Casey had little doubt now that she was in the hands of a psychopath, whether he spoke articulately or not. It was clear now that he had no intentions of letting her go, but it really scared and angered her that he seemed to think that she should somehow appreciate what he was doing—that in his mind he was saving her from a world gone mad. He was mad, of that she was certain, and the way he talked of how he had been preparing and practically hoping for something like this very thing made it seem that in his case, unlike those of many they had seen, it was not a condition brought about by the recent events. Now she was more afraid than ever about where he might be taking her. From what he said, she could only deduce that it was someplace remote and far from roads, likely some cabin or camp like Grant’s that was deep in the woods somewhere along the course of this river. She did know that it wasn’t in Mississippi, though, because they were still downstream of the state line, and Grant had said it would be a real struggle to paddle up the river to his cabin from the bridge where they planned to begin. She could tell from the sensation of speed and the feeling that they were moving even when her captor wasn’t paddling that they were riding the current of the river downstream. But she had no idea where this river went. Casey hadn’t given much thought to the geography of the local waterways since she’d moved to New Orleans, at least none of them beyond the shores of Lake Pontchartrain and the banks of the Mississippi River where it wound its way through the city not far from campus. She was at a loss as to whether the Bogue Chitto might empty into the lake or directly into the Gulf of Mexico, and she wished now she’d asked Grant more questions as they traveled together. All she really knew now was that no matter what, her top priority was to escape from this man. The chances of Grant and Jessica finding her and helping her could be little better than zero. Sadly, she realized that even if she escaped, she might be unable to find them. Every mile the canoe traveled downriver was just that much farther in the wrong direction from Grant’s cabin, and even if she could find a way to travel back upriver, they might not be there by the time she made it. Her thoughts turned to her dad and her Uncle Larry as well. She wondered what they were doing and knew her dad would be thinking about her constantly and doing his best to find a way to get back to New Orleans, but she doubted it would be possible until the electricity was somehow restored. She didn’t know how she was going to make it happen, but she was determined to see him again as much for his sake as for hers. She knew what he had gone through when they lost her mom, and she couldn’t let him down by failing to survive this and putting him through the loss of his only daughter as well.
Derek, if that was really his name, had not spoken again after he started back paddling for what seemed to Casey like much longer than an hour. She hadn’t really wanted him to either, as she was lost in her thoughts of escape and of Grant and Jessica, and of her dad and Uncle Larry. When he finally did, his voice startled her as much as it had the first time.
“We’re going to pull over to the bank and stop for a little while just ahead here. It’s getting dark now.”
Casey’s stomach knotted up as she wondered what he had in mind. Was he going to try and drag her out of the canoe and rape her here and now, as night had fallen and they were in a sufficiently remote place? She thought it was highly likely. In the silence after he said this, she noticed for the first time the sound of night insects, a distant hum from the riverside forests that surely must be surrounding them in this lonely place. She clenched her teeth as she felt the bow of the canoe slide onto something solid, then felt it rock and surge forward as the man stepped out and pulled it farther up on the bank.
“I want you to understand something, okay? I have no intention of hurting you or doing anything else to you. I don’t want to keep you tied up and gagged like this, but I can’t have you screaming and trying to fight me either. So if you and I can reach an understanding, I’ll get that gag out of your mouth so you can drink some water, and eat something too, if you like. Then maybe we can have a conversation like the newfound friends that we are. The first thing I’m going to do is take that blindfold off of your eyes though, so you can see that I’m not the monster you probably think I am. I really am a nice guy and you’ll see that and appreciate it more and more as we get to know each other.”
Casey didn’t believe for a minute that he wasn’t going to try something, but she did want the blindfold off, and especially the gag. She was dying for a drink of water and really needed it, but the thought of eating anything that he might offer her made her sick. Food was the farthest thing from her mind right now. She tried to shrink away as she felt his hands near her head, but all he was doing was untying the knots. He removed the blindfold and she could see partly over the gunwale of the canoe into a starry night sky—the first stars she’d seen since the night they had camped on the Causeway before the rainy weather moved in. She couldn’t see her captor because he was behind her, but presently she felt his hands lifting her from under her back until she was in a sitting position against the packs. She could see the outline of the treetops on the far bank, and the glint of the river as it rippled by in the faint starlight. Then he walked around the canoe to face her, squatting on his haunches to get down to her level where she sat propped up. It was hard to see his features clearly, but she could tell just from his silhouette against the night sky that he was tall and lean, and that he had a full beard and thick, shoulder-length hair. His movements were fluid and powerful, and squatting there he looked as comfortable as most people would look sitting in an easy chair. She got the impression that, even more than Grant, he was in his element in the outdoors.
“Okay, I know it’s dark out here, but you can see I’m just a regular guy. I’m not some creepy serial killer or something like that you may have seen in a scary movie. I’m just a man who happens to have a lot of experience living off the grid, and to tell you the truth, I couldn’t care less whether the power ever comes back on again—in fact, I sincerely hope it doesn’t. The world will be a better place without it, but we can talk about all that later. First, I just want you to relax a bit and I want you to be more comfortable and to know that I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to take that gag out of your mouth, but I warn you, if you scream, I’ll put it back just as fast as I did the first time. What do you say? Can I trust you to keep quiet?”
Casey looked at him and nodded, indicating that she would. He reached behind her head with both hands to undo the knot, a movement that drew his face much closer to hers. She bent her head down as much as possible to avoid eye contact with him, and then felt the awful dry rag pulled away from her mouth. She tried to spit, but her mouth was so dry she couldn’t. It was all she could do to resist the urge to scream at him, but she feared he would do exactly as he said and stuff the rag back into her mouth if she did.
He reached for something in the canoe and she saw it was a canteen of some sort. “I know you need some water.” He unscrewed the cap and held it up to her lips. She tilted her head back enough to allow the water to flow into her dry mouth. She took several deep drinks and turned away when she’d had enough, causing some of it to spill on her shirt before he moved the canteen away.
“Why did you do this to me?” she yelled. “Let me go!”
His hand was over her mouth before she could utter another word. “I told you to keep it down. You can talk, but there’s no need to shout. Do you understand?”
Casey nodded again and he removed his hand. “You can’t do this to me,” she said much more quietly. “I’ve got to get back to my friends. They’re looking for me.”
“It’s not safe back there. It’s much more dangerous up there around the state line than it is where we’re going. I don’t know where the three of you were trying to go, but you wouldn’t have made it on those bicycles. It’s a wonder someone hadn’t already killed the boy you were with and raped you and your friend, then killed you both; that kind of thing is happening everywhere, whether you know it or not. I don’t know what you three were
thinking, traveling the roads like that.”
“We were fine, until you came along,” Casey said. “I don’t know who you think you are, and why you think you’re above the law, but you’re going to pay for this when you get caught! You can’t take someone prisoner against their will just because the power is off.”
“You still don’t get it, do you? Here’s a news flash for you: everything has changed now, in case you and your friends didn’t figure that out on your little bike ride. Where did you come from, anyway? Covington…Mandeville? None of you look like you are from around here.”
“New Orleans!” Casey spat. “And we were getting where we were going. We knew there were scumbags like you everywhere trying to take advantage of the situation. We even passed the bodies of people who were murdered. But we weren’t stupid. Grant knew what he was doing, and we had a gun too.”
“You mean this one?” Derek reached for something in one of the bags in the canoe. She saw that it was her father’s pistol. “Rule number one in using firearms for self-defense: Always Have it With You! You walked off and left this in your pack for anyone to come along and pick up. What good did you think it would do you there? You’ve got a lot to learn about survival. You’re lucky you’ve found the right teacher.”
Casey realized that if he had taken the gun from her backpack, he had obviously been watching her from the woods while she was bathing. She shuddered at the thought that she had been walking around naked on the sandbar, oblivious to having been watched the entire time.
“If I’m going to be that teacher, and we’re going to be best friends someday, as I’m certain we are, I need to know your name.”
“Screw you!” Casey said. Her voice was defiant, but not quite a shout. She didn’t want his hands on her again so she restrained herself from provoking him by yelling it too loudly.
Derek laughed and rose to a standing position, putting the gun back wherever he’d stashed it in his bags. “That’s okay, you can tell me later. As I said, we’ve got plenty of time to get to know each other, so it’s not a problem.” He took another small bag out of the canoe and squatted down in front of her again.
“Hungry?” he asked, taking something out of the bag and taking a bite of it. “I shot a deer and smoke-dried most of the meat before I put in upriver a few days ago. I’ve got enough to last for a couple of weeks. It’s good; have some,” he said, tearing off a chunk of something she could barely see in the dark and holding it up to her face. Casey turned away. It did smell a lot like the beef jerky she had been sharing with Grant, but she was far too upset to have an appetite at this point.
“I’m not hungry!” she said when he didn’t take it away.
“Okay.You will be soon enough, but you can decide when. Do what you like, but I’ve got to paddle all night. We’ll make another 15 miles before daylight. I’ll feel a lot better then, the closer we get to the big swamp. That’s where I feel most at home, and I’ve been going there so long that it’s like it’s my world down there. It’s one of the best, most unspoiled places in the whole Southeast, and there’s no way to get to the best parts except in a canoe. I can’t wait to show it to you.”
“You’re insane! I’d rather die than go see some swamp—or anyplace else with you,” Casey said.
“You may think that now, but you’ll change your mind. And you’re not going to die; I intend to make sure of that. If anyone tries to do you harm, it will be them doing the dying. I’ve been doing this kind of stuff alone for too long, and I’m through with that. I need you to stay alive, and you need me in order to do that, so let’s just say we’ve got ourselves a mutually beneficial relationship here, and see if we can’t just get along.”
Casey still couldn’t believe what she was hearing, and she was even more surprised when Derek pulled the canoe back into the river and resumed paddling without touching her again. She had been certain that he would do something to her immediately, but now, after listening to him talk, she concluded that he must be even crazier than she imagined. She was beginning to think that he actually believed she would somehow start to like him, look upon him as her protector, become his lover, and live happily ever after with him in some remote swamp! As dangerous as his delusions likely made him, however, she was overwhelmingly relieved that he had not tried to do anything to her yet, and because of what he thought would develop between them eventually, she could at least half-believe that he wasn’t about to kill her at any moment, as she’d feared when she was first abducted.
Artie couldn’t recall ever seeing so many vultures in one place. They were wheeling overhead by the hundreds, gliding in tight spiraling circles, while hundreds more congregated on the concrete railings of the two massive bridge spans they were about to sail under. Connecting New Orleans East to the north shore city of Slidell, the Interstate 10 Twin Span Bridge was one of the major traffic arteries out of the city, and had apparently been the scene of a massive exodus sometime in the previous days. Their first glimpse of this bridge pretty much confirmed all that Craig had told them about conditions in the city. Aside from the grotesque sight of so many of these big black birds of death, stalled vehicles were strung out along the overhead lanes for as far as they could see from their perspective on the water. Some of them appeared to have been burned in the days since the pulse left them stranded there, and lots of smoke could be seen off in the distance in the direction of the city to the southwest. A few haggard-looking people were walking on the bridge among the abandoned cars and vultures, all of them apparently headed away from New Orleans, using both the north and southbound lanes as escape corridors. Some of them yelled down at them like the teenagers on the Overseas Highway near Marathon had done, while others just leaned over the rail and stared, but at least here no one threw anything at them. Because of that incident in Florida, Larry had asked Artie to bring the shotgun on deck before they sailed under the bridges. He hoped they wouldn’t need it, but said they needed a means of deterring anyone who might have a similar idea here, as rocks the size of the one that had barely missed them that night, thrown from a height, could do serious damage to the boat or even kill someone.
Beam-reaching on a light breeze out of the south, they soon cleared the bridge and the overpowering smell of death that surrounded it. “I sure hope Casey didn’t try to leave,” Artie said, his face pale and his stomach twisting as the horrific scene on the bridge receded astern.
“I doubt she would have,” Larry said. “After all, the only way she could have gotten out would have been to try to walk. I’m sure she and Jessica and maybe some of her other friends are holed up somewhere on the campus and are just fine. I think she’s too smart to do anything stupid.”
“I hope you’re right, but this is one unbelievable scene. I can’t imagine how frightened she must be. I just hope she and Jessica stayed inside out of sight and have had enough to eat all this time.”
“I think we’ll find that she’s just fine, but a lot of these people must have really suffered. It looks at least as bad here as Craig said it was, doesn’t it? And I’m sure it’s only going to get worse, but at least we’re here. Now we just need to get in and get out while we still can.”
Despite his worry and dread, Artie could scarcely contain his relief when he first saw the skyline of downtown New Orleans come into view from the deck of the Casey Nicole. They were sailing parallel to the south shore of Lake Pontchartrain from a couple of miles out, Scully steering for the elevated span where they could pass under the Causeway in the channel closest to the south shore. According to the chart, there was a vertical clearance of 60 feet at that point. Looking south to the distant, familiar buildings, Artie could dare to believe that Casey was really within his reach. After sailing some 1500 miles and surviving all the dangers they had encountered along the way, maybe they really were about to achieve what they’d set out to do.
“We won’t waste any time,” Larry said as they talked over their plan while sitting in the cockpit. “We’ll be off the south s
hore near the airport by mid-afternoon if this wind holds. You and Scully can paddle up that canal and find your car as soon as it gets dark enough to cover your movements. That should still give us time to sail back over and maneuver the boat as close to the canal at West End Park as possible, and hopefully you two can be on your way to the campus before midnight. With any luck, you can get her and Jessica back to the boat and we can be out of here before daylight tomorrow.”
There were a lot of unknowns and variables that could impact their plan, and as they sailed west through the lake, they discussed what they would do if things were not as they expected. One question that came up was the possibility that Casey would be taking refugee with several other friends, and would not want to leave them behind. Artie asked Larry what they would do if that were the case, and they decided that they could take as many as four more people on board, including Casey and Jessica, but any more would put too much of a strain on their supplies and the space available on board.
“We could shuttle a few more than that across the lake, or drop them off somewhere on our way back out to the Gulf, but we couldn’t accommodate them long-term. I really hope it’s just Casey and Jessica, because keeping enough food and fresh water on board is going to be enough of a challenge as it is.”
“What are we going to do about water?” Artie asked. “We’re getting low already.”
“I know. We’ve got to take on more before we leave the mainland. The good thing about this area is that there are several freshwater rivers that empty into the Mississippi Sound. Since our draft is not a problem, we can sail up one of them, maybe the Pearl, just far enough to get beyond the tide range and top off our tanks. Thankfully, I’ve got plenty of filter cartridges for the galley pump filter, so we don’t have to worry about getting sick from it. When we get to wherever we’re going to hang out until this is over, I’ve got what we need to set up a rain catchment system for longer-term use.”
The Pulse: A Novel of Surviving the Collapse of the Grid Page 24