was a straight shot to the open end of Delaware Bay to the little strip of coastline along the western edge of southern Delaware.
He pulled the other maps from the chart box and spread them out on the table. From Cape Henlopen—the tip of Delaware's Atlantic coastline—he estimated they had at least a day, maybe a
day and a half cruise at a slower speed to round the tip of the Delmarva Peninsula. From that point, however, they’d be in the Chesapeake Bay. He used his fingers to estimate the distance from the tip of the Chesapeake Bay up toward Baltimore, Byron, Libby, and Tony’s eventual destination.
"They could be in Baltimore the day after tomorrow,” he muttered. “Probably better to get there in the morning…”
Reese folded the map up and unrolled another map that had a smaller scale. From the entrance of the Chesapeake Bay, he and Jo only had to sail south around the edge of Virginia, the Outer Banks of North Carolina, and then halfway down the coast of South Carolina. If he could convince Byron to let him and Jo take Intrepid, and if the bullet holes didn't cause any other trouble than what they had already, and if the wind held steady, he and Jo would be able to make it to Charleston in…
Reese frowned. Three days? Four days at the outside.
He sat back and let the gentle motion of the boat lull him for a moment. Another day and a half—two at the outside—to reach the Chesapeake. Another four days after that to reach Charleston. Maybe a day walking overland to get from Charleston to home, depending on how bad things looked…
"Another week…” he whispered to the cabin.
"Hey, you better get up here," Jo warned through the open hatch.
"On my way," Reese replied as he stood. He carefully tucked the maps away into their chart box, then headed up the short ladder to the main deck.
"What's up?” he asked, as the wind filled his ears. He hadn’t realized how quiet it had been down below.
"Something’s going on over there—look," Jo said as she nodded toward Tiberia. No one stood at the helm, and as a result, the rudder turned, and Tiberia changed course. The sails luffed as Reese watched and Tiberia slowed to a crawl, the aft end of the boat slightly higher than it was a moment before.
Reese cursed, took the wheel back from Jo, then made a quick adjustment and tacked to port. He whipped the wheel hard over and let the boom swing across. The wind filled the sail again, and it snapped taught. Reese pulled Intrepid around in a loose circle until they were even with the cockpit of their sister ship once more.
Since Tiberia was adrift, Reese loosened the lines and dropped the mainsail on Intrepid as well. They ghosted within a few feet of the other boat, and he scrambled down the port side and dropped docking fenders over in case they got too close.
"What's going on?" he called over to Tiberia, now only 20 feet away. Reese dared not get any closer, since no one was manning the tiller or maintaining control over the lines. If Tiberia turned just so, the wind might snap the sails full and launch her south again, entangling both boats in each other’s rigging—a recipe for disaster.
Byron stuck his head up out of the hatch, his white hair puffed out around his head like a baby owl. "We’re taking on water! Some of the bullet holes cracked the hull, and we got a chunk missing now!"
"All right, I'll throw a line over...“
”I’ll send Tony up.“
“Wait, at least drop the sails before you go below! There's nobody up there in the cockpit—if the wind catches you, you’ll lose control!"
Byron glanced up at the sails, nodded, and disappeared below. Tony emerged a second later, soaking wet from the waist down, and quickly undid the lines to drop the sails.
"Tony!” Reese called as he coiled a rope in his hands. "Catch this!" He tossed it across the water, and Tony grabbed the tail end of it and tied it to a cleat at the aft end of Tiberia’s cockpit.
"How bad is it?" asked Reese.
Tony's face told Reese everything he needed to know. The young man was pale, his eyes wide, and his lips parted as he breathed through his mouth. "I don't know—but there's an awful lot of water down there. We’re trying to get it out with the bilge pump, but it's just …there’s—there's not enough—“
"Tony! Get down here!" Byron called from below decks.
Tony nodded at Reese, then turned and scrambled through the hatch again. He emerged a moment later carrying a big yellow five-gallon bucket. He struggled up the steps, moved to the starboard railing, and dumped a bucket load of seawater over the side. Without a word, he turned and ran back down.
"I can help them," Reese said over his shoulder to Jo. "Are you okay manning the boat here? Sails are down so there's really nothing to do but sit here and make sure we don't capsize."
"And how exactly do I do that?" Jo asked.
"Just don't rock the boat," Reese said with a grin.
Jo groaned and rolled her eyes. "Go on, you know you're going to help, anyway."
Reese pulled the line from Intrepid to Tiberia and hand over hand, hauled the two boats together. Once they were within boarding distance, he tied off the rope on the port side of Intrepid’s cockpit. He had to wait for a gap in the swells, then hopped across to Tiberia’s cockpit.
The first thing he noticed was the angle of the deck. Normally, sailboats rolled gently up and down with the motion of the waves. But becalmed as Tiberia was, that should've meant a port to starboard roll as the swells passed underneath the boat toward the beach on the western horizon. However, the boat was bouncing up and down as the bow pitched toward the water. Definitely not a good sign.
Reese worked his way around the big silver steering wheel and stepped aside as Tony raced up the ladder to the hatch on his way to dump out another bucket.
"Here, give me that," Reese said, “you take a breather." Reese moved to the port railing and dumped the water overboard, then handed the empty bucket back to Tony.
"Thanks," Tony said around a breath, before he disappeared back below again. Seconds later, he emerged at the bottom of the ladder and handed the bucket up. Reese took it and dumped it out, then tossed it back. In this manner they were able to pull most of the water from the cabin and dump it overboard, but it continued to flow up from below the floor.
"I think the hull staved in up near the port bow," Byron called from inside the cabin's depths. "I can't get to it—can you see anything from up top?"
Reese took one more bucket from Tony, tossed the water overboard, then handed it back to the younger man. "Hang on, I'll check."
A larger wave rolled underneath Tiberia, and the bow dipped lower than he expected, which caused Reese to fall forward and grab onto the tangle of lines for the mainmast to keep from falling. In the process, he smashed his knee against a cleat. He ignored the pain in his knee as his eyes widened in shock. Tiberia’s bow disappeared briefly beneath the waves before it popped back up, shedding green water over each side.
"Oh, that's not good…” he muttered to himself as he worked his way down the inclined deck toward the bow and shook off the limp from his right leg. His added weight didn't help either, as the next swell that rolled under the boat caused the bow to dip beneath the waves again. It took a split second longer to pop back to the surface this time. Reese leaned cautiously over and spotted a fist size hole, about a foot down from the deck.
He scrambled back to the hatch and reported his findings.
"The hull repair kit can’t handle a hole that big," Byron growled.
Reese thought for a moment. “Cut me a swath of spare sail and something to stuff the hole with, quick!” he called as he pulled off his shirt. He kicked his deck shoes off, and waited impatiently.
"What in tarnation you think you're going to do? Go for a swim?" Jo called from Intrepid. “Is your leg bleeding?”
"It’s just a scratch,” Reese said dismissively, “and me getting in the water is the only way to plug the hole!"
"You sailors are so strange," Jo replied.
"I know what you're thinking," Byron said, as he climbed up the slippery ladder, "but I don't think it's gonna work. This isn't an 18th-century ship of the line,” he added. “Tiberia’s got a fiberglass hull, Reese, it’s not wood.”
"It’s the only chance we've got." Reese took a ragged three-foot section of spare sail, and a football, and worked his way toward the bow of the ship.
Chapter 12
Spalding Residence
Bee’s Landing Subdivision
Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina
Darien stepped out onto Harriet Spalding's back deck with a cup of coffee. Spanner had brewed the black gold over a fire in the backyard and brought the percolator inside. But the house was too hot and stuffy for his likes. He stepped out and inhaled the aroma of the pilfered coffee, the last of their supply brought from the Westin house. He leaned on the railing and peered over the pond, resplendent with algae and tall cattails just starting to turn brown as summer came to a close. The sun had been up for an hour or so, and red-winged blackbirds cried to each other across the pond. A single fish jumped out toward the middle and created a widening ring of circles in the water.
Darien sighed. Despite the tranquility of the scene, the day that stretched before him would be anything but. It'd been a long night spent guarding the neighborhood with Jon Boy and Spanner, and as the Lavelle woman had suspected, nothing had happened. Darien didn't know whether to be relieved or irritated by that fact. Either way, the conversation he'd need to have with her later in the morning was not one he was looking forward to.
He still had to puzzle out a way to keep his men satisfied and happy in the neighborhood while at the same time making sure the residents understood that his men were indispensable. The battle a few days back went a long way to proving the latter point…but as to how to keep his men happy, Darien hadn't a clue.
Spanner, in the closeness of the long, dark night, had suggested that they stay in Bee’s Landing permanently. It was an idea that had merit. Harriet was easy on the eyes and the relationship—odd that it may be—between himself and the former head of the HOA was probably the most stable of his entire adult life. He just didn't know if things would remain stable.
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