“This town is coming apart at the seams,” Grace stated to herself.
“You can say that again,” a female voice replied from a central cubicle. The woman stood up to look at Grace, but not all the way. Her stance suggested she was ready to duck back down again.
“We’re with the NPS, ma’am. We’re here to rescue a Felicia Nicktov and take her to the airport.”
The woman hesitated before nodding repeatedly. “That’s me! I’m Felicia.”
Grace looked around, expecting others from the office to be there as well. Was Felicia by herself? If so, how did she avoid the looters? She waved the woman to come closer.
“I’ll be right there.” Felicia was dressed similarly to Grace, with dark blue pants and a tan shirt. Her upside-down triangular shoulder patch carried the words Bureau of Land Management, which was a sister organization inside the Department of the Interior. The interdepartmental link was probably why the police officer dispatched her to retrieve the woman. It wasn’t only to save his own men, it was also a professional courtesy.
Felicia’s dark hair was cut short, appropriate for a middle-aged woman working in an office, but her face was bruised on one side, like she’d been in a scuffle.
Asher saw it, too. “Are you all right, ma’am? Are you hurt?”
“Help me escape and all will be well. They’re still in the building, I’m pretty sure.”
“Who?” Grace asked in a hushed tone, aware their voices could be carrying into the hallways.
“The people who tore the place apart, of course. There are armed men working in gangs. They chased away all the other workers and made off with the equipment. I stayed in my office, hoping they’d at least leave me alone.”
“Did they?” she asked, afraid of the answer.
“Yeah, actually, they did. But they stripped the rest of the place down to the wires. Loaded it all up in a big truck. They said they’ve cleaned out every building in this office park and even had the gall to tell me to my face they’d come back for my computer when I was done with it.”
“Wow,” Logan blurted out.
He caught Felicia’s attention. “What’s a kid doing here? Don’t you know it’s dangerous for civilians to be out and about?”
Grace couldn’t agree more. “We’re taking him home on our way to the airport.”
The BLM manager looked back and forth between her and Logan. “I’m sorry, I’m under a deadline. I have to get to the airport immediately. Didn’t the police tell you?”
Grace shrugged involuntarily. “They didn’t tell me anything but to pick you up and take you north to the airport. Are you really in that big of a rush?”
The woman nodded rapidly, as she’d done before. “If I don’t make it now, there might not be another plane for a week. I’ve got important information I have to share with my bosses. Information that could impact the entirety of Billings, and much of the American West.”
Grace turned to Logan, not sure what was the right thing to do.
Grand Tower, IL
Despite the imposition on his journey, once underway with his four new passengers, Ezra found comfort that he’d chosen correctly. Susan was up above, undoubtedly pleased he was working hard to help his neighbors survive a disaster. She would counsel him to not worry about the delay getting to Grace, but he was also certain she would pull him aside and add, just don’t make a habit of it.
He laughed to himself, thinking about the woman he’d loved for the past twenty years of his life. Their beloved boat drifted downriver toward Cape Girardeau. A fate he could not have ever predicted a few days earlier.
They’d brought aboard the teen girl with the broken leg; her mother accompanied her as support. They’d also taken on an elderly woman who’d been tossed around by the waters, leading her family to believe she had internal bleeding. The dirty man who’d waved them down turned out to be her husband, and he came along with her. The four passengers sat near the front of the boat, while he and Butch remained in the back.
“How long do you think it will take?” the injured girl asked after they’d been on the water a short time.
Since both women seemed to be in a great deal of pain, he decided against a bouncy high-speed journey, but he did use a minimal amount of thrust while floating downriver. It would save gas as a side-effect, certainly, but he wasn’t too worried about a delay. The current was already moving extremely fast due to the higher-than-normal floodwaters. He looked at the speedometer, knowing it was adding the surface speed of the boat in addition to how fast the current carried them.
“It says we’re doing about twenty. Figure an hour to get to Cape, tops.”
Ellsworth, the dirty man who’d flagged them, spoke up. “Anything is better than waiting for help to arrive on the shore. We really appreciate you taking the time to carry our wounded.”
“Our pleasure,” he replied, meaning it.
Ellsworth sat close to Butch so he could speak with Ezra. “That used to be our town.” He pointed to the Illinois side, though Ezra had seen the remains of the town when he picked up his passengers. Being out on the water gave him a frontal view of the flat area of stripped trees, telephone poles, and other hints it used to be a thriving little village. None of the buildings were left intact.
“I’m sorry. We’ve seen the wreckage of flooding all the way down past Cape. In fact, we came from Kentucky Lake, originally. The dam broke and drained water down into the Ohio. I bet people farther south are worse off than you are, honestly.”
“I don’t see how,” he said, upbeat despite the situation. “The river has destroyed towns and cities, but it also rearranged the landscape, like the Tower Island Chute.” He gestured south of his washed-out town. A flipped-over barge partially blocked what looked like a side channel to the main river. Lots of loose barges, old shipping containers, and giant trees floated back there. There might have been enough room for his boat to enter, but he wouldn’t want to risk it. “Up until this flood, it was an oxbow bend; a five-mile-long horseshoe-shaped lake where the river used to flow a hundred years ago.”
“What’s it good for?” Butch asked.
“Tourists,” he chuckled. “The river used to flow around that bend. When it got cut off, it left a four-square-mile island of Missouri attached to the wrong side of the river. It was one of the few places where you could walk from Illinois to Missouri territory without using a boat or a bridge.”
“That’s interesting,” Butch allowed.
“It’s also famous for fishing,” Ellsworth remarked. “At least, it was. Fish are tossed in there each time it floods. Now, since the water is flowing through there again, it might not be so good. Plus, all the new trash…”
They continued downriver, passing the second exit to the oxbow bend a few minutes later. Ellsworth pointed it out, though it looked the same as the other one, a side channel filled with old boats, barges, and pieces of houses. It was as if the old lake acted like a magnet to catch everything floating over it.
Almost an hour later, shortly before he figured they’d see Cape Girardeau come into view, movement caught his eye on the water. A large towboat plied the waves on the opposite side of the river, near the Illinois shore. It was unusual in a sense, since it wasn’t pushing the rust-colored barges like a normal tug. Instead, it was pulling half a dozen smaller watercraft behind it, including a couple of pontoon boats.
“What do you make of that?” he asked Butch, knowing the landlubber probably wouldn’t know if it was normal or not.
It was too far to make out the exact number of boats, or if anyone was standing around on the deck of the tugboat, but there was obviously someone piloting the ship. The boats dragging behind reminded him of prisoners being led to their doom, a vision he didn’t want to believe. The only hint of relief came when he couldn’t see any flashes of red. The red boat didn’t seem to be with them.
Butch chewed on it for a bit before replying. “I’m sure they’re like us, trying to stay upriver from the turbul
ence down where the rivers meet.”
Ellsworth jumped into the conversation. “We heard on the weather radio there was a cataclysmic disaster down in Cairo, Illinois. Did you see it?”
He shivered. “Oh yeah, we both saw it from real close up.”
Ezra was happy to share the story as a way to keep from endlessly looking over to the towboat. As they drifted downriver, the tug stayed on course going the opposite direction. Five minutes later, his retelling of their journey through the broken dam and ending up at the town of Cairo was finally over. Cape was in sight, and the other boat was gone.
“Thanks, mister,” the young girl said as her quiet mother helped her off the front of the boat.
Ellsworth was already ashore with the older woman. He waved back to Ezra. “Yes, we really appreciate it. If you ever get back to Grand Tower after we rebuild it, I’ll make sure you both get some sort of thanks from the townsfolk.”
He motioned toward the young girl. “Don’t worry about it. I have a daughter, a few years older than her, and I would want someone helping her, too. We all have to stick together when things get rough.”
“Well, fair enough. But we’ll pay for your gas at the very least.” Ellsworth held out two twenty-dollar bills.
It was tempting to take it, but he made himself refuse it. Though it had been soaked the day before, he still carried his wallet with him. He had all his credit cards, a bank ATM card, and a few hundred dollars in cash. The injured might need those twenties at the hospital. “Let’s settle up when we come to visit, okay?”
Ellsworth didn’t drag it out. “You drive a hard bargain, Ezra. Thanks again for the lift. I hope you two find your daughter.”
“So do I,” he replied, reversing the engine to get them away from shore. He got them facing upriver, then eased the throttle up to a fuel-efficient cruising speed again. They’d come almost all the way back to where they’d parked the boat for their walk into town, so he was familiar with the landscape. As before, he checked for the red speedboat during his drive out of town, though it was nowhere to be seen.
He didn’t see it in the hour it took them to return close to where he’d picked up the injured people. However, when they came around a sharp bend in the river, the tugboat they’d passed earlier was adrift in the middle of the channel. A man on the top level of the three-deck tug waved his arms wildly to get their attention.
None of the boats were tied up behind it.
Internal alarm bells went wild in Ezra’s head.
“We’ve got to get around it before his friends come back,” he said to Butch.
CHAPTER 8
Billings, MT
Grace was back in a familiar spot. She gripped the steering wheel of the NPS truck and drove like lives depended on her. The gas tank was down to about one quarter, and the heater was still blowing at full blast, though the brighter day and warmer temperatures certainly helped offset the chill of the wind throughout the interior.
Logan chose to roll around in the rear cargo area rather than sit in the seat next to the missing door. Felicia wouldn’t sit there, either; she buckled herself behind Grace.
“Logan, I promise we’ll get you home the second we get done at the airport.” Grace had to turn around to see the boy in the way back.
“Works for me,” he replied.
“I really appreciate it,” the BLM agent added. “I’m going to note your names so I can tell someone up the chain of command how you helped me and my office today.”
Grace didn’t want anyone trying to pin an award on Asher, the fake officer. “We’re good. Maybe tell them it was members of the park service. It’ll reflect well on the whole service, you know?”
Before anyone could reply, a shotgun blast went off in a parking lot to the right. Grace ducked out of reflex, but also noticed a man wearing a hooded sweatshirt holding the gun. He’d blasted out the window of a sports car and seemed to reach inside, ready to unlock the door. She and the man locked eyes as they went by, and Grace imagined the guy turning the gun on her for having seen him. However, after a few seconds driving in frozen silence, she let out a huge sigh of relief. “My God, has everyone stopped taking their medications in this town? Why is everything going to crap here?”
Felicia laughed tentatively. “How long have you been in Billings?”
“Since last night,” Asher replied.
“Ah, then you haven’t seen it go down the tubes. We’ve been without power almost since the beginning. People held it together for the first full day, but each night it has gotten progressively worse. Last night, someone must have sent out a memo to light up the town with criminals. The sirens wouldn’t stop, so I assume the police did their best, but when the power didn’t come on today, I think everyone accepted the situation had gotten out of hand.”
They drove back into some residential streets. The houses were small and cozy, a lot like they were back home near Paducah. Tall trees dotted the yards and lined the streets, giving the sense they were inside a forest, rather than on the featureless plains surrounding the city. She sped through blocks of homes, always going north.
They passed a burned-out police cruiser, still smoldering from the fire. She slowed down to gawk at it but had no intention of stopping. It was clear whatever happened was long over.
A few blocks later, three houses in a row were blazing infernos, as if someone had recently set them alight. It again tempted her to stop and observe, but she remembered those firefighters. If bad people wanted to hurt the city, they’d pick off the police and fire crews. What better way to draw in the good guys than by starting fires?
Or maybe it was all random.
“How close are we?” she asked, casually ignoring the houses as they drove by.
“Not far,” Felicia replied. “It’s right up there, over the Rims.”
Ahead, a wall of sandstone rose up about a hundred feet above the flat neighborhoods of Billings. It didn’t appear any roads could go up the side, leading her to wonder if they were going the right way after all. “Will I need to turn left or right?”
She sped north until there was only one block left before the wall.
“Right,” Felicia finally said. “I had to wait to see where we were. Right will be faster.”
She wove around the edge of the housing area and went a few blocks east until they came to an intersection at a much larger four-lane street. To her surprise, several police cars were parked there, blocking all but one lane of traffic. A few cars waited in line, going in the direction she wanted to go—to the four-lane highway that cut longways up the side of the cliff.
“We’re good,” she said, taking comfort in seeing the police.
Grace maneuvered the truck onto the main road, so it was the fourth vehicle in the short line. She had her foot on the brake and leaned in her seat, easing the strain on her back. The workhorse truck wasn’t built for comfort, and she’d spent the better part of two days inside the cab. Her body was paying the price.
“I’ll be glad to—” she started to say.
Gunshots erupted from ahead.
“Down!” she yelled reflexively, disturbed how the rattle of gunfire was now commonplace for her. Asher and the others dipped in their seats, but she peeked, knowing it was her job to figure out what level of danger they faced.
A man had swung open the door of his SUV two cars ahead, keeping his back to her. He fired a shotgun toward the men at the police checkpoint. “Oh, God,” she said, fear surging like bile from her stomach. The guy presented a huge, undefended target…
Asher looked over to her, perhaps suspecting what was in her thoughts. “Grace, don’t be a hero. You can’t walk into a shootout. We don’t do that in the city.”
But I could end it.
She peeked again, certain the man’s bright blue shirt would provide a huge target to aim for. All she’d have to do would be to open her own door, lean out, then pop off a few rounds. It couldn’t be more than twenty feet. One black pickup truck was between her a
nd the man.
Grace unholstered the semi-automatic pistol she’d taken from Misha, shucked off her coat, and slapped on her hat. She wanted the police to know she was a friendly.
“Don’t you dare,” Asher cautioned.
“What’s she doing?” Felicia asked from the floor of the back seat.
Asher didn’t answer.
Grace knew the debilitating fear gnawing at her insides was there for a good reason, but there wasn’t time to think it through. The good guys were in danger.
She pushed open her door.
Near Grand Tower, IL
Ezra didn’t even consider helping the towboat. Best case, the boats previously tied to the back were out getting help for the crew of the ship. Worst case…he could think of a lot of worst cases in the current setting, far from any help.
“We’re going a different way.” He spun the wheel and changed course to go from the middle of the channel toward the Illinois side of the river. They were still a few miles from Grand Tower, where they’d started today’s delay, but Ellsworth’s description of the recently opened oxbow bend stuck in his mind. It would be a convenient detour to help them avoid passing the tugboat in the open.
“You sure, E-Z? Maybe that’s where they want us to go.” Butch’s voice trailed off, as if he’d accidentally stated a distasteful truth.
The pontoon bounced on the rough waters as he cut across the current. He had plenty of room to change course again and go south. They could float back to Cape and wait for the tugboat to move on.
Ezra glanced over his shoulder to the middle of the river. The man wasn’t waving anymore, perhaps figuring out he and Butch didn’t want to get involved. Was he blowing the encounter out of proportion? If he diverted from his mission to reach Grace every time he saw someone acting strange, it might take weeks to reach her. Maybe the ship really was in trouble?
Impact (Book 3): Adrift Page 6
