by Lopez, Rob
Zack, on the other hand, was definitely suspect. He stuck out a mile. He shouldn’t have been on the boat and she resolved to get him off at the first opportunity. Once Miss Fancypants was out of the way, Darla would give him his marching orders. It’d be interesting to see how Jacques reacted to that. Might solve the mystery one way or the other.
Down on the main deck, Ms. Roberts strutted around. She’d found herself an orange life preserver to put on over her suit. To Darla, the fact that she felt she needed one just for sailing on flat water marked her out as an amateur. Hopefully she’d get seasick and ask to be put ashore.
They passed the Valero refinery where a tanker was docked. There didn’t appear to be any damage to the tanker, but the crew were standing around on the deck, looking as if they had nothing to do. Darla assumed the refinery had been forced to shut down due to the blackout. At least there were no fires burning. She blew the steam whistle but the crew didn’t wave. They simply stared as the steamer sailed by. Around the next bend, on the opposite bank, was a chemical plant, a mass of tubular structures. Beyond that was the Waterford Nuclear power plant. On the plant’s dock, a guy in overalls and a high visibility vest ran down to wave frantically at the Mississippi Rose. Behind him, Darla could see a portable generator and pump feeding a sagging pipe from the river up to the reactor building.
Ms. Roberts waved back and turned to shout up to the pilothouse. “Pull in there,” she yelled, pointing.
Darla frowned. “It’s not a taxi, lady,” she muttered under her breath.
Calling for Slow Ahead, she turned the helm and blew the whistle three times. Jacques emerged onto the forecastle as they neared the dock. Gently, Darla straightened the boat, positioning it to just cross the end of the dock. Jacques stood ready with the rope while Ms. Roberts was already engaged in a shouting conversation with the guy in overalls. As soon as the boat’s bow passed the dock, Darla turned the helm and called Slow Astern. The paddle wheels halted then reversed their direction, pausing the boat’s momentum. The side of the hull kissed the dock and Jacques leaped ashore, tying the boat up. Darla rang All Stop and the paddle wheels froze in their positions, water dripping off the paddle boards. The Mississippi Rose drifted backward a little until the rope went taut.
Jacques climbed back aboard to swing out the stage, but Ms. Roberts surprised Darla by climbing nimbly down to the dock and hurrying over to the plant worker.
Darla left the pilothouse and slid down the stairs to the main deck, curious as to why they’d been hailed, but Ms. Roberts didn’t wait for her. Instead she made her way up the slope with the plant worker. Darla watched her go, noting the urgency of their movements. The generator throbbed and the pump sucked up river water.
“What were they talking about?” Darla asked Jacques.
“The man told her the reactor is going to melt down,” said Jacques phlegmatically, as if explaining to a customer why the asparagus was no longer in season and would not be available on the menu today.
“Oh,” said Darla. “And here I was thinking it was serious.”
She looked across at the chemical plant. It had never been worth a second glance in the past, but now Darla wondered which genius thought it would be okay to site a toxic chemical factory next to a nuclear reactor.
“Let me know when Her Highness gets back,” she said.
She made her way to the boiler room. Inside she found a convivial guys’ club. Zack shoveled coal into the firebox, Manny leaned against the pipes by the gages and one of the cops unbolted the cover of the steam generator. They were all laughing at some joke that someone had told.
“What are you doing?” said Darla to the cop, whom she didn’t recall giving permission to dismantle machinery on her boat.
“He’s taking a look at the wiring on the generator,” said Manny.
“My brother’s an electrician,” explained the cop. “Wanted to see if we can get some electricity going for the coffee machine.”
“Coffee’s off-limits,” said Darla curtly. “Put that cover back on.” She turned to Zack. “I want a word with you.”
She stepped outside and waited for Zack to follow. He did so, holding the side rail for support. He seemed a lot taller outside, looming over Darla. His beard hid whatever expression he might have had and his brooding eyes gazed down at her like she was a kid. Darla self-consciously lifted herself up to her full height, almost standing on her toes.
“How did you get on my boat?” she asked.
“The old guy let me on,” said Zack, like it was obvious.
“Which old guy?”
“Manny, the guy in the engine room.”
“He’s the engineer. I’m the captain, and I decide who gets on this boat.”
“Well, there’s that other woman,” he said, half-heartedly pointing to wherever he thought Ms. Roberts had gone.
“You pay her no heed. There’s only one master and owner and that’s me. Why did you come back? I already told you there weren’t no vacancies.”
“I know, and I wasn’t going to come back, but,” Zack shrugged, “things have gone kind of weird and I thought you could use some help.”
“Oh you did, did you?”
“Yeah. I volunteer for stuff. You know, emergencies, shelter work, whatever.”
“Why?”
“Keeps me busy.” Zack shuffled his feet like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. “It’s better to be useful. Clears the mind and feeds the soul.”
“Don’t give me that crap. What did Eric tell you?”
“Eric who?”
“You know who I mean.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Don’t you play games with me, mister. Eric told you to get a job on my boat, didn’t he? Why?”
Zack furrowed his brow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nobody told me anything.”
“You’re an ex-con. You knew Eric in prison.”
“I’m not an ex-con.”
Darla took a deep breath, aware that she was raising the tension. “What,” she said carefully, “were you doing for those ten missing years off of your resume?”
Zack grew thoughtful, his gaze drifting off. “I’m not entirely sure. I moved around some. It’s hazy. Woke up one day and ten years had gone. Figured I needed to do something about it.”
His plaintive tone removed the sting from Darla’s anger.
“You don’t know Eric Whelan?” she said.
“No,” murmured Zack, caught up now in some dark memory. “Should I have?”
“No,” said Darla quietly. “Nobody should.”
She couldn’t think of anything else to say and the silence got awkward.
“Go back and help Manny,” she said.
Feeling like a heel, Darla made her way to the forecastle, thinking that either Zack was a really good actor or she needed to be less paranoid.
But that would mean breaking the habit of a lifetime.
Jacques stood on the dock, examining his fingernails.
“Did she say when she’d be coming back?” asked Darla.
“Non,” said Jacques.
Darla looked up at the reactor building.
“You were joking about the reactor melting down, right?” she said.
“Non.”
“You serious?”
“Oui.”
Darla looked at the generator, chugging away. She wasn’t sure what the function of the pump was but began to wonder if it was related to the reactor functioning correctly. She found herself paying close attention to the generator, wondering if it was slowing down. What would happen if it stopped working?
Jacques seemed unperturbed by anything and Darla didn’t want to appear nervous in front of him. Nevertheless, she began pacing up and down.
“Could you go up and ask her what’s taking her so long?” she said.
Jacques frowned and began walking up the slope. Just at that moment Ms. Roberts appeared, hurrying down to the boat.
“We h
ave to get to Baton Rouge quickly,” she called out.
“What’s happening?” asked Darla.
“They only have one pump to keep the reactor cool. We need to bring more. The Army Corps of Engineers should have some.”
“Is it going to blow?”
Ms. Roberts jumped nimbly aboard. “No,” she said, pushing her hair back. “At least not yet, but we need more generators and pumps, just to be sure. I want you to make all speed. We cannot delay.”
Darla didn’t like to be given orders, but something in the Inspector General’s voice had her running to the pilothouse. As soon as Jacques untied the boat, Darla called for Full Ahead. The paddles thrashed the water and Darla spun the helm, anxious to be away.
***
With each creeping mile, Darla grew a little more uneasy. The Mississippi was the artery of America and Louisiana the beating heart. Industry lined the banks and rigor mortis had set in. Tall chimneys and cooling towers no longer spewed white smoke. Grain elevators had ceased their clanking. Cranes stood motionless. Cargo sat on the docks, going nowhere. Every power plant had shattered transformers and fallen lines. Tug boats that had lost power had been forced to ram their barges into the shallows to prevent them drifting helpless down the river. Tankers that had been on their way to the refineries pulled on their anchor chains at the edge of the deep water channel. Loose barges drifted with the current, threatening to collide with anything that got in their way. Darla threaded the Mississippi Rose through all the hazards and around the obstacles, going as close to the shallows as she dared.
“Manny! Get Zack to come up to the pilothouse.”
Zack climbed the steps from the saloon. With the boat tilting as it rounded a bend, he looked unsteady on his feet.
“You wanted me?” he said.
“Yeah,” she replied. “Do you know how to sound depth?”
“No.”
“Open that locker there. You’ll find a lead line.”
Zack pulled out a large bundle of cord with a weight on the end. Plastic markers were attached to the cord at intervals.
“You take it out to the forecastle,” explained Darla, “and you drop the lead, paying out the rope until the lead hits bottom. Then you take a reading off the markers and that’ll tell you how deep the water is.”
“That sounds simple enough,” said Zack.
“It is. You shout out the markers. Depth is measured in fathoms, so for four fathoms, you shout out ‘Mark four’, for three, you shout ‘Mark three’.”
“Okay. Two is Mark two.”
“No. Two is twain. For two fathoms you shout ‘Mark twain’.”
“Like the author?”
“That’s how he got his name. When you get to that marker, you yell it extra loud. After that, you measure in feet. Six feet to a fathom. You yell eleven feet, ten feet, all the way up. This boat draws four feet empty, so you have to let me know when we get close so we don’t rip the bottom out.”
Zack looked out across the wide river, seeing the big anchored ships.
“This river looks deep enough that we won’t need to worry about that.”
“In the center channel, yeah, but near the banks it’s different.”
“So why don’t we just sail up the channel?”
“It slows us down. The current’s strong. We need to get to Baton Rouge quick, so I need all the speed we can get. That means finding the slack water in the shallows, especially around the bends. You take your lead and stand on the forecastle, and when I yell out for a sounding, you swing the lead.”
“What if I fall in?” said Zack.
Darla turned to look at him. He actually looked worried.
“Easy,” she said. “Don’t fall in. You can swim can’t you?”
“Not really.”
“What are you talking about? You said you were a lifeguard. What kind of lifeguard can’t swim?”
“That’s why I got fired. It was only a shallow pool and I figured I could manage, but I failed a test.”
Darla looked at him again. “You didn’t get anyone killed, did you?”
“No, it was just the manager. He wanted to know if I could save him so he jumped in, clothes and all. I nearly drowned us both.”
Darla was aghast. “How did you get that job in the first place?”
“The manager’s daughter liked me.”
Darla looked him up and down. “Oh yeah, she’s got great taste. Well don’t you worry. You fall in from the forecastle and you’ll be sucked under the paddles before I can even stop the engines. You won’t so much drown as be battered to death, so swimming won’t help you anyway. Go take up your position.”
Zack paused, hefting the lead in his hand. “Why don’t you like me?” he said.
“Who says I gotta like you? I don’t even know you. You’re on probation. Prove yourself and you get to stay on my boat. Otherwise, you’re out.”
Zack weighed up those words then took his line and left the pilothouse. Darla watched him make his nervous way to the forecastle, gripping the flagstaff tight. She really couldn’t figure him out. One moment he seemed to be full of dark energy, in the next he was a child.
Or a patsy. Darla wondered if he’d been blackmailed onto the boat. And she didn’t have to think twice about who might be doing the blackmailing.
8
The trip to Baton Rouge was uneventful, though Darla was entertained by watching Zack’s antics at the bow. He wasn’t nimble and he had a real aversion to leaning out too far over the rail. He got himself tangled in the line and he struggled to get accurate depth readings, tugging up and down on the line to check that the lead really had hit bottom. At one point he played out so much line that Darla thought it was going to trail back and get wrapped up in the paddle wheel. Treating it as a learning experience, she didn’t actually take his readings verbatim, and so avoided getting too close to the shallows. Nevertheless, the Mississippi Rose was making about 10 knots, and they reached Baton Rouge by late afternoon.
Any hopes that the catastrophe was limited to New Orleans were dashed when she saw the columns of black smoke. The distinctive capitol tower was ablaze. Traffic was stationary on the Horace Wilkinson Bridge. It was pretty much the same as what she’d left that morning.
The Mississippi Rose passed under the bridge and nosed toward an empty jetty on the riverside. There were two large paddle steamers at Baton Rouge, but they were fake, having been turned into floating casinos. There was also the USS Kidd, a WW2 destroyer that was now a museum, set on concrete below the waterline. Beyond that Darla recognized the MV Choctaw, an Army Corps of Engineers river-maintenance barge. Farther upriver, a Coast Guard response boat lay at anchor mid-river. Two men in a rowboat dragged a line from shore to attach to the response boat, presumably to drag it into port, which could only mean the vessel’s twin outboard motors had failed too. A small boat that also had an outboard motor, however, droned past, working just fine, though it looked pretty old.
Ms. Roberts came up to the pilothouse.
“I wish we could have got here faster,” she said.
Darla didn’t bother looking at her, focusing instead on lining up the bow with the jetty.
“Well, we didn’t,” she said.
“Hopefully I shouldn’t be too long talking to the governor.”
“I don’t think you will be,” said Darla. “Not if he was in there.” She nodded toward the burning capitol tower.
“Oh Lord,” said Ms. Roberts.
“Course, it was pretty late last night, so he might have left, but if he was banging an intern, they’ll both be crispy fried by now.”
Ms. Roberts narrowed her eyes, and Darla gave her a cat’s smile.
“I shall go ashore and find out what the situation is,” said Ms. Roberts. “Your job is to speak to the Army Corps of Engineers. We need pumps and generators and personnel willing to man them. Please have the boat ready to go for when I get back. Oh, and a police officer will remain on the boat, just to make sure you don’t get
any ideas.”
“Ain’t going to stop me getting ideas,” said Darla.
“But it might just stop you acting on them.”
The boat paused by the jetty and Zack tied it up.
“You’d better get going, then,” said Darla dryly.
The inspector general gave her another disapproving look, then left. With one of the cops as escort, she strode onto the wharf and into the city.
Darla waited until they were out of sight, then skipped down to the saloon. The delicious smell of cooking wafted out of the galley. Inside, Jacques had managed to get the hated stove going and was frying shrimp in a gigantic pan. Darla listened to the sizzling.
“That is just the sound I want to hear right now,” she said. “Mmm, give me a shrimp.”
“Non.”
“Hey homme, come on. Just one.”
“When I finish,” said Jacques pedantically, throwing seasoning into the pan.
“What else we having?”
“Unfortunately, everything. The freezer is not working and it will all go to waste.”
“I gotta get that generator working. And get some cabling.”
She made her way into the boiler room.
“Keep the steam up,” she told Manny. “We’re liable to be moving again soon.”
“Hey,” said Manny. “Union regs says I’m entitled to a break. Done a straight seven hours and I ain’t even had a chance to eat.”
“You’ll get that chance, and I don’t think national emergencies recognize union regs.”
“Bessy and Nora need a break too,” said Manny, waving a rag toward the two steam engines.
Darla winced. “Yeah, we’ll have to reduce speed on the return trip. You make sure you keep them points greased.”
“What did I tell you?” said Manny to Zack, who’d returned to his station by the furnace. “She cares more about machines than us humans.”
Darla gave him a cold look. “I can replace humans. I can’t replace these engines.”
“You can’t replace me,” said Manny. “I’m damn near irreplaceable.”
“You wish,” muttered Darla. “Take a look at that generator. I want to know if it can be fixed.”