Under a Tell-Tale Sky: Disruption - Book 1

by R. E. McDermott

  Levi looked doubtful. “I considered coming down the Brunswick, but I’ve never run that section of river and I’ve heard there are a lot of side channels. I was concerned we might get lost or delay—”

  “The harbor chart shows the river system and side channels, even though they’re not navigable by ship. I’ll give you a copy. I’ve got an old one aboard.”

  “Thanks, I’d appreciate that, but I’m still not taking Singletary. I don’t really know him and he seems to have an attitude. I’m not going to risk it. Sorry, Captain.”

  “C’mon, Levi. He just wants to get back to Baltimore. He’ll be out of your hair in a day or two, just like Tex and Wiggins. He IS a shipmate after all. We can’t just dump him ashore and abandon him.”

  Levi sat silently for a moment. He had a bad feeling about this, but he didn’t think he could refuse in good conscience, and he had already been thinking of how to mitigate the risk of letting other people know about his hideaway.

  Levi sighed. “All right, I’ll take him if he wants to come.”

  “Good,” Hughes said. “Now about the food—I suppose you’ll want can goods and the like?”

  “Negative,” Levi said. “All the steward’s canned stores probably come in cans the size of five-gallon buckets. That’s okay when you’re feeding twenty people and have plenty of refrigerated space for leftovers, but it sucks when you’re traveling or have a small group with limited refrigeration capacity. We’ll want dry stores, pasta, rice, and dry beans.”

  “All right, how much of each?” Hughes asked.

  “A hundred pounds a person, four hundred pounds total, more or less evenly split between the various commodities,” Levi said without hesitation.

  Hughes just looked at him. “That’s a little much, don’t you think? I still have to feed the rest of the crew.”

  “And you’ll still have plenty of dry goods and all the canned goods and refrigerated food to do it,” Levi said. “We took on ninety days’ stores ten days ago in Texas, so you should be in pretty good shape. And you know as well as I do how much food normally gets wasted or thrown overboard, you can stretch it, especially with a reduced crew.”

  “So you’re sending Tex, Wiggins, and Singletary off with a hundred pounds of food strapped to their backs? C’mon, Levi, Tex probably doesn’t even WEIGH a hundred pounds,” Hughes said.

  “No, I’m going to send them off with the best mix I can find, including small packages of meat, jerky, and other calorie-dense stuff from our own stores, but I have to replace the CALORIES with something we can store long term and eat later. I’m also going to be taking other supplies out of my stores, like guns and ammo, medicine kits, etc. and I need to get that back somewhere.” Levi paused. “It’s a tough new world out there, Captain, and it’s going to get a lot tougher fast. You get nothing for nothing.”

  Hughes blew out an exasperated sigh and shook his head, and Levi reached down and began to dig in the pack sitting beside his chair. He had his hand on the vintage .38 revolver but hesitated. If he was going to have to take Singletary, getting the travelers equipped for the road might bite into his stores a bit more than he planned. He left the pistol in the backpack and pulled out the disassembled halves of a broken-down shotgun with a shortened stock and barrel and placed it on the coffee table, then dipped back into the bag for a full box of 20-gauge shotgun shells and placed it on the table beside the shotgun.

  “I figure you’re short on firepower, so I’ll throw this in to sweeten the deal,” Levi said.

  Hughes looked at the gun. “You know you just broke a bunch of federal laws bringing that aboard?”

  Levi smiled. “Why, you going to turn me in?”

  Hughes shook his head. “No, I’m going to take your deal, on one condition.”

  “I’ve already agreed to take Singletary, so this would be two conditions. What is it?”

  “Stay until we leave,” Hughes said. “Dan is slammed trying to troubleshoot everything and make sure we’re seaworthy, and now almost half the engine gang is leaving, all of you experienced. You can spare us another day or two, at least.”

  Levi shook his head. “Celia is expecting us back tonight. She’ll worry.”

  “Given how well you’ve obviously planned everything else,” Hughes said, “I suspect you have some contingency plan in place for notifying her of changes. I’m happy to let you use the radio.”

  Busted, thought Levi.

  “All right, Cap. Point taken. We’ll stay two more days, three max, but if you’re not ready to leave then, we’re taking off regardless,” he said.

  “Done,” Hughes said, “and I’m sure the chief will be—”

  Levi held up his hand. “I’m not quite done. If I get word from Celia they’re having problems, I want the fast rescue boat and that chart you were talking about so we can get back home in a hurry.”

  “All right,” Hughes said, nodding slowly, “I can do that. What else do you need?”

  “Just access to the radio. I have our handhelds, but they don’t have the range. Celia will be listening for an update at nine p.m.”

  “Done,” Hughes said, and Levi nodded and stood.

  “Where you headed now?” Hughes asked.

  “To check on the repairs to our boat,” Levi said, “and then track down Jimmy and the others and see if they’re okay with my plan. And if they are, I probably need to give them a little guidance as to what to take with them to make sure we don’t sink the boat, given everything else we’ll be hauling. I’ve found folks have some pretty liberal interpretations of the term ‘traveling light.’“ He paused. “And then I’ll find the chief and see how we can help him before we get out of here.”

  Chapter Seven

  M/V Pecos Trader

  Captain’s Office

  Day 8, 9:30 a.m.

  Dan Gowan, clad in sweat-stained and grease-smeared coveralls, sat perched on the edge of the upholstered chair on a piece of cardboard Hughes kept handy for just such impromptu visits. There was a streak of grease across the engineer’s forehead, and he wasn’t exactly sweet-smelling, but if his presence wasn’t a treat to the senses, he did bring welcome news.

  “It’s looking better,” he said. “The First and I isolated most of the problems to the governor on the number one generator, and we replaced it with the spare. We’ve still got more systems to check out, but we’re getting there, and Levi will be a big help.”

  “Thank you and your guys for all the hard work, Dan,” Hughes said.

  Gowan just nodded. “How are things topside?”

  “If you think the power’s reliable now, we can restart the gyrocompass and let it settle. Everything else seems to be okay except the satnav, which appears to be down for the count. I guess the solar storm took out the birds.” He grimaced and nodded at a thick book on the coffee table, “I’m just brushing up on my celestial navigation.”

  Gowan grinned. “Been a while since you cracked that book, I expect.”

  “Yeah, like not since I took my third mate’s license exam. I’ll have to blow the cobwebs off the ship’s sextant, presuming I can find the damn thing,” Hughes said. “But that’s not the hard part. I’m having nightmares about taking this beast downriver without a pilot or tugs. Those guys make it look easy, but this is starting to feel like driving a forty-thousand-ton tanker through a mud puddle, except a mud puddle doesn’t have a current. Truthfully, I’m terrified.”

  “You’ll make it,” Gowan said, then added practically, “Besides, what choice do you have?”

  Hughes sighed. “None, really, which is the only reason I can convince myself to even consider it.”

  Both men looked up at the soft rap of knuckles on the open office door.

  “Sorry to bother you, Captain,” Charlie Lynch said, “but the mate sent me up to tell you the Coast Guard is coming up the river.”

  “About friggin’ time,” Gowan said, as both men rose at once.

  M/V Pecos Trader

  Main Deck

>   Hughes and Gowan arrived on the main deck to find Georgia Howell supervising the deployment of a rope pilot ladder down the offshore side of the vessel as a US Coast Guard patrol boat stemmed the current fifty feet from the ship, its engine emitting a low rumble as it held the boat in place against the current. The boat was forty to fifty feet long, with a crew of six, all with sidearms and body armor, and one manning a bow-mounted machine gun. The gunner wasn’t pointing the gun at them, but his tense stance left no doubt he could and would do so quickly if threatened. In fact, none of the men in the boat looked particularly friendly.

  Kenny Nunez, the bosun, looked over at Howell and nodded, and she beckoned the boat alongside. The coxswain eased the boat alongside the ladder expertly, and four Coasties boarded the Pecos Trader . When the last man was on the ladder, the boat eased back into the river, where the machine gunner resumed his watchful vigil.

  First up was a stocky man of middle age, his eyes scanning for threats as soon as his head cleared the deck level. He stepped to one side quickly to clear the way for the man behind him as, hand resting casually on his holstered handgun, he completed his survey of the crew of the Pecos Trader , now assembling in force, drawn by the news of the visitors. When all four Coast Guardsmen were on deck, the leader relaxed slightly and he walked across the deck towards Hughes. Beneath his body armor, the man’s blue coveralls bore the insignia of a senior chief petty officer.

  “I’m looking for the captain,” the man said.

  “You found him,” Hughes said, extending his hand, “Jordon Hughes.”

  “Matt Kinsey,” the man said, taking Hughes’ hand. “I’m the CO of the Coast Guard Station at Oak Island.”

  “Nice to meet you, Chief,” Hughes replied, and inclined his head towards his two officers. “Georgia Howell, chief mate, and Dan Gowan, chief engineer.”

  “Ma’am, Chief,” Kinsey said, as he exchanged handshakes with Howell and Gowan in turn.

  “We’re glad to see you guys,” Hughes said. “We were starting to get a little concerned about the lack of any sort of governmental response. How can I help you?”

  Kinsey looked around uneasily at the crew crowding around and Hughes took the hint.

  “Okay, folks,” he said. “Show’s over. Get back to whatever you were doing and give our guests a little breathing room.”

  With muted muttering, the crew moved away, some rather slowly in obvious hopes of gleaning a bit more information. Hughes waited patiently until they’d all dispersed.

  “Can I offer you some coffee up in my office, Mr. Kinsey? We can talk a bit more privately there,” Hughes said.

  “No, thanks, to the coffee, but yes to the office,” Kinsey said.

  Hughes nodded and turned to the chief mate. “Georgia, I’ll be in my office with Chief Kinsey. Would you escort our other guests to the crew mess and see they get some coffee?”

  “Sure, Captain. No problem,” Howell said, and walked over to introduce herself to the other Coasties.

  Hughes inclined his head to indicate Kinsey should follow and started across the deck, belatedly realizing Gowan was following.

  “Chief,” Hughes said, “please let me know when we can start the gyro.”

  Gowan looked confused. “What? You can start it any … okay, right. I’ll let you know,” he said, and changed course towards the entrance to the engine room. Hughes was sure he heard him muttering as he walked away.

  Minutes later, Hughes waved Kinsey to a chair in his office and settled down across from him.

  “So what’s up, Mr. Kinsey?” Hughes asked. “This doesn’t strike me as a courtesy call.”

  “It’s not,” Kinsey said. “We came upriver to check on our other guys. We haven’t been able to raise the command center in Wilmington for two days. We had intermittent contact at first, then nothing. Our second objective is to check out the situation along the river. We knew you were here, so I figured we could dock here at the product terminal and kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

  “The command center? Is that anywhere near the Marine Safety Office over off Medical Center Drive?” Hughes asked.

  “Yeah, they’re all in one big building, why?”

  “Ahh … there’s been a lot of smoke over in that area, and about two days ago there was a lot of gunfire. Sounded like World War Three.”

  Kinsey lapsed into silence, obviously troubled by the news.

  Hughes broke the silence. “Any idea exactly what’s going on? From what I could piece together from the radio traffic, a solar storm knocked out power. How widespread is the problem?”

  Kinsey shook his head. “Not one storm, at least two and maybe three or four. They hit spread out over twenty-four hours or more, and I hear the impact was global.” Kinsey paused. “That basically means no one’s likely to be giving or receiving international help. But on the bright side, I guess it also means none of our enemies can come in and kick us in the balls while we’re down.”

  “But surely there’s an emergency plan? What are your orders?”

  “The last one I got was to get as many of my people on station as possible and sit tight, but I’m thinking twiddling our thumbs isn’t the wisest thing to do right now,” Kinsey said. “We’re low on resources, and things have been screwed up from the get-go. The storms hit before the normal workday, and everyone off duty was caught off station. I know the sector CO and a few other officers made it in to the command center, but communications were really spotty at first. Then two days ago, everything went dead up my chain of command, so I decided to take some people and try to establish contact.”

  Hughes nodded. “What about your larger vessels? Isn’t a cutter home ported here? I recall seeing it tied up downtown during a previous port call here. I figured y’all would probably be running things from the cutter by now.”

  Kinsey nodded. “The captain of Diligence probably would have inherited this shit show if she were here, but the Diligence went on dry dock up at our Maryland yard last week for emergency propeller repairs. I doubt we’ll be seeing her steaming upriver anytime soon.” Kinsey paused. “So everything is on me unless I can find someone who outranks me. Which is why I desperately want to find someone further up the food chain with some semblance of a plan.”

  “Anything we can do to help?” Hughes asked.

  “Any ideas on transportation? It’s only a couple of miles to the command center, but I’d like to get there and back as quickly as possible. Any kind of vehicle would work. Do you know if anything is working in the terminal?”

  Hughes shook his head. “All the terminal folks hauled ass, and the parking lot is empty. The only thing I know of is a couple of golf carts parked up by the office near the gate. The dock supervisors used them to ride around the terminal.”

  Kinsey didn’t look impressed. “Ahh … thanks for the suggestion, Captain, but I can’t really get my head around riding into what might become an armed confrontation in a couple of golf carts.”

  “Suit yourself,” Hughes said, “but there aren’t very many of you and we’ve been hearing a LOT of gunfire ashore. If you have to haul ass back here, it would be a lot faster than running, and might work if your opposition is also on foot. And if you do run into any opposition in vehicles, you can always take cover and work your way back on foot. You won’t be any worse off than you are without ANY transportation, and at least you’ll have a ride one way.”

  “What about keys?”

  Hughes thought a minute and shrugged. “I can’t recollect I ever saw the supervisors take the keys out. I mean, they’re behind a locked gate, and the carts are in use around the clock by one supervisor or another. Who would steal them?”

  Kinsey stroked his chin. “Good point. I guess it won’t hurt to have a look.”

  “Which brings me to another point,” Hughes said. “If you do run into trouble, I’d really prefer it if you break contact and not lead an army of bloodthirsty gangbangers back on your heels. The only thing keeping us fairly safe is no one
knows we’re here.”

  Kinsey nodded. “Understood. How about this? On the way there, we have to pass the main gate to the container terminal upstream anyway, and we’ll make sure it’s passable. I’ll move our boat upstream to the container dock and if we’re coming out with bad guys on our tail, I’ll radio ahead and the boat can be standing by to haul ass as soon as we reach them. I might not be able to prevent leading any bad guys back to your neighborhood, but maybe I can avoid leading them right to your front door.”

  “You do realize if they look downstream from the container docks, they may see us sitting here anyway?”

  Kinsey shook his head. “The container dock is really long, so we’ll board as far upstream as possible then head farther upstream and across the river to keep their attention focused away from you. We’ll hang out just in sight across the river until sundown and then move downstream under the cover of darkness. That’s the best I can do.”

  “Better than nothing,” Hughes said, “but let’s just hope you don’t meet any bad guys.”

  East Bound on Shipyard Boulevard

  Wilmington, North Carolina

  Day 8, 1:00 p.m.

  Senior Chief Boatswain’s Mate Matt Kinsey, USCG, was conflicted as he sat in the golf cart rolling down the deserted street at a blinding ten miles per hour. It was infinitely preferable to walking and they’d get to their destination much faster, but four men in full body armor and carrying automatic rifles looked a bit ridiculous perched in golf carts. Oh well, maybe if they did encounter opposition, they could take them out while they were still laughing.

  The number of burned-out buildings increased as they traveled east. Some still smoldered, and the stench of rain-soaked ashes hung heavy in the air. There were no moving vehicles, and the few pedestrians scouring the pathetic ruins scurried into hiding at the sight of armed men. The whole tragic scene reminded Kinsey of television newscasts from some war-torn third world country, not Wilmington, North Carolina; the improbable comparison made even more apt by the furtive actions of the residents. If civilians were already scattering at the sight of armed men, even four assholes in golf carts, it said a lot about what they’d endured in the short time since the blackout. It also made Kinsey increasingly uneasy about riding exposed down the middle of the street.