“Or four kids,” Zach said. “Or one guy who had three friends.”
“Fair point,” Tess said. “Galley and toilets through here. Have you got your bag?”
“Yeah, hang on, wait. There’s a book wedged down here. It’s a journal.”
“Chuck me the bag while you take a read,” Tess said.
The galley cupboards were half stocked with a mix of the ultra-expensive and solidly sugar. Bright pink marshmallows shared a shelf with jars of stuffed lychees. Caviar kept company with peanut butter. Goji berries neighboured jellybeans. All together, it was almost enough to fill the bag.
“Anything in that diary?” she asked.
“Yeah, they came from Louisiana. That’s in the U.S., isn’t it?”
“Yep. In the south. On the Gulf of Mexico.”
“They found the boat after the outbreak. It wasn’t theirs. They claimed it.”
“Pause the reading for a moment,” she said. “Take this bag onto the deck, and tell the ship we’re cool.”
A clunk marked the sound of the room’s other door opening.
“She’s empty,” Clyde said. “The engine’s been partially dismantled.”
“I guess they didn’t know how to use the sails,” Tess said.
“Let me see if they wrote about that,” Zach said, flipping through the book.
“No, take the bag onto the deck, and get Mr Dickenson to come aboard to check the engines,” Tess said. “Then come help me loot. I’ve grabbed everything from the snack-galley, but from the amount of food in there, there must be more below.”
There was, but it was all the same odd mix of adult-luxury and kid-marketed junk foods.
While the engineer inspected the engine, Tess carried the loot back to the deck, where Zach was working his way through marshmallows and the book.
“Share and share alike,” she said, taking the candy from him. “What’ve you found?”
“A girl wrote this,” he said.
“Does she have a name?”
“Not yet, but the handwriting is readable, plus she dots her I’s with hearts. Bet it’s a girl. Like fourteen, fifteen years old, I think, because she mentions how all her high-school friends must be dead.”
“So maybe a bit older than fifteen,” Tess said. “Did she escape Louisiana alone?”
“No, she was with her dad. No mention of a mum. She started writing after they found this boat, but they first went to Atlanta.”
“That’s in Georgia,” Tess said. “The city has one of the world’s largest airports.”
“Does it? Okay, so here, near the beginning, she writes: Savannah was barricaded. Wouldn’t let us in. Told us about Toronto and Ottawa and Boston. Met Santiago at Blackbeard Creek. He’d been hiding. Waiting for things to calm until he went north. We told him about the northeast, how there’s nowhere left. We’ll have to go south with him.”
“So was this Santiago’s boat?” Tess asked.
“Think so,” Zach said. “The next bit is about her old life. Her friends. How they must be dead. So I guess she wasn’t in immediate danger when she wrote that. Must have been at sea.”
“Could be,” Tess said. “Savannah and Atlanta are both in Georgia, but I’d have to look at a map to know how far from Louisiana they are. People in Savannah warned them about Toronto, Ottawa, and Boston, and they warned Santiago about the northeast. Let’s assume it was the same warning that they were passing on.”
“Does that mean nukes?” Zach asked.
“You’ve got the book, mate, you tell me,” she said.
He skimmed ahead. “Havana was nuked. That’s in Cuba, isn’t it?”
“It is. Did they go there?”
“No. She says: We picked up radio reports from Miami. So many people ashore need help. Dad says we can’t help them all. We’d be swamped. Lose the ship. A Cuban ship came alongside. A navy ship. I thought we were dead, but they gave us food and fuel, and told us to avoid Havana. It was bombed. They were going north, to Greenland. There’s supposed to be a refuge there. We told them how Canada was nuked. They still went north. We went south.”
“Havana, too?” Tess asked.
“Was there a refuge in Greenland?” Zach asked.
“I don’t think so,” Tess said. “General Yoon was setting up a redoubt in the northeast of Canada. Sounds like it was targeted. The other Canadian refuge was in Vancouver, and we know that was bombed.”
“Deliberately, right?” Zach said. “Like South Africa and Brazil, to stop us rebuilding?”
“I expect so,” Tess said. “Go on, what else does she say?”
“It’s a bit… well, personal,” he said.
“Skip ahead,” she said. “How did they end up here?”
“Well, first…” He turned a page, and then turned back. “Yeah, first they went to Mexico. A place called Puerto Morelos. Santiago went ashore and bought more fuel with gold.”
“He paid with gold?” Tess asked.
“That’s what it says,” Zach said. “They found it in the safe.”
“What safe?”
“Oh, that was at the beginning. There’s a safe somewhere on the ship. They spent days figuring out how to get it open. But it was just full of gold.”
“Right, so this wasn’t Santiago’s boat originally?” Tess said.
“Guess not,” Zach said. “Does it matter?”
“Guess not,” Tess said. “What happened in… where was the place they bought fuel?”
“Puerto Morelos,” Zach said. “All it says is they traded gold for diesel. She was surprised people were still accepting gold as money. The next day, it says Santiago took their boat ashore. He came back with a woman called Maria. I think that’s where she joined the ship. There was no mention of her before, but the next day it says she made corn pancakes.”
“Why did they go ashore when they found Maria? Was it to look for food, or because the woman was signalling?”
“Doesn’t say,” Zach said. “Next day they found food on a small freighter. Lots of zoms aboard. Her dad got bit and… no! He survived!”
“Cool. So where are they now?”
“Um…” He skimmed a page, and another. “Dunno. It says they’re out of ammo. The engine’s broken. Only got the junk food left. Hang on.” He turned back to the beginning. “But they have a small boat. Dunno how small, but they tied it up on the deck. It was the same boat they used right at the beginning to come aboard in Blackbeard Creek. Bet that’s why they’re not here. They took their small boat ashore.”
“But where, Zach?” Tess asked. “It can’t have been long ago or far away. Keep reading. See if there’s any more clues.”
But he’d found no answers before Captain Adams and Lieutenant Kane came aboard.
“Mr Dickenson has repaired the engine,” Adams said. “Mr Kane has volunteered to take the ship back to the Pacific as a prize.”
“This ship?” Tess asked. “Can you make it?”
“Aye, ma’am,” Kane said with a grin. “Been sailing boats since before I could walk.”
“Let me rephrase that, is it wise?” Tess asked.
“The Pacific needs ships,” Adams said. “Vessels independent of fuel will be vital in the months ahead. Mr Kane will make for Dégrad des Cannes, and can wait for us. We’ll only be two or three days behind.”
“We’re not going south, too?” Tess asked.
“I’d like to scout some of the islands first,” Adams said. “We’re more likely to find survivors, and more likely to find food.”
“Captain, I should get my people aboard,” Kane said.
“Thank you, Captain Kane,” Adams said.
Tess watched the young man jog back to the small group of sailors who’d come aboard with him. “Taking prize ships at sea?” Tess asked. “It sounds like something from a different era.”
“I know,” Adams said. “But we do need ships like this. There is little chance its like will be built again.”
“Isn’t there a danger he might sail i
nto the sisters?” Tess asked. “We know they have a ship, and someone sank those vessels northwest of French Guiana.”
“Yes, it’s a risk,” Adams said. “But oceans are vast, and the sisters have now lost their fuel reserve. It is a risk, but one we should take because this vessel can sail all the way home. Perhaps Mr Kane can answer the question of what lies south beyond French Guiana.”
“He’s sailing down to the Cape?”
“Possibly. Sailing boats have managed it before, Commissioner. It will depend on how the ship performs on its way to Dégrad des Cannes. I might ask the colonel to accompany him, but before I do that, and before I ask Mr Kane to take that additional risk, I would like more information on what he might find deep below the equator.”
“Zach found a diary left by one of the ship’s previous passengers,” Tess said. “Boston, Ottawa, and Toronto were nuked. It sounds as if the entire American northeast was targeted.”
“Which is to have been expected,” Adams said.
“Havana was bombed, too,” Tess said. “They met a Cuban warship going north, hoping to reach a redoubt in Greenland. They traded gold for fuel in Mexico, at a place called Puerto Morelos. But previously, they’d found people in Savannah. A redoubt of some kind who wouldn’t allow them entry.”
“We’ll have photographs taken of the diary, and send those with Mr Kane. Captain Kane. What can you tell me about the ship’s crew?”
“There were probably four of them,” Tess said. “A father and daughter from Atlanta, a man who’d found this boat off the Georgia coast, and a woman they picked up in Mexico. There’s no sign of them aboard, or of violence. A small boat is missing, and we think they took it ashore after they dismantled the engine. I heard the helicopter return. What’s the canal like? Could the survivors have gone ashore here?”
“The canal was the target of multiple missile strikes,” Adams said. “Conventional warheads, which did as much damage to the cities as to the canal. The waterway is clogged with debris. Returning it to operational status isn’t a matter of maintenance but of repair, and will require dredgers and tugs. Manageable, but time-consuming. Delaying the work for six months will make it no more difficult.”
“Assuming it’s such a priority we can divert the resources within six months,” Tess said.
“Commish!” Zach called, running up the steps, and nearly slipping on the deck.
“Steady,” Adams said, catching his arm. “Why the rush?”
He held up the book. “It was right at the beginning. I nearly missed it because it was right at the start. They left Atlanta after the bombs! Someone was running an airlift to Canada from the airport in Atlanta. Hundreds of planes. But not everyone went. A plane was supposed to come back if there was somewhere to land. But everywhere in the north was bombed. That’s why they went to Savannah.”
“Everything that happened in that diary was after the bombs?” Tess said. “How long after they found this ship did they meet the Cubans?”
“Dunno. Weeks,” Zach said. “That means they were aboard really recently. Like within the last few days. We could still find them.”
“I’m sorry, Zach,” Adams said. “That’s very unlikely. We could search the nearby shore for their boat, but they wouldn’t still be on the beach.”
“Oh. Yeah, I guess not.”
“People in Savannah survived the nuclear bombs,” Tess said. “Some might have survived in Miami, but they certainly survived in Puerto Morelos, trading fuel for gold, and only a few days ago. You wanted information, Captain. We’ll find it in Puerto Morelos.”
7th April
Chapter 41 - Pirates of the Caribbean
Corn Island, Nicaragua
“But I can’t have drunk all the fizzy orange?” Zach said, his plaintive cry directed at the sailor behind the mess-counter.
“No tea. No coffee. No fizz,” the sailor said. “Some of the soda appears to have gone missing. Bit of a mystery. Don’t suppose you’d know anything about it?”
“If water’s good enough for the fish, it’s good enough for us,” Clyde said. “Come on, you.” He pushed Zach away before the young man incriminated himself.
“Iced water?” Tess asked.
“Yes ma’am,” the sailor said. “I can add some essence if you like. Vanilla, almond, or lemon?”
“No worries, that would only make me dream of lattes and pastries,” Tess said, and took her glass over to their table.
“We gave too much food to Mr Kane,” Zach said, looking forlornly at his already-empty breakfast bowl.
“He’s got a longer voyage ahead of him than we do,” Tess said.
“We’re travelling further,” Zach said.
“He’s travelling slower,” Tess said. “If the wind is blowing south, they might attempt to circumnavigate Cape Horn.”
“Fair dinkum,” Zach said. “But he didn’t have to take all the good food.”
“Those multi-coloured calories wrapped in additives cannot be described as food,” Avalon said. She had ended her voluntary exile and returned to the team’s mess-table.
“There was popcorn,” Zach said. “It’s been ages since I had popcorn.”
“Good news for you,” Tess said. “We’re going ashore in the Corn Islands to look for fuel for the helicopter. With a name like that, we might get lucky finding some corn growing in a field. Or maybe even some food in a store cupboard.”
“Afterwards we’re going to Puerto Morelos, right?” Zach asked.
“It’s the island of Cozumel first,” Tess said. “There are a lot of islands north of Puerto Morelos, and more north of Cancun. But those islands could have been swamped by post-bomb refugees from Cuba.”
“Or zoms,” Zach said.
“I thought Florida was the closest landfall to Cuba,” Nicko said.
“It would depend upon which part of Cuba you’re travelling from,” Avalon said. “If you have a pen, I’ll draw you a map.”
“I’m happy in my ignorance,” Nicko said. “Cancun is a tourist city, isn’t it?”
“Famously,” Avalon said.
“Famous enough for me to have heard of it,” Tess said.
“So it has an airport?” Nicko asked. “That plane had to have come from somewhere.”
“It’s under fifteen hundred kilometres from where we sighted the plane,” Avalon said. “So yes, we are within range of a Cessna Citation.”
“But so are any of the tax-haven islands south of Cuba,” Tess said. “Plus there’s all of Central America. That’s a lot of countries, a lot of islands, and so a lot of runways. It’s unlikely we’ll find that plane, but the best place to look is Puerto Morelos.”
“Are you not hungry, boss?” Zach asked. “Because if you don’t want your breakfast, I could finish it.”
“Not a chance,” she said.
It didn’t take long to finish their meagre repast. Afterwards, as Avalon began a lecture on the domestication of corn, Tess went to the bridge. Captain Adams was nearing the end of a rant partially directed at Commander Tusitala.
“Do you know the most frustrating thing?” Adams asked. “There is coffee galore on the mainland. Ah, Commissioner. Good morning.”
“G’day. Are you thinking of an excursion to a farm?” Tess asked.
“No, I was bemoaning the existence of the undead,” Adams said. “We’re only seventy kilometres east of Nicaragua. If we had fuel for the helicopter, there’d be nothing to stop us flying to Nicaragua, finding a farm, and harvesting coffee beans for breakfast.”
“Even if the zoms really are dying like the scientists think,” Commander Tusitala said, “dying’s not the same as dead.”
“Ah. Right. That,” Tess said. “I want to believe them, but it sounds like a theory with little evidence to back it up.”
“We’ll get the evidence when we get back to Auckland,” Commander Tusitala said. “Someone over there must have seen it, too. Next trip, we’ll pick up the coffee, Cap’n.”
“Next voyage, we’ll be he
ading for the tea plantations of Sri Lanka,” Adams said. “But perhaps we’ll find some supplies on Corn Island.”
“Will we arrive there today?” Tess asked.
“Within the hour,” Adams said. “We’re ten kilometres south of the Corn Islands. There are two, Big Corn, and Little Corn. Another hundred and fifty kilometres west-northwest is the island of San Andres, but I think we’ll investigate there on our return.”
“How far to Puerto Morelos?” Tess asked.
“Another thousand kilometres,” Tusitala said.
“We’re low on aviation fuel,” Adams said. “The helicopter is essential to an effective survey of the Mexican mainland. Tourist-cities are the last place I’d want to seek refuge in a disaster. I doubt we’ll find many survivors near the coast, but those that are there could have sought refuge at the top of tall hotels.”
“Hopefully hotels with a helipad,” Tusitala said.
“Exactly,” Adams said. “We might find a few survivors hiding on the rooftops, but I doubt we’ll find supplies. No, this whole region was too popular with tourists, and too close to Cuba. It’s been too long since the outbreak. Survivors will have moved inland, towards a source of fresh water. We’ll need time to find them. Time, and food, and fuel for the Seahawk.”
“Are we changing our priority from reaching Puerto Morelos to finding survivors?” Tess said.
“The two are the same,” Adams said. “Puerto Morelos is a coastal overspill for Cancun. There’s no refinery, no large harbour. It’s barely more than a port on our charts. I’d guess it’s for people who want a quieter holiday than you’d find further up the Yucatan Peninsula. My theory is that this group were selling the fuel contained within a diesel-tanker originally servicing the remote tourist-harbours of the Caribbean. The Mexican Gulf, and the states and nations bordering it, ooze with oil. If these survivors had been workers at a refinery, who’d just refuelled a fuel-freighter when the outbreak hit, what better vessel to seize?”
“Have you a map of the Gulf?” Tess asked.
“You want to look at this one,” Tusitala said. “It marks the major refineries, and the off-shore platforms.”
Life Goes On | Book 4 | If Not Us [Surviving The Evacuation] Page 34
