Mississippi Rose | Book 1 | Into Darkness

by Lopez, Rob

  30

  The repairs made to the hull at Angola were never going to hold. For as long as the pumps ran, the boat stayed afloat, but as soon as the pumps stopped, the bilges quickly flooded. They had to run the pumps, and the boiler, throughout the nights as well as the day. They called in at the Natchez Coast Guard station and Carl went ashore to see what the situation was, but the offices had been abandoned and the armory emptied. Gathering tools and repair materials from the workshop, they sailed on. They passed the city of Natchez but saw no sign of life on the riverfront. Keen to avoid any further trouble, Darla steered clear of the docks and pressed on. The bluffs at the city of Vicksburg dominated the river, just as they had during the Civil War, and Darla elected to pass the city at night. They’d already passed the blackened ruins of the Grand Gulf nuclear plant, which indicated that the surrounding area would likely have been evacuated, but Darla was taking no chances. A couple of blinking lights on the bluff caught her eye, but she wasn’t sure whether they were signals for help or muzzle flashes. Rounding the bend she left the city behind.

  Three more days of cautious sailing brought them to the mouth of the White River. They were now in Arkansas. Both sides of the river were heavily wooded and there were no towns for miles in any direction. A little way into the White River was the Montgomery Lock and Dam, an unmanned engineering structure that was only used in low water situations. Darla took her boat into the lock. They shut the gates and drained the lock to create a dry dock, the Mississippi Rose’s hull accessible at last for proper repairs. The boiler was blown down, leaving just the gentle silence of the river and its wildlife.

  ***

  Darla sat on a sandy beach at the side of the river, picking dried epoxy resin from her fingers. Jacques was out alone in the tender in the middle of the river, fishing. Darla had finished patching the hull of the steamboat and Zack was painting it. The superstructure and paddle boxes of the boat still looked a mess, but Darla wasn’t willing to wait much longer to rectify that. Heading north was her only priority now.

  Carl came by while she was still gazing out over the water, lost in thought.

  “Are you worried she might not make it?” he said, sitting next to her.

  “The boat? No, she’ll be fine. She’ll make the Ohio easily.”

  “I meant your sister. I overheard you talking to Zack about her.”

  “Oh. No, well … maybe. I mean, she’s at the farm and all. She’s got people around. She’s not alone.”

  “But you’re still worried about her.”

  “Sure. I mean, it’s natural, right?”

  “It is.”

  Darla watched Jacques pick up the oars and begin rowing back.

  “She’s just too nice,” she said. “If you met her you’d understand.”

  “She’s your sister. You have to have something in common. If she has even half your grit she’ll do fine.”

  Darla turned to him. “You don’t understand. She and me lived different lives. Jolene always followed the rules. She did well at school. She went to college. Moved into a nice neighborhood. Got married and went to church. She’s a stay-at-home mom. When the world worked as it should, she did okay. But now? It’s all gone to hell. You’ve seen how people are now. Ain’t no time to be meek and accepting. If someone breaks down your door looking to take your food — or you — you gotta be willing to fight. That ain’t Jolene.”

  “You said she’s not on her own, though. What about her husband?”

  “He’s in real estate. I don’t think he’s going to be much better. He plays golf.”

  Carl laughed. “You’ve got a narrow view of people.”

  “I only know river folk. They’re a different breed.”

  “You know they’re not. Look at me. I’m no rebel. And I play golf too.”

  “Serious?”

  “Sure. I have a pretty good handicap. The point I’m trying to make is that we can all adapt. You don’t know what people are going to be like until they’re tested. I certainly never expected to be in a situation like this, but I don’t think I’ve done too badly.”

  “If you were in my shoes at Angola, would you have taken this boat out?”

  Carl hesitated.

  Darla furnished him with the answer. “You wouldn’t have. In fact, you called me crazy, remember?”

  “I did,” conceded Carl.

  “That’s what I’m talking about. I worry about Jolene because there are crazy people like me out there, and the bad ones don’t care for people like her.” Darla gazed off at the river again. “She looked after me all these years because I was messed up. Now the world’s all messed up and it’s time for me to look after her. I owe her that much.”

  Carl sucked in his breath. “You’re taking on a lot. Perhaps too much.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that … her fate might not be in your hands. You don’t know what we’ll find when we get there. You might want to prepare yourself for that.”

  “I don’t want to think about that.”

  “Maybe now’s the time to.”

  “No, I don’t want to contemplate it. I just want to see her … to see that she’s fine.”

  “Sure. You’re probably right. I should shut up.”

  Darla forced a smile. “I see my personality is rubbing off on you already.”

  “Well,” said Carl awkwardly. “We should get back to those repairs.”

  “We’re about done. Need to let the paint dry, then we’ll flood the dock. I’ll get Manny to fire up the boiler.”

  “He’s busy.”

  “Doing what?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Hurrying back, Darla shimmied down the ladder to the lock. Below her, Jacques carried two large catfish into the boat. Darla made her way to the boiler room, but didn’t find Manny there. She did, however, find fresh wires leading from the engine-order telegraphs, spliced together and tacked to the stair bulkhead. She followed them all the way to the pilothouse, where Manny was screwing on the cover of a telegraph. At his feet were filaments of burnt wiring, looking like loose hair on the floor of a styling salon.

  “Did you get them working?” she asked hopefully.

  In response, Manny cycled the handle back and forth, producing a clear ringing sound. “I sure think so,” he said proudly.

  “Manny, you’re a genius.”

  “Had it up to here with you hollering down that tube. Don’t want no woman nagging me.”

  “Won’t stop me hollering. Set them both to Full Ahead, I’ll run down to see if the boiler room telegraphs have synchronized.”

  Passing the galley she saw Jacques already preparing a catfish, chopping its head off and peeling back its skin.

  “We ain’t got time for that,” she called. “We’re sailing soon.”

  Jacques replied indignantly, “There is always time for catfish courtbouillon. If not, you make time.”

  Darla dashed into the boiler room. Both telegraphs were set to Full Ahead. Excited, she set them both to Stop, and Manny responded, the pointer moving as he acknowledged the order. Darla did a little dance.

  “Get down here and light the boiler,” she yelled up the tube. “I want us out of here before nightfall.”

  31

  The journey north proceeded with few incidents, and years later Darla would remember these days as the least complicated times, when people were less organized and caught up in their own chaos, such that a lone boat on the wide river could steam along with few witnesses to notice its passing. Whatever horrors were happening inland were hidden from them by the levees and forests. No other large vessels moved on the river and small craft were seldom seen. At one point a line of canoes could be seen hugging the opposite bank, and it appeared to be a family migrating south, but neither side quite trusted the other, so neither attempted contact. Past New Madrid, two men in a rowboat tried to intercept them, for reasons unknown, but Darla bypassed them and easily left them behind. At Cairo another attempt
ed interception was foiled when Jacques fired a shot that sent a boat’s occupants tumbling into the water, fearing for their lives. It was a time of wariness and suspicion, and Darla had no interest in stopping unless she had to. Stranded barges still carried coal, and abandoned tugs still carried canned goods. Looters kept a low profile or fled when the steamboat approached, but Darla was circumspect about inviting trouble, and was careful about pushing her luck. They anchored late at night far away from any settlements, abandoned or otherwise, and left before the dawn advertised their presence. Days passed into weeks, the nights got colder and the morning mists thicker. The brown waters of the Mississippi were replaced by the green waters of the Ohio, and the wide river got narrower.

  Darla steamed slowly through heavy drizzle. A low overcast rested on the wooded hills that reached up from the banks, wisps of cloud mingling with the trees. Gray-looking towns drifted by with empty barges tied to docks. If there was anybody around, the weather was keeping them indoors. Darla looked for landmarks, trying to figure out where she was. She’d only come this far up the Ohio River once.

  “How far to Pittsburgh?” asked Carl, peering out of the pilothouse.

  “Hopefully far enough,” replied Darla. “I don’t want to go there. My sister said she was staying at her mother-in-law’s farm, and it’s around here somewhere. Should be able to see it from the river, but everything looks different now. Last time I was here was a summer.” Darla scanned the copper-leaved forests, which seemed to stretch forever.

  “Are the folks around here friendly?” asked Carl.

  “Back in the day maybe. Why?”

  “There’s a fella standing there in the porch of his house, taking a good look at us.”

  Darla turned and saw a white-painted house in the trees, elevated above a highway. A hazy figure stood in a doorway. “Is he armed?”

  Carl focused his binoculars. “Not sure. Do you think it’s worth going ashore to ask him for directions?”

  “Nope. See a boat anywhere in his yard?”

  “No.”

  “Then he’s not a problem to us. I’d like to keep it that way.”

  Darla watched the banks creep by. The river was narrow enough for the Mississippi Rose to be within rifle range from either bank, and Darla felt hemmed in. With the low cloud base, it was like sailing through a shrinking world that had all the color sucked out of it.

  They rounded a bend and Darla caught sight of a white, ball-shaped water tower in the trees. Suddenly she knew where she was. “This is it,” she called.

  A railroad ran along the bank of the river. On the other side of it was a large clearing in the forest, with a sloping field and pasture. At the top of the slope, hazy behind the drizzle, stood a farmhouse. Darla was certain it was the house she wanted. She grabbed both telegraph handles and rang All Stop. Jacques came out on deck and Darla called to him to drop the anchor. Carl checked out the farmhouse with the binoculars.

  “Can you see anybody?” asked Darla eagerly.

  Carl didn’t say anything but he had a grave look on his face. Darla snatched the binoculars off him to look for herself.

  The farmhouse was burned black, with collapsed timbers for a roof.

  Darla couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

  “No, no, no,” she said. “Please no.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Carl.

  “I should have come earlier. I should have left straight away.”

  “You couldn’t have known.”

  “Yes I could have,” exclaimed Darla. “Everybody I know dies.” She put a hand to her mouth. “No.”

  Carl touched her arm. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Yes it is. Jacques! Make ready with the tender. I’m going ashore.”

  Carl tried to reason with her. “Whatever’s up there, you don’t want to see it. You stay on the boat, I’ll go ashore.”

  “Not a chance,” said Darla fiercely. “I’m going up there and if I find she’s dead I’m going straight to that guy we saw and I swear I’m going to make him talk. I am not leaving without answers.”

  “Okay,” said Carl, charging his rifle.

  “You stay here. I need you to command the boat while I’m gone.”

  “I can’t cover you from here,” said Carl, “and I’m no good at long range shots. I’m coming with you.”

  In the end, Jacques and Manny stayed on the boat. Zack armed himself with a shotgun and the three rowed to the bank. Darla stared up at the house, praying for movement, but it was derelict. They pulled the tender up on a short gravel beach and got out. It was quiet. Crossing the rail line, they stepped over a fallen wire fence and climbed the field. The ground was broken up in untidy clumps, and weeds grew. Darla stooped and picked up a discarded and corroded spent cartridge from some kind of rifle. It wasn’t what she wanted to find. Farther on she found a couple more and the faded imprints of boots. Carl knelt to examine the signs. From that point on he led, rifle at the ready.

  A damp strip of cloth hung from a nail in the wooden palisade around the pasture. Looking at it, Darla pictured the dress it might once have belonged to, then tried not to imagine Jolene wearing it. The more she saw the more worried she became. The house was brick and the inside was gutted. Streaks of soot smeared up from every window. Darla dared to look inside but all she saw was the charred debris of furniture and collapsed ceilings. She was about to step in when she stopped herself. She couldn’t face the thought of finding what she sought.

  There was worse to come. Around the back of the house she found Carl staring at an elongated mound of soil. It looked fresh and that was too much for Darla. Tears came to her eyes and she wanted to run, to get away from the horrible smell of rot and charcoal.

  “I’m sorry, Jo,” she sobbed.

  “There’s no grave marker,” said Carl gently. “It might not be her.”

  Zack paced around the grave. “It’s too big for just one person,” he said. “There could be more than one in here.”

  Carl frowned at him to shut up.

  “We have to open the grave,” said Darla.

  “No,” said Carl. “You don’t want to do that.”

  “I have to know!”

  Zack directed his dark eyes at them both. “You’re missing the point,” he said. “Somebody survived this. Graves don’t dig themselves.”

  They all looked at the grave for a while.

  “You’re right,” said Darla, wiping a tear away. “We need to keep looking.”

  “Okay,” said Carl. “But I suggest we stay together. We don’t know who’s around.”

  “Actually,” said Zack, looking at the woods, “we do.”

  Darla turned and saw two bearded, scruffy-looking men in the trees, both aiming rifles at the trio.

  “Drop your weapons,” they called.

  It was an awkward moment. Neither Carl nor Zack were ready.

  “Wait,” called Carl, raising a hand. “We just want to talk.”

  “Drop them or we drop you!” came a woman’s voice that was full of venom and fury.

  The woman emerged farther along the tree line. She wore a long oilskin coat and sighted down the barrel of an AR-15.

  Darla stared. “Jo?” she said.

  The woman lowered the rifle, visibly confused. “Darla?” she said.

  Darla walked slowly toward her. They both broke into a run at the same time and fiercely embraced each other.

  “I can’t believe it,” said Jolene, holding back tears. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

  The men in the woods lowered their rifles and smiles broke out.

  “Oh my God,” said Darla, “I was so worried.”

  “Me too. You’re actually here. Look at you.”

  Darla glanced at the AR-15 in Jolene’s hand. “Look at you.”

  Jolene shouldered the rifle, as if embarrassed by it. “I know. But I nearly shot you! I didn’t recognize the men with you.”

  “They’re new,” said Darla.

  “What hap
pened to — what was his name? — Jacques. And the other one. The grumpy one.”

  “Manny. They’re both on the boat.”

  Jolene looked down to the river and saw the Mississippi Rose.

  “You brought it up here!” she said. “I never thought you’d make it.”

  “I didn’t think you would either. I saw the grave and —”

  “What grave?”

  “That one there.”

  Jolene looked, baffled. An amused smile crept onto her face. “That’s not a grave,” she said. “That’s where the wooden outhouse was before we moved it.”

  “Oh,” said Darla. She looked again. “Good job I didn’t start digging in it looking for you.”

  “No, you don’t want to be digging there. That’s our compost.”

  “But you worried me! The burned house, the spent cartridges …”

  Jolene waved off her concerns. “Oh, that. We had a problem with a group of thugs who came along the railroad. Must have seen the alpacas in the field and they tried to take them. We had to see them off. Luckily the Hendersons and the Weinbergs helped us out — they’re on the next plot over — and only one of the thugs managed to get away. Pity, because I wanted to put a bullet in him.”

  Darla tried to process this. “Alpacas?” she said.

  “Yes, you should see them. They’re so cute. We have them by the main house now. They make the best wool.”

  “So who burned the farmhouse?”

  “Oh,” said Jolene, shamefaced, “that was me. Jeff’s mother stopped using it years ago. Jeff had a more modern house built nearer the road for her. We planned to live in the old farmhouse when we retired, and obviously Jeff had plans to renovate it. But I left an oil lamp inside when I went to check on the flock one evening and I can’t have set it straight because it fell over. I was down in the field when I looked up and saw the flames. It was too late by then and we couldn’t save it. You know I’ve always been a disaster. Well, we leave it as it is in case anyone else comes along the rail line. If they look up they won’t see anything worth stopping for.”