Refuge: After the Collapse

by Scott B. Williams

  Grant knew that Joey was leaving him there because he didn’t want him around Jessica or Casey. But he had another good reason for taking just Scully. Scully knew exactly where the catamaran was anchored because he’d seen it, and it would be a lot easier for the two of them to keep one man under guard than two, especially on a long river trip in a small boat. Joey wasn’t taking any chances, or so he thought. But Grant was already thinking fast and he knew Joey was making at least one major mistake, and that was leaving him here alive and unhurt. The other mistake was that he was vastly underestimating Scully. Grant already knew from what little time he’d spent with him that the islander was a man of diverse skills and knowledge, a resourceful survivor who would likely find a way to prevail, even outnumbered two to one. He had to keep reminding himself of these two things and refrain from protesting the arrangement too much. It was best to let Joey think he was resigned to his fate of being stranded here. If Joey thought he had won already, he would go away sooner.

  Before they left the cabin, Zach disconnected the fuel line from the carburetor of the motorcycle, draining the gas from the three-gallon tank into the plastic tank for the outboard. The idiots had already burned all the gas he had stashed there for the generator, probably running it to power a fan and lights twenty-four/seven. Grant knew he was doing it not only to make sure they had as much gasoline as possible for their trip downriver, but also to keep him from using the bike to leave. Joey also made a point of showing him the one and only key to the bike before dropping it into the bag with the money and closing the zipper.

  “Don’t be fucking with my Harley! I might come back for it some day.”

  Of course Joey and Zach also took the Mossberg shotgun Scully had been ordered to drop, as well as the lever-action carbine he had brought. Then they quickly loaded the canoe with canned goods and other non-perishables that were in the cabin, as well as the camp stove and all the propane, and tied it on a short towline behind the Johnboat. When they were ready to leave, all Grant could do was wish Scully luck. He stood and watched as Joey started the engine while Zach sat in the bow facing backwards, the shotgun pointed at Scully, who sat on the middle seat between them. That they chose such an idiotic seating arrangement showed their incompetence right from the start. If Scully did try something, Zach was just as likely to shoot Joey, who was right behind him in the line of fire, as he was to stop their prisoner from escaping. Seeing this gave him confidence that Scully would figure out something before they got very far.

  Grant did nothing to give away his intentions while they were watching, but as soon as they were out of sight around the bend, he hurried back into the cabin. He opened the cabinet doors under the sink and found the Phillips screwdriver in a small toolbox that he kept in there in alongside a bottle of bleach and other cleaning supplies. Then, with the screwdriver in hand, he rushed over to the wall next to the built-in bunk beds and went to work removing the six deck screws that held one of the interior paneling boards in place between the bed and the window. He could tell the screws had not been disturbed since the last time he’d tightened them, some two months before the blackout.

  When they were all loose, he gently pried the board out to reveal his cache, and the sight of his familiar Ruger 10/22 with the well-worn walnut stock brought a smile to his face despite all the other disappointments of the day. Grant took it out and checked the magazine to be sure it was fully loaded. He grabbed the big Ziploc bag next to it that held two spare magazines and several boxes of .22LR hollow points and stuffed all of it into a small canvas tote bag that had been left on the floor when Joey and Zach ransacked the cabin. Grant hurriedly looked through what little food they had left and put some packages of ramen noodles, a box of pancake mix and a small bag of cornmeal in the sack with the ammo. Joey and Zach had ransacked his other gear, including most of his camping equipment, but he found a Nalgene water bottle and a spare bottle of Polar Pure, his favorite water purification treatment, as well as another butane lighter. He still had the Bic in his pocket that he’d been using to start fires every day, along with the Swiss Army Knife he always carried. He was down to the basics, but he knew he could make it work. He filled the water bottle from the well pump, put it in the bag with the food and ammo, and then he was out the door and on his way.

  The Bogue Chitto in these upper reaches was swift, and he knew that even a canoe would be moving faster than he could force his way on foot through the dense forest and choking undergrowth along the bank. He could never hope to catch up with the outboard-powered boat, despite the shoals that would slow them down in many places. Grant had another idea, though, and he immediately set off at a moderate jog down the gravel road, keeping a pace he knew he could maintain for at least a few miles, fairly confident that what he needed would still be there when he arrived.

  NINE

  Artie Drager was beginning to wonder how any of them would survive if they didn’t hurry up and get away from the crazy desperation that seemed to have gripped every place he’d been since the grid went down. As he sat in the cockpit at dawn the next morning drinking coffee with Larry, he was troubled by the thought of how close he’d twice come to losing his brother to violent attacks in such a relatively short time. When he’d first seen Larry lying there in the mud, half in and half out of the murky river water, it had scared the hell out of him, as he was certain his little brother was already gone. Considering the remoteness of the location and the utter lawlessness that prevailed, he realized it was practically a miracle that the men who’d done this had not simply shot him dead. The only thing he could figure was that they thought it would be more fun to leave him to suffer and die slowly. After all Larry had done to make it possible for him to get to this place and find his precious Casey, it would have been utterly tragic to lose him before he even got to see that they had succeeded in their quest. Artie realized more than ever that in this new reality, nothing could be taken for granted, and that no matter how bad things were now, there was no telling what would happen next.

  Before all this happened, he would have never believed that he, a man who’d spent all his career trying to heal others and prolong lives, would be making plans alongside his brother and only daughter to ambush and murder four men. What in the hell has the world come to? He wondered. That same daughter, the sweet and pretty twenty-year-old that he would always think of as his little girl, grown young woman or not, had already been forced to take another person’s life. And Artie knew that what she had said about the need to turn the tables on these rogue fishermen-turned-pirates was correct. Their only chance of saving their boat was to take the initiative and attack first, rather than be caught helpless in a futile attempt to escape down the river with no engine and no real possibility of sailing before they reached the Gulf.

  It appeared that a fight was inevitable, whether here and now, where surprise might work to their advantage, or someplace later on, where the odds might be considerably less favorable. Artie knew he couldn’t take a chance that Casey or Jessica would be hurt or killed, and the best way to avoid that was to attack first and make that attack decisive and complete. Talking it over with Larry, he felt they had a reasonable chance of pulling it off; after all, there were four of them, and thanks to Casey’s haul from her abductor’s camp, enough weapons and ammo to arm them all. And if Scully and Grant made it back in time, the odds would really be in their favor. At this point it was quite clear that the only way they could avoid such a confrontation would be if the men in the fishing boat simply did not come back for whatever reason, or if, when they did, they left the catamaran alone and continued on downriver. Artie didn’t think either scenario was likely after what his brother said he’d overheard.

  “When they come, we need to be ready to get to our positions as soon as possible. Like Casey said, we want them to think the boat is empty, just as they left it, and that I’m already dead, likely pulled under to some gator’s lair by now.”

  “I still don’t see why they would want to
bother with taking our boat,” Jessica said. “Why would they need it when they’ve got a bigger boat with a working motor? Maybe they’ll just forget about it.”

  “No, they plan to get it. I told you I heard them talking about it. They’ll tow it to the coast. There’s no telling what their plans are, but they’ve got to know that finding more diesel is not going to get easier. A lot of people these days are going to start understanding the advantages of sails.”

  “If they’re trying to steal our boat and we shoot all of them, what are we going to do with their boat then? Shouldn’t we take it instead of this one?” Jessica asked. “Won’t it be faster than the catamaran, since it’s got an engine? Couldn’t we tow the catamaran, too, until we run out of fuel, and then switch over and sail when we have to?”

  “We could, but there’s no point in that,” Larry said. “That fishing boat is designed for coastal waters, not offshore. Once we get out of this river and out of the Mississippi Sound, we’re going to be setting sail across the open Gulf. We need the seaworthiness of the cat, and besides, out there where there’s wind, it’ll be as fast anyway.”

  “So we’ll just leave it here?”

  “Sure, why not? We’ll get our things they stole back off of it, and any other useful supplies, of course.”

  “I just wish Scully and Grant were with us now so we could leave without having to do all this.”

  Artie wished the same. But then again, if all of them had come this way together this morning, with the Johnboat and the two canoes, chances are they wouldn’t have heard the fishing boat soon enough over the sound of their own outboard, and they might been caught out on the open river with no place to hide. After seeing what these men had done to Larry, Artie shuddered to think what they would do if they found two pretty young women on the river. He was confident that Scully and Grant would arrive as planned either late today or sometime tomorrow. In the meantime, they had preparations and repairs to make.

  “I don’t want to start any work on the damage until this is over,” Larry said. “The boat needs to look just as it did when they left it, if this is going to work. We can stop somewhere off the coast, maybe at one of those barrier islands we passed on the way to New Orleans, and fix the hull before we set out. What we need to do now is decide where we are going to hide when they come.”

  “Shouldn’t we go upriver a bit, and start shooting before they get to the boat, while they are still focusing on their navigation?” Casey asked.

  “That could work,” Larry said, “but the problem with that is that they will be moving targets as long as their boat is moving, and if we don’t kill all of them at once, any that survive will have places to duck for cover in the pilothouse or down below. It would give them a chance to shoot back. And besides, as much as I would like to kill them at first sight, you all will feel more justified in doing it and will probably sleep better afterwards if we do it while they are in the actual act of stealing our boat. As far as I am concerned, I’ve already got just reason to annihilate those sons of bitches, but we all will if they are trying to take our only means of survival.”

  “I agree, that is the best way to handle it. If we wait until they are preoccupied with taking our boat that gives us more of an edge.” Artie did feel better about waiting. There was a chance, no matter how slim, that just maybe the fishermen would change their minds by the time they got back here, and would pass the catamaran by.

  “So anyway, we need to choose our positions based on having clear lines of fire at them once they are aboard the Casey Nicole. They’ll probably come alongside with their boat from the same approach as before, tying to our starboard stern quarter to keep from doing more damage, so we need to take that into account in laying out our positions. We probably should split up in teams of two and set up so that we catch them from two intersecting angles, in a crossfire, like this:” He drew imaginary lines in the air to show what he meant.

  Artie wondered if his younger brother got these ideas from watching movies or if he had actually learned such tactics from experience. He certainly had no military training, but he’d been living pretty unconventionally all his adult life. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that he and Scully had made a few deliveries of something other than empty boats all those years he’d been sailing back and forth across the Caribbean. But whether Larry had tested his ideas or not, Artie agreed it sounded like a reasonable plan and he couldn’t think of a better one. The first order of business was sorting out the weapons and deciding who was best suited for each. Artie hoisted the duffel bag of guns and ammo from the canoe to the deck of the Casey Nicole and laid them out for viewing. Larry whistled when he picked the Saiga AK-47 with the folding stock.

  “Now, this is sweet! You can sure lay down some fire with this, even if it is only semiautomatic,” he said, as he popped the mag release and checked to see what kind of ammo it was loaded with. “Perfect! This full-metal-jacket stuff will go through just about anywhere they’ve got to hide on a wooden boat, if they even have a chance to dive for cover.”

  “Just don’t shoot your own boat full of holes, little brother.”

  “It wouldn’t be anything epoxy couldn’t fix, Doc. You’ve seen that already. Now what have we got here, a .308?”

  “Yeah, I remember now, that’s what Derek said it was,” Casey answered. “He said it was one of his deer rifles but he never took it hunting. He always had that Winchester cowboy gun with him.”

  “Grant took that one though,” Artie said, when he saw Larry’s face light up again.

  “Oh, well, it looks like we’ve got enough anyway. What’s this, a Marlin bolt-action .22? Not much of a fighting rifle, but it’s a good squirrel gun. And then there’s your .22 pistol. So how do you want to do this? Those .22s won’t be great at any kind of distance, but they’ll still add to the noise and the amount of firepower we can deliver. With all four of us opening up, even if they survive long enough to know they’re under fire, they’re going to freak out and not know what the heck to do with so many different weapons shooting at them.”

  “Well why don’t you take the AK? You seem to be familiar with it. I’ve never shot one before, but I know I can handle that .308.”

  “That’s fine with me, Doc. But whoever’s got the .308 needs to fire the first round. With that scope on it, it’s the most accurate weapon we’ve got, and you need to take the first man down with the first shot. That’ll be the signal to the rest of us that there’ll only be three of them left, unless they’re bringing more from wherever they went upriver. Can you do it?”

  Artie let that sink in for a minute. Not only was he going to be participating in an ambush on unsuspecting fellow human beings, he was actually going to be the one initiating it—the one making the first kill. He didn’t know if it might bother him later, but he was resolved to do what he had to do now. He was fast learning that this whole ordeal was about getting through one day at a time. “Okay, as long as I’ve got a clear shot and that scope is zeroed in, I’m sure I can hit whomever I’m shooting at, but how do I pick which one?”

  “Just take out the first one who tries to pull up our anchor or put a towline on the Casey Nicole.”

  That seemed simple enough to Artie. At least once one of them committed to the act of actually trying to move the catamaran it would be clear that piracy was their intention. He was doubtful of the role the girls could play in this, knowing that the .22 caliber weapons were minimally effective at any kind of distance, but he also knew that Casey, especially, would want to do her part. “Casey, you’ve had plenty of experience with my pistol, so why don’t you take it and let Jessica use the .22 rifle? The two of you can back us up in case we miss, and if you keep firing at a steady rate, they won’t have a chance to fire back or take cover.”

  “I’ve never even shot a real gun,” Jessica said.

  “Don’t worry, it won’t kick or anything, and it’s not even all that loud,” Larry said. “It will feel about the same as shooting a BB
or pellet gun. I wish we could all practice first, but we can’t afford to make the noise. Anyway, all you’ve got to do is cock it like this each time before you shoot, take aim by lining up the sights, and then just pull the trigger.” He showed her how to work the bolt and switch the safety off, and how the sights were supposed to be aligned on target. “The cartridges are inside this tube under the barrel. But you don’t have to worry about reloading because if this goes as planned it’ll be over before you shoot half of the fifteen rounds already in there.”

  “I just wish we didn’t have to do this at all. I wish those men wouldn’t come back. I just want Grant and Scully to be back so we can go.”

  “Me too, Jessica, believe me, but let’s just focus on what we’ve got to do. This will all be over soon and Grant and Scully will be back and we will sail away from this mess. But right now, you and Casey stay here and keep watch while I go with Doc in the canoe to try and find a couple of places to set up. It shouldn’t take long but we need to do it now and not at the last minute.”

  Artie did most of the paddling, as Larry’s injured arm was still useless for strenuous work and was a long way from completely healing. He was complaining about a headache too, and Artie had woken him several times during the night, fearing he might have a serious concussion. But he refused to let the rest of them do everything, so as they worked their way around the edge of the dead lake, he hopped out on the muddy bank several times to reconnoiter. He walked back and forth among the trees and understory thickets of red bay and palmetto, deep in thought, looking for spots that would offer both concealment and a decent angle of fire back in the direction of the anchored catamaran. The lake was small and every part of the shore was in easy range of the AK and especially the .308, but none of it was ideal, as all the surrounding solid ground was low and swampy, the vegetation so thick they would have to shoot from practically right at the water’s edge. Larry said it was okay from an offensive standpoint, but that it would suck if they were taking return fire. “And that’s why we’ve got to make every shot count.”