Mississippi Rose | Book 1 | Into Darkness

by Lopez, Rob

  It was Captain Hartfield — or rather, his body — tied spreadeagled on his own golden antlers in a gruesome display.

  “Manny! If you’ve got any more you can give me, now’s the time to do it.”

  Bullet holes in the stacks spewed smoke along the Texas deck. Darla stared back through the roiling cloud as the Pride of Orleans lined up to resume its pursuit. Manny, with no complaint this time, had managed to find a few more pounds of pressure to apply to the pistons, and the Mississippi Rose strained every mechanical sinew to pound its wheels through the water with increased vigor. It looked for a moment as if she would maintain the distance between the two boats, and the shooting petered out as the two vessels ate up a few more miles, but then the Pride of Orleans began to gain again.

  Desperate to find a way to end this, Darla steered closer to the riverbank, trying to lure the bigger vessel into the shallows. Eric wasn’t falling for that trick, however, and he stayed farther out while closing on a parallel track. Too late, Darla realized her mistake: Eric was looking to box her in against the bank. From there, there would be no escape. Darla turned the helm hard to break out, but Eric turned to intercept her. The Mississippi Rose crossed the larger vessel’s path and presented itself as an irresistible target. From behind their shields, Eric’s men opened fire again.

  Darla dropped down as the onslaught ripped apart her boat. Sand leaking from the perforated sandbags mingled with the shattered glass and wood splinters on the pilothouse deck, and Darla’s protection started to shrink. Frantically, she turned the helm to bring the Pride of Orleans astern and present a smaller profile. The rear of the pilothouse shuddered as bullets plowed into it and Darla tasted wood dust as a cloud of it billowed in through the broken windows. Peering over the helm, she looked for where she could go next. The ferry dock at Angola Point was still a few miles away around a bend, but it offered no shelter whatsoever against assault. She considered pulling the tight-circle trick again, but it only prolonged the inevitable and Darla wasn’t sure how much more punishment her boat could take. If she’d been hit below the waterline at all, she’d be taking on water. And a single shot successfully penetrating one of her boilers would blow the entire vessel sky high with all hands. It was really only a matter of time.

  The banks were heavily wooded, with patches of swamp. An opening appeared, with clear water flowing into the brown Mississippi. It was Tunica Bayou, coming down from the hills. With no other alternative, Darla crossed the river channel to the opposite bank, heading for the shallows again. The Pride of Orleans followed, getting ready to ram her.

  “Manny! Are you there?”

  “I ain’t got no other place to go, have I?”

  “Listen up. When I give you the word, I want you to shut down both wheels.”

  “Gonna shut down anyway. We been hit in the pipes and she’s leaking steam everywhere. It’s as hot as hell in here.”

  “Just hang in there a little longer, okay? And brace yourself. We might hit bottom.”

  Darla had never taken her boat up the bayou and had no idea how deep it was. She’d have preferred to approach it cautiously, sounding as she went, but that option wasn’t available to her. They were going in hot.

  Trailing its own smokescreen, the Mississippi Rose entered the mouth of the bayou. The Pride of Orleans backed off and turned away, preferring not to take the risk. The bayou meandered and Darla turned the boat hard to follow its course, putting a line of trees between her and the other boat. The bullets kept coming, however, cut-leaves falling in a shower. The bayou narrowed, cypress trees leaning over from the banks, then the waterway opened up into a swamp pool. Darla ordered Manny to stop the wheels and the boat drifted on under its own momentum. Trees sticking out of the water collected logs that had floated down, and ripples on the water showed where sand banks lay in wait.

  The Pride of Orleans was out of sight now, and the firing had ceased, but Darla wanted to take her vessel deeper in. Eric only needed to launch a couple of tenders full of gunmen, and they’d be in trouble again. Ordering Slow Astern to kill the momentum, Darla then proceeded to go Slow Ahead, looking for the signs and feeling her way through the bayou channel. The slack water around the edge of the pool was surfaced with algae, through which snakes cut tracks as they fled the large disturbance to their aquatic world. Darla alternated the use of both wheels to negotiate the channel.

  “Manny, tell Zack to begin sounding.”

  Zack made his unsteady way to the forecastle. He was shirtless and his hands were red with blood.

  “Eight feet,” he called back after taking a reading.

  Darla followed the channel out of the pool and the trees closed in on both sides. The bayou deepened again, then came back up to eight feet, gradually getting shallower as they rounded the bends.

  “We’re losing pressure,” said Manny. “Won’t be enough to turn the wheels, soon.”

  They were barely a mile in, but when they reached a fallen tree that blocked half the bayou, they had to stop. The depth was now six feet and the Mississippi Rose was low in the water and listing. She could go no farther.

  They dropped anchor and blew the boiler down, expelling what little steam was left from the side of the boat. Darla gazed, defeated, at the primeval sight outside. There were bear tracks in the mud on the bank, a raccoon in a tree staring at them and clouds of flies in the dappled sunlight. It was an ignominious end to her dreams of sailing the great river.

  24

  The sight of Zack’s bloodied hands gave her some warning of what she’d find when she went below. Even so, her heart sank further when she saw the full extent of the carnage.

  The overhead and bulkheads of the saloon had been completely chewed up. Patients lay in various modes of distress, covered in cuts from the flying glass and splinters. Two were completely covered by sheets, never to move again. A doctor tended the bloody arm of one of the nurses. It looked like a bullet wound. The nurse’s face stared ahead in shock. A Coast Guardsman sat in the corner where the bar used to be. He had blood soaked into his uniform from a wound in the neck, and his eyes were closed, a pistol still in hand, the slide locked back to expose an empty chamber. The carpet was covered in broken glass, sand and spent cartridges.

  Eleanor Roberts was on her knees, helping the other nurses tend to and calm the surviving patients. Everybody moved like they were in a bad dream, going through the motions but devoid of sensation. Darla found Carl in the galley, head in hands. He looked up at her, pain in his eyes, but he was unable to speak. Darla had no words for him either. The question of whether they’d done the right thing was simply not worth exploring now.

  They had enough wounds without opening new ones.

  Making her way to the boiler room, she found Manny and Jacques. Manny looked like he’d just run a marathon, but was okay otherwise. Jacques sat on a stool, leaning forward on the rifle, his lips pressed tight together in suppressed anger, eyes like flint. Water dripped from a bullet hole in one of the overhead pipes. Wood piles and strategically placed coal sacks had protected most of the boiler room, but on the top of one of the boilers were glancing bullet strikes that had gouged out some of the iron. A little lower and it was possible that nobody would be feeling bad right now. Just dead.

  Darla walked out onto the main deck and examined the sorry state of her boat. It was perforated like a sieve. Leaning over the side, she examined the hull, which was covered in bullet impacts. The heavy old timbers had absorbed most of the damage without penetrations, but a few shots had succeeded in getting through. The Mississippi Rose settled deeper in the water as the bilges flooded. Soon she would be resting on the bottom. Darla ran her hand along the rail and touched the splintered woodwork she’d spent so much time lovingly restoring.

  “Are you okay?” asked Zack, wiping his hands with a rag.

  “Not really,” said Darla absently.

  Zack looked at his hands and saw they were shaking. “I think I am, but … that was seriously intense. I’m not sur
e I could go through an experience like that again. You wouldn’t happen to have some of that rum, would you?”

  “I think it went overboard with the bar.”

  “Pity. First time in a while I would have been prepared to break a promise to myself.”

  “To not drink?”

  “And a few other things besides. Still, it’s probably better this way. Once you start, it’s difficult to stop. That’s what I found, anyway.”

  Darla leaned on the rail, head in hands.

  “Do you want some privacy?” asked Zack.

  “Won’t make any difference to how I feel,” said Darla.

  “It’s not much consolation,” began Zack, “but I think you did an amazing job. I mean, you made it here.”

  “Here isn’t where I wanted to be.”

  “I know, but you accomplished the mission. I’m sorry about what it cost, and … what it did to your boat.”

  “I don’t know what we accomplished. I don’t even know where we are. And it wasn’t you who did this anyway, so you don’t need to apologize. The swine who did this is still out there.”

  “Do you think he could follow us up here?”

  Darla pushed herself back off the rail. “He could. We need to get everybody off the boat.”

  She climbed to the top of the pilothouse and looked out. At first she saw nothing but trees and pools of green water, but then she caught sight of what looked suspiciously like a road sign.

  “Get Carl to come up here,” she called to Zack, “and tell him to bring his binoculars.”

  Carl took his time coming.

  “Looks like the road to the prison,” he said despondently, lowering his binoculars. “It’s got to be nearby.”

  “Do you think they’ll let us in?”

  “I don’t know,” said Carl in a tone that made it clear he didn’t care.

  Darla nodded to Zack to get back inside, then turned to Carl.

  “You don’t want people to see you like this,” she said quietly. “You’re in charge of this operation. You’ve got to look like it, and … you’ve got the tradition of the Coast Guard to uphold.”

  Carl sighed heavily. “I lost a man today,” he said, looking off into the distance, “and it’s weighing heavily on me. This is not how how I imagined it would be. I feel like I let him down.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Darla. She thought about it for a moment. “Was he your lover?”

  Carl flashed her an angry look. “I was his commanding officer.”

  “I’m sorry, I just …”

  “You just assumed. I know, and I don’t like that.”

  “Alright. I’ve got a big mouth, okay? It shouldn’t be news by now, but I don’t mean anything by it. I know how you feel and … just forget I said that. It was out of line.”

  “I don’t like being misjudged.”

  “I get misjudged all the time, Carl. And I lost somebody too, once. I know the pain. But this isn’t over. We need to keep it together.”

  Carl gave her a skeptical look. “And who did you lose?”

  “My daughter.”

  Carl closed his eyes, sighed and looked away. “Sorry,” he said, “I’m being an asshole now.”

  “Then join the club,” said Darla. “I don’t want to get too hung up on this. We’ve got bigger problems.”

  Carl nodded slowly. “You’re right. Just give me a minute to think things through.”

  He was silent for a while and Darla decided to leave him to it. She was just climbing down the ladder, however, when he suddenly turned to her.

  “We don’t know what the situation at the prison is,” he said. “We should send a recon party first to see how safe it is.”

  “Sounds like an idea,” said Darla, glad that he was more himself. “I’ll get on it.”

  25

  Manny’s rifle was given to one of the Coast Guardsmen to stand watch at a bend in the bayou. Jacques, as the resident expert on Angola, was picked by Carl to join him and Darla in approaching the prison, and Eleanor nominated herself, as the highest ranking federal official, to join them.

  They made their way through the trees until they reached a newly paved two-lane highway, empty in both directions. Jacques led the way until they saw the prison entrance in the distance. Carl used his binoculars to get a better look.

  “There’s guards in the tower,” he said, “and another couple manning the barrier. Looks like they’re still in business.”

  “Do you think they even know what’s happening outside?” asked Darla.

  “They had to have heard the gunfire on the river. Not sure about the rest.”

  “They will know,” said Jacques.

  “Don’t see how. We’re in the middle of Nowheresville.”

  “Why are we waiting?” said Eleanor. “Let’s talk to them.”

  Carl took another look at the tower and wrinkled his face. “I guess, but it still feels strange. Hope nobody here has convictions outstanding, because they might not let us out again.”

  He said it in a lighthearted way, as if nobody in the group could possibly meet that criteria, but Darla looked at Jacques, and Carl caught the expression on her face.

  “You don’t have anything outstanding, do you?” he asked Jacques.

  “I served my time,” said Jacques.

  “What about your parole? Served that?”

  Jacques didn’t reply.

  Darla rolled her eyes. “Great,” she said. “You need to wait back on the boat before they throw you in the can.”

  Jacques shook his head. “You will not get in without me.”

  “Nobody will be incarcerated today,” said Eleanor archly. “I will vouch for you and insist upon recognition of your contribution to a FEMA operation. You are currently still contracted as a federal employee, which supersedes State law.”

  “Not sure it does,” said Carl uncertainly.

  “I will make sure it does. And Title 14, section 2 makes you the presiding federal law enforcement officer, which puts this man in your custody.”

  Carl pondered that point. “Impressive.”

  “I’ll blind them with whatever legal bull it takes. Let’s get this show on the road. We have patients in need of care.”

  Walking towards the entrance, Darla sidled close to Jacques.

  “Now I know why you wouldn’t leave the boat,” she said. “Manny was right about you being hunted.”

  “They wanted me to work in a mediocre kitchen, serving fast food,” said Jacques with distaste. “C’est de la merde.”

  “I don’t care what you thought about it. If your parole officer found out where you were, I’d have been in trouble for not doing background checks and harboring a fugitive.”

  Jacques gave a secret smile. “He was never going to find out.”

  Darla thought about that for a moment. “He wasn’t the one you killed, was he?”

  “Non.”

  “Sometimes I don’t know whether it’s best to ask or not.”

  “You can ask,” replied Jacques with a shrug. “To answer is my discretion.”

  “Well, don’t get carried away in there. Ms. Legal Eagle might not be able to bust you out.”

  “Oui, and then you will have to eat inferior food.”

  “Seriously, that’s the least of my problems. Just don’t say the wrong thing, okay?”

  They approached the entrance until Jacques motioned to the others to hang back. He went forward alone, hands raised to show he was unarmed. Beside the tower was a carport and a building. Several uniformed guards came out, some with shotguns. They let Jacques come close. A conversation ensued, with Jacques frequently pointing back toward the others. Two guards in the tower with automatic rifles kept a close watch on the proceedings, and the body language was tense. A fly buzzed in front of Darla’s face and she wanted to brush it away, but she worried that the sudden movement would trigger a burst of gunfire.

  “Maybe I should talk to them too,” said Eleanor.

  “Don’t mov
e,” said Darla out of the side of her mouth. “They don’t know you.”

  “I’m a federal representative.”

  “That might impress the governor, but it won’t impress these guys. They’re sitting out here in the heat, bored as hell. Let Jacques do his thing.”

  One of the guards left the group and, seconds later, galloped away on a horse. Jacques talked a little longer, then returned to the others.

  “We have to wait now,” he said.

  “What did you tell them?” asked Darla.

  “Things.”

  “Are they going to let us in?” said Eleanor.

  “That will be up to the governor.”

  “Get any sense of which way this will swing?” asked Carl.

  Jacques shrugged.

  They waited in the shade of the carport. The guards maintained their distance, as if the group had something contagious. Four horsemen returned from within the prison, riding through the heat haze. Carl was ordered to surrender his pistol and holster to the gate guards, and the group was then escorted by the riders down the long dusty track.

  They walked in silence and Darla gazed in awe at the size of the place. The prison occupied about thirty square miles of land. In the far distance, lines of prisoners worked in the fields, under the watchful eye of the mounted guards. Cattle herds grazed the acres of grass. Horses galloped within a stockade, exercised by either guards or prisoners — it was hard to tell the difference. A light aircraft sat in front of a hanger on a small airstrip. The heart of the prison was another fenced compound with guard towers, within which was a rodeo stadium. The escorted group were allowed entry into the main compound and taken to the warden’s office.

  Warden Bill Edwards was a corpulent man, sweating in the lack of air conditioning. He was dressed in gym shorts, a bright colored shirt, socks and sandals, and his desk was covered in an untidy mess of scribbled notes and empty water bottles. In spite of that he had a steady gaze that exuded calm authority. He appraised his visitors and settled on Jacques.

  “I never forget a face,” he said in a gravelly voice. “I trust you’ve made good use of the time God gave you, Jacques?”