Waiting there on this small, obscure river, Scully could enjoy a few moments of peace and tranquility, turning his mind away from the carnage he’d seen and the brushes with violence he’d already survived in the sea journey to get here. The search that brought them to this country was over, and soon he would be back on the open seas he loved, sailing the trade winds among the sun-drenched islands of the endless summer latitudes. He knew that between himself and Larry, they could find safe refuge someplace better, but it was reassuring to him as he sat in the Johnboat and waited that if need be, he could live in this bush just fine.
He was staring into the semi-clear waters, watching a large fish of a type he had never seen and wishing he had a spear with which to impale it, when the stillness was shattered by the thunderous report of a rifle. The sound had certainly come from upriver, in the direction Grant had paddled, and judging by the volume he was sure that it was close enough to be about the same distance Grant said they were from the cabin before he’d set off alone in the canoe to reconnoiter. Scully couldn’t be sure, but the report was so loud that he thought it could have been from a high-powered rifle rather than the pistol-caliber carbine Grant was carrying. He knew sounds could be deceptive in a forest, though, so there was no way to tell. The one thing he was sure of was that Grant had to be close to whoever fired that weapon, if he did not do it himself.
Scully listened as the normal sounds of the river gradually resumed, first with a few tentative birdcalls and then the background buzz and chirp of insects. A second shot never came, either from the original shooter or in the form of return fire from a different weapon. Grant should have had enough time to reach the cabin and start heading back, but there was no sign of him, and now the sound of the gunshot raised all kinds of possibilities. Had he shot at someone who was looting the cabin, or had he been ambushed by someone already living there? Had he fired the carbine as a warning to someone or perhaps simply shot at a deer or other game animal? Scully trusted that whatever the answer was, Grant had not carelessly discharged a round for no reason. Though he had only met him the afternoon before, he was a good judge of character and could tell Grant was not like those people who were dying in the cities. This was a young man who had been smart enough to get Casey and Jessica out of New Orleans, despite great difficulty and risk to himself. And while he hadn’t spent his life living off the land, as Scully had spent much of his, he seemed unafraid and comfortable traveling in the bush and on the river.
Scully considered his options when Grant did not show up shortly after the sound of the gunshot. Not knowing for sure who fired it or why, he didn’t want to simply start the outboard and motor upstream to the cabin. The sound of the motor would not only alert others to his presence, but would impair his own ability to hear signs of danger as he approached. He knew he couldn’t stealthily paddle such an ungainly boat upstream either, so he decided the best approach would be to walk. Grant had told him the cabin was on the left bank from the perspective of one traveling upstream, so Scully untied the bow painter and used the paddle to ferry the boat across the river, where he secured it to a sturdy tree growing at the water’s edge.
The bank on this side of the Bogue Chitto was steep, its slopes mostly composed of red clay that was slippery and wet from seep springs dripping from somewhere in the vegetation above. Scully grabbed his machete, cradled the Mossberg shotgun in his left arm, and began climbing. Since he never wore shoes, his bare feet were toughened to surfaces much rougher than this soft clay and mud, so getting up the bank was easier with his toes digging in for extra grip. Grant had warned him that there were venomous snakes in these river bottom forests, so he took care to look before each placement of a hand or foot. Because of the steepness of the bank and the impenetrable undergrowth near the water, it was impossible to follow the river by walking along the bank unless he used the machete, but that would make far too much noise. It would be quicker to shortcut directly across the wide looping bends the stream took, anyway, though Scully was aware that in doing so, he might miss seeing Grant if even now he was paddling back downstream to where he was supposed to be waiting. If that were the case, he was sure Grant would wait for him, but first he wanted to find that cabin and see what was going on there.
Weaving under and around briar patches and thickets, Scully moved quietly through the woods in a direction he guessed would intersect the next bend of the river. Despite his frequent stops to look and listen, and the care he took to avoid making noise, he quickly reached the riverbank again just where he expected it to be and followed it as closely as the underbrush permitted where it began a long, sweeping loop in the other direction. Knowing he was getting close, Scully held the shotgun at the balance point in his left hand, ready to drop the machete and bring it to his shoulder in an instant if needed. When the long bend at last began to straighten out, he could see an opening ahead of him in the forest and knew it must be the place where the cabin stood.
He still had not heard another manmade sound since the single rifle shot, so he had no idea what to expect. As he approached the edge of the clearing he could see the wood-planked building. Rather than walk right to it, he worked his way closer to the river to look for Grant’s canoe. When he reached a vantage point that allowed him to see the riverbank he discovered there was no canoe in sight, but he could see footprints in the mud and the telltale drag mark of a canoe hull. Scully took that as a good sign, because it likely meant that Grant had made it here and had already headed back downstream. If so, he needed to quickly make his way back to the boat as well. But before he did, he wanted to have a look at the cabin himself. He stepped out into the clearing and made his way down to the water’s edge first to inspect the tracks. As soon as he was close it was apparent that there was more to the story than he’d thought. Grant’s hiking boot prints were clearly visible in the mud, but there was another set of footprints as well, made by an athletic shoe of a similar size. Scully looked down the deserted river for any other sign but saw nothing. He then turned to the cabin to see if he might find some clue there, but as soon as he started up the hill he was stopped in his tracks by a shout:
“Drop that gun and freeze right there, asshole!” the voice from the cabin commanded.
Scully did as he was told, knowing he had screwed up and dropped his guard. He had been too focused on Grant’s whereabouts to completely assess the situation. He should have made sure the cabin was empty before stepping out of the woods, but it was too late for that now that he found himself standing in the open, the barrel of a rifle pointed at him from a window in the back of the cabin.
“Get down on the ground! Away from that shotgun and keep your hands where I can see them!” the person pointing the gun at him continued.
Scully thought this man must be a cop of some kind, the way he was talking, but after he did what he was told and got down on the ground, the person holding the rifle on him stepped outside. He was as young as Grant, if not even younger. He had wavy brown hair, but no beard or mustache, and was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. Scully figured he might have learned to bark orders like that from watching action movies, but he had a rifle and it was pointed his way, so the dialogue mattered little. He could see that the weapon was equipped with a telescopic sight, and immediately concluded it was the high-powered rifle he’d heard earlier.
“Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
Scully looked up as the young man stepped closer. He didn’t look like a person accustomed to killing people, but considering the craziness he’d seen already, it would be unwise to doubt he would pull the trigger. “Dem call I Scully. I am from de island. I don’t wan’ no trouble in dis place, mon.”
“Why are you here then?”
“I comin’ here wid my friend, Grant. He seh dis he cabin, mon.”
“I know who he is and I know this is his cabin. He was supposed to be here with two girls, Casey and Jessica, when we got here. But the first we’ve seen of him was today, and he was alone. So if yo
u are with him, why weren’t you in the canoe when he got here?”
“I waitin’ in de boat wid de motor, mon. I waitin’ while Grant check out de cabin wid de canoe. Nevah know what trouble you find in dese times, mon. I waitin’ an’ I hear de gunshot an’ when Grant he not comin’ bok, I walkin’ here to see.”
“I know about the boat. We heard the motor coming upriver. Joey and Grant have gone to get it. But Grant didn’t say anything about you being with him. So where are Jessica and Casey?”
“De girls not wid us, mon. De girls dem wait down de river on de big boat. He only want to come here to an’ get supplies he havin’ in de cabin. We not lookin’ for trouble, mon. Only comin’ here for de t’ings dat belong to Grant.”
The young man’s reply was interrupted by the sound of the outboard motor starting up in the distance. Scully realized this man must have been telling the truth about his friend and Grant going back downstream to get the boat. Right after it cranked he could tell the boat was running back upriver as fast as the motor would go.
“You stay where you are and don’t move. I’ll shoot if you try anything.”
Scully did as he was told and waited. It was only a matter of minutes before the boat reached the bank in front of the cabin, and from where he was lying on the ground he could see that Grant was at the helm of the outboard, while another young white man sat in the bow, covering him with the lever-action carbine Grant had been carrying earlier. Scully knew he must be this Joey that the other one spoke of. When the bow of the boat ran up on the sand, he hopped out with the gun and told Grant to shut down the engine. Grant’s face fell as he took in the scene and saw Scully’s predicament.
The one called Joey seemed just as shocked. Scully realized he must have thought Grant was alone. He ordered Grant out of the boat, still pointing the carbine at him. “Who is this, Zach?”
“I don’t know, he says he’s with Grant. He says he’s from some island I’ve never heard of.”
“Dominica,” Scully said, meeting Joey’s eyes as the white man walked closer, scrutinizing him as he apparently tried to decide if he believed this or not. Joey then turned back to Grant.
“Is this true? Why didn’t you mention this freak earlier, when you told me all that bullshit about how you were by yourself? Why should I believe anything you told me is true if you were lying about that?”
“I told you all I know about Jessica and Casey. Yeah, this is Scully, that’s about all I know about him, I don’t even know his last name. I just met him on the river yesterday.
He’s here because he has a boat; it’s as simple as that. I told you I found the boat, but truth is, Scully found me. I was wasn’t getting anywhere fast trying to paddle against the current up this river, and then he came along in that boat and when he saw me, he stopped to talk. When I told him my parents owned a cabin up here stocked with food and supplies, he offered me a ride the rest of the way in exchange for a few days’ worth of food. He’s stranded here in this country because of the pulse, and he is just trying to survive.”
Scully watched as Joey reached down to pick up the Mossberg that was still lying on the muddy ground where he’d dropped it at Zach’s orders.
“Is he telling the truth? Why were you here in America in the first place? Are you an illegal or something? And where did you get that boat and motor? And what about this shotgun? Did you steal all this shit?”
From what Grant said to the one called Joey, Scully quickly picked up on the fact that the two of them somehow knew each other, and that Grant didn’t want him to know their plan or that the two of them were more than chance acquaintances. Ever quick-witted and experienced in maintaining a calm composure under the stress of dealing with the police and other officials, Scully lost no time filling in the blanks with a story of his own:
“I am from Dominica, mon. I don’ know not’ing about dis country. First time I comin’ here; working crew on de container ship, mon. An’ den all de lights go out before de ship, she leave New Orleans. No GPS an’ no radio, so de coptain, he seh we cannot sail. Some of de crew dem stay in de port, but lots of problem an’ de men fighting an’ stealin’ food. I an’ I knowin’ a mon is not safe in dat city, but I see de mouth to dis big river on de way in an’ a mon in de crew who know dat place seh on dis river is not’ing but de bush. I comin’ here because to me, de bush is home, mon.”
“So you stole a gun and a boat?”
“No mon, I don’ steal it. I havin’ American dollars and some ganja, too, in my seabag. I bought de gun an’ de boat from some mon who live by de lake in dat place. He got a lotta boat an’ dat boat de oldest he got an’ he don’ need her. He got a lotta gun too, but he like de ganja smoke so we make de trade on dat Mossberg.”
“I can’t imagine anybody would be stupid enough to sell a boat or a gun right now, but I couldn’t care less whether you stole it or not. I just want to know the truth about why you’re here and I want to know where Jessica and Casey are.”
“He said they’re downriver waiting on a boat,” Zach said.
“What? What the fuck did you just say, Zach?”
Scully saw the look of surprise on Joey’s face. That’s when he knew Grant had told him something completely different.
“I said he told me that Jessica and Casey were somewhere downriver, waiting on a boat. When he came sneaking up in the yard with that shotgun, I got the drop on him and asked him who the fuck he was and what the fuck he was doing here, and he said he was with Grant, and that this was Grant’s cabin. I told him I knew that and we were here looking for Jessica and Casey, and he knew exactly who I was talking about. He said they weren’t here, but were downriver, waiting on a boat.”
At this, Joey turned on Grant with the shotgun leveled at his chest, calling him a liar and ordering them both into the cabin. Scully had no choice but to follow Grant inside. He felt really stupid for what he had done, carelessly approaching the cabin and letting such a young and inexperienced man, really just a boy, get the drop on him. He knew that if they couldn’t talk their way out of this they were going to have to turn the tables somehow, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
When they entered the dark interior of the cabin, the first thing Scully noticed in the muted light streaming through two small windows was the motorcycle, and he correctly deduced that it was how these two had gotten here from New Orleans. There was a simple wooden table with matching benches that had been pushed aside to make room for the bike, and Joey motioned for them to sit while he and his friend stood, their weapons still in hand.
Scully remembered Grant telling him about trouble with Jessica’s boyfriend in New Orleans. From what he’d said, he never expected to see him again, especially not way out here. Jessica had left him behind in the city to go with Grant and Casey, and now, after meeting him, Scully could certainly see why. Grant had made up some story to tell him and Joey would have believed it if he had not screwed it up by letting the other one know he knew the girls, too. Scully felt bad about making the situation worse, but Grant had said little of the boyfriend other than that there had been an argument, and had not mentioned his name, so he had no way of knowing what he should or shouldn’t say when confronted by the other one. He listened as Grant answered Joey’s questions that were essentially an interrogation at gunpoint.
It quickly became apparent that even though he’d refused to leave with them in the beginning, when Grant had invited him to join them here, Joey was now obsessed with getting back with Jessica and believed she wanted him back just as much. Scully knew why he was so attracted to her. She was gorgeous, and men would do crazy things to be with a woman like that, but Scully could tell that his motivation was more jealousy and anger than anything else. Joey was enraged that she’d left with Grant, that she’d trusted his judgment more than his own, yet Grant had not succeeded in getting her here. Joey had come because he couldn’t stand it that she’d defied him, and also because his world was crumbling around him and he had no idea how to deal w
ith it. Now he was demanding to know where she was, and if she was not okay then Grant was going to be the one he blamed and held accountable. Like most of the Americans he’d encountered since they arrived on these shores, Joey and his friend Zach were completely unhinged by the circumstances they found themselves in and practically on the edge of breakdown. Scully knew they were liable to do anything if Joey didn’t get the one thing he wanted: Jessica.
EIGHT
When Grant had closed the door to the cabin and made his way back down the riverbank to where he’d left the canoe, he thought that whoever had been living there wasn’t around and that his quick investigation had gone unseen. He was about to shove off to go tell Scully what he’d found when a bullet tore into the water next to him in a huge splash and a rifle shot rang out from somewhere in the woods above. Grant realized in an instant that he’d made a big mistake and had not been cautious enough. He glanced at the carbine he’d already laid in the bottom of the canoe but thought better of reaching for it and instead threw himself to the ground, crawling across the wet sand to try to find cover under the riverbank.
Refuge: After the Collapse Page 8
