He twisted the cap off one of the bottles of cheap brandy and poured himself a double shot. Then he opened a family-sized can of chili with beans and dumped it onto a pot that was already on the stove, held in place by adjustable pot clamps. Hot food and a drink was just what he needed to prepare for sailing through the coming night. When the chili was warm he carried the whole pot and a spoon up to the cockpit and sat there looking at the chart book spread out beside him as he ate.
The sun was already down and the light was fading fast. As he studied the options to going straight east to the Exumas, where Larry and the others on the island thought he would go, Russell was becoming intrigued with the idea of heading southeast instead. That way was directly into the wind, which was just the way he needed to go to throw off his pursuers when they came after him. It was also the direction of the Jumentos Cays and Ragged Islands. Until he’d heard Larry mention that was where they were headed, he’d never realized how big an area those remote little cays actually covered. Looking at them on the chart now, he could see why Larry would want to go there. It was a lot farther from where he was now than the Exumas, but also a lot farther from civilization in general and certainly off the beaten path to anywhere. It would be difficult to sail there, as it was practically dead to windward and would require lots of tacking back and forth, but with the engine on the Sarah J., he wouldn’t have to. The wind was not much over ten knots and he figured it might drop some more after dark. He could easily motor into it at a pace that wouldn’t work the diesel too hard. Russell knew that prolonged running of the engine without the water pump would eventually damage the exhaust system and probably warp or crack the heads, but it would take a while. Marine diesels were more rugged than most people realized and could stand a lot of abuse. He would run it dead to windward until it got dangerously hot, then shut it down and sail until it cooled enough to start it again. The process could be repeated as necessary and would certainly be faster than tacking back and forth the whole way. If the engine would just last long enough get him safely beyond reach of his pursuers that was all he would ask of it. It might be nice to have it later, but if Larry and the others on that catamaran found him first, there wouldn’t be a later.
They would never expect him to go in that direction because they wouldn’t expect him to take the most difficult route since he was single-handing. They would also probably assume he wouldn’t use the engine, since they themselves wouldn’t take the risk of doing irreparable damage to it. They might sail to the Jumentos sometime later, after they gave up searching for him in the Exumas, but he planned to be long gone by then. Where to, he would decide when the time came. He figured heading there straight away would buy him at least a week, maybe more, while they worked to get the catamaran ready to sail and then wasted days looking in all the anchorages in the vicinity of Staniel Cay.
This decision made, Russell washed the dinner pot over the side and went below to ready the engine, keeping his fingers crossed the battery had enough charge to start it. He pulled the dipstick to make sure the oil level was good, then reinstalled the cover, turned the key to the start position and pushed the button. The battery was indeed strong, and the old Yanmar turned over rapidly and fired right up. Rebecca screamed at him again as soon as she heard it come to life.
“You can’t run the engine, you idiot! Larry hasn’t fixed it! He said we couldn’t use it until he did!”
Russell just laughed as he climbed back up to the cockpit. Rebecca was kicking the door again, but once he closed the companionway and revved the diesel to half throttle, the noise was barely a bother. He left the sails as they were, sloppily bundled on deck but tied well enough that they wouldn’t flap around, and put the boat in gear to bring it around to his new southeast heading. The compass had an L.E.D. light that was working fine off the ship’s battery, and Russell found a small flashlight on the chart table with which he could read the charts. Flipping the switches on the control panel revealed that the 12-volt navigation lights were all working too, but Russell turned them off immediately, knowing it was wiser to run dark even if no one was in pursuit just yet.
There was nothing out there to hit on his new course, and by his rough estimates from the chart, he knew he could run all night and most of the following day before he had to worry about nearing land. As it grew darker, the clear weather revealed a bright starry sky, with enough ambient light to spot any vessels large enough to be a collision risk. Russell knew he couldn’t let his guard down long, so he scanned the horizon every few minutes. It might be an empty stretch of seldom-traveled ocean, but if there were other vessels sailing it at night they would likely be unlit as well, considering the circumstances.
As he stared onto the empty horizon surrounding him, Russell pondered all that Larry and the others had told him about Florida. He didn’t care whether they believed him or not, he was certain that all of this was a deliberate action planned and implemented by the United States. They were likely in collaboration with a few other select governments working with them in their master plan to break down society and reboot it according to their desired New World Order. There was no way he was going back to Florida or anywhere else on the U.S. mainland, and he didn’t trust that some of the nearby island nations in the region were not in on the scheme as well. Thinking of that kept him occupied as he steered to the southeast and he wondered if perhaps Cuba, which did not have a strong relationship with the U.S., might be the best place to go in the long run. It was worthy of consideration; because once he reached the Jumentos Cays he would be relatively close to the big island. As long as he didn’t run into a navy or coast guard ship no one was likely to challenge him if he decided to take his chances and go there.
Russell was snapped out of these thoughts by a loud, obnoxious buzzer sounding from the cabin. Knowing it was the temperature warning alarm, he took the flashlight and went below to the engine compartment. It took him a few seconds to find it and then he yanked loose the sensor wire connected to the alarm and the maddening noise was silenced. There was a lot of heat coming off the engine block, but there were no unusual sounds as it hummed along at the steady rpm he’d set, running just a tad over half-throttle. Nothing seemed in imminent danger of burning up, so he decided to run it for another half hour. Then he would shut it down and get the sails back up. An hour or so of sailing as close to the wind as possible would give it time to cool down again. He would check the oil before starting it back up, since it would likely burn some running hot, but he doubted it would lock up as long as he kept it topped off and stopped to give it frequent cooling breaks.
The important thing was that every minute it ran, he was making headway dead to windward. That made it well worth the risk. He estimated his speed made good under power was around seven knots, so every hour he could coax it to run would get him farther from the path of likely pursuit. It was just under 100 nautical miles to the Jumentos by his rough measurements on the chart, so it wouldn’t take all that long to get there even with all the stopping and tacking under sail. And so what if it did? The only thing that really mattered regarding his landfall was that he approached the low-lying islands in daylight. There were lots of shoals and reefs surrounding them, and the entire area looked hazardous to navigation, which was precisely why it was seldom visited and therefore such an excellent place to go in times like these.
A half hour later, he shut the diesel down as planned and opened the engine compartment to maximize cooling. The heat was extreme and it would make the cabin uncomfortable, but Russell was going to be on deck anyway. He rushed back up there to get the sails up, as he didn’t want to lose any of the headway he’d made. To sail at all, he had to fall off to the southwest, but that was okay as long as he was making some southerly progress as well.
For a few minutes, it was blissfully quiet, with just the flutter of the jib leech and the rushing of water past the hull, but then Rebecca yelled from below again, this time her tone changed and her plea urgent:
“Yo
u’ve got to let me out of here! I’ve got to use the head! You don’t have to leave me locked in here the whole way. Where do you think I’m going to go?”
Russell considered this and looked around. What could she possibly do? She was right. There was nowhere to go, and he was sure she probably did have to go to the bathroom by now, after all these hours. He tied off the helm so the boat would hold course for a few minutes and went back below to let her out. If she tried something, he would smack the crap out of her. She was just a scrawny 14-year-old after all. There wasn’t really anything to worry about now that they were at sea.
Eighteen
“WE WOULD ALREADY BE on our way if he had just left that last anchor! You’ve got three more, do you really think we’ll need that one too?” Tara was pacing back and forth on the deck as Larry stood by the helm, the catamaran hove to until Grant could catch up.
“I don’t know what we’ll need, but I do know I’m not leaving any gear behind. Grant will be here in just a few more minutes. It’s not going to make a difference in the long run. Trust me, we’re going to catch that guy.”
“Trusting you hasn’t worked out too well for me so far.” Tara glared at him, then turned to watch Grant as he began rowing their way.
Larry understood Tara’s impatience and frustration. He couldn’t imagine what she must be feeling right now. Her boat was gone with her daughter on board, and the man that had taken it had nearly an eight-hour head start. Larry knew that wasn’t near as much as Russell probably thought he would have, considering the condition of the Casey Nicole when he pulled his stunt, but even so, it was significant. Significant enough that Larry was worried about finding him. If he went where they thought he was going, that was one thing. But if he didn’t… then all bets were off. But Larry couldn’t let Tara know he was anything less than fully confident they would find her daughter. She had to believe that or she would totally lose it. He made sure there was no hint of uncertainty in his voice:
“With the wind favorable to sail to the Exumas, we’ll get there not long after he does. Even on a close reach the Casey Nicole is faster than the Sarah J., and especially in the light air we’ve got tonight. We may catch him before he makes landfall even if he doesn’t stop. But he’s alone at the helm and he was already weak from being stranded here with so little to eat. He may drop the anchor on the banks somewhere and sleep a while, thinking there’s no way we could relaunch our boat so soon.”
“I think Larry’s right,” Artie said. “I can’t see him sailing all night through unfamiliar waters. I would think he would have sense enough to rest before approaching land exhausted like that.” Artie had been standing there with them as they waited for Grant, not really knowing what to say to Tara. None of them did. All any of them could do was show her that they were willing to do everything in their power to catch up to her boat and her daughter. Jessica and Casey were standing at the stern boarding ramp, waiting to meet Grant and help him get the anchors and dinghy aboard.
Tara was actually holding herself together a lot better than Larry expected. She had snapped at him once or twice with suggestions this was his fault, but it wasn’t with the outright fury she’d rightfully had when he’d fallen asleep on his watch, leaving her emotionally confused daughter alone on deck. If Rebecca had succeeded with what she intended when she slipped over the side and into the kayak, Larry didn’t know how he would have been able to live with himself, knowing he’d allowed it to happen. Tara was correct that this incident was partially his fault too.
He’d misjudged what Russell was capable of and likely to do. Larry hadn’t liked him much from the beginning and now he knew he should have trusted his instincts and put aside his desire to help a fellow human being in need. But offering the man a ride off the desolate island had not at the time seemed much of a stretch, particularly since he could use his help with the boat on the way to Florida. Russell’s unappreciative attitude should have been enough of a red flag though. He had clearly displayed his disappointment at Larry’s “take-it-or-leave-it” offer of a ride to Florida and nowhere else. Larry had thought he would sulk for a while and get over it. He hadn’t considered that instead, the man would plot and scheme and then do something as rash and bold as stealing one of their boats and kidnapping Tara’s daughter. Now Rebecca was in grave danger whether Russell intended to harm her or not. Anything could happen out at sea. They could have a navigational accident or hit bad weather, or encounter bandits that would not be deterred by the SKS Russell found aboard. And aside from all that, after what Rebecca had done in the Gulf in a moment of despair, Larry couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t do so again if she thought she had no other out. It pissed him off to no end, thinking about her going through all of this now after how far she’d come emotionally since that awful night. By the time they’d found her out there in the dark, Rebecca had decided she wanted to live. And during the many days and nights at sea after that, she and Larry had many long talks about life and hope and he’d seen a total turn around in her attitude. The last thing she needed at this point was for all that to be erased by the actions of one selfish idiot. Larry knew they simply had to catch up before that happened.
Even if Rebecca were not aboard the Sarah J., losing the other boat would be a disaster at this point. Without two boats, Larry could not go back and search for Scully and it was too risky for all of them to return to Florida. Aside from that, stores were low aboard the Casey Nicole, while the heavier-displacement Sarah J. still had a decent supply of canned goods and other non-perishables. When Larry had first decided to help Tara and Rebecca after meeting them on Cat Island, he had not been thinking much beyond the passage to the Bahamas. Now, he had no intention of leaving them behind, even though his fantasies of what might have been with Tara were unlikely to work out. He had grown attached to Rebecca too, and abandoning the two females alone in these islands to fend for themselves was simply out of the question. But they had to have that boat back, just as they had to rescue Rebecca and then eventually, find Scully. Larry was used to having plenty to worry about as a professional skipper moving boats between islands and across oceans in all weather and all times of the year, but never had he found himself with as much worry as he had on his shoulders now.
When Grant reached the catamaran he and the girls with Artie’s help made quick work of stowing the dinghy upside down on the forward trampoline and lashing it in place. Then Larry put the helm back over and set a course to the west. They first had to sail around the western end of Green Cay and then well to the south of it, steering clear of the reefs and shoals before they could set an eastward course for the Exumas. Thinking about the dangers in these shallow waters at night just made Larry angrier because he was leaving with unfinished repairs from the accidental grounding. He hated that Russell had made him sail before the work was complete. It would cause them to have to go to the trouble to find another suitable spot to haul out again later. It was just one more thing to fuel the fury he would unleash upon the sorry asshole when he caught up with him.
“We need to keep a sharp watch,” he told Grant and Artie; as if it were something they didn’t already know. “He could be anchored or adrift most anywhere, and it would be all too easy to pass him out here at night and never know it.”
“It looks like we’re going to have good visibility,” Artie said, glancing up at the clear, starry skies. “That’s certainly a blessing.”
“Yeah, in more ways than one. Maybe he won’t screw up and hit something on a clear night like this.”
Getting Rebecca back and recovering the boat in whatever condition they found it was the goal, but if they could get it undamaged, that would be even better. Larry just hoped Russell had enough sense not to run the engine without the water pump. It would be a shame to ruin a perfectly good diesel that was well maintained and simple to keep going even in these circumstances. At least he knew about the problem with the pump, and he claimed to be experienced working on boats, so maybe that would make him think
twice. The wind was favorable to take him to Staniel Cay, so if he were really going there, he wouldn’t need the engine to do it and would hopefully leave it alone.
Tara spent the rest of the night standing watch as far forward as she could go, on the catwalk platform that spanned the gap between the forward beam and the forestay. She had no interest in taking a break from her vigil for any reason and was still there nearly five hours later as the eastern horizon began to lighten with the coming of dawn.
Just as Larry had predicted, the breeze died down to less than ten knots after midnight, and on a close reach their boat speed stayed in the upper single digits as well. He was disappointed that they had not spotted the silhouette of a sail on the relatively bright horizon they had all night. Either Russell hadn’t stopped to rest or he had gotten far enough off course to his destination that they missed him if he did. Taking him by surprise would be best of course, since he’d already shot at them with the rifle. There was plenty of ammunition for it in the drawer under the chart table, and Larry had no doubt he would find it in his search for a joint or something to drink. If they could have spotted the boat anchored out on the banks in the dark, it might be possible to board it before he realized what was happening. Even in the daylight that tactic could work as long as he was below and asleep. But if they didn’t find him before he reached the Exumas, Larry knew things were going to be that much more difficult. The biggest factor there was going to be all the other boaters he knew would be congregated there. That entire chain was a mecca for yachts of all types and sizes anyway, and he had no doubt that many Florida and other East Coast boaters with vessels seaworthy enough to get there would congregate in what they would consider a safe island haven.
After what they had already seen in the Caribbean and along the northern Gulf Coast, Larry wasn’t inclined to go sailing boldly into any of the popular Exumas anchorages, even if Russell already had. To do so without some kind of reconnoitering effort first would be putting his ship and his crew at risk of attack or ambush. And even if that were not a worry, if Russell was there and on deck when they arrived, he would surely recognize the distinctive catamaran from a distance and have ample time to prepare his defense.
Landfall: Islands in the Aftermath Page 11